#sorry for the lack of comfort on a hurt/comfort prompt

[f1-disaster-bi]

34&28-hurt and comfort dialogue prompt for norrix

Hmmm, hard ones to write but I think I figured it out, but it has just ended up as angst and no comfort

"You're covered in blood, need to tell me something?" Martin sounds calm but Lando can see the panic in his eyes. There was confusion and hurt etched into every expression crossing the others face, and Lando could only shrug as he let the door to his apartment close behind him. "Is that it? A shrug when you've been lying to me for months, what the fuck Lando", Martin sounds a little angry now. His arms crossed over his chest, and Lando wished he could just rewind time. If he could go back, he would let Max check him into the infirmary instead of arguing that he wanted to go home because he hadn't expected Martin to be here. He had known that he would get caught eventually. There were only so many lies he could tell and so many dinners he could miss. He knew that sooner or later his stories wouldn't add up, and Martin would catch on. The other was smart. Lando had just thought he had a little more time before he caught on or that Martin would get sick of his lies and leave without Lando having to explain anything. "I don't know what you want me to say", Lando muttered, wincing as he moved to take off his leather jacket and hang it up. Kimi might have stitched him together but the painkillers were rattling around in the bag he had dropped in the hallway and stab wounds ached. "The truth", Martin bit back as he ran a frustrated hand through his hair, "I want the truth bnecause I know you didn't get those scars in a car crash, and you don't work in IT. Maybe start with the blood?" Lando looked down at his bloodied shirt, picking at the hem. "It's not mine. That's all I can tell you", Lando admitted before he was pushing past Martin into the kitchen, "And no, I do technically work in IT, but I can't tell you what I do. I can't" "Well then we have nothing left to say to each other" The words hurt but Lando shoved it down. George had warned him he was playing with fire when he started dating a civilian. He had known that it was going to hurt to lose Martin, but he hadn't been able to let him go. Lando had fallen in love with him before he had even realised it, and he had tried to cling to that while it lasted.

"Okay", Lando managed to get out. It felt like there were stones in his mouth and a noose around his neck. "Just....why? Why date me and do this?", Martin asked and there were tears in his eyes, "You could have saved us so much pain" Lando wanted nothing more than to take him in his arms and kiss the tears from his cheeks but he didn't. "Because I love you", Lando admitted softly because it didn't matter now. It wouldn't change anything, and the team will have moved him by the time Martin might try come back to him, "No one ever cared about me like you. I was selfish and thought that I could have this" Martin just nodded. He stood there for a moment. Lando just watching as he clenched his jaw against the hurt and frustration he was probably feeling. His hand was in his pocket, and when he finally moved, it was to place the key Lando had given him onto the kitchen counter before he was gone. Lando didn't move until he heard the front door slam and then he was on the ground. His sobs filling the silence that Martin had left behind.

[thetarttfuldickhead]

For the 6 sentence fic thing (sending the same line to everyone lol):

"Can you remember what happened to you?” he asked, voice quiet with concern.

"Can you remember what happened to you?” he asked, voice quiet with concern.

The boy in the bed blinked stupidly at him, grey eyes unfocused and slow as they shifted to take in the sterile walls; the IV drip; the heart monitor, before finally settling back on the man standing over him, all dressed in black and with a carefully neutral look on his face.

“No,” Jamie Tartt murmured at long last, his voice just a hoarse whisper. There was nothing on his face but bruises, stark against his pale skin, and honest confusion.

The sense of relief and triumph coursing through Rupert was almost enough to make him smile in victory, but he held back. “Perhaps that’s for the best,” he said instead, pouring all of the soothing sympathy he could muster into the words, even as his mind turned to the future; a future that was all but assured now.

[rafesangelita]

♡ when rafe accidentally snaps on bambi!reader

warnings: a little bit of crying, hurt + comfort

a/n: thank you so much to the anon who sent in this link <3 this little drabble is inspired by it!! i might open up req’s soon because even though i have prompt ideas already, lately i’ve just felt uninspired to write them out..

“are you almost ready?!” rafe called out from the front door, his truck keys hanging from his fingers. you didn’t respond, instead you panicked once you realized you weren’t even close to finishing your makeup. “oh, god..” you whimpered, scrambling to your feet to try and put a quick outfit together while you patted in your blush.

at your lack of response, rafe cursed under his breath before slamming the door shut and making his way to your room. “are you fucking serious?” you jumped when you heard his voice, your head shooting in his direction as you stood there, dumbfounded. your hair rollers were still wrapped tightly in your hair, your robe hanging haphazardly off your shoulders. it was needless to say you looked far from being ready.

“son of a bitch—” rafe’s eyebrows knitted together as he pinched the bridge of his nose, a frustrated sigh falling from his lips. he was already irritated upon arriving to your place. rafe had spent all afternoon arguing with ward over some ‘cameron development’ stuff, he had deadlines he already accepted he wasn’t going to be able to meet, it was like a thousand degrees outside and to top it all off; he was hungry.

“we’re just getting something to eat, bambi. you could honestly just leave the house like this.” rafe grumbled, already moving to get ahold of your elbow and drag you out. “what?! no— ray, can you please just give me ten minutes? all i have to do is put on some clothes and finish my makeup real quick. i’ll even take my rollers out in the truck, okay?” rafe studied you for a moment, his nostrils flaring as he let out a deep breath.

“fine,” he nodded, “i’m gonna go turn the ac on in the truck, then. please try to make this fast.” you muttered an ‘okay..’ before spinning around and taking a seat at your vanity. you worked as quickly as you could, only getting as far as putting on some lip liner and lipgloss before you heard a honk outside. curling your lashes hastily, you wasted no time in slipping on a dress you hadn’t worn in a while.

grabbing your purse on the way out, you skipped down the stone walkway just in time for rafe to roll his window down. “do you have everything? your phone?” you paused. your phone was on your bed last time you saw it. “uhm, i’ll be right back..” you apologized when you saw the scowl on rafe’s face. your boyfriend shook his head when you tripped, nearly sending yourself on the ground as you rushed to go back inside. setting your purse down on the couch, you grabbed your phone and walked back out, your chest rising and falling as you tried to remain calm and collected.

“did you lock the door?” oh, you could just cry right now. “no..” you winced, walking up to the truck so rafe could give you his key. “my, god, what the hell is going on today? it’s like everyone is trying to piss me off.” you ignored his words, quicky making your way to the front door so you could lock it shut. it wasn’t until you were halfway down the driveway when you realized your purse wasn’t on your shoulder. “wait, i forgot one more thing—” that was it. you had definitely pushed rafe past his limits now.

rafe snapped, the vein in his forehead bulging out of his skin as he shouted. “holy shit, just get in the fucking truck!” he waved his hands in the air as if you couldn’t see him standing right in front of you, his volume alone making you jolt. you stared blankly at him, your chest caving in on itself as rafe blinked, both of you sharing a knowing look. rafe watched your face morph as your chin wobbled and your eyes welled up with tears.

“i’m sorry—” he exhaled, instantly wrapping his arms around you, “i’m so sorry, baby, i won’t do that again.” you sniffled, letting him embrace you. it took you having to cry to make rafe realize he’d been acting like an asshole since he got here. “you know that scares me!” you cried, the velcrow of your rollers tickling his neck. “i know, i know,” he cradled your head, pressing kisses along your cheek, “here, we’ll just order something instead, yeah? we don’t have to go anywhere.” he turned off the truck, guiding you inside by the small of your back.

[queers-gambit]

Curiosity Killed The Cat

prompt: after rescuing you from kidnappers, you overhear your boyfriend-turned-savior complain about how clingy you've become.

pairing: Mafia!Bucky Barnes x female!reader

fandom masterlist: Marvel

collection masterlist: Clingy Baby

word count: 5.1k+

note: author wants things out of her drafts! also don't take this fic too seriously, it's not much at all - just me writing for the fuck of it until i'm ready to focus on my bigger projects.

warnings: modern AU, Mafia AU, obvious cursing, small hurt and comfort, brief depiction of physical violence and self-destruction in the form of: loss of appetite, lack of sleep, other symptoms of depression. NOT edited! author is ashamed because she knows she can give you something better but oh well.

Your feet planted, jarring you to a halt the moment you heard your name in a conversation you were not apart of.

You heard the hammering of your heart, echoing beats of your blood pumping with harrowing desperation. Hands turned cold and clammy, sweat breaking out on your brow and then freezing, feeling as if your throat had swollen to a new restriction and you were anchored in you in place.

Rooted.

But for now, all you could identify was the paralyzing anxiety that anchored you to your spot and made your heartbeat thunder in your ears. You stood outside the lounge, unable to comprehend relevant thought; still listening to low, docile tones continue their conversation, but you couldn't hear real words.

You were stunned. Panicked, confused, hurt - so very hurt. That seemed to register, too; you were really, really hurt.

This was perhaps why curiosity killed the cat.

You reprimanded yourself for listening in - transporting back to childhood during all the times your parents would scold you for eavesdropping. You knew it was wrong, you knew this was a private conversation meant to be shared between trusting confidants, but you couldn't help it - you heard your name and stopped. It was natural, right? To feel curious regarding a conversation seemingly about you that you, yourself, was not apart of?

Curiosity, indeed.

Blinking rapidly, you remembered the only other time you felt such mounting, pressurized fear, and while it might be dramatic, the only other time you could remember this level of anxiety was from about two months ago...

"Yes, baby, I got the bacon."

"And the jalapeños?"

"Uh-huh, the biggest they had."

"Cream cheese?"

"Do you know who you're talking to?" You laughed into the phone. "I'm a professional housewife by now, you can relax. I got all you needed for your fancy little dinner experiment."

Bucky laughed down the phone, "Oh, please, like I didn't see you salivating when we watched the segment on Top Chef."

"Hush," you laughed, too. "I'm leaving the store now," you told him, pushing out of the heavy glass doors, "and should be home in, like, 10 minutes?"

"Lemme pick you up."

"I have legs to walk with, so, no thank you."

He sighed, "Well, I'll open the wine to let it breathe. Red's still good?"

"Let's do a white tonight, please."

"Good deal," he mused softly. "Hey, I was thinking earlier - "

"Hang on," you pleaded.

"What's wrong?"

"No, nothing. There's just a van slowing down, I don't want to get hit," you chuckled some, looking up and down the street before crossing. "Sorry, so, what were you thinking?"

"We haven't been to Paris in months."

You smirked, "I'm sure our plants in the apartment are dead by now."

Bucky laughed, "Oh, I am, too. But, look, how 'bout it, Peach? You, me, all the croissants we can consume this weekend. I'll take Monday and Tuesday off, we can leave tomorrow night."

"Oh, that sounds nice," you moaned. "Paris in the spring? Baby, that's so dreamy!"

"So, is that a yes?"

"It's a hell yes," you grinned. "Do you know the weather?"

"Supposed to be nice and sunny, not too warm or cold. Figured this would be ideal," he chuckled. "But does the weather matter if we're in bed the whole time?"

"No, we're not wasting our time!" You laughed. "We're gonna go do shit, okay? Stereotypical tourist-couple shit."

"I'll bring the camera."

"And I was hoping we could have dinner at that little place we love?"

"I wouldn't take you anywhere else," he mused.

"I think it's - FUCK!" Bucky froze when he heard the screeching of tires; a van coming up to a skidding halt, flurry of voices all yelling but he heard yours clearly. "No, no, no, hey, hey, what the hell's happening? Hey! What's this - hey, hey! Don't touch me! Ow, shit! No! Hey! Fuck's sake - oh, my God! Ow! Hey!"

"Baby!? Peach! Hey! The fuck's going on!?"

There was a thudding over the phone, and Bucky listened to more struggling - more fidgeting and fighting - and then the slamming of a car door. Still calling your name, Bucky heard a scrape over the line before a different voice answered your phone, "James Barnes. On behalf of HYDRA, you're overdue on your payment and we warned you there would be consequences. Deliver the full amount of 17 million - "

"It's 15," he growled.

"Two million more for the inconvenience of stalking your woman."

"If you even so much as touch her, I swear to God - "

"17 million at midnight, at the pier, or every minute you're late, she'll receive the brunt end of our frustration."

"Don't hurt her - "

"Midnight, Mr. Barnes, at the pier - you know where. Don't be late, she looks like she won't last long."

The line went dead after he heard your screech of pain, confusion, and fear. The moment the line cut, he dropped his phone and slowly lowered himself to sit on the kitchen floor, shock coloring his system. It wasn't that he didn't have the money, quite the opposite - but he and his men had a plan in motion to take out HYDRA, their org's competition, and this was totally against all they anticipated. After a minute to sit in his own worry, Bucky jumped to his feet, grabbed his phone, keys, wallet, and two handguns; holstering them both before shrugging his suit jacket on.

He made every phone call he could, gathering the men he trusted most to (one of) his warehouse(s).

For hours, you were strung up by your wrists in a joint-pulling position while the Brooklyn Mafia formulated a plan of attack. It was the most pain you've ever known, but then the abuse started and you were blinded by this new pain. You had bruises most places, cuts that wept blood; scars that would never heal, wounds that wouldn't ever close. You were delirious, miserable, confused, just dazed and confused; praying to a God who didn't listen.

"Oh, look at that," your captor mocked, holding a thick-bladed hunting knife in hand, "it's one minute til midnight, and I don't see your loverboy anywhere."

You sniffled, unable to respond.

He stared out the lone window, tisking and narrating, "Nope, I see not a soul - and with how protective he is over you, you'd think he'd want to ensure your safety. Not leave it to chance, huh?"

You whimpered as the clock struck midnight, your heart hammering in heavy-hung worry. You had tears in your eyes, heart nearly beating out of your chest, feeling incredibly nauseous. The desire to scream never lessened, just fearing what was to come; the men in the room making you fear for the state of your life, their knuckles cracking. You only begged, "Please. Don't."

The main captor laughed, "You can do better than that! C'mon, give me the satisfaction of tellin' ol' James you begged for mercy - but it wasn't enough to sway me. I'll lie, for sure, and say it happened but it will be so much sweeter if you actually do it."

"Please," you shook your head, avoiding eye contact. "Just don't do this, please."

"Oh, honey," he mocked, "it's not our fault he's late. Lads! Have at her, but leave her face for now - she's still real pretty."

You listened as he gave commands in Russian, understanding after the years at Bucky's side; whimpering when the first blow landed to your gut and knocked the wind out of you. The minutes drug by and you felt your resolve crumbling, heart still hammering to a never-before-felt speed that made it feel as if it were jumping out of your very body at every single pulse point. You struggled in your restraints, but it was futile by how tight you were bound; unable to protect yourself.

At 12:03 am, the doors blew open in a resounding blast; concrete crumbling and sprinkling the floor. You cried out as the smoke choked you, coughing through the haze; only barely able to make out certain figures to know Bucky had brought his best men. However, despite the sting to your eyes from the swirling dust and smoke, you saw a lone man stalk through the blasted wall, through the fray, and straight up to you.

"Bu-Bucky!" You choked in relief as he reached to untie your feet first. You dangled for only a moment as his metal prosthetic ripped off whatever held your wrists to the torture contraption. "Oh, my God. Oh, my God, Bucky, holy shit, baby, please, please, please," you rambled as he freed you and instantly caught you on his broad shoulders.

"I got you, Peach, I'm here, I've got you," he promised in your ear, hoisting your legs around his waist so they latched and then wrapping his arms around you securely. "Don't let go and don't look up, okay? Hear me, Peach?"

You nodded into his neck, only able to cry.

Bucky jolted and jerked slightly as he moved through the fight again, but not a minute later, you were stepping outside into the sobering, brisk spring air. This was the moment you understood how dangerous and fleeting life with Bucky could be, making a promise to yourself that if he says take the car, you'll take the fucking car.

And now, here you were, outside the high-rise apartment's lounge (which was just a converted bedroom), listening to your boyfriend complain about you some 2 months after the whole fiasco. HYDRA had been all but wiped out, and in the weeks since, Bucky's men had gone on smaller missions to eradicate the HYDRA members they heard rumor of being local. Yet you didn't feel safe, yet.

You didn't feel safe if you weren't around Bucky.

Everything made you jump: the beep of the done-dryer, that spritz of the automatic fragrance mister in the bathroom, the "duh-dunnn" of a loaded-up Netflix. Keys jingling, car horns, the barking of the dog in the apartment a floor below you... Everything.

Being around Bucky was just like holding a safety blanket. He would always protect you, and for about a week after your rescue, he laid in bed and around the home with you; being lazy; time off work to simply hold you and assure you were safe. Safe in his arms. Safe in his embrace, his presence.

So now... To hear this... You were devastated.

You didn't mean to eavesdrop, it just sort of happened. It was still earlier in the morning, but Bucky hadn't been in bed beside you and based on the feel of the sheets, his body hadn't been there in a while. So, you made some coffee and then ventured around the home in search of your lover; coming upon the lounge and hearing voices from within.

You knew it was common for Steve Rogers and / or Sam Wilson to stay late or visit early, so, you weren't shocked by that, but did falter in announcing yourself when you heard Sam ask how you were doing since the kidnapping. He used your name specifically, making Bucky sigh, and for your curiosity to peak.

"She's different, man."

"How so?" Sam wondered.

"She doesn't like being without me now," he chuckled without humor. "I'm serious, she won't go to the gym until I do, waits to have meals together, won't leave the house if I'm out, and," he scoffed to himself, "you can forget going to the grocery store or anything - she's even stopped going to work - "

"You told her to stop working, like, two years ago when y'all first moved-in together," Sam deadpanned.

"I know," Bucky shrugged, "but it feels tenfold now that she's so reclusive."

"It's normal," Steve sighed gently.

"Yeah? Is it normal that I can't even go take a shit without promising her I'll be right back?" Bucky snapped in exasperation. "It's that bad, she's that fucking clingy, man. I go in the kitchen to make dinner, she's in there 30 seconds later to 'help' me. I take a shower, she finds a reason to linger in the bedroom, but that was better than before, when she wouldn't even shower by herself. It's just a lot, she's everywhere I look. I'm starting to find new reasons not to come home, man, she's always fucking here - and when I walk in the door, she's on me. I need to fucking breathe, but I can't tell her to stop, she'll get her feelings hurt and then I'm the bad guy."

"Man," Steve laughed, "you can't be the bad guy if you go to her in a calm and collected manner, but it's only been two months. She's still recovering."

"Exactly why if I say anything, no matter how calm and collected, I'm the bad guy. I get she's hurting and tryna recover, but Goddamn, does she have to be in every room I'm in? Do everything with me? How do I tell my traumatized girlfriend to back off? Let me breathe?"

Sam laughed, "You don't! You just said it - she's traumatized! Cut the girl some slack, she's got a lot to fuckin' deal with!"

"I'm not negating from that fact," Bucky argued, "I'm just trying to say, the way she's clinging onto me like she can't function without me is just grating at my nerves. I just need to breathe and recharge, but I can't tell her that - fuck's sake."

"Buck," Steve smirked, "you're worried Peach isn't gonna listen, but that's her literal superpower. Just communicate, she can't read your mind, but you need to remember how traumatic all of that was for her to experience - she's scarred from that kidnapping, man. So, sure, you need to recharge, but she needs the support."

"Is it wrong to ask for a day here and there to do that? To recharge?" Bucky asked quietly.

"If you communicate, it's perfectly reasonable to ask for," Sam assured softly. "And whatever you do, don't tell her you think she's clingy. Chicks hate that, that word is, just, like, taboo or something. Real heavy, negative connotations."

"But she is," Bucky growled quietly, "'s like she's afraid to let go 'cause I'll disappear or something."

"Oh, noooo," Sam mocked, "I'm Bucky and my girlfriend loves me too much and trusts me too much and actually feels safe and dependent on me too much - ohhh noooo!"

There was a thump, Sam's cried, "Ow!", and Bucky telling him to shut up. You slowly backed away from the door, trying to settle your breathing as you made your escape down the hall. When back in the kitchen, you whimpered and let the first tears fall... The first of many you shed in the hour it took you to prepare breakfast for everyone; doing your best to eat as you cooked so you didn't have to linger around the men. You took Bucky's words to heart, and maybe you were too sensitive, maybe you should venture outside again.

So, when the lads came out, you set the table without making eye contact with any of them. "Here," you directed, setting the pancakes down, "I made breakfast, come eat, it's still hot."

"Wow," Sam smiled brightly, "thanks, Peach!"

You hummed, still avoiding their eyes as you just set the abundance of food to the table. "You... Cooked without me?" Bucky asked you with skepticism.

"Mhm," you hummed, setting the coffee pot down to a hot pad, "and I'm going out shopping with Nat, so, eat up, lads, I'll do the dishes when I get home. Love you, boys, bye," you waved them off, snatching your keys and then moving to the door to stuff your feet into your sneakers.

"Woah, woah, woah," Bucky left the table, approaching you urgently, "hey, what do you mean? You're goin' out?"

"Yep, figured I've stayed in too long, might as well get out and remember life doesn't stop just 'cause I'm sad."

"Peach - "

"I'll see you when I get home, Buck, okay?" You mumbled, slinging your purse on your shoulder.

"Well, here, here, hey, wait, hang on," he pulled his wallet out, handing you over a wad of big bills. "Spend it all, okay? Have fun, call or text if you need me, yeah?"

"Sure."

Bucky leaned in to kiss you but you just opened the door, ready to leave. He frowned, watching you, barely managing to call a quick, "Love you!"

You didn't return the sentiment, feeling hallow and all too silly to return the affection. In your purse was your laptop, headphones, chargers, and whatever else, so, instead of meeting your friend, Natasha - being just a ruse to avoid Bucky - you started small and just went to the local café. You used to frequent it back in the day, but times were changed, and yet, they were all the happier to serve you the same as before. Getting cozy in the corner, you set up camp and ordered your favorite coffee basically every other hour - letting the day waste away as you caught up on work emails.

Might've wasted time on Instagram and Facebook and Pinterest. Got shopping done on Amazon. Browsed through Target's online selection. Checked out the sale items at Kate Spade. Perused Fenty Lingerie because you could.

Before you knew it, a message was coming in over your MacBook from Bucky, asking where you were - why had you turned your location off?

You packed up and with a to-go cup, made the short trek back home. When you got back, Bucky was pacing in the living room; staring at his phone and typing, then deleting, retyping, groaning, glancing up, typing again, then doing a double take. "Where've you been, Peach? Huh!?" Bucky demanded. "You're late!"

"Out with Nat," you eased.

He huffed through his nose, nodding slowly, "You have a nice time?"

"It was okay," you answered. "I'm gonna go to bed after I shower."

His brows furrowed, "I have a meeting tonight."

"I know."

"O...kay?" He let you go, wanting to ask why you didn't ask him to join like you had so often in the past few weeks.

And it didn't stop there, in fact, it got worse. When Bucky got home from his meeting, he was actually shocked to see you nestled in the bed; teetering on the edge of the shared space while snuggling a weighted body pillow.

When he tried to give you a snuggle, you stirred to life and pushed him back, muttering, "Too hot."

The following morning, he was relatively surprised to see you up and about before him; barely getting a word in before you were slipping out the door to go on a morning jog. He was confused by how all of a sudden, where you were once everywhere he looked, now, you were disappeared and distant and gone. You worked out alone, cooked alone - but always left him a plate, but long gone were the cute little sticky notes you left for him. You once haunted the apartment by never wanting to leave, and now, ghosted in and out of it on a daily basis.

You never bothered to go far from home. You liked hanging at the coffee shop and luckily, your job let you work from home most days, and the rare time you were due back in the office, it was only about a 20 minute walk. You got better at lying, couldn't even remember the last time you and Bucky had sex, and even now, the last time you had a meal together. You didn't text him about your day; where you once might've told him about an adorable dog you saw on the street, now, you only ever texted him if he asked a direct question.

Food lost appeal, your appetite vanished.

Sleep evaded you, plaguing you with nightmares when you did rest.

Interest dulled, passions were snuffed, and only fearful, confused anger remained. It showed in the way weight seemed to shift around your body, thinning; the lack of sleep creating dark rings and bags under your bloodshot eyes.

After two weeks of this, Bucky grew irritated and short with everyone around him. It reflected in his work, the way he spoke to everyone; even Steve and Sam getting the brunt end of his anger. Without you to assure him, Bucky was off his rocker; losing his cool; his patience stretched far too thin. So much so, the two mates approached an outside associate, Natasha Romanoff, after a particularly snappy meeting to plead for her to talk to Bucky.

"James," Nat greeted as she strode into his office without knocking.

"I know you're my oldest friend, but you don't have that privilege yet," he mused, never looking up.

"What?"

"Not knocking. What is it, Nat?"

"Just came to check on you, you know, like friends do."

"Hm," he chuckled without humor, "and what did Peach say to you?"

"About...?"

"Me."

"Nothing, I haven't gotten ahold of her for weeks."

Bucky paused, slowly lifting his head in confusion; brows furrowed and mouth set in a firm, straight line. "What?" He grit.

"Huh?" Nat wondered.

"She's been telling me that she's hanging out with you for the past two weeks," he revealed.

"Nope, not since the incident with HYDRA."

Bucky's (right) flesh hand crushed the pen in his grip, taking a long breath. "All right," he sighed, "so, why come today?"

"What's really going on, Buck?" She worried softly. "Is it really whatever's going on with Peach? You're this pissed off? What'd she even do?"

"She just..." He cut himself off with a long sigh. "It's nothing."

"Bucky," Nat gave a pointed look.

"She's just avoiding me," he muttered. "It's like she's barely home, almost like a ghost."

"Isn't that what you wanted?"

"Yes, and no," Bucky snipped, rolling his neck out. "I'm just worried about her now, she's never not communicated before."

"Something's bothering her," Nat shrugged. "She probably needs you right now, Buck."

"I can't do it all," he whispered. "I can't be who she wants and run this organization at the same time."

"She doesn't need that, she just needs you to be her partner," Natasha spoke softly. "She needs to feel loved and supported, and surely, she maybe felt weird about whatever you were projecting. Instead of taking it out on your men," she smirked, "why don't you just talk to her? 'Cause I hear you're bein' a more-than-usual asshole lately. You need to ease up or get laid, 'cause you're taking it out on good, loyal men, and that's entirely unfair."

"They can take it."

"Sure, but they shouldn't have to," Nat rolled her eyes. "Look, since you won't answer me, I'm assuming the sour mood is in regard to whatever relationship issues you have right now?"

"Sure," he tossed the pen away, opened a skinny drawer to his right and select an identical one.

"Bucky," she growled.

He sighed, "She's lying to me, Nat. Saying she's with you when she's not... Is this an affair? She's gone all the time now."

"No way," Nat laughed. "Baby girl doesn't have the energy to entertain anyone - let alone two men. You're just the exception."

"Why lie, then?"

"Maybe she didn't want you questioning her..."

"No shit."

"Well, did you get into a fight?"

"No."

"Any reason she doesn't want to be home?"

He shook his head with a sigh, "Not that I know of."

"You had to do something."

"Honest, I haven't. She was being all clingy, but then one day, a switch flipped."

Nat frowned, "You think... Your girlfriend is being clingy... Because she was kidnapped and beaten up... Because of your fucking job... And is probably scared...out of...her mind...? I get that correct?"

Bucky paused for a long moment, muttering, "Oh, my God."

"Yeah, you asshole. Think of it that way! She's afraid!" Natasha snapped. "And probably picked up on your energy, so, she made herself scarce."

"I didn't mean - "

"I don't care, go home, apologize to that sweet angel - she doesn't deserve this."

Bucky paused, "What is 'this' exactly?"

"James. Focus on the present - your woman. Go make this right. We all know you're this big, bad dude - but it's okay to be a little sensitive towards the woman who loves you without condition!"

Bucky relented, figuring the redheaded Russian mobster was right.

The entire drive home, Bucky considered the ways you had changed in the few, short weeks since he vented to Sam and Steve about your clinginess. You didn't take meals with him, didn't cook, work-out, or do anything you used to do together. Sex? Forget it. Dates? Nope. Cuddling? No, you're always 'too hot'. And when he thought about it, he remembers seeing the wads of cash he'd leave for you stuffed in his sock drawer - surely trying to make him think it was just another emergency fund he had hidden. You never spent his money, feeling humiliated by his choice of words.

Clingy...

You didn't text or call him when he was gone, you hadn't even so much as kissed him in what felt like ages... Well, more like you hadn't initiated any kisses...

His heart weighed in his chest as he realized he hadn't even so much as hugged you in days. You were rarely in the apartment together, and when you were, you were just silent and busy with chores. It was as if you operated on the exact opposite schedule as he did, went to new extents to avoid him, and his heart clenched in his chest.

When he got home, you were caught cooking in the kitchen - being obvious that you weren't expecting him. The door slammed and his baritone voice snapped, "Peach!"

You gulped, holding the sauce-covered wooden spoon to your chest. When he rounded around the corner, he found you and slowed down, sighing in relief. "What's wrong?" You worried in a timid tone.

He panted lightly, relaying, "Needed to find you."

"I'm here."

"I know," he relented, charging up to you and engulfing you in a tight, heavy hug. "I needed to talk to you, Peach," he whispered.

"What's wrong?"

"You. You're what's wrong."

"What the fuck does that - "

"No, no," he pulled back to stare down at you fondly, "I don't mean it like that, just that... You're struggling. I can see that. But you're not alone, I'm here with you, and I got a little caught up in my head when I realized someone was so very dependent on me - it fucking scared me. But then... Then you just shut yourself off and hid away from me, and oh, my God, it's so much worse, baby. Don't do that," he breathed, "okay? Don't ever shut me out - don't stop loving me, don't stop talking to me, don't give up on us. I can't read your mind, you can't read mine, it's not an excuse - but we understand better when we trust each other enough to communicate what's required. I'm so sorry I got caught up in myself, I didn't know what you needed - but I'm here now, I'm here - I'm not leaving you."

You collapsed into his chest, taking a shuddering breath.

"Don't ever stop talking to me, Peach," Bucky whispered, kissing the top of your head; keeping you close. "I'm so sorry, baby, if I - "

"If?" You snapped, pulling back to glare at him through your tears. "I heard you, Bucky. I heard you talking to Sam and Steve, and about how clingy I am."

"I was wrong," he insisted. "I was overwhelmed and tired and just stretched thin, the easiest thing to do is attack those closest to me, and that's you. It's not right, it's the worst I could do to you after all you've been through, and I'm so sorry. I was wrong, you're not the person to take this out on - and I'm so sorry, Peach."

You sighed, "I don't mean to be... I don't mean to cling - "

"Nah," he chuckled, caressing your cheek, "you cling as much as you want. Cling as tight as you want, baby, don't let me go. I'm sorry for what I said and the way it made you feel, it was wrong - so fucking wrong of me, and I see that. When you pulled away from me, I just... I couldn't think. It felt so wrong, and I knew it was my fault." He took your face in both palms, promising, "I'm so sorry, Peach."

You shrugged meekly, "It's okay."

"It's not."

"No, but apologizing is a step in the right direction."

He nodded, "What else can I do?"

"Nothing - "

"Peach."

You paused to think, smiling shyly, "Movie night?"

"Whatever my pretty girl wants," he nodded.

"Hmm... Get a bath with me?"

"All right... Sure, okay..."

"And face masks."

He sighed, "Okay."

"And mani-pedis."

"Baby."

"You said you were making it up to me, right?"

He smirked, "That's right... All right, yeah, sure, fine, we can..." He sighed again, "We can do all that, Peach, whatever you want."

"I just want you," you told him softly. "I didn't mean to be so clingy. I was just afraid... I felt afraid everyday, just so very unsure in this life. You're the only thing that makes sense to me, Buck, and when I heard you, I just... I guess I realized how dependent I'd been and wanted to give you space. Last thing I want is to smother you, to drive you away from me."

"Not ever gonna happen," he promised softly. "I just didn't handle it like I should've. I'm sorry, Peach, but I'm here now - for whatever you need. Want me to take a few days off, just be together? I'll arrange it. Want to get away for a bit? We can go."

"I just need you," you whispered. "Only you and I should be okay - I can be okay if I have you, but feeling like I lost you? Even a fraction? Buck... James, it was such a harrowing feeling, I wasn't sure what to do to move forward. So, I think I just panicked, shut down; thought if I could just get back to normal, you'd love me again..."

"I never stopped loving you," he swore, "I just had a bad lapse in my own judgement. Nothing against you, baby. Nothing."

You nodded again, letting him tuck you into his chest; perfectly snug under his chin as he coiled his arms around you. He let out a long sigh, his guilt swelling to new heights, but for that present moment, everything seemed okay.

Felt okay.

Appeared okay.

And you'd both do whatever it took to remain as okay as you possibly could.

requesting rules and masterlist

Marvel masterlist

Clingy Baby collection masterlist

[parfaitblogs]

sleeping with the lights on ❀ s. reid x reader

in which the first time you kill an unsub hits you like a truck, and spencer reid is there to pick up you back up. 

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader genre: hurt/comfort tags: comfort very little hurt. ptsd. description of someone being shot. this is my thesis for my phd in yapology. spencer reid loves you sooo much like sooo much. word count: 2k a/n: i miss posting… i miss you guys… im deeply sorry for not posting for over a month. i have so much in the works i promise i promise!! anyways yesss i read dostoevsky before writing this im sure you can tell russian novelists take over your brainnn.

"thank you for loving me when i still tasted of heartache and war." (nikita gill)

There is a certain shade of fear behind a person's eyes when they know they are about to die. 

When there is a gun levelled at their heads, and the wrong thing spills past their mouth, even the most psychotic of God's men will see a second of fear before there is tranquility. Survival instincts kick in, and no narcissistic, smug facade can ever deny that specific human brain's worst fear is dying. 

Is it not most? 

Fear of what dying feels like. Does it hurt? When every organ in your body shuts down, is it slow, and the most agonising of feelings? Or is it quick; painless? Does your brain shut down first and therefore render you unable to actually register the agony you're in? What happens after is an entirely new rabbit hole to delve into. 

Where does our conscious actually go after life? A permanent state of nothingness sounds lonely. Heaven implies there is a celestial being behind everything. Reincarnation means you have to live through this doomed from the start world all over again, and you won't even know it is your second, third, hundredth time on Earth. 

Guilt. 

An annoyingly human emotion that will eat at you from the inside out, chewing its way through organ and bone, consuming you so wholly you stop believing you are worth anything to anyone. You can nurse your own brain back to a faux sense of health, rocking back and forth on the cold wooden planks of apartment flooring, but you can never erase the guilt that takes over your body. For when it is this strong, it is more than just a mere pit churning in your stomach.

It's cold on your side of the bed.

He's pretty sure it's what prompts him awake at the glaring hour of two forty seven in the morning. 

Rumpled sheets provide him the needed comfort that he didn't imagine you going to sleep with him only mere hours earlier, but the lack of warmth left on the fabric frightens him into thinking you've been awake for hours. He pats it down anyway, seeking any inkling of body warmth left within the fabric. Proof that you are still nearby, and haven't had enough time to run too far. 

You haven't. 

By the time his eyes adjust to the blackness of the room, he can see the shadowed outline of your body sitting at the end. Head just visible from your balled up position on the floor, rocking yourself as a desperate attempt to comfort whatever is going on inside your brain. 

He says your name quietly, voice a barely there whisper as he shuffles across the bed to lower next to you. It sounds crackly to your ears, and he's in dire need of water if he wants to fix the hoarseness of it. But you are also as quiet as you hum in response, wiping your eyes with the backs of your hands and turning your head to look at him. 

He doesn't say anything as he coaxes you into his welcoming arms, fingers brushing against your scalp, and accepting your heavy hearted emotions as they are. He lets your walls crumble, and holds on as you sob into his chest, dampening the fabric of his shirt in a way he doesn't particularly like, but he will ignore it for you. 

There's a layer of distaste for the position you are in that almost wills you to rip his arms off of you. Guilt coincides with self loathing more often than not, and he is holding you as if you are soft. 

You are not.

"Do you ever think about dying?" you whisper.

There is silence in his apartment that follows your question, and your eyes transfix on the glow of the moon through the sheer curtains on his windows. It blurs with the fabric, the illusion of a fuzzy circle. You wouldn't know it was the moon if you weren't holding onto its existence with a vicelike grip. 

"I do," he finally provides you, predictably so. "A lot."

"I didn't," you reply, clasping your fingers with his own hand, tracing circles over his knuckles to focus your mind. "Not intensely. Did you know being shot can sometimes feel like nothing?"

"For the first few moments, yes," he nods. Of course he did. "It's due to the nerve networks being our receptors for pain, as opposed to the tactile sensors. Signals move slower between the brain and the nociceptors, which are our pain receptors."

"Do you think he felt nothing when he died?"

A question weighing tonnes. He's silent for a few crucial moments, and you slowly come to your own conclusion of what the answer would be. Probably yes, for you had located where the bullet landed after you'd fired it, and you knew whatever pain receptors he had still functioning would never get those signals to his brain. He was brain dead before he'd even hit the floor. 

"I can't tell you what he felt for absolute certain," he replies, gently shaking your body out of its frozen position so he could lift your limbs atop of his own. He lets you finish the movement of climbing into his lap, face burying into his neck, his arms encircled tight around your waist. "You'll drive yourself crazy thinking about this."

"I feel crazy."

"Honey," he places his palms on either side of your head and pulls it back so he can look at you, thumbs collecting the tears that fall from the movement. "Why is this overwhelming you?"

"I killed someone, Spencer," your voice wavers as you speak, cutting in and out, and you were already so quiet. 

"You killed a man who killed a lot of people," he reasons. "Do you think he sat awake each night and pondered how they felt dying?"

"No, but—"

"—Then why are you?"

You stare at him in bewilderment for a few moments. You're aware there is a point within his accusatory words, but it does not communicate entirely, and you do not like the disdain for the man in front of you that wells in your chest. 

"Because I'm not a psychopath," you murmur, fingers beginning to fidget with the hem of his own shirt. 

He lets out a puff of air that hits your lips signalling his slight frustration, but he nods his head. 

You call him out on it anyways.

"You're angry with me."

He offers you a small smile. 

"I am not angry with you," his fingers poke your sides, and you squirm. "I'm watching you disappear in front of my eyes. I'm concerned."

Reasoning with him is futile. 

Reasoning with him had been futile. He had his forearm wrapped tightly around a nineteen year old girl's throat, and a gun indenting into her temple. Morgan still tried to, and you'd watched nearly helplessly as the bullet clicked into place in the chamber. 

Car crashes move time slowly, it's said. Watching a girl nearly die has the same effect, you suppose. Everything was so clear. You could map out every ridge on the gun, down to its tiniest, minute details. Every engraved line, the rest for his palm roughened from excessive use and sweat eroding at the metal. He was strong enough to manage both the sobbing and writhing girl in his arms and the less than light firearm, and you knew even if you had more than half a second to stop him, you could not without your gun. 

The gunshot reverberated off the concrete walls, and a loud ringing followed you weren't used to. You'd heard gunshots before. You were inured to the sound of them ricocheting around warehouses similar to this, or the safer environment of the academy's firing range. 

It's a different feeling when it's your own gun.

It's an all encompassing feeling when you catch the eyes of the person you are shooting at milliseconds before the bullet hits them. Fear in the eyes of a killer about to be killed. How stupidly poetic.

Perhaps there is a universe out there where humans are able to die in blissful ignorance.

"I used to think I'd be okay with killing an UnSub if I had to," you're staring at the threads fraying from his sweater's neckline, and he makes no move to return your eyes to his. "They're bad people, right? Killed a lot more than me for much less. But I'm—I'm not. I don't know if I ever will be. Where does that leave me? An agent who can't even stop a serial killer without having a breakdown."

"Do you think you're the only one?"

That catches your attention, and you can see the small specks of light in his otherwise dark eyes even in this shadowed room when you catch them.

"No. I know I'm not," you croak. Warmth covers your hands, and it's only then you recognise the movement of your own body. Gripping petulantly onto his sweater were your hands, his own providing a comforting blanket. "You never talk about it, though."

"I can. Do you want me to?" 

Hesitantly, you nod, and he settles his leaning body against the bed. 

"I killed a man named Phillip Dowd when I was twenty-four," he says. "He was an L.D.S.K. Long distance serial killer. How is unimportant, but it was a hostage situation. Like yours. I felt... nothing. For weeks I continued on as if I didn't have somebody's blood on my hands."

"Must be nice," you mumble. 

He chooses not to acknowledge your words. "Gideon told me on our way home from the case that this would all hit me eventually. It took longer than it's taken you, evidently, but by the time it did came around, I let it control my life. It took taping photos of his victims to my walls to let him go."

"I don't want to do that," your knuckles wipe more falling tears, and you watch his lips turn up into a gentle smile. 

"You won't have to. Crying about it is actually much healthier than what I was doing."

You're not sure if he's lying to make you feel better, but you lean into it regardless. 

"Guilt is normal," he adds, quietly. "You're allowed to feel whatever you want to feel about this, but know that anger with yourself is displaced. You did what you had to do, and a lot of good people are alive because of what you did."

"Are you reciting a book to me?" you ask, and there is a warmth that blossoms in your chest when he huffs out a short laugh. 

"Regurgitating the very advice I got when this happened to me, actually," he tilts his head and brings it in closer to yours. "The third was, I'm proud of you."

"For killing a man?" you whisper. 

"For being brave enough to do the only move you had left."

"Is there really nothing else I could've done, though?"

There probably were a thousand things you could've done. You could've ran into him earlier in life and saved him from impotency. You could've been a childhood best friend that brought him out of a shell. You could've been his first kill that set the FBI after him immediately and stopped him from hurting anyone else. But his series of life events, and your own, ran parallel to each other until you were in that room with him pulling the trigger. A frustrating realisation that you can only let life run its course the way it's been meticulously threaded out for you, and the impacts you make on people's lives will be specific and forever preplanned by the fates. 

"No," Spencer tells you, anyways, and you accept his one worded answer as the summary of your own spiralling thoughts. "Let's get you back to bed, yeah?"

"Yeah," you mumble, absentmindedly. 

Your consciousness is outside your body as he helps you up, and you crawl inside the covers next to him. You can barely feel the cotton of sheets against your skin, nor the ghost of his hands on your hips as he pulls you close enough to him. 

Distantly, he says goodnight to you, and reminds you he loves you. He doesn't press for a response, and you don't remember to give him one.

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated ♡

[velaris-fic-repository]

Mates of a Different Kind

@sjmxreaderweek May 6th Prompt: Fate/Choice

Azriel x Illyrian!Reader, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Wound Tending

Summary: You met your mate and agreed to a getting to know you style date. Things go poorly.

TW: Injury, Light Misogyny (but not from Azriel)

A/N: I’m so in love with this one y’all! Enjoy!!

Azriel could barely keep from grinding his teeth together as he watched you from across Rita’s crowded bar.

More accurately, he was glaring daggers at your date. At the casual drape of his arm over your shoulder, claiming, even on a first date. Arrogance radiated off the other male in waves and the look on your face suggested you knew that. You’d asked him to be here, one of your oldest friends, in case you needed him.

Azriel knew you were more than capable of handling yourself, one of the few Illyrian females that had made it out of their camp with your wings still intact - with help from Rhys’s mother but not without significant strength of your own. Those very wings were shifting uncomfortably around this High Fae male’s arm, the limb thoughtlessly tossed wherever he wanted it to be. Despite the lack of training, muscle and physiology, he was like certain Illyrian males in one aspect. Attitude.

But Azriel would wait. You’d asked him to wait until you signaled, if you even did. It was your first date with the male you’d discovered to be your mate, and Azriel didn’t want to ruin it. He’d suffer a thousand evils for you, if you wanted him or not.

The date was so far a disaster, but you were trying to remain optimistic. You’d agreed to this one date, so both of you could feel each other out. Your meeting was so sudden and unexpected, the bond snapping almost instantly. You wanted to see where this twist of fate would lead, just to explore the avenue. This was meant to be a casual get to know each other style meeting. You’d promised yourself and the Cauldron that you’d at least try. But, if you were being honest, when the bond snapped - an event you’d built up in your mind to be a romantic, sweeping-off-your-feet style encounter - you ended up disappointed. You hadn’t expected it to be someone you barely knew. You’d always thought… well, no sense in thinking that now. Those were the fanciful thoughts of a little girl. Fate did not always cater to your heart’s desire. The least you could do was hear it out.

Though, you were starting to think a mistake had been made. You’d barely gotten a word in edgewise the entire hour you’d been here. This male, Soril, had quite the fancy for himself. His stories were all mundane in nature, but he told them with a sense of bravado that you were clearly meant to swoon over. The way he was talking, you had a feeling he’d expected you to have melted into his side with doe eyes already. Something that, even if you wanted to - and you definitely did not - would have been impossible to do comfortably with the way he’d pinned one of your wings. A mistake, of course, there weren’t a lot of Illyrians in Velaris, he couldn’t have had any idea how to properly maneuver around the beautiful but cumbersome appendages. You were just thankful his fingers hadn’t accidentally touched them yet.

You shifted again and he finally, begrudgingly maybe - though the expression was gone before you could fully identify it - removed his arm from your shoulder.

“Sorry.”

You waved it off, “it’s okay, I wouldn’t expect you to understand the intricacies of these-“ you ruffled your wings a bit, happy to stretch them just a smidge- “upon first interacting with them.”

“You know, I thought Illyrian females didn’t have wings, or at least, didn’t use them,” he said, though not unkindly which was a relief.

You coughed a bit at the memories pulled to your mind of your fellow Illyrian sisters whose unfortunate fates you’d been unable to stop. A kind of survivor’s guilt you’d never escaped. “It’s not a… natural disuse.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” you said, for lack of other things to say, reaching for your water.

Shadows danced around the room, almost natural for the darkened atmosphere of the bar, but you knew better. He’d heard, and was agitated. You patted twice on the table, the signal that everything was fine. The shadows shifted, but remained in their places.

Soril twiddled his thumbs a bit, glancing at the small amounts of food on your table, “So, do you want to offer me what’s on your plate? Oh, no,“ he said, seemingly thinking better of it, “it’s probably best if you make me something at home, right?”

You blinked.

“I’m sorry?”

“You know, the food thing for the bond?”

You narrowed your eyes, saying through slightly gritted teeth, “I’m afraid I’m not following.”

“You know, the female offering the male food so the bond can be accepted.”

“Soril,” you laughed politely, he had to be joking, “we’ve only just met not two days ago.”

“I mean, yeah, but we’re mates,” he said, staring at you like you’d grown a second head, “what more is there?”

You were going to choke.

Attempting your politest smile, saying loud enough for the shadows close by to hear you, “I’m going to go get some more water.” As much as you wanted to, you certainly weren’t drinking alcohol this evening.

“Hurry back, love,” he said.

Your skin crawled all the way to the bar. You took back your previous statement, you were going to vomit instead.

You took the time between receiving your water, and the walk back to slowly recenter yourself. You both had just gotten off on the wrong foot. He was just eager, that’s all. You’d explain your terms and boundaries to him and start over. Everything would be fine.

You were almost back to the table when you noticed someone had stopped by. Soril was talking to a friend of his. You paused your approach, giving them space. You tried not to eavesdrop, glancing around the room of revelers and dancers for where Azriel might be, but the sounds of the bar around you just so happened to quiet enough that you could hear them.

“So what’s she like?”

“A little skittish it seems,” Soril answered.

You scrunched your nose up, the word ‘skittish’ had never been used to describe you, ever. You’d fought on countless battlefields, fought even for the right to be on them. He truly knew nothing about you or Illyrians if he didn’t see that word for the insult you felt it to be, but the conversation continued.

“I didn’t think it would be this hard, you know? But it’ll be worth it. Be charming enough, meet her standards and then we’ll have enough influence to get our trope off the ground.”

Soril had mentioned belonging to a group of performers, had described the near Herculean effort it was to try and make it in the entertainment business of this town. Was that seriously all he wanted?

Unfortunately for him, his mouth continued to move. “It’ll be nice to be part of that group, what is it? The Inner Sanctum? Circle? Whichever. I’m looking forward to having some say around here.”

He thought he could use you? As an in to your family? Oh, that was it. You weren’t going to choke. You weren’t going to vomit. You were going to use the siphons you had bled for to tear the male to shreds. Better yet, you’d do it with your bare hands.

You walked up behind him, staring down his friend, who had the common sense to look ready to wet himself at the sight of an angry Illyrian warrior.

Not female. Warrior.

“I think you should leave,” you said and you didn’t need to tell him twice. He tore off as soon as he could, disappearing into the cover of Rita’s other patrons, abandoning Soril to the fate that awaited him.

The male in question turned around, smile on his face. “There you are, love! I was wondering where you were? What’s the scowl for?”

You took your glass of water and dumped the freezing liquid on his head. As he cried out, your anger seized within you and before you knew it, shards sprayed out from your hand. The glass was no more.

“This date, and whatever we were beginning to be, are done.” You promptly turned and stalked away.

Soril, indignant, rose and followed you, “Wait!” He reached for you.

You turned, grappling his wrist and twisting hard enough to hear it crunch.

“You want to be part of this family so badly?” You said, spitting venom loud enough for all of Rita’s to hear you, “try to touch me again and you will see exactly what the Court of Nightmares sees. You want to use people? That’s fine. Best of luck with that. You’d better pray that I never hear even a whisper of your name ever again. I am not a means to an end, bond or no bond. Have a nice life.”

You could have gone on, but to the people of Velaris you were a civil servant and a representative of your family.

You dropped his wrist and said, diplomatically, “apologies everyone, I sincerely hope this interruption hasn’t ruined your night. I’ll pay for the glass I broke, but I need to leave.”

“On the house, dear,” Rita said from the bar, glaring daggers of her own at the whimpering Soril.

“Thank you,” you said, suddenly feeling small as you pulled your wings around yourself like a blanket. You promptly left, replaying the previous events in your head once in Rhys’s direction with mental apologies for any damages to the family’s reputation.

Soril recovered, anger flashing over his features as he stalked towards the door, after you. He didn’t get far, colliding quickly with a strong Illyrian male chest.

“I don’t think,” Azriel said lowly as the festivities of Rita’s tentatively resumed around them, the patrons flicking their eyes in their direction every so often, “that your current course of action is very wise. You heard the lady. She wants nothing to do with you.”

Soril, about a foot shorter and far leaner, glared up at him despite the difference. “She’s my mate. You can’t block access to her. This is none of your business.”

“Considering what you planned to use her to do, and that she is family, it’s very much my business. It would be for any female unlucky enough to have the misfortune of your company.”

“Cauldron, you all are so up your own asses! Let me through!”

Azriel made a show of considering his request. What he really wanted to do was bring this fucker down to the dungeons and beat him until he was as black and blue as his leathers and siphons. But this revenge, should it need to be taken, was not his to have. Azriel knew if you wanted to, you could do that job better than he could ever dream of doing. Additionally, you’d very publicly dressed him down. The performance industry ran on reputation and word of mouth. It was unlikely that he, or anyone associated with him, would be finding a job any time soon.

“She’s my mate!” Soril shouted, attempting to push at the wall Azriel had become, “let me through!”

Azriel leaned forward, stilling Soril. “You aren’t mates until the bond is accepted, and unfortunately for you, the entire bar just saw it as good as fizzle out. You clearly don’t know much about our people, but understand this. You are everything she hates about home. You heard the lady. You’d better pray she never finds you.”

He felt a scratching on his shields and let his brother in. Az, he heard Rhys’s mildly panicked voice in his mind, get out of there, now. She needs you. She stopped talking to me.

Fuck.

He punched Soril in the stomach and left promptly after, not turning to see the quivering male whimpering on the ground.

It didn’t take him long to find you. Azriel knew where your favorite spot in Velaris was. The clocktower overlooking the harbor had the perfect slant to its roof that you didn’t have to perch, you could sit and watch the town bustle beneath you without worrying about sliding off. It was the place you always went when you wanted to be alone. It’s where he always found you because he knew, deep down that you didn’t.

He slowed to a stop, sitting beside you as you hugged your knees. In the time honored tradition of late night clocktower sessions, you instinctively leaned into his shoulder, vision never leaving the city below you. He leaned on you right back.

“I’m sorry,” he said eventually.

Your grateful silence answered him. And he knew you were, too, didn’t he? You two never needed words to communicate. You had always been in tune with each other that way, even when you were kids. It’s why he’d always thought…

The silence tonight though felt too heavy, felt like too much. So, if you would not provide the sound, he would.

“You didn’t deserve that, didn’t deserve what he wanted to do with you. I’m sorry.”

More silence until you said, “Az?” He’d never heard your voice so small. Not even in the aftermath of your sorry excuse for a father trying unsuccessfully to clip your wings.

“Yes?”

“Do you think the Cauldron makes mistakes?”

“Clearly it does if tonight is any indication.”

You laughed weakly, creating a dull ache in Azriel’s chest as his mouth twitched down. That’s not what your laugh sounded like and damn the male that caused the beautiful sound of your joy to diminish.

You clenched your fists, looking up in surprise when you felt a few stabs of pain in one of them. Sure enough, the fist you had used to shatter the glass at Rita’s was bleeding, pieces of glass protruding from a few shallow cuts.

“Oh fuck,” you said, reaching to pull the glass out.

“Wait! Stop!” Azriel said, “let me.”

You almost rolled your eyes, “I’m not fragile, Azriel. I can handle a little glass.”

“I know,” he said softly, “I want to help though.” He already had pieces of cloth ready, fetched for him by one of his shadows, the little thing rubbing soothingly against you after being relieved of its cargo.

He carefully removed the shards, cleaning your wounds as he went, apologizing when you hissed.

“This feels familiar,” you said, remembering fondly the gentle care you’d given his hands for so many years.

Azriel smiled softly at you, removing the last piece of glass and carefully wrapping them up for safe disposal. “My turn to return the favor, huh?”

“It was never a favor,” you said.

“I know,” he responded, carefully wrapping your hand. “How are you feeling? Emotionally, I mean.”

You sighed, “Angry. Violated. Sad.”

“Mhmm?” he said, your collective signal for more.

“I just,” you paused, unsure if your vulnerable thoughts were safe to voice. You surveyed the male ahead of you, listening but focused on wrapping your hand. Not looking at you in the event eye contact was too much.

This was Azriel.

“I just can’t stop thinking, that’s my mate? That’s my equal? That’s who I was made for?”

Azriel stopped his first aide for a moment, locking eyes with you with an intensity usually reserved for the battlefield.

“You were made for yourself. You were made to exist and live your life. You are not a feature of someone else’s.” He growled, “I should skin that male for putting that idea in your head.”

You tried to ignore the ratcheting up of your heart at his words as you responded, “I didn’t mean- Az, I know that. I misspoke. You get what I meant, right? I just can’t help but think that, if he’s so awful, what does that say about me?”

“Not a damn thing.”

He said it with such determination and certainty that you finally smiled.

“Mates are overrated anyway,” you joked as Azriel continued wrapping your hand, “who needs ‘em?”

“Not us,” Azriel said, just happy to see you smile again.

“I never thought it would be someone like him.”

Azriel’s heart stuttered as he asked, “Had someone in mind?”

“…yeah.”

He didn’t want to ask. He didn’t want to know. He didn’t want to hear you talk about some other male you fancied, some other male you thought you were meant to be with. Not when he wished more than anything that you were his.

Okay, maybe his hatred of Soril came from two places.

But you were his friend, and you needed him, so, “Who was it?”

“I’m looking at him.”

Eyes blown wide, he glanced up at you, finding your eyes not watching one of the sailors below, or one of the males walking the streets that night.

Him. You were staring sheepishly at him.

“I-“

He didn’t know what to say. How was he supposed to wrap his head around this? The woman he’d loved for centuries, the one he thought he’d almost lost tonight, loved him back? Had wished, just like he had, that the two of you were mates?

Thankfully, you saved him. You raised your wrapped hand and tentatively touched his cheek. “I know,” was all you said. And you did know, didn’t you?

You inspected your wrapped hand, the dark fabric carefully protecting your self-inflicted injury.

“You know what this reminds me of?”

“What?” Azriel asked, hardly able to think straight.

“A mating ceremony ribbon.”

Azriel huffed a laugh as you two looked at each other.

“Can I? Can I kiss you? I feel like I’m going to die if I don’t,” he said finally.

“Well I can’t have the love of my life dying on me now, can I?”

He leaned in immediately, kissing you like he needed you to breathe. It was everything you had ever hoped it would be. You had been right before, mates were overrated. The one you chose was much better.

[misguidedswagger]

little dove (anakin skywalker x reader angst)

a/n: hi! welcome to my first anakin fic! i saw that he won the poll so im ngl i hit the bowl and closed my eyes for a second and now we have this!!! this was originally based off a prompt: "why are you lying to me?" and it ended up taking me about four days to complete this! i really really hope you guys enjoy this! this has become my favorite piece i've ever written. lmk if you'd like to see more <3 warnings: f!reader, angst, swearing, padmé is NOT nice in this, god forgive me i'm so sorry padmé. it hurt my heart to write her in such a way lowkey , forbidden romance, broken promises,

masterlist

w/c:8.5k

“little…dove?”

“i think it suits you. don’t you realize the symbolism of doves?”

“i’m afraid that i don’t, master.”

“to me, my young padawan, you represent peace, love, and freedom: some things i’m afraid the galaxy is lacking.”

—

y/n was laying on anakin’s lap and feeding him grapes on her balcony, the duo basking in the sun’s warmth together. neither one spoke, more than comfortable in the silence of each other. their shared time together had become habitual, but only recently did the pair realize that they felt more towards each other, more than simply padawan and master.

the sun shined brightly through anakin’s hair, the sun illuminating his blond curls and almost making them appear golden. streaks of sunshine broke through anakin’s loose curls, highlighting y/n’s beautiful e/c eyes in the bright sunshine. y/n lost herself in the jedi’s features for a moment, unable to form any other coherent thoughts besides wow, entirely unaware that anakin was thinking the same about her. 

"what? is something on my face?" his voice a low rumble, disturbing y/n from her reverie, that signature smirk of his spread wide across his cheeks. she only smiled warmly in reply before speaking,

"beauty." it was y/n’s turn to smirk now, at the sight of anakin's cheeks flushing pink right before her eyes. it was the cutest thing y/n had ever seen and she wanted to be sure to commit the sight to memory. “you’d think the almighty chosen one would recognize my honesty through the force,” y/n teased, lightly prodding anakin’s chest, still adjusting to his new uniform.

anakin leaned down and kissed y/n’s hand that held the grapes softly, before stealing the grape from her fingers with his lips, eliciting a soft giggle from the padawan. “I think you might be feeling under the weather if you truly believe that,” anakin teased back lightheartedly. 

a familiar sequence of beeps and boops interrupted y/n before she could reply, watching as the droid that was always at anakin’s side approached the two from inside the woman’s quarters. it had been on y/n’s to do list to commit herself to fluently learning binary, but alas, she once again had to turn to her master for the translation of what r2 said, just as always.

with a loud groan, anakin’s head dropped and his body nearly folded in half, his arms wrapping around y/n tighter so as to not knock her over from the sudden influx of weight she had to bear. based on his annoyance, y/n frowned and finally replied, 

“you’re being summoned again, aren’t you?” y/n spoke, the frown on her face only deepening upon noticing anakin’s subtle nod. she pushed the jedi upward off herself, sitting up to give him a tight hug. she forced herself to smile hopefully as she spoke, reaching a hand up to push a stray, golden curl behind his ear, “will i see you later?” 

“of course you will, my little dove. i’ll be back before you even know it, then we can have a lovely dinner together before evening training.” anakin promised before he placed a gentle kiss on her forehead, his gloved, metal hand on the back of her head to maintain some semblance of intimacy as long as he could. y/n closed her eyes and enjoyed anakin’s presence while she had it, leaning into his touch. 

“i hate having to hide how much i love you, ani.” y/n said dejectedly, hoping that she'd finally be able to hear the words from him. anakin starting to rub the apples of her cheeks in a soothing manner, his gaze softening as the pad of his thumb continued to rub comforting circles on y/n’s cheek. the nickname she’d created for him made his heart skip a beat, his smile only widening. 

“i promise you’ll see me later, okay?” y/n reluctantly motioned to stand with a soft nod, watching as her master stood. anakin extended his hand to help y/n stand, the woman gladly taking any opportunity to touch her secret lover and master.

y/n tugged anakin down by his shoulders, her hands resting on his new armor. she let her fingers run over the plate, in awe of anakin and his achievements. he never failed to disappoint or surprise her. 

“i don’t think i ever had the chance to tell you, but i’m so proud of you for becoming a general, master. i knew you could do it. i can’t wait for what’s to come.” y/n said, a warm smile across her face despite how sad she was to see him leave. she let her hands rest on the armor for a minute, her eyes meeting his. she looked into those bright blue eyes of his, feeling herself melt into a puddle at that gaze,  the one reserved for her.

anakin only smiled, pulling y/n into his arms, holding her tight—-so tight that it seemed like she would float away if he let up in the slightest. y/n pulled away slightly to hold the general’s face in her hands, connecting his lips with her own. 

—

y/n was in her bedroom, pacing back and forth anxiously. even when he couldn’t immediately return to her, she always heard when anakin left and returned from missions, whether it was through 3po, r2, or gods, even obi-wan! it was driving her more than a little insane crazy that it was deep into the hours of the early morning and she’d heard nothing from her anakin. he promised that’d he’d be back in time to have a nice dinner with her before their nightly training, yet here she was, pacing back and forth, alone, in the darkness of her quarters.

the walls felt suffocating, as if she were confined in them. y/n felt her master’s presence on the planet, but she hadn’t heard from him. was he hiding from me? she couldn’t stop the anxious thoughts that had begun to swirl in her mind and abdomen, anxious nausea filling her body. no. she reminded herself, closing her eyes to steady her thoughts. she forced herself to remember her training, how to balance emotions as they came and letting them go before they fester after acknowledgment. it was beyond difficult and her optimism was starting to lose its spark, despite her hopeful nature wanting to assume this was simply anakin testing her. she was fighting herself to not spiral, which was seeming to be a difficult battle for the young padawan.

arguably, the worst part of being in a secret relationship with anakin was how y/n could never openly be his. she could never be whisked away on dates, never be kissed or hugged in public, she would only ever be viewed as general anakin skywalker’s padawan. she was a secret as far as she was concerned.  the anxious thoughts continued to violate her mind before a memory from before she began her training with the general hit the back of her eyelids,

“y/n, trust me! being my lady in waiting would be so much fun! you wouldn’t have to do anywhere near as much as you’d think! you could leave behind all the fighting and rough housing, you could live lavishly with me! can’t you imagine how great it would be to have an official position next to your best friend? especially as a force-sensitive person, oh you’d be perfect, a force to be reckoned with.” padmé held y/n’s hands tightly, her eyes searching her best friend’s for what emotion she was feeling. “can’t you just imagine it?!” the older encouraged excitedly, her grip on y/n’s hands tightening ever so slightly before her expression faltered at the sight of y/n not sharing her reaction. “i’ve gathered more of an understanding of how things work after a full term as queen, and y/n, i feel you would really thrive by my side.”  

“padmé, it’s not that i don’t wish to be your lady in waiting, really, I think it’d be grand, but, how i wish you’d asked me just a day sooner. as of yesterday, i’ve been invited to become general skywalker’s padawan.” y/n admitted, the excitement in her eyes prompting a storm of emotion in the queen. but, instead of speaking her mind, like she always did, padmé decided to withhold her true opinion, unbeknownst to her best friend. the queen forced a smile, remembering the day she’d met skywalker as a padawan, the day her own life had changed and he had stolen her heart.

jealousy coursed through the queen’s blood for the first time in her life. she’d never envied anyone, nor had she ever acted in her own self interest. it almost hurt her to be jealous of y/n, someone she’d known longer than she’d been queen of naboo, her childhood best friend. padmé’s mind raced with thoughts she knew she shouldn’t have had and instead of stopping them, for once, she let herself be selfish and indulge in them.

“wow, y/n! i’m so excited for you! the general is truly one of the most lovely jedi i’ve ever met. you’re going to become one of the strongest there are, especially at anakin’s side!” padmé wrapped her arms around y/n, her grip similar to that of a fully grown python. “i’m so proud of you, y/n/n.” 

y/n smiled, squeezing the queen back tightly, relieved that her friend wasn’t upset at her. “ to tell you the truth, i’m ecstatic about this opportunity. thank you for being so understanding about this, padmé.” y/n spoke, her relief palpable. the queen’s grip only tightened at her thanks, a smirk making its way onto her face as she rested her chin on y/n’s shoulder.

“you have nothing to thank me for, y/n. i promise.”  

as the memory faded away from the forefront of her mind, y/n had half a mind to close her eyes and let the force guide her to anakin, but as soon as the thought crossed her mind, the door swung open to reveal just the man who had been consuming her every waking hour, thoughts, and feelings.

“maker, anakin, i was so worried about you.” y/n approached her master, extending her arms in the direction of him for a hug. the general happily indulged in the contact, pulling y/n into his warm arms. she fought the urge to nuzzle her face into his chest, letting his presence alone soothe her anxiety.

“you’re shaking.” anakin observed, pulling away slightly to look into his padawan’s e/c eyes, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. it was his own quiet way of telling her he expected an answer to his statement. he was worried, y/n could gather that  much from his tone. 

“i just missed you is all,” y/n answered a little quicker than she intended, hoping her master wouldn’t catch onto how she’d already had an answer prepared for his question. 

“your words tell me one thing, yet your body language defies you. why are you lying to me, y/n?” anakin asked, nudging her chin with his forefinger and thumb, her chin balanced in the empty space in between his fingers to make her look him in the eye. his words extracted the breath in her lungs, y/n’s head hanging in shame as she realized she was caught.

“what happened tonight? why were you so late? what about our plans?” y/n fought the tremble in her voice, though she wanted nothing more than for anakin to hold her close and reassure her as she fell apart in those strong arms of his. 

guilt cast over anakin’s face like a shadow, “i’m so sorry, little dove. i was escorting the queen to a…” hearing the first half of anakin’s explanation sent a wave of nausea through y/n’s body. it seemed as of lately, her best friend wanted nothing to do with her, and only her master. it made her feel sick to her stomach, especially because padmé had reassured y/n that nothing was going on between the two of them, and the girl still felt this bothered by it. 

but, she saw the way padmé looked at him. it was the same way y/n looked at anakin. but, she said nothing. its not like she would jeopardize her second term as queen, just for him, right? y/n was anxious, she was only falling victim to her emotions, right? anakin would remain loyal to her, there was no way he wouldn’t.

right​?

“hey.” there was anakin’s sweet voice again, ringing through the chaos of her mind, the only thing she could see and hear clearly, “tell me what’s on your mind.” anakin leaned down a bit, trying to catch y/n’s dancing gaze before ultimately sighing quietly and tilting her head to look into his eyes again. 

“you left me all alone, no contact. i could feel that you were here on the planet, why didn’t you immediately tell me when you came back like always? you were late, its early morning now, and you promised to be home before dinner and our lesson. can you really blame me for being so upset, anakin?” y/n gently breathed through her emotions, remembering her training despite her anxious and heavy heart. she pulled away from anakin’s touch, electing to cross her arms over her chest instead.

the general took a step forward, grabbing y/n’s wrist and tugging her forward, spinning her into his arms before he leaned in and cupped y/n’s face. he rested his forehead against her own, his free hand on her waist, “i’m sorry for being late, my love. will you let me make it up to you?” he whispered sweetly to her, placing gentle kisses all over her face. “let me make you something to eat, then i’m all yours for the rest of the day. i promise.” anakin ran his hand through her hair gently, being careful to not tug on her hair too harshly as he awaited her answer. y/n almost melted at the action, closing her eyes for a moment to enjoy the calming sensation. after a few moments, before she let herself be lulled to sleep while standing, y/n finally conceded,

“fine. but make my favorite.”

—

“what do you mean you’re stepping down from a third term? padmé, the people are advocating to change the law for you to be allowed a third term–” y/n asked her best friend in disbelief, her brows knitted together tightly as she processed what padmé was saying. 

“i mean, that i feel like i’d be more helpful to my people if i were involved in more of the political side of things,” she answered, her tone unnecessarily rude. it almost startled y/n, as padmé was hardly ever short with her. but then again, y/n had noticed that the nature of their relationship started to change when she had become anakin’s padawan. but there was no way that was the reason their over ten year long friendship was rocky, absolutely no way at all. 

y/n reminded herself of her training once more. only siths deal in absolutes, the words of master obi-wan kenobi as fresh in her mind as the day he’d drilled them into her brain, over two years ago: an off-the-cuff comment the day she was inducted as general skywalker’s padawan. 

“what’s wrong, padmé? i feel you and i have been drifting apart, especially as of your last term. you never talk to me anymore, are you okay?” y/n asked, her tone concerned as she placed a gentle hand on the queen’s senator’s shoulder, the worry in her gaze evident. y/n’s worry was soon replaced with shock and a lightning strike to the heart as she watched padmé’s previously neutral expression be overtaken with disgust at y/n’s touch. 

the padawan dropped her hand as if she had been burnt from padmé’s shoulder and she forced her heart to harden. the woman stiffened as padmé finally answered her question, “perhaps we simply don’t fit into each other’s lives anymore.” padmé being uncharacteristically rude and distrusting became something y/n could no longer bear. the pain of her friendship with padmé splintering became unignorable.

“what? what are you talking about? where is this coming from?!” y/n’s eyes were widened in shock at padmé’s ‘explanation’ of her sudden coldness towards her. “padmé, this doesn’t even make sense, talk to me like we’re still those little girls picking flowers in the garden together!” y/n pleaded, taking a timid step towards her childhood friend. the poor padawan sounded like she was close to tears, a heart-wrenching contrast to the queen who wore a blank slate as her expression. 

padmé only remained silent, taking a step back as y/n attempted to close the distance in between them. y/n could feel her heart shattering into smaller and smaller pieces as padmé drowned her in the sound of silence. the young padawan let her hurt fester in her chest for a moment or more, storing the pain deep inside her mind as she’d be able to use it later in her training, hating that she had to treat the loss of her life long friend as a lesson. 

“p-padmé…? are you not even going to say anything at all?” 

y/n couldn’t take the silence anymore, regretting all the times she’d taken her friendship with padmé for granted. after a moment, y/n finally offered a simple, single nod to padmé. 

“right, then. i can clearly sense you’ve made up your mind about this. i don’t know what i did to you, or what i could’ve possibly said, but, i wish you well, padmé. i hope we can one day fix this.” with that, y/n left padmé’s room, blinking back tears that begged to be set free from the prison that were y/n’s tear ducts. 

later, y/n found herself in the training room, a bead of sweat starting to form at the edges of her scalp as she practiced using the force on the heaviest weights in the room. she’d been training for nearly an hour now, and once again, anakin was nowhere to be found. she checked his quarters, the council room, and not even the council knew where he was. reluctantly, back she traversed to the training room, electing to do something useful with her time instead of anxiously pacing around her quarters for hours at a time again. 

she couldn’t even stay focused on her exercises, anakin’s absence weighing on her heavier than she was comfortable admitting. for a moment, she’d zoned out, staring at the tan wall across from her as images of her and padmé growing up together raced through her mind at several miles per hour. y/n felt a strike through her chest at the loss of padmé, letting out a loud grunt as she force pulled the weights about an inch in front of her foot from across the large training room. y/n let out a noise of disbelief, shocked at her new achievement. momentarily forgetting she was the only one present in the room, she grinned and turned around. disappointment washed over her in waves, the weight heavy enough to hold her down on the ground. her master wasn’t there, he hadn’t seen how much she had been improving.

anakin sighed, annoyance starting to spread through his body. of course, last minute, as he was on his way to train with y/n, master yoda had summoned him to the council room. he entered to see mace windu, yoda, and queen padmé present. “what’s going on here? why was I summoned?” the young general asked, fully aware of the fact that he was now running late. he hoped to the force that y/n would forgive him this time.

“there has been an attempt on queen amidala’s life.” mace windu’s words resulted in anakin narrowing his eyes. the jedi’s eyes found the queen’s, surprised to find her already looking at him. anakin’s eyes found master windu’s again,

“i see...but what does that-” anakin’s question was cut short as master windu spoke over him,

“it means you are assigned to be the queen’s bodyguard until further notice. you are to tell no one where you’re going, nor are you allowed to tell anyone your mission. the less who know, the better.” anakin’s eyes widened at the thought of being separated from y/n, his heart starting to race,

“surely my padawan will be invited along so i can continue her training in the meantime, right? and besides, she and the queen are lifelong friend-” queen amidala interrupted anakin this time, another wave of displeasure washing over him at the constant interruptions,

“we are not,” anakin took notice of padmé’s tone, not liking it one bit. he thought of how y/n would speak of padmé, her attitude not matching y/n’s kind descriptions of her. once again, he narrowed his eyes,

master yoda spoke now, anakin’s heart sinking at his words, “your padawan, continue her training with master obi-wan she will. worry, you must not, in good hands will she be." anakin wanted to argue but he knew it would only push him further from his end goal. with a sigh, he turned to padmé once more,

“tell me what happened in the attempt.” anakin crossed his arms over his broad chest, not even bothering to hide his obvious displeasure over his new assignment. he had to find a way to communicate with y/n before she thought he was abandoning her and forgetting about her again.

padmé seemed to be caught off guard by anakin’s demand, obvious from the way her breath caught in her throat and the way her eyes widened ever so slightly. the queen cleared her throat delicately before speaking, “well...i was in my bed room and i saw someone aiming at me with a blaster through the window.”

“that’s it…? nothing actually happened and now i'm being given the task of protecting you-?”

“watch your tone and remember who exactly you’re speaking to, young skywalker,” windu spat angrily, shaking his head at anakin’s blatant disrespect of the queen. anakin sighed loudly at the correction, rubbing his temples as he processed what was being said to him. he finally snapped his head up after a moment,

“when do we leave? can i at least tell my padawan that i-” yet another interruption, causing anakin to nearly roll his eyes. nobody ever let him express himself, not like y/n did, and quite frankly he was growing tired of it.

“you both leave tonight, we on the other hand will let your padawan know of your surrender of her training.” windu groaned, annoyed that like always, the young skywalker questioned everything instead of a simple nod and ‘yes, master.’ anakin’s eyes widened at windu’s words,

“i can’t have her thinking i willingly abandoned her.” his brows furrowed, his body growing more and more tense. “you’ll let me at least say goodbye…” he trailed off, almost surprised he hadn’t been interrupted this time.

“i think it would only benefit you to remember that jedi are not to form attachments to anyone, general. not even their own padawan.” mace windu’s words were a warning, or maybe a challenge, anakin thought to himself, before simply turning around and storming off towards the doors of the council room. “anakin!” mace windu called after him, soon realizing it was to no avail as the young jedi only continued to walk towards the door faster with no intentions of turning around.

padmé followed after anakin, lifting her dress to jog after him. as she approached him, they exited the doors together. anakin still hadn’t turned to look at padmé until they were at their assigned ship. something felt wrong about this whole thing, but then again, when didn’t anakin question the choices of others around him?

anakin stepped into the ship padmé led him to, his mind racing as he thought of y/n, closing his eyes in an attempt to communicate with y/n through the force. as soon as he felt y/n’s energy, the ship started to take off. his eyes shot open to the sight of padmé having booted up the ship, immediately noticing she typed in the coordinates to naboo.

“hey, wait a minute, I wasn’t ready yet!” anakin argued before he realized the ship was moving already, just slightly out of range of his padawan now. it almost seemed like something was trying to keep anakin and y/n apart. anakin swore he could feel it and he suppressed a growl,

“padmé.” anakin spoke her first name, “i told you I wasn’t ready yet.” with an annoyed sigh, padmé turned to anakin,

“well, maybe if you hadn’t stormed out of the council room like that, you would’ve heard that naboo is expecting us within the hour. why are you acting like this, ani? you’re never this disagreeable about an assignment.” padmé said with a frown, her gaze attempting to peer into the windows of anakin’s soul. with a scoff, anakin broke eye contact before shaking his head, the use of y/n's nickname for him for once igniting an angry blaze within his heart, disgust etching itself across his face,

“don’t look at me like that. i don’t like it, not one bit.” anakin insisted, ignoring padmé’s question. "and don't call me that, that isn't what i go by to you." a war was raging inside anakin’s mind, several smaller battles creating a mass conflict inside him. he felt like he was going to explode any minute.

he worried for his young padawan, he knew exactly how this was going to look to her and he despised it. he was furious he couldn’t explain to her what was going on, he could only imagine how much this was hurting her.

the thought that someone had found out about his and y/n’s secret caused him to stiffen before he forced himself to relax. he’d been on several missions protecting padmé as of recently, and before today he almost considered them friends.

anakin let his thoughts encase y/n, his lovely padawan. he hadn’t yet noticed that the queen was staring at him. his heart stung from the lack of y/n, his right side cold without her. he refused to tell padmé his feelings, he couldn’t. sure, his new assignment was to protect padmé, but his first priority was to keep y/n safe. he knew they’d both be forced into exile if anyone were to ever find out about their secret relationship, and that was anakin's worst nightmare.

padmé hated the silence she was met with and thought of some way, any way she could break through the jedi’s walls, get him out of his head and pay attention to her. padmé could tell what, or rather, who was on anakin’s mind, “if this is about me interrupting you earlier, i'm sorry. y/n and I had just gotten into a terrible fight shortly before you had arrived, my mind has been everywhere and nowhere all at once.” she spoke with an anxious chuckle. to her satisfaction, anakin finally looked her in the eyes at the sound of y/n’s name,

“what happened? is she alright?” anakin asked, his worry for y/n only growing. there it was, anakin’s weak spot, y/n.

“she’s been so different lately,” padmé lied, forcing a sad expression as she spoke about the woman she’d began to resent, “i’m sure its that man she’s been around lately, but she wouldn’t even listen to me, her childhood best friend!” anakin’s heart stopped at padmé’s words,

“what?” was all anakin could muster in reply, nausea rising into his stomach and chest. “what man?” anakin said almost bitterly, tasting the bile in the back of his throat.

a look of shock crossed padmé’s features as she covered her mouth, as if she could take back the words that she had already spoken, “she wouldn’t tell me who, but...she had mentioned to me that when she wasn’t with you or me, she was with him.” anakin almost vomited from padmé’s truth, having to force himself to take deep breaths.

anakin didn’t know how much time passed until padmé landed the ship, his eyes finally refocusing on the sight ahead of him, naboo.

—

“no, I refuse to believe that. anakin w-wouldn’t have left without at least saying goodbye, or telling me. something had to have happened.” y/n shook her head, unbelieving of the news she was being told. frostbite exploded across her chest, the warmth of shame and the icy truth of betrayal prominently battling within her, a moment’s weakness reminding her of the secret she had been forced to be, forced to keep. she felt like her heart was being ripped out of her chest.

mace windu narrowed his eyes at the young padawan, “master skywalker, for your information, has surrendered responsibility of you to master obi-wan,” he extended his hand to the side where obi-wan sat, a much less jovial than normal tone as he greeted y/n with his usual,

“hello, there.” he waved awkwardly, deciding for himself to take over the explanation from mace, knowing it would be less harsh of an explanation to y/n if he told her himself. he took a step forward to be closer to y/n’s line of sight, “don’t fret, young one. this wasn’t due to anything you may or may not have done, you can relax. i can almost feel your fear,” obi-wan said lightheartedly, accompanied by a chuckle in an attempt to soothe the padawan’s nerves. “this was a decision made by the council, as anakin was sent away on a new assignment.” obi-wan’s eyes were soft and caring as he spoke, worried for the younger jedi in training, noticing her extreme upset.

obi-wan noticed she had little to no reaction at his attempt at a joke and he turned to windu, a nod in his direction, “anakin had told me of the plans he had for y/n’s training, i'd like to get a head start on that if you wouldn’t mind, master windu,” obi-wan watched as he mulled over the thought momentarily before waving the two off,

“you’re both dismissed.” as master windu spoke, y/n flipped around and stormed toward the door, the resemblance of her master’s actions mere hours prior not lost on him. windu clenched his fists before standing up from his seat and turning away to look out the window.

the doors to the council room flew open with a nod of y/n’s head as she channeled the force to swing the doors for her. obi-wan quickly gained on her, following her back to her quarters, “i don’t get it obi-wan,” y/n let out dejectedly, before he placed a hand on her shoulder,

“quiet now. we shall discuss this in private.” obi-wan communicated through the force, the sensation almost foreign to her, only used to this form of communication with anakin’s voice on the other side. y/n stiffened, only nodding gently. her fists were clenched by her sides and obi-wan pretended not to notice as he took the lead, walking them towards y/n’s quarters. together they entered, obi-wan shutting the door behind him as he entered her living space.

“so, what happened?” y/n asked, her words flying from her mouth before she could stop them, “why did he leave? where did he go?” y/n’s heart hadn’t stopped burning since she’d found out, the loss of anakin weighing heavily on her mind and body.

“the council seems to have sent him away on a mission to protect the queen. there was an attempt on her life. so with anakin, the queen is hiding on a different planet until we find who attempted to bring her harm.” obi-wan explained, his gaze sympathetic, “i know you’re upset because your training is going to be different now, perhaps you even thought it would be halted until anakin came back--”

you couldn’t be more wrong about what i'm thinking, master. y/n thought to herself.

“your abilities came to you later than most.” obi-wan spoke, his hands folded together in front of him. it was true, y/n hadn’t realized she were a force sensitive individual until she was roughly fourteen. despite that though, she’d always been playing games in the garden with sticks as weapons, pretending she was a jedi. it was what padmé was referencing when she told y/n she wouldn’t have to fight anymore, when she had been invited to be padmé’s lady in waiting.

with a single nod, y/n looked up at obi-wan, waiting for him to continue, “well, young padawan, come with me. the next part of your training comes now, as per request of anakin himself.” her eyes lit up,

“anakin’s request…? have you spoken with him? is he okay?” y/n forced her voice to remain steady despite her frazzled state, why hasn’t he reached out to me? y/n thought hopelessly.

“anakin’s fine. though, he is far more worried about his little padawan rather than the queen,” obi-wan said with a smile, clapping y/n on the shoulder, “he’s just fine, as is the queen. he wanted me to apologize on his behalf for being unable to explain his circumstances, but to trust him and me, and everything will be alright.”

the pit in her stomach that accompanied her anxieties returned in full force at the thought of anakin no longer being her master, and the fact that padmé’s life was threatened after their big fight. y/n hoped and prayed to the force for her emotions to stop warring within her. upon seeing the distress on her young face, obi-wan gently took her wrists in his own,

“y/n, you must relax. your emotion is radiating off you in waves. calm down, he’s going to come back after this assignment and be your master again, he promises.” obi-wan smiled at her reassuringly, “now come with me, the next step in your training comes now.” y/n’s brows furrowed in confusion and maybe a little worry,

“the next step? master obi-wan, what’re you-hey!” obi-wan only kept walking towards her door and out of her quarters. the young girl chased after him, following behind him quietly. y/n called after him again from the base of his ship before she walked up the ramp, following him inside “master obi-wan!”

obi-wan finally turned to face y/n now, inviting her to take a seat. for once, she followed orders without questioning them and sat down next to obi-wan as he began to start up the ship, “tell me, y/n, have you ever been to the planet lotho minor?”

her brows furrowed at obi-wan as the spacecraft lifted off, flying towards the sky and away from coruscant, “lotho...minor? the wreck planet?” y/n asked, perplexed as to why the planet was relevant. “never. master anakin always told me that only crazy people would go there, that’s where most, including naboo would leave their waste. why? what’s going on, obi-wan?”

“well, your master had plans to bring you there himself, as no one would visit to disturb you, but unfortunately since plans changed, now i'll be bringing you there myself.” y/n wasn’t sure she approved of this, only trying to focus on the fact that this was what anakin had planned for her next.

obi-wan and she didn’t really talk much during the ride there, mainly because obi-wan hadn’t known how to talk to the padawan, really. as obi-wan landed the craft, he then finally turned to y/n, “how have you been enjoying your training? has anakin been good to you?” from the tone of his voice, y/n could tell that he was being lighthearted, trying to get a smile out of her. y/n smiled and nodded softly in response,

“yeah. he’s always been great, in all senses of the word. i never realized how much i was ignorant of, he’s taught me so much.” y/n allowed herself to gush over him, glad that someone had finally given her a reason to praise her master in a respectful manner. obi-wan smiled, finally having something to talk about with his apprentice’s padawan.

“you should be careful when you use words like ‘never’ and ‘always’, padawan. things are rarely so absolute. you should be more precise. clarity of mind is important for a jedi.” obi-wan lectured her.

y/n mentally groaned before obi-wan spoke again, “yes, yes, i know only sith deal in absolutes,” must everything be a lesson? she thought to herself

with a nod, obi-wan folded his arms behind him, “come on now, young one. we have things to do, things to learn,” he barely gave y/n a chance to reply before standing and walking towards the exit of his ship. “anakin wanted to bring you here for a reason. as you know, you should’ve found and forged your kyber crystal for your lightsaber many, many, years ago, but due to your late blooming, you were never able to make it to ilum.”

y/n raised a brow at the recollection of her past and simply nodded, “right… and what does lotho minor have to do with kyber crystals?” the young padawan asked, keeping up with obi-wan’s quick pace, following him into a den carved into the side of a dirt mountain.

as y/n followed obi-wan inside, she looked around and realized that there wasn’t much, other than a plethora of what she could only assume were kyber crystals, never having seen one in person before. y/n raced over to the group of crystals on the dirt, her eyes blown wide with excitement and joy, the first good news in a while, the padawan thought to herself.

she reached down, closing her eyes and let the crystals call to her. as she made her choice on the crystal in the middle, obi-wan chuckled softly,

“gods, you look about as excited as anakin does when queen padmé enters a room, or when he gets sent away on a mission with her.”

y/n’s head flicked up to obi-wan as he spoke, her grip suddenly tightening on the crystal in her hand, “what?”

—

anakin was staring into the fireplace, his mind still racing. it hadn’t stopped, not since yoda had pulled him to the side on his way to training with y/n. it started to cause him extreme discomfort, leaving him with the feeling of being unable to catch a full breath. the young jedi’s mind was bouncing back and forth between right and wrong and what defined each. he found himself starting to question the jedi code, something that had been becoming increasingly more and more common for him. he missed y/n, even though he knew he shouldn’t have. 

why did he have to be sent on this mission now? why did his training have to be interrupted? all he wanted was to be with y/n, hold her in his arms. he wanted to-

“anakin, you’ve been quiet since we’ve gotten here, since i told you about y/n.” padmé sat on the couch next to anakin, curling her legs onto the cushion underneath herself. “what are you so worked up about?” padmé shuffled a bit closer now, but anakin’s eyes were still on the flames crackling atop the logs in the stone fireplace. 

“padmé, i’d really appreciate some alone time to think right now.” anakin grumbled, not once looking away from the flames ahead of him. 

padmé frowned, moving a hair closer to him, “anakin, whatever it is, i’m here for you. if y/n can have someone like him to confide in, you’re certainly allowed to, too.” the queen almost pleaded, watching as anakin stood from the couch, now starting to pace in front of the fireplace. 

“i said i’d like some-” 

with a soft, annoyed, sigh, padmé stood as well, grabbing anakin by his wrist and pulling him close enough to take his face in her hands, pulling anakin’s lips into her own. she was smiling as she kissed him, but her smile quickly diminished and was replaced with shock when the jedi pushed her away from him, 

“padmé, what have you done..?” anakin sounded horrified, wiping her kiss off his lips with his sleeves, fear filling his eyes and heart. y/n. his thoughts were only of her, his young padawan, who was going to be devastated when she found out. 

“i have to go.” the jedi said worriedly, his eyes flickering around every surface in the room until his eyes landed on the spacecraft key. 

“anakin, wait, i’m sorry, come back! wait!” the queen called after him. as 3po finally began to clamber back up the hill from the market, a basket of food in his arms, he saw his very angry master storming towards the spacecraft they'd all arrived on, the wind flapping his robes behind him. anakin was a threatening presence right now, even the droid could sense it. 

“sir, i have returned with the--oh, where are you going?” the droid asked, turning to direct his question to his master as anakin stormed past the droid,

“3po, stay here with the queen until i or another jedi comes back.” was all that anakin said, quickly throwing himself into the ship's cockpit.

in that moment, anakin had made a decision. 

he would no longer standby and let the jedi code dictate his every move, thought, and action. he was the chosen one, it was time to choose something for himself and what he held dear. he was done being a weapon of the republic.

he had to find y/n, fast. 

—

“it was…always her, wasn’t it…?”

“y/n, what have i told you about always and never, the more time passes, the more i swear you’re just like-” obi-wan’s eyes finally met the glowing crystal in y/n’s hand.

he drew his lightsaber out of pure instinct, his breath caught in his lungs, “y/n…” obi-wan whispered in disbelief. 

y/n’s racing heart was ignored as she looked down at the red kyber crystal in her hand, her body on autopilot as she placed the crystal into the hilt of the saber, as if she had repeated the process multiple times in her life. the red of her lightsaber illuminating her face in the darkness of the cave.

y/n realized that obi-wan wasn’t breathing, her hand raised to use the force to expand his lungs out of pure habit, an action she'd learned from her master who had used the method on herself when she was panicking and couldn't breathe. she hadn't thought twice, fear overtaking her mind and body, “m-master? what does this mean?” the young girl was terrified out of her mind.

obi-wan powered off his lightsaber, the hilt of the saber placed on his side once more when he realized y/n wasn’t going to hurt him. 

“run. run while i’m extending to you compassion that i shouldn’t.” obi-wan’s tone was sad, his heart pained for the young padawan. “i won’t tell anyone where you’ve gone, but you must run, y/n. i can no longer protect you.” y/n looked up at obi-wan, attempting to make eye contact with him, but he kept his gaze on the ground, unable to look at her. 

“obi-wan, i-” y/n pleaded out softly,

“GO!” obi-wan yelled, turning his back to y/n, his fists clenched at his sides. 

devastation filled y/n as she stood, forcing herself to her feet, “tell…tell my master i’m sorry i couldn’t say goodbye.” she mustered out before taking off deeper into lotho minor. 

obi-wan heard her run off, his back still to her as she spoke. he found himself turning around to watch her frame disappear into the distance, swallowing his feelings. he watched for another moment more, even after she left his line of sight before heading back to his spacecraft, 

alone.

when obi-wan returned to coruscant, he did not immediately report back to the council, instead electing to go straight to his quarters. he stared at his reflection in the mirror of his bathroom, unsure if he was proud or scared of the man looking back at him. 

—

upon anakin’s return to coruscant, he immediately found himself at the door of his padawan’s quarters. he knocked on her door, calling out her name quietly. he received no answer, only making his heart race faster. he closed his eyes, using the force to sense her, but he didn’t feel her presence at all, not on this planet.

had obi-wan and she already gone to lotho minor? he hadn’t even been gone a full week, and obi-wan had already taken her to forge her crystal. he was distracted from his thoughts when he heard footsteps behind him. 

it was grand master yoda approaching him. 

anakin walked towards the grand master, not even remembering to nod his head respectfully towards yoda, the worry for y/n entirely consuming all of his mind, 

“where’s my y/n? where’s my padawan?” the young jedi’s voice was laced with worry. he ignored the taken aback expression on yoda’s face at his words, his fear only monsooning at the grand master’s words, 

“heard from her, we have not. master obi-wan the last to see and hear from her, he was.” yoda answered. 

“how long has it been since you’ve heard from her?” anakin asked, trying and failing to remain calm. he couldn't stop his voice from trembling.

“the day her assignment under obi-wan began, saw her, last we did.” the day anakin left coruscant? 

i’m going to lose my mind, the jedi thought to himself. 

as anakin ran off towards obi-wan’s quarters, the jedi ignored the grand master’s calls for him, only focusing on finding obi-wan as fast as he could. fear threatened to swallow anakin whole, the fact that no one had heard from y/n terrifying him. 

everything anakin was doing was for her.

anakin didn’t even knock when he found obi-wan’s quarters, using the force to swing the door open as he stepped inside, “obi-wan!” he called out for his master, stepping deeper into the room. 

obi-wan had been on his balcony, leaning on the railing and staring out at the sky as he heard anakin approach. he didn’t turn around or even acknowledge the young jedi until anakin stood at his side. 

“where’s y/n? yoda said you were the last to hear from her, you were the last to see her! where is she?” anakin was a mixture of anger and anxiety, a fiery ball of emotion that scared obi-wan. 

“anakin, please calm down.” was all the older jedi said before turning to face anakin, his face troubled. seeing the burden that obi-wan carried on him and feeling the weight of obi-wan’s stress in the force only forced anakin to speak, needing confirmation that his worst case scenario wasn’t coming to fruition, 

“obi-wan, tell me where y/n is.” he said after a breath, his hands on the banister of the balcony, squeezing so tightly that his knuckles turned white, as he gazed at obi-wan pleadingly.

“she…" a pause. "is no longer with us, anakin.” obi-wan said quietly, his gaze still not on anakin. anakin thought he was going to be sick, a cold sweat beading at the back of his neck and down his back. 

“what do you mean, no longer with us, obi-wan? now really isn’t the time for jokes, i’d like to see my padawan and her new lightsaber that you two were supposed to go retrieve.” anakin's tone was one of deep denial, despite not knowing exactly what obi-wan meant by his words.

for a moment, obi-wan considered telling the young jedi that his padawan had died, to save him the pain of knowing that y/n was no longer a padawan, but a sith apprentice. 

“she…” the words were stuck in obi-wan’s throat, unsure of where to begin in his explanation, “i think you should take a seat, anakin, perhaps we should go inside and-”

anakin slammed his hand down on the banister, the metal reverberating with a soft whine, “damnit, obi-wan, tell me what happened!” 

“she belongs to the dark side, now, anakin.” obi-wan finally lifted his gaze to who was once his own padawan. “i brought her to the cavern on lotho minor like you asked of me, she picked up her chosen crystal, and i made a silly joke and laughed… by the time i looked up, she was wielding a red light saber. i’m so sorry anakin.” 

“did you kill her…?” anakin asked, his chest constricting painfully as he looked away from obi-wan, “what did you say to her?!” it took all of his restraint to not grab obi-wan and throw him over the edge of the balcony, 

obi-wan was silent for a moment, “no. i didn’t. i let her go, anakin. i couldn’t. she wasn't going to hurt me, that's why i let her go.” he took a deep breath before continuing, “she looked excited, beyond it, to set her eyes upon the crystals. i said something along the lines of her expression was similar to how you looked when the queen walked into a room, or when you were assigned on a mission with her, i thought she’d laugh. i still don’t understand what happened…” obi-wan shook his head, entirely oblivious that his poorly made and timed joke cost anakin everything. 

anakin couldn’t stop himself before his hand found the hilt of his lightsaber, a desolate look on his face as he flicked the power button, the blue energy buzzing and whirring in the air alongside him.

anakin heard y/n’s laugh, pictured her smile in his head, his anger towards obi-wan only growing, i never even had the chance to tell her i love her.

“you turned her against me…”  

obi-wan’s heart shattered at the sight before him, his hand hesitantly finding his own lightsaber, the blade still powered off as he spoke, “anakin, don’t do this. don’t let her twist your mind with the dark side!” anakin’s former master pleaded with him, his heart heavy already with the loss of a powerful padawan like y/n. he couldn’t bear to watch his own former padawan fall to the dark side too. “you’re my brother anakin, please-”

“don’t lecture me obi-wan, i see through the lies of the jedi, i do not fear the dark side as you do.” 

obi-wan finally powered on his lightsaber, his own emotion threatening to consume him as he took on a defensive stance,

“then i will do what i must.” obi-wan whispered, unable to stop his emotion from breaking through.

"you will try."

[adverbally]

Pack to Square One

Written for the @stmarchmm prompts “pack dynamics” and “heats/ruts” | wc: 1,417 | rated: T | cw: none | tags: Steve & Wayne, background Steddie, Omega Steve, Omega Wayne, Alpha Eddie, hurt/comfort, non-sexual heat assistance, Wayne is going to help the shit out of Steve because he’s PACK dammit

———

Wayne wakes with a start, heart racing as he tries to orient himself in the early-morning gloom. He can’t figure out what woke him until the phone starts ringing again. After only two hours of sleep following a late shift, the piercing tone shoots right through Wayne’s cottony head.

He stumbles out of bed and into the kitchen, almost fumbling the receiver with sleep-clumsy fingers when he picks it up.

“Munson,” he answers gruffly.

“Wayne?” It sounds like Steve on the other end of the phone, his voice warbling out of him, thick with tears.

Wayne is suddenly wide awake. “Steve? What’s wrong, is Eddie okay?”

“He’s not here.” He’s nearly hyperventilating, each inhale a gasp that immediately gets punched out of him. “Not ‘til Monday, but I’m–” The sob that bursts out of Steve is abruptly muffled, almost like the boy slapped a hand over his own mouth to muffle the noise.

It sets Wayne’s teeth on edge. He knows Eddie is out of town, visiting Chicago with the other Corroded Coffin boys to meet with some record executives, but the lack of context behind Steve’s distress makes everything feel more ominous. Is Eddie hurt and Steve can feel it through their bond? Is Steve hurt? “Son, I need you to tell me what’s going on. You’re scarin’ me.”

“My heat started,” he whines miserably. “It wasn’t supposed to come yet and Eddie isn’t here, and I…” He takes another wet, shuddering breath.

If Wayne had to guess, he’d say that Steve hasn’t spent a heat alone since he and Eddie got together over two years ago. To suddenly be missing that emotional support, on top of dealing with the physical effects of not having his mate to temper his heat… Wayne’s Omega wants to howl just thinking about how much Steve must be hurting right now.

Steve sniffles. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t’ve woken you up for this. I’m being stupid.”

He softens his voice when he tells Steve, “Don’t be sorry. Don’t ever be sorry for leanin’ on your pack when you need it.” Steve stifles another mournful noise and Wayne’s heart breaks for him, knowing how much of Steve’s life was spent without any pack to speak of. “What can I do to help?”

“Wayne–” Steve starts to protest.

“Let me help you. Please.”

He swallows so hard Wayne can hear it. “I don’t know how.”

Wayne isn’t sure what Steve means. He doesn’t know how Wayne can help? How to let Wayne help? He decides not to push while Steve is so upset. “Why don’t I pick up some groceries and bring them over?” he suggests. “You can decide when I get there whether you want some company or not.”

“Okay.” Steve sniffs, then quietly repeats, as if to himself, “Okay.”

“I can be there in thirty minutes,” Wayne promises. “You just sit tight. I’ll see you soon.”

He hates to hang up but Steve needs him there, not over the phone. Wayne makes another quick call to the plant, warning them that a family emergency will keep him away from his shift tonight, and leaves a message at Eddie's hotel before he begins to strategize.

Pack members tend to smell alike, Wayne knows. Experts on secondary gender theorize that it had evolutionary benefits— promoting pack cohesion, discouraging incest among relatives to limit inbreeding, preventing Alphas and Omegas from perceiving their mate’s family as a threat. Even packs not joined by blood could find their scents shifting to become more similar over time.

From the day Eddie had presented, his and Wayne’s scents have been in perfect harmony. They smell like an apple orchard, though Eddie’s aroma is more woodsy and green compared to Wayne’s more fruity and floral notes. Steve himself had noted more than once how soothing he found Wayne’s scent, so similar to that of his Alpha’s but with the reassuring warmth of an Omega packmate.

Wayne can’t help with the physical aspects of Steve’s heat, would never dream of touching him that way. But he can comfort him, can make sure he’s safe and surrounded by someone that smells familiar enough to keep him from going feral. He dresses quickly in his oldest flannel and a t-shirt he wore earlier in the week, both saturated with his scent, hoping it will be enough to help Steve.

—---

When he arrives at Steve and Eddie’s apartment, arms full of grocery bags, Wayne can smell distressed Omega as soon as he opens the front door.

“Eddie?” Steve calls from the bedroom. There’s a terrible mix of hope and despair in his voice, knowing that his mate is hundreds of miles away but unwilling to truly believe it.

When Wayne comes down the hallway, he can see the moment Steve realizes Eddie still isn’t there. His face, already flushed and sweaty, crumples. He tucks one of Eddie’s blankets more tightly around himself, buries his face in the nearest pillow– probably also Eddie’s– and shakes.

“I know, kid, I’m sorry. I left a message at the hotel for him, but he probably won’t be able to get here until tomorrow at the earliest.” Wayne kicks off his boots next to the abandoned bags of sports drinks and snacks. When Steve doesn’t respond, he asks, “Can I come into your nest, Omega?”

“I want Eddie.” His brow furrows in pain. Cramps, if Wayne had to guess, plus the emotional anguish of not having his mate nearby. “Why isn’t he here?”

Wayne kneels at the side of the bed, careful not to touch any of the fabric that makes up the border of Steve’s nest. “He’ll be here as soon as he can. I’m gonna stay with you until then, okay? You don’t have to let me in your nest, but I’m not leavin’ you alone right now.”

Steve blinks at him for a moment before he processes Wayne’s scent. His lip quivers. “Sorry, I didn’t… Of course you can come in.”

He does, carefully climbing into the bed beside Steve. The younger Omega is on him immediately, cuddling into his side and burying his face in his scent gland. Steve lets out a shuddering breath, hot against Wayne’s neck, but the tension gradually leaves his body with each inhale. He definitely seems calmer than he’d sounded on the phone earlier.

“You holdin’ up okay?” Wayne asks softly.

“Not really,” he admits. “Feels like I’m on the verge of losing it completely. I dunno what I’d do without you here.”

Wayne wraps an arm around Steve’s shoulders. “It wouldn’t be fun but you’d be fine, I’m sure. You spent heats alone before you and Eddie got together, right?”

“Yeah, and they sucked.” His exhale might have been a laugh if he had more energy.

“Believe me, I know. I’ve been there, too.”

Steve is quiet for so long that Wayne thinks he’s fallen asleep, until he asks, “Did you ever…?”

The thought is unfinished but easy enough to guess. “There were a few heats I had company for, but nothin’ ever lasted. Not like you and Ed.”

“Oh. Sorry.” He nuzzles his cheek against Wayne’s neck, mixing their scents. Steve smells like carrot cake, all sweet and lightly spiced. It’s nice, normally, but it currently has an edge of burnt sugar from Steve’s heat and resulting anxiety.

“No need to be sorry,” Wayne reassures him. He doesn’t feel like he’s missed out on much– he has more of a pack now than he had ever dreamed of as a pup, and he’d never been much for romance anyway. Bachelorhood suits him. “I just got Ed out of the house, I don’t need someone else bothering me now.”

His joke lands, and Steve chuckles despite his misery. “Yeah, you deserve some peace and quiet.”

“Not from you and Ed, you hear me? You’re never bothering me.” Wayne emphasizes the declaration with a gentle shake of Steve’s shoulders.

“Okay.” Steve takes another breath, then another, slower and slower as he starts to drift off. Wayne’s presence, combined with Eddie’s scent lingering in the nest, seems to have worked well enough to relax him. He’ll probably sleep through the worst of it today, then Wayne can leave him in Eddie’s capable care when he inevitably rushes home tonight or tomorrow.

Until then, Wayne will settle in for a nap with Steve, probably pester him into eating something later, and let the younger Omega scent him to his heart’s content.

He’ll do it all happily, because that’s what pack does.

[dustmusings]

on your side / wolffe x fem!jedi!reader

for @ireadwithmyears <3

summary: having to distance yourself from wolffe after a slip up is a lot harder than you thought it would be

tags/warnings: 18+ for suggestive stuff, angst! with a happy(ish?) ending, forbidden relationship, love confessions, kinda idiots in love, wolffe is down bad and not sorry about it, reader is lowkey delirious and v emotional bc of lack of sleep, allusions to sex but otherwise sfw

song: on your side — the last dinner party

prompts: #21 "when's the last time you actually slept?", #9 "come lie with me, let me hold you."

a/n: okay it's official, wolffe is my fav clone to write for. um, idk if anyone else has ever been so exhausted but not able to fall asleep to the point where you’re literally distraught? I hope this is not a unique experience otherwise this fic makes no sense lol

event masterlist / star wars masterlist / join my taglist / wc: 3.1k

requests are closed, dialogue prompt is in bold :)

You messed up. Big time.

The memory of your misdeeds still replayed in your mind, days, weeks later. Your mind lingered on how his rough hands felt against your skin, how his breath mingled with yours, bodies melding together. His words haunted you, adulations whispered in a tone you’d never heard, sentiments you wouldn’t soon forget, no matter how you tried to.

Wolffe had invaded your brain even before you'd fallen into bed with him, but now it was inescapable.

You'd known it was a mistake as it was happening, that stepping over the line would do something irreversible, something you couldn't follow up on. The guilt of doing that to Wolffe, of letting him believe it was something that could be, was eating you alive. If you didn't feel so strongly for him then all of this would be so much easier, and could be written off as a simple blunder — but nothing about this was simple.

Wolffe had been shipped into an active warzone only hours later, and though worry pulled at your heart more than ever, you couldn't help but be partly relieved. When he’d returned, you felt even more conflicted.

He had caught your eyes from across the hangar, something distinctly timid and unlike him in the way he looked at you, and you had to tear your gaze away and leave the space. You couldn’t be anywhere near him. It hurt too much. You knew he’d noticed that you were avoiding him, it would be impossible given how close you were before everything had transpired, but he obviously had the restraint not to mention it.

Sleep was eluding you because of it. Pulling away from Wolffe felt like a physical pain, like the connection you had unwittingly created through the force was being sawed at, and you could feel every ridge of the knife as it cut. If anything, it was proof that you had become too close, that your connection ran too deep.

Now, duty demanded you be in the same room as him, and it was every bit as excruciating as you had expected. You were stood beside him in the command centre, and while your eyes were plastered to Plo Koon, all of your attention was taken by Wolffe.

You could feel the heavy weight of his gaze on you as you spoke, almost feel his breath against your cheek, the warmth of his body beside you. His presence was intoxicating, and even when you closed your eyes you weren’t free of it. His unique presence in the force reached out for you, and while you knew he wasn’t doing it intentionally, you wished he would stop. The familiar feeling made it so much harder not to fall into his arms and forget everything that held you back; a warm blanket, a comforting steadiness, deep red in colour, like the very last sight of the sun against the horizon.

You escaped as soon as you could, scampering from the command room at the first opportunity, but it seemed that Wolffe was done with the silent treatment. He grabbed your arm as you made it out into the corridor, dragging you into a quieter corner of the ship, a hall that ran to a dead end. His gaze was serious when you finally met it with your own, and it turned your stomach. You didn’t know if he was angry or hurt, nothing was given away in his demeanour.

Finally he spoke in a low voice, “are you alright?”

You blinked up at him, wondering how he could be so concerned by you at this moment. His hand still gripped your arm gently, his eyes darting between yours, brows furrowed. He took in your features like he’d never seen you before, and the scrutiny made your gaze drop.

“I’m fine” you murmured, trying to keep your voice even.

“You weren’t in your room last night”

Your eyes raised back to him as your heart skipped a beat, “how do you know that?”

“I went to see you” he confessed, never wavering in his serious gaze.

“Wolffe…” you sighed, looking up at him with a pained expression, “you shouldn’t have done that”

He huffed, stepping into your space, “why not?”

You exhaled slowly, “you know why”

Something in him stiffened, and he took his hand away from you, “what were you doing?”

“I just… I couldn’t sleep” you admitted, running a hand over your face.

“Why not?”

You sighed at his persistence, “it doesn’t matter”

“It matters to me” he muttered, his eyes flashing with hurt. He tentatively brought his hand up to your cheek, running his thumb under your eye. You knew you must look exhausted, and closed your eyes to let the feeling calm you. “When's the last time you actually slept?”

“I don’t know” you spoke quietly, almost ashamedly. Your eyes fluttered open to see the stern look he was giving you.

“Sarad’ika” he whispered the name he called you in only the most quiet of moments, drawing closer so his forehead almost touched yours. “If you won’t…” he sighed, “if you won’t let me take care of you then you need to take care of yourself”

Your heart seized up in your chest. “I—” you didn't know what to say, everything was running through your mind but it was all getting caught in your throat.

Your stuttering was interrupted by the sound footsteps reverberating off of the walls of the otherwise empty hall. Wolffe backed away from you, though he still started at you intently, even as someone walked between the two of you. Unlike him, it snapped you out of it.

“I— I uh… I'm going to my quarters now” you mumbled out, tongue tripping over your words.

You turned quickly, stalking down the hall in wide strides and not daring to look back.

It was the middle of the night and still, sleep wouldn’t take you. The frustration was getting on top of you again, and you paced back and forth in the small space of the ship that was yours. Hot tears sprang to your eyes, wetting your cheeks, and your hands gripped at your hair as if it would alleviate the tension in your head. You had been silently crying long enough that your head had begun to ache, and you silently begged to gods you didn’t believe in to let you sleep, to shut your mind of for just a few minutes so you might finally slip into unconsciousness.

It had been coming to this every night, where you felt as if you were being driven insane because sleep eluded you.

With a small sob, you darted for the door. A distraction, that’s what you needed now. You might wander the halls of the ship as you had in previous nights, or hole up in a cupboard somewhere so you could cry until all your tears were spent. You grabbed your robe as you went, clutching the thick material in a tight fist, but as the door zipped open you almost collided with something, someone.

Wolffe stood tall in the doorway, his hand raised as if he were about to knock. He took in your distressed state, eyes widening at the recognition of tears staining your face, and he reached out to you on instinct, taking ahold of your arms.

“Hey, it’s okay. You’re okay” he immediately began to soothe you in a voice that was too soft for him. It only made your breathing more unstable, and you choked on your sobs. Wolffe backed you into the dark room and closed the door behind him, “what’s going on?”

The confusion — the worry — it was so plain in his eyes. It made you feel sick to your stomach. You dropped your robe to the floor.

“I just—“ your words were halted by your own sob, and you hid your face in your palms, “I’m so tired, Wolffe”

His hands wrapped around your wrists, his skin warm against yours, and he peeled your hands away from your face. He snaked his arms around your waist without another word, offering the relief you would never ask for but so desperately needed. You took it unashamedly, burying your face in his chest, letting yourself relish in the comfort of his touch. As your weeping continued, he held you tightly, one hand on the back of your head to stroke your hair as he whispered comforting words.

The exhaustion had clearly got to you. There was simply no other reason for this display of raw emotion.

As your breathing calmed, the storm in your mind subsiding to a grey fog, Wolffe’s grip loosened. He pulled back and took your face in his hand, and you couldn’t help but lean into its warmth just a little.

“Now,” he spoke quietly, “are you going to tell me why you can’t sleep?”

You sighed deeply as you averted your gaze, “do I have to?”

“No” he replied, “but it could help”

Your eyes creeped across his handsome features, taking in every mark, every freckle. You couldn’t burden him with everything that clouded your mind, you wouldn’t place another weight upon his shoulders when the war already saw him stretched so thin.

You shook your head, releasing yourself from his grasp and turning away, “it won’t help, it’ll only make things worse”

“Stop shutting me out” Wolffe’s voice was stern as he spoke up, and you looked up to find his brow furrowed deeply, the hurt evident in his eyes and the downturn of his lips.

“I have to” you said quietly, almost a whisper.

“No you don’t” Wolffe huffed, moving to crowd you against the table behind you, “I don’t understand why you’ve been acting like this, why you won’t look at me all of a sudden. I thought—”

He stopped himself. In all honesty, you hadn’t been thinking an awful lot about what Wolffe may be thinking about what had transpired, and as much as you knew you should bury the whole incident, move on and forget, a part of you needed to know. What he thought, what he was thinking now, what he felt. You shouldn’t ask, but you couldn’t stop yourself.

“Thought what?”

You could see that he regretted letting the words slip. “I thought things would be…” he trailed off for a moment, searching your eyes with a hint of desperation, “I don’t know, I just thought it’d be different from this, after—“

His teeth ground together. A quiet curse escaped him as he hung his head in defeat. He knew as well as you that this conversation would only breed more unease. You swallowed, taking a moment to centre yourself.

“We can’t be like that” you muttered.

You knew it was cruel, that he didn’t deserve to hear it put so bluntly, nor did he deserve what had already happened. You had been cruel, consistently, in entertaining this idea of the two of you, and even crueller in making him believe it could be. That was why this was necessary. It couldn’t go on.

He was quiet for a long moment, and when he spoke, it was uncharacteristically timid, his words almost shy.

“Would it be so bad?” he asked.

“Yes! Well, no it— but we can’t, I mean— I don’t know!” you could feel your breath becoming short again, and Wolffe placed his hands on your shoulders.

“Hey, breathe” he spoke softly.

You didn’t deserve him, that was clear to you now. He was too gentle, too good to you when you didn’t deserve it. Your breath steadied under his touch, and you couldn’t face pushing him off this time.

“This is what’s got you worked up?” he asked, and you nodded in reply. His face softened, and he raised a hand to your cheek. “Ner cyare” he whispered, “please don’t trouble yourself over me”

“I can’t help it Wolffe, I—”

I love you

You could so easily say it, and you would mean it, but putting it out into the world would go beyond crossing the line.

“I’m sorry, that I’ve been pulling away, but I can’t— I can’t do this” you insisted, gesturing vaguely between the two of you, unable to name exactly what it was.

“Why not?”

It was a simple question, but the answer was far more complicated. Wolffe gave you nothing but patience as he waited for the reply. His gaze was soft, as soft as it got with him at least, though any amount of tenderness that could be drawn from the man would be considered a feat. It was part of the reason that you struggled to answer him. It was simply too distracting, witnessing the depth of his feelings for you first hand.

When the two of you had slipped up, spent the night with limbs entangled in the cot just a few short steps from you now, it had somehow not occurred to you that Wolffe was in just as deep as you. He had shown his admiration in more ways than one; whispers against your lips and skin, tender touches and a sense of care in every endeavour. In the throws of pleasure it hadn’t registered as anything but that — seeking pleasure.

Now you weren’t sure.

“Because…” you began, barely uttering the word.

There were reasonings you could use, but none would present themselves as you looked into his eyes and were confronted with the depth of your own feelings.

“Because…?” he prompted, and you couldn’t help but sigh.

“Because nothing” you frowned, “because I’m a fool, and because you don’t deserve the only kind of relationship I could give you”

Wolffe matched your frown, “what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Think about it Wolffe, I’m… I’m a Jedi, right? You know what that means?”

He pressed his lips to a hard line, unimpressed at the reminder “I know what it means”

You exhaled shakily, and a sadness washed over you, “I couldn’t… I could only be yours in private, I wouldn’t be able to touch you in front of others, to hold your hand or even smile at you for too long. I wouldn’t be able to show the galaxy how much I love you, and that hurts me”

A second passed, and you realised what had been said.

It was as if an airlock had been opened, and all the air sucked from the room. The both of you stood perfectly still, staring at each other with widened eyes. You had crossed the line. It was all hypothetical up until now. But now, it was real. Neither of you moved, or breathed, until Wolffe let a quick and heavy exhale slip, as if in disbelief.

“Love?”

You swallowed thickly.

“I—“ you bit the inside of your cheek as your cheeks burned hot, “I didn’t mean to… tell you like this”

“Is it true?” he asked, deadly serious. His eyes searched yours, for what you didn’t know, but you knew the answer was already obvious in the way you dropped your gaze guiltily, as if the very act of falling in love were wrong.

“Yes” the whisper had barely left you when Wolffe surged forwards and met your lips with his.

He was warm, inviting, eager. He kissed you like a man starved, as if he’d been waiting a lifetime for this moment, and you let yourself give in. You kissed him back more insistently, and let his tongue pass the seam of your lips as he begged for entrance. His arms wrapped around you, holding you to him tightly, as if he was scared you might slip from beneath his fingertips. This feeling was becoming too known to you, too comfortable. It felt too right.

He pulled away, placing his forehead on yours with intention, “I love you, ner sarad’ika”

Your breath was knocked from you upon hearing the words, and you couldn’t help the way your mouth stretched into a tentative grin. You advanced forwards and pressed a more chaste kiss to his lips, and felt him smile back against you. Something about it set your heart fluttering more than anything before. Wolffe still held you, a hand flat against your back to keep you close, where the other held your jaw.

He ran his thumb over your bottom lip as he regarded you, speaking softly, “you have such a pretty smile”

A heat crept up your neck even now, after everything that had happened. Though soon, it began to transform in its meaning. Your smile faded, tears collecting in your waterline once more, and the heat burned at your collar uncomfortably. You didn’t cry as you had before, but the tears fell freely all the same.

Wolffe sighed, wiping them away with a disapproving shake of his head, “I said not to trouble yourself over me”

Your lips twisted with doubt, “you deserve so much more than this, Wolffe”

“It’s not about what I deserve” he reasoned, “it’s what I want”

“But I can’t give you anything”

“I don’t need anything”

You deflated with a huff, “it’s a lot more complicated than you’re making it out to be”

“I disagree” he mused, pressing a kiss to each cheek to collect the remnants of your tears, “I love you, and for maker knows why, you love me. I think that is all that’s important”

You pressed your lips together to stop them from shaking as you felt yourself welling up again, but Wolffe was all too quick to swoop in.

“We’ll figure it out” he promised, “together”

Looking up at him through teary eyes, you found your lips twitching upwards, “together”

The word was a comfort. Neither of you would have to navigate the struggle in isolation, you would support each other.

Wolffe nodded against you, and took your hands in his. You only realised now how they were shaking, and he pressed his forehead into yours with more purpose, peering deeply into your eyes as if he were looking upon your very soul.

“Come lie with me, let me hold you”

Your brow pinched, and you nodded your head in reply. He tugged you over to your cot gently and laid you down in the soft sheets, then stripped himself of his armour to lay beside you.

No more words were exchanged that night, for everything had already been said. His body was warm against yours, and though it didn’t magically lull you to sleep immediately, it was an undeniable comfort. Wolffe fell into unconsciousness before you did, his arms still wrapped tightly around you. Watching him rest calmed your mind. It gave you faith that any hardship the two of you faced going forward would be worth it. He was worth it.

taglist: @darthnihila @cdblake1565 @heidnspeak @burningnerdchild @orangez3st @clones-cyare @stellarbit @liopleurodean @asgre

[vesperaominosum]

OMGG I'm so glad!! ok ik ur writing a story rn but if u have any free time I have a story prompt: fem reader with Leon Kennedy (established relationship) and she's bratty with him, like she's got attitude and she's snappy, but Leon doesn't mind bc he knows how to deal with her 🤭🤭 but yeahhh feel free to make it smutty or not, it's up to you <333

Summary : Journey through the pages of Leon figuring out how to handle a bratty girlfriend and accepting himself (kind of, implied)

Pairing : RE4 Leon! × Fem Reader

Tags : Established relationship, bratty reader, self deprecation (Leon being dramatic), some levels of generally harmless toxicity, angst, fluff, hints of hurt/comfort (maybe??), no smut but allusions to what grown ups do and a couple of curse words.

Word count: 2891

A/N: I'm in the middle of working with lots of translations for work and it's multiple different languages so my brain is #freid, so this is super rushed and all over the place but I've been thinking about this prompt and this is what I have to sayyyy. Anyway, sorry for prompt being "he doesn't mind" and the whole fic HE DOES MIND VERY MUCH HES GONNA CRY IF YOURE MEAN TO HIM but this is the prequel!! he doesn't mind after all that anymore hahaha i hope you like it anyway

Leon knew how to handle you.

It didn’t come to him naturally, it couldn’t. You were always difficult. Throughout your childhood you recall most of your caregivers - nannies, teachers, family friends and whoever thought it was their duty to comment - uttering “It’s going to be really hard to find someone who’d put up with her” after witnessing another one of your spectacles. Kinder ones would say “She’ll grow out of it”.

And they were right.

You grew up to be extremely caring, generous, kind and an all-around outstanding young woman. Attitude dissolved into calm confidence and you were very pleasing to be around. It wasn’t just your family who noticed those qualities bloom – everyone loved to be in the presence of your welcoming warm, yet joyfully prickly energy. This is exactly why special agent Leon S Kennedy was drawn to steal your attention at first. It seemed like you had no baggage. It seemed like you were unable to have any baggage. Like whatever hardships were placed your way simply melted and disappeared to the sound of you laughing away all the troubles, making another lighthearted joke that put everything into perspective. You had a magical ability to turn all problems in the world into something meaningless. Perhaps, it was just Leon being in love that made it possible with such ease, but it did not matter. It worked. And he was in love. It wasn’t a crazy concept.

You made him want to become a better person. Not on a grand scale, none of that illusive bullshit, but in everyday life. He counted his blessings and watched out for your feelings, deep down he knew that your carefree façade isn’t all there was, and he was afraid to hurt you. He was attentive, he thought about the things he said and tried to go out of his way to make your day better. He wasn’t the best at relationships, but he genuinely tried. It’s the least he could do for someone who brought him back to life. That if he was around.

When he would go away for work, you wouldn’t speak for weeks, sometimes months. This arrangement made it difficult for your relationship to progress naturally. Every time he came back, you two fell back into the very much juvenile day one: blushing, smiling, flowers, dates, shy kisses that felt like the first… As much as he enjoyed it, he wanted more. It was scary leaving your dashing self alone in the world full of people who could… see you. He wasn’t the unreasonably jealous type, and you never gave him a reason, but it was only logical that you deserved more effort. The lack of which wasn’t an issue, there just never been enough time for it to feel natural, but oh how he wanted to move in together. Sometimes Leon would imagine you in his kitchen and it made him feel shy. He had to better himself, to learn all about how to treat a girl this deserving, then it will fall into pieces.

It was coming along, until he found himself between trying to figure out whether he’s doing too little as of yet or it’s too late as of now. The thing was: you fell into a weird pattern.

Every time he came back, you loved him up and down, held him in your arms and told him all about how happy you were seeing him so close, but approximately on day four… You would switch up. Out of nowhere you’d appear cold and dismissive. He never saw this in you before. A sweet sunshine of a girl he wanted to care for, wanted nothing to do with him. You made borderline rude remarks, paid him no attention and even avoided his touch. One time Leon tried to kiss your shoulder and you snapped at him for ruining your makeup. He apologized and spent a long time trying to figure out what makeup could he possibly ruin by gently touching your shoulder, out of all places, with his lips.

Regardless of your behavior, before he had to depart for work, you were always caring. The juxtaposition messed with his head and he had no clue where you stood. He tried to be understanding, he tried to be kinder and softer, he tried and tried and tried… Day to day, while avoiding dangers his work instilled upon him, he was holding onto hope that much needed space would settle it down. And you would be back to your kind and sweet self. And it did, for approximately four days.

It was day six of him being back and you planned to meet up with your friends together. Well, you planned it and Leon agreed, as he usually did. Leon was familiar with your best friend, not much with the rest of them. Your best friend was a clever girl, beauty and brains, witty but careful, very diplomatic, you sure knew how to pick them and knew that early, you were friends since school. You also had a small circle, just a couple of trusted friends, it was always quality over quantity with you. This thought is what made Leon sick to his stomach. He felt like he was slipping out of a place he didn’t fit to begin with. The idea of you two splitting made all the problems in the world heavy again. The weight that accumulated while he didn’t pay it no mind would crush him.

He tried to figure out what was wrong for the past month, falling asleep to same questions every day of his mission. Why were you pushing him away? Are you tired of waiting? Could it be that you lack courage to break up with him and want to give him a reason to take on this task? Did he scare you away? What if you grew bored of him? After all, dating an agent is exciting, but a life with one… What if you realized it’s a dead end? All the thinking convinced him to act. If you want him to take it further - he would. If you don’t want to - he’d change. He’s bending out of shape as it is to make you happy. Or at least to make you less of a… Less cruel.

So just a day ago he did ask you to move in with him. Prepared for any reaction other that the one you spit out, he stared at the wall, processing your answer. “For what? So, I get to wait for you in another four walls? No, thanks.”

“I could quit” – he said, not looking away from the damn wall. You laughed and patted him on the shoulder and you walked by, - “And do what?”

Right now, you were away, doing your nails or hair, he couldn’t remember. All this remembering and being attentive amounted to nothing anyway. It was slipping away and there was no fixing anything. All he wanted to know was why. All he was not ready to find out was how.

He met you outside of the restaurant, you were late and Leon didn’t want your friends to know you arrived separately. He didn’t want anyone else in the universe to register that you could be separate. To make it one step closer to becoming a reality. The idea was scary. You got out of the taxi, complaining about the driver taking a longer route, like you two were fine. Like you were okay. Like you didn’t reject his proposal to move in with him last night. “You know, I could’ve taken you…” – “To the hospital?” – you snapped, there was no malice, but the look on your face was something he couldn’t read. Was it just hate powdered with playfulness… Was it because you were about to face your friends and had to keep up the appearances? Were you really joking? “What do you mean?” – “You know you’re a terrible driver. I’m so not getting into a car with you. Like, ever.” – and you gracefully chimed into the restaurant. Leon looked like he was slapped, not because of your joke, but because of everything that gripped the hope of fixing that “us” thing he treasured was just shattered. One more time. He walked in after you.

You were radiant, laughing with your friends, who greeted him, exclaiming “The man himself!”. He felt sick. He couldn’t do it. Not in front of your friends, he couldn’t look at you with questions in his heart, and he never learned how to mask his emotions. Maybe that’s a reason you fell out of love. He excused himself barely saying a word and went to the restroom.

Your friend followed him with sorry eyes, honest concern on her face, before gripping your hand, - “That must be hard… Is he always like that when he comes back from… work?”

He washed his face with cold water, pushing wet hair away from his forehead and gripping the sink, Leon looked at himself in the mirror. His heart was heavy, beating with an annoying irregularity that made him nauseous. It was hilarious really, he wasn’t moved by any monstrosity on duty, yet this… He couldn’t afford another part of his life to turn ugly. It wasn’t fair. He did everything right and yet everything was turning out wrong. Now that he started questioning you, it felt like a part of him that he tried to build for you came crushing down. Maybe, had he known his parents and observed their relationship, he could figure out a better way to act, would be more convincing at being this version you would like longer. And he really wanted to be him. He didn’t care who he was, as long as you were there. But he couldn’t make you like him. Maybe that’s what you saw - there was a level of dishonesty in that act. Trying to appeal to your idea of a partner. Whoever that man was – he failed. And Leon was staring at the mirror at the only person he could be. The only company he deserves, it seemed.

Exhale. Inhale, exhale. Whatever goes.

He got out of the restroom and dragged himself to join you and your precious friends. No thoughts, until… Right before turning the corner where a large plant was hiding the hallway from the dining room of the restaurant, he heard parts of your conversation. It was your voice that made him stop. Gentle and kind, just like before. But what made him stay, was what he overheard.

“-no, no! That would never happen, and even if it does… You know I’m just happy he’s back. In one piece. I wouldn’t mind if he came back in more though…” – everyone exclaimed your name and laughed scandalized, - “No! I don’t mean it like that! You know what I mean, stop it! I just… He could be in a wheelchair and it wouldn’t…” – by the pause and laughter it was obvious your friends were making faces, you groaned, - “I hate you, stop making it weird. All I mean is I love him, okay? Whatever happens, in any shape or form, I’m just… I’m happy to…” – your voice got less confident and you started searching for words, - “You know, I get so worried yes, but…”

He felt like someone had to save you from being put on the spot, so he made his way to the table and with a quick “sorry” sat next to you. Everyone put on their best impressions of inconspicuousness and you looked down, almost shy. You noticed the change in his demeanor, he sat closer than you expected after walking on imaginary eggshells for days, intentionally letting his leg touch your thigh.

“Damn, did you take a shower?” – asked one of the men at the table looking at his wet hair, could be your friend, could be your friend’s boyfriend. “Almost. Got really car sick on the way here, had to cool down. Had a terrible driver.” – “Really? We thought you drove here!” – your best friend started fussing immediately, looking for a waiter to fix your boyfriend a real drink instead of a mocktail.

“Yeah” – Leon smiled – “I drove here”. You felt your cheeks burn, as your friends laughed at the joke, without a clue it was aimed at you, and even though he wasn’t looking, you could tell he noticed you turning red, which made his smile wider.

“Took you forever.” – you muttered, annoyed. Were you still trying to play this game?

It was hard to process his emotions. He wanted to squish you in a small ball for making him think all those ugly things, at the same time he wanted to kiss you for finally releasing him from this limbo. Knowing you didn’t want to end things made him euphoric. He still had no idea what was up with your act, but it didn’t matter anymore. He heard your quivering voice when you talked all about just how much you loved him, and he knew sincerity when he came across it. Had to learn it the hard way.

All he wanted to do was to pick you up on his shoulder and carry you away, the problem was – he still had no idea what he wanted to do with you. He was angry, but filled with joy. It was like waking up from the worst nightmare. With morning wood. Almost made him spiral for nothing. He would not let it slide. You were more silent than ever, sipping your milkshake, or whatever it was, and smiling. It was like you sensed you were in trouble and it made you happy. Amusing. As soon as he figures out what to do with all of this, you’re not going to be so giggly.

Evening was coming to an end, he opened the door of his car for you, looking at your much expected insulted expression, - “I said…” – you started, as Leon rolled his eyes and put his hand on your waist, - “Get in” – he pinched you, not hard enough to hurt, but it was enough for you to squirm away into the car.

The road was silent before he took one sharp turn and you followed it with, - “This has to count as attempted murder.” – “Don’t worry, nobody’s gonna find out.” - “Oh, they will, when they find my body,” – you took the front mirror and checked your makeup, - “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of your body”, - he smiled, looking as you let go of the mirror and tried to hide your smile and act offended.

Yeah, ever since that day Leon knew how to handle you. Turned out all these people from your childhood were right, as they usually are: it was hard to find him, but it was worth it.

For months you waited for him to snap and drop the act, you hated seeing him treating you like you were holy. You hated seeing him trying to change his ways around you, and him insinuating that you want something else - someone else - with his modifications was insulting. You could have a boring gentleman if you wanted. You wanted original Leon, and you wanted him to want you at your worst.

To this day you remain clueless about the overheard conversation, completely convinced that it took you insulting his driving to get him there. You were prepared to get on his nerves, you always knew he’d show himself, crawl back into himself for you, to take what he needs, to make you you again. You put all your trust into it. And he did not disappoint. He picked it right up every time.

Even now, as he came back to his apartment after another mission, he was not surprised by the lack of greetings at the door. He was not surprised to find you on the bed with a book in your hands as well, sparing him one disinterested glance, - “You’re late.”, - you turned a page, - “Who even let you in?”

He smiled, crawling into bed, and taking the book away from you, - “I welcomed myself”, - he smiled into your lips, holding the book up, as you whined and pretended to try to reach it before finally wrapping your arms around him and returning the kiss. The switch up was always fast with you, and soon he was the one, who tried to pull away, as you kissed and tangled your body into his. He managed to hold you still for a minute, as you ran your fingers through his hair, until the playful look in your eyes softened as you noticed him looking at you with so much care that it made your heart drop. “I missed you so much” – he placed a tender kiss to your chin and you felt hot tears fall from your eyes and make their way into your ears as you hugged him, pulling him closer into your neck, you started crying silently.

He held you up and turned you both around to grip you tighter without crashing, letting you hide in his chest as he held you, caressing your back and kissing your head.

Sometimes you hated him for making you worry so much, sometimes you hated yourself for hating someone you loved so much, sometimes you wanted him to hate you to even it out. Sometimes you didn’t understand yourself and it was okay.

Because Leon knew how to handle you.  

[pomefioredove]

You know what would be sad? If you/Yuu breaks up with Vil (or vice versa) and then runs to Rook afterwards. I wonder if Vil is going to feel betrayed again? If you could do a little scenario for this, that’d be great!

this is such a good prompt, I love rebound scenarios omg. needed this today. and here comes rook with the steel chair!!!

summary: getting dumped by vil schoenheit type of post: long fic characters: rook additional info: romantic, established relationship, vil breaks up with reader, reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu, kinda angsty, hahhhh, my god

"It's not personal. I just don't think it's fair to you," Vil says.

He doesn't fidget. Maintains perfect eye contact. He doesn't even try to act sorry, which, perhaps, is what stings the most.

He's supposed to be an actor, after all.

That's what this is all about.

"You must have always known this was a possibility," he says. "My schedule is getting busier, I simply don't... want to push you away."

Each word is spoken with a honeyed softness, as if he's trying to cushion the blows. It doesn't help.

Your heart thuds in your chest, your eyes burn. This is the worst thing you've ever experienced. You would take a thousand overblots over this. Any day.

What a bitter sentiment.

"You don't mean to push me away. What is this, then?"

A look of guilt finally crosses Vil's face, cracking the mask of professionalism he'd been hiding behind. It offers little comfort.

His brow furrows, and he sighs. "A preventative measure. It would hurt more if I'd waited,"

A million questions fly through your mind, faster than you can catch them. You want to shout, to tell him exactly how he's making you feel, to ask him who he thinks he is- but all you can manage is a stare.

He frowns, extending a hand as if to caress your face, but you turn on your heels and leave before he has the chance.

You wouldn't sit there and let him make a fool of you any longer.

You had become comfortable with the Pomefiore dorm in the past few months, but today, its elegance feels suffocating. The white and gold decor seems to mock you, every vase of perfect flowers laughing at your imperfection as you pass them by.

It hurts.

Stings, burns, makes you feel like you're drowning in a sea of perfume, choking on lilac and rose. Has the air here always been so sickeningly sweet?

There's still a lingering part of you that wants to run back to him, to beg, to negotiate, but you know he's right. You hate that he's right.

This... whatever it was... wouldn't last.

And you'd always known it.

---

How does one recover from being dumped by Vil Schoenheit?

Short answer: you can't.

You can wallow all you want, drowning yourself in the unhealthy foods he forbade you from eating, skipping the classes he'd so encouraged you to excel in, and using cheap tissues on your formerly-perfect skin, but that doesn't change a thing.

Perhaps if it hadn't been so public, you might have pulled yourself together sooner. But the very second all of your pictures were gone from his profile, everyone knew.

On some nights, you'd torture yourself by reading the thirsty comments from desperate fans under his latest posts, all of them pointing out his recent singleness. You would wonder to yourself if you had sounded that pathetic when you were dating Vil.

Just another hopeless, desperate fan, hoping for a piece of him.

People on campus avoided you. Not out of fear, but pity, a lack of knowing what to say. How do you even comfort someone after this?

It was like having an open wound on full display. No matter how you tried to bandage it, it kept bleeding through.

Even Grim was keeping his distance.

What little comfort came in the form of an anonymous knight in shining armor. Roses left at your doorstep, letters of love and encouragement on your assigned seats, little baskets full of your favorite foods and trinkets on your kitchen table...

You would have questioned it if you were not so consumed by your grief. At least the mystery offered a distraction.

"Another one," Ace comments, pulling a letter off your chair before you can sit on it. "Whoever this guy is, he's slick."

He hands you the letter, which you gracefully accept.

Deuce watches cautiously. "And you're sure it's not just... some kinda of prank, right? I've known my fair share of nasty types, this could be a trick."

"Too much effort," you shake your head. "I mean, whoever this is is spending a lot of time and money cheering me up. Not to mention... I've tried looking up some of these poems, and no matches. They're originals."

You wave around the letter in hand, a faint smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "Though, I'm sure whoever's doing it is just being nice,"

"Nice. Right," Ace rolls his eyes. "Cause I know like, a million teenage boys who are just dying to write poetry for their friends."

Even Deuce snickers at that. You roll your eyes.

"Point taken. I guess I just can't believe that anyone would want me after..." you pause. There's no pleasant way to put it, so you let Ace and Deuce fill in the blanks.

"Hey, Vil is a jerk. He doesn't deserve you," Deuce says. "And trust me, if I ever catch him disrespecting you again-"

Ace scoffs. "Woah, there, tiger. Calm down. Vil could kick your ass and we all know it,"

"He really was something, wasn't he?" you sigh, slumping in your seat. Ace and Deuce give each other a panicked look.

"We didn't mean-"

"No, I get it," you say, reaching down to the floor in an attempt to touch your toes. Vil had told you that little exercises help calm the nerves. You hate how you still need his advice.

"Oh, hey, look," you sit back up, another pink envelope in hand. "Another one."

---

There's something about these gifts that doesn't sit right with you.

Each one is arranged to perfection, obviously crafted by a very thoughtful individual, just personal enough to suit your tastes but distant all the same.

It's almost as if the sender is holding something back.

But, not today.

You're greeted by a trail of rose petals leading up to Ramshackle's front door, which itself is ajar. Not uncommon, considering Grim's inability to take care of the makeshift dorm, but with the scent of roses and the candlelight inside, you know it's something more.

You walk in, setting your things aside, and continue following the path of petals into the kitchen, where a rickety wooden table has been set for two.

You, however, are the only one in the room.

"Hello?" you ask, turning in circles. The space is empty, save for a small letter on one of the chairs.

Beautiful,

A little bird told me you doubt the intentions of my admiration. I must amend that immediately, and I see no better way than to say it myself.

Yours truly.

"Trickster," a familiar voice comes from the doorway behind you, and you whirl around to face your admirer.

"Rook!" you gasp, clutching the letter to your chest.

He beams in response. "Oui, c'est moi. Though I was so enjoying the mystery, I feel it's time I made my intentions clear. Sit, please,"

You don't hesitate to follow his suggestion (the surprise left your knees feeling weak, anyway), and he joins you in the adjacent seat.

"But what-"

"Please," he says, holding a finger to your lips to shush you. "Let me start. I first want to say that I have meant every single word, in song and ink, that I have given to you. My heart is true."

Your mind is overflowing with questions, none of which he seems keen on answering in full just yet.

"I have spent the past several months allowing our Beautiful Vil to woo you. I have so enjoyed watching your love blossom from afar, despite my own feelings towards you. But things have changed," Rook says.

"For as much as I love him, this was his own doing. He has made a fatal mistake, one which cannot be undone- he has wounded you, mon amour, in a most vulnerable fashion. Months ago, when we both realized our feelings for you, I willingly stepped aside," he says. "I thought Vil would be the best option for you. I thought I was not ready to commit myself. Now I see what a mistake that was, and I hope you might find it within yourself to forgive me..."

You can only stare back. "Rook..."

"I cannot resent our Roi du Poison for his choice, for it's his to make. But he hurt you dearly, and in the process, he has relinquished his claim on you. I know your wound is still fresh. But, please, Mon Trickster, mon véritable amour, be mine?"

You're silent for a moment, processing every detail of what he said, what he's offering...

He's right. The wound Vil created is still open, and despite the weeks of "recovery", had yet to improve.

If you kept waiting for it to heal, perhaps it never would.

You nod. "Okay. Okay! But-! Let's take it slow, okay?"

Rook just barely manages to stop himself from leaping across the table to take your hands into his, and he reaffirms your request with a nod.

"Of course, mon cœur. What is a hunter if not patient?"

---

Pomefiore is beautiful again.

There are still times where you swear you can see Vil staring at the two of you, a look of discontent on his face, from across the room.

He doesn't utter a word about the way Rook has his arm over your shoulder, or the many terms of endearment he uses on you, though he doesn't have to. The lingering guilt and regret has made a home for itself in Vil Schoenheit.

You're sure Rook has noticed by now, too, although this isn't the first time he's pulled something like this on the housewarden without a second thought, and it likely won't be the last.

Perhaps it's for the better.

[annarobszombies]

Loving your writings so here's my request ♡

If you are comfortable, imagine Stan and Xeno trying to court reader (gender neutral if you can) who's jewelry artist asexual but romantic, who just can't for the love of god recognize naturally flirting like gestures towards them and just thinks people are being kind or reading it as platonic gesture.

When reader is being told out loud straight to the face that someone is actually interested or in love with them by anyone, the reader would become insecure as they have deep doubts that their platonic and romantic attraction alone towards people is enough after bad dating experiences from past where people have claimed them being cold hearted machine because of the lack of sexual attraction and blindness to see nor notice flirting kind gestures naturally thus not responding those when others have expected that so the reader kind of shots down the people who dare to confess their love towards them out of fear being hurt all over again, even when their own romantic feelings are awakened.

I like this prompt a lot, I just hope I did it justice. Sorry this took so long, I had to consult with a friend, so parts of this is more how they said they felt when things like this happened. Honestly, though, I don't think Stanley and Xeno would mind if their partner was asexual.

StanXeno x gn!Reader

You stare hard at yourself in the mirror, searching yourself for the part of you that was broken. You think there must be something; why else would that be what everyone you’ve ever dated says to you as they walk out the door? 

You don’t find anything, except for a few familiar blemishes.

With a sigh, you trudge out of the bathroom to finish preparing for the day. You were running a bit behind, but it wasn’t like you had that many customers in the stone world. At most, Xeno would already be waiting for you to ask for something, but he rarely complained too much about such things. If anything, he should know not to show up until at least ten minutes after when you typically “opened”. 

You take the steps down from the living quarters to where your little shop was a bit too quickly, causing you to miss the last step. Your stomach drops, heart racing out of control as you fall, your whole body tensing to prepare for the inevitable pain of landing. 

But instead, a pair of hands grabs you at the last second, stopping you just centimeters from the hard ground. 

“Gotcha,” Stanley’s voice sighs in your ear. Turning your head, you find him looking a little winded, as if he’d just raced down the stairs himself. Behind him, Xeno is making his way down much more casually. 

Huh. That was weird.

You mumble a soft thanks when Stanley helps you steady yourself on your own feet, which he just nods at. 

“What fortunate timing,” Xeno says. “Stan and I were just on our way to meet you.” 

“Good thing, too. That would have been a bad fall.” Stanley says, his own hands now behind his back.

The three of you take the rest of the short journey together, both men quiet as you unlock the door and bustle around the inside of your tiny jewelry crafting space. 

Xeno had this put here for you after you’d complained a little too loudly about how much you missed your craft. He’d had the space carved out, and all the materials had been given to you for no other reason than you wanted it. So he claimed, anyway. 

You didn’t get why people didn’t think he was nice. He was good to you all the time, always finding time to stop by and say hello, and never getting upset with you if you took too long to do something for him. 

Stanley was nice to you all the time too, even if he sometimes stood a little too close. He brought you things you wanted, did lots of heavy lifting whenever you needed the help, and liked to just linger around your shop and keep you company. 

“So,” You say. “What brings you both by?”

“Are we not permitted to visit just because?” Xeno asks. 

“No! No, of course you can come hang out! I like your company,” You say with a smile.

“We like your company, too,” Stanley says, sliding a cigarette from his pocket, sticking it between his lips, and lighting it. 

“Oh, Stanley, could you not-” You don’t even finish the sentence before it’s out of his mouth and he’s pinching the end to kill the ember. He sticks it behind his ear for later. 

“Sorry, sorry,” He says. Xeno lets out a soft huff, but otherwise says nothing about the short moment. 

“It’s okay,” You say with a soft chuckle. “I’m sure it’s hard to remember not to smoke in here, since I’m the only one it seems to bother.”

“It bothers me, but it seems my opinion means little,” Xeno says, and you think he might actually be pouting a little. 

“You’ve never actually asked me to put them out,” Stanley says. “If you want me to stop that bad, just tell me.” 

The look Xeno gives him has you laughing even harder.

“Anyway,” Xeno says, redirecting. “There is an actual reason we’re here.” 

You want to make a joke about him originally saying they were here just because, but he looks a little too serious now for that. Stanley, also, straightens back up at Xeno’s tone. 

“What’s up?” You ask, suddenly feeling nervous. The two of them look at each other, something secret whispered between their gazes. 

“Stanley and I are interested in you.” Xeno finally says. 

You blink, confusion filling you. 

“I don’t follow,” You say. 

“Romantically,” Stanley says. 

Oh. Oh. Oh no. 

You already had a feeling where this was headed. Were they asking you out? Seriously? Why? Surely they knew there was something wrong with you by now. You’d heard it whispered by a previous partner you’d briefly had within the colony. There was no way it hadn’t reached Xeno by now. 

“I, um,” You don’t know what to say. You don’t know what to do. 

Romantic feelings were nothing new to you, but getting into relationships had always been a painful struggle. Relationships a lot of times came with the expectation of eventual sex, and that’s where your hard line was. You didn’t crave things like that, like everyone else did, and that had led to far far too many harsh breakups that left you believing more and more that you weren’t worth anything. 

You didn’t want to fall in love again. You didn’t want to get hurt, to build something with them only to have it torn down like all the others. 

“I don’t think…” You have to let them down easy, to salvage what little relationship you’ll have left after this. “I don’t think I’m the right person for this.” 

Xeno’s head tilts, as if not comprehending what you were saying. He makes a gesture with his hand, encouraging you to continue. To explain. 

“I-I just…I’m not good at…at relationships,” You say. 

“Is anyone?” Stanley asks, now mimicking Xeno’s head tilt. “Isn’t the point of being with someone to grow with them?” 

You learned something new about Stanley Snyder today. He never struck you as such a romantic before. 

“If you feel anxious about joining our relationship as a third party, I can assure you that there is no issue. Stanley and I have discussed this at length,” Xeno says. 

“No, no, it…it’s not that,” You say quickly. “I just…I…didn’t realize…you felt that way, I guess?” 

“No?” Now Xeno looks contemplative, mentally searching his memory for every encounter you had with each other and reevaluating them one by one. “I see. So it was a failing on our part to get our intentions across.” 

Stanley steps forward suddenly, closing the distance between you and him fairly quickly. He reaches for you, taking your chin in his hand and forcing you to look up at him. 

“I’ll say it real slow, so you catch it this time,” He says. “Xeno and I like you, and want you to be a part of our relationship. Romantically. Is that clear enough?” 

You nod as best you can with how firmly he’s holding you. His grip doesn’t hurt, but it’s clear he has no intentions of letting you flee without an answer. 

“Crystal,” You say. His fingers loosen, rubbing where he’d been holding you as if he worried he’d held too tightly and hurt you. 

The softness of his touch makes your chest ache. It makes you want to lean in, to open your heart back up one more time and let him and Xeno run off with it while just praying they don’t leave you when you don’t give them your body as well. 

“So then, now that we all understand each other-”

“I don’t have sex.” The words fall out of you without any prompting, bursting from your chest before you even had time to comprehend you’d said them at all. 

The silence that follows makes you want to throw up. 

“Sorry,” You wheeze. “I-I don’t know where that came from I-”

“Is that your reason? Your real reason?” Stanley asks. You can’t read his face, or Xeno’s, but now that it’s in the open, you have no other choice but to keep talking. 

“I just don’t feel it, you know? The…the want…for it…And I know that it’s supposed to be important in a relationship, and I’ve gone through this so many times already, so I just…I figure you should just know I’m broken ahead of time so-”

“Broken?” You’re not sure you’ve ever heard Xeno sound like that before. “What fool would say that you were broken?” 

Everyone. All your past loves had said you were broken, that there was something deeply wrong with you. That you were unfixable. 

Stanley has a look in his eye, and somehow you know he’s mentally targeting someone already.

“I just…it’s not normal, is it? To not…feel any desire in that way?” Your voice sounds small. You feel small. 

“It’s statistically unlikely that everyone on this planet feels physical desire. The human body is a marvel-”

“Do you feel love?” Stanley asks, cutting Xeno off before he can start to lecture for real. 

“That’s not really enough-”

“Not what I asked.” 

“I…yes, I can. I do. I just-”

“Okay then. Why does anything else matter?” 

His words short circuit your brain, leaving you staring at him with parted lips like a gaping fish. 

You’d always been told it mattered. That sex was what was most important. That your purely romantic love for someone just wasn’t enough. You’d always been pressured for more. 

“Let me assure you,” Xeno steps up, shooing Stanley to the side so that he can make eye contact with you while he speaks. “What we are looking for is a romantic partner. There are not, and will never be any expectations for you to perform in a way you are not comfortable. We want you for other reasons.” 

“Like what?” You ask, desperate to understand further. 

“Your personality, for one. The fact that we simply enjoy being in your presence. You’re intelligent, skilled, you make Stanley laugh like a child, something I have not seen anyone do in years-” 

“We want you because we’ve started falling in love with you,” Stanley cuts in, once again stopping Xeno before he can get too deep. “And you said you feel love, so it works out perfectly. If we need to fuck someone, we’ll just fuck each other.” 

The laugh that bubbles out of you at his blunt vulgarity has him grinning ear to ear. Stanley always looked happy when you laugh. Xeno, too, seems pleased at how your mood is rising a little. 

“Let us care for you,” Xeno says. “And have a little more faith. We aren’t animals.” 

“Can I think about it?” You ask. It was a big decision, whether you wanted to open your heart the way they were asking you to or to stay in your little bubble forever. There was a large part of you that was still terrified that you were going to get hurt again. 

“Of course,” Xeno says, reaching up to brush a tear you didn’t know you’d started shedding from your face. “Until then, I believe Luna has been begging you for some earrings.”

You let out another weak chuckle. 

“Yeah, she has,” You say with a soft sigh. “I…I won’t take too long. Just…give me till the end of the day, okay?”

“Of course, my dear. Should you need anything before then, though, we are still available to assist you,” Xeno says. 

“Then…can you guys help me sort some of these gemstones? The boxes are heavy as hell and I need extra hands-”

“Whatever you need,” Stanley says. “We can do it.”

[vegan-peppermint]

Tim helps you through a panic attack

This is a part 2, but you do not need the context tbh.

Part 1 here

Genre: Angst, hurt/comfort

Literally the opposite of a slow burn, I'm sorry

Wc: 1.7k

Toby seized the moment and managed to yank his axe free. With a swift and decisive motion he raised his hands high above his head.

“Get back,” he warned you.

“Do you really think I can just let her go?” you shot back, panic gnawing at your insides. The cultist's mouth gaped open, her teeth snapping at the air, desperate to get a piece of you. You shifted your hand as best as you could to avoid the axe’s path, but you couldn’t afford to loosen your grip on her nose. “Just don’t miss, for god’s sake!” you urged, casting a worried glance at him through furrowed brows. You were painfully aware that his usual unpredictability could lead to disaster.

There was a brief, charged silence as he locked eyes with you, both of you acutely aware of the fine line between you saying goodbye to your dominant hand or not. With a deep breath, Toby steeled himself; there was no room for uncertainty.

In a fluid motion, he swung the axe downward, zeroing in on the cultist’s neck, the raw power of his intention propelling the blade through the air toward its target.

You shot your eyes closed and averted your head in an effort to protect the rest of your body. It was not only for the lack of pain that you knew Toby did successfully hit his target; it was the sudden, jarring shift in weight that fought against your grip. You did not dare open your eyes until the loud thud of the woman’s body echoed in the empty cabin.

“Jesus christ!” you cursed instictively, throwing away the left over head you were still holding. Taking two steps back you tried to regain confidence, shaking off your hands and legs hoping they would stop trembling. As you glanced around the room at the bloodstained floor and the ominous stairs leading down toward the basement, a horrifying question popped into your mind: “What about Tim and Brian?”

Toby scuffs seemingly annoyed your urgency to rescue the other two is more important than celebrating his perfect target. Nonetheless, he straightens his back and marches past you before coming to a full stop at the top of the stairs.

“You hear anything?” he asks in a whisper, lowering his ear. You mimic his motion and listen, but only the sound of your fast beating heart was audible. You turn to look at him, before looking down into the darkness, as if prompting him to go check it out. Toby doesn’t seem to accept the anxious negative head shake you give after he nodded his head for you to go first.

His lips move silently, forming the words as he mouths emphatically: “G-O-!”

Your eyes widen in disbelief. Here he is, a towering 6’2" man wielding a blood-soaked axe, fresh from decapitating a creature that resembled a human. Absolutely no way was he sending you into the fray first.

“Y-O-U,” you mouth fiercely, pointing at him with both hands before shifting your attention to the enveloping darkness. “G-O-!”

With an angry shake of his head, he insists, “Y-O-U,” his voice rising in a hushed shout. “GO!”

“You go!” you retort, whispering defiantly back at him.

“I’ll fucking go!” Tim hollered from the basement. “Can one of you two idiots come untie us already?”

You roll your eyes, a new sense of safety washing over you.

“No, no, give them a minute” Brian’s muffled voice followed. “I think they were just about to reach to an agreement.”

The four of you were scattered around the dimly lit room. The paint was peeling off the walls, revealing layers of faded colors long abandoned. Dust hung heavy in the air, dancing lazily in the single, flickering yellow light bulb that buzzed incessantly above. Its glow barely reached the corners.

You found Tim pinned beneath a heavy metal tool case with a crimson gash on his forehead oozing slowly. Meanwhile, Brian was jammed awkwardly inside a cabinet, his face flushed and cheeks stuffed with gear. His body was tense, but even he managed a deadpan “thanks.".

"We've got one in two pieces upstairs," said Toby, adjusting his sleevs with trembling hand.

Tim nodded, a smirk creeping up on his face, despite his plight. The approval from Tim, in this absurd situation, felt like a badge of honor. It was enough to make Toby's chest puff out with pride, as if he'd just scored the winning goal. He bounced slightly on the balls of his feet, oblivious to the tense atmosphere.

“Where's the other?” you interjected, your voice cutting his cheerful moment short. It was the natural follow-up question. The thought of another cultist lurking in the dark made the hair on your back raise.

“Probably snuck out while we were busy,” Toby replied quietly, his gaze darting around the dimly lit room.

“And left her friend to die?” you countered, frustration creeping into your voice. The two men you turned to for support didn’t seem to share your unease.

“Well she surely didn’t back her up, did she?” Tim shot back, his eyes fixing on you with a confidence that only added to your anxiety.

“What if she does?” The words tumbled out before you could stop them. Your glance flickered from Toby’s frown of disagreement to Brian, who was casually shaking the dust from his hoodie, seemingly unfazed. “We can’t just assume she’ll abandon the situation like nothing happened!”

Toby groaned, leaning his head back as annoyance washed over his features. Tim narrowed his gaze at him: a warning, before turning his attention back to you. He struggled to keep his tone gentle, trying not to amplify your anxiety, but the traces of frustration and irritation seeped into his usually warm brown eyes.

“I know they look human, and it's tempting to think they possess intelligence,” he began, his voice steady.

Brian rolled his eyes, expressing the exhaustion of having heard this lecture countless times before. He took a step toward the stairs, glancing back at Tim to gauge whether he was still needed before making his way up to the living room. Each step on the old wooden stairs creaked loudly, a sound that only deepened your discomfort.

“Go secure the perimeter, Tics,” Tim commanded the teenager.

Toby scuffed audibly: “You really m-mean to tell me you- you really mean t-t-to tell me you think the other one is still- Fuck- lingering around?”

“What are you, desne?” Tim retorted sharply, giving Toby a light shove against the sternum and stepping closer, effectively cornering him. Instinctively, Toby shrank back, trying to make himself small against Tim’s imposing presence. “Object again and I’ll make you a cripple that repeat’s himself by sunrise.”

A chill climbed up your spine as you darted your eyes between Toby and Tim. The microaggressions Tim was displaying surely made you feel so much calmer. Heart raced as Toby, face pale with fear, suddenly darted up the stairs without looking back. Pity washed over you as you watched him flee, but your own dread grew palpable.

Everything that happened so far finally came crashing down on you and became awfully aware of the danger lurkig in every shadow. The cultists, the operator, and now Tim, who stood with his back turned, an air of menace that curled your stomach in knots. You stiffened, breath hitching at the thought of what might happen next.

“I know they look human,” Tim started over with a tired exhale. “They are not. Closer to fish rather than dogs, actually.”

What on earth are you doing? You spent the last months of your life eating, sleeping next to the people who killed your friends. Not only had you laughed with them, helped them heal- you came to care for them. The guilt suffocates you, eats at you from the inside. Yet this heaviness pales in comparison to the unbearable fear swirling in your mind as Tim calls your name.

He looks annoyed, you think. Is this the moment he finally snaps? The thought sends another wave of anxiety crashing over you. Even if he doesn’t lose it, you know whatever lurking monster awaits you all will surely come for you. And deep within, you can’t help but think that maybe it would be exactly what you deserved after everything that had happened.

“Hey, hey- look at me,” his voice is hard to grasp, like a distant echo. You cannot hear the words he’s speaking, they remain irrelevant though. You were going to die tonight- you felt it so strongly.

Tim steps closer, gently brushing your cheek with his thumb. When did you start crying? Your breaths come in shallow gasps, and the world around you feels distorted and menacing.

A choked sob escapes your lips, and you can feel yourself breaking down completely.

"Sorry, I’m so—" you begin, but your words are abruptly cut off by a hiccup. "I don't know why I'm crying, I'm sorry," you manage to choke out, feeling overwhelmingly ashamed.

Tim remains still, his hand tenderly resting on your cheek. He looks at you with what you might've mistaken for concern had you not known him.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Surprisingly, his calloused hand begins to ground you. The steps he took towards you were forgotten in the haze of your panic attack, and now, you came to the abrupt realisation of how close you two really were.

You look up at him through teary eyelashes, and the image of him blurs, much like the lines of your hostile relationship. After swallowing dryly, you accept how much you embarrassed yourself in front of him. Despite all your better reasoning, you allow your head to fall heavy in his palm.

Exhale.

His hand is rough, cool against your skin, and undeniably dirty

Inhale.

But it’s been too long since someone touched you, and if you just close your eyes shut, perhaps he will feel familiar.

Exhale.

His fingers move ever so slightly brushing your skin with care. You cannot recall anyone touching you so gently before.

You should open your eyes, sooner better than later. You know who he is, what he’s done. It’s unfair for you to find comfort in the very hands that have inflicted so much pain.

Inhale.

“We’ll keep you safe, kid.”

[ghost-with-a-teacup]

Hi! Just here to say that i loved What's in Between so much and i truly was meltinggg with part II 💕💕💕

I've never requested anything before and I don't rlly know how this works so it's all good if you decide no to write this one, but for the request: is it possible for it to be a hurt/comfort, Miguel x reader with the prompt "Talk to me, please. You need to keep your eyes open. Just a little longer"?

𝐎𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞, 𝐑𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐁𝐥𝐮𝐞

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x Reader

Summary: It was supposed to be a regular mission on any normal day at Spider Society, but momentary distractions are costly and you may have just paid the ultimate price.

Warnings: Mentions of injury and death, BUT IT GETS SOFT I PROMISE.

“Miguel!” you say, bounding up to him with a pep in your step. He looks down at you with a small smile on his face, but it disappears as Jess glances over at him.

“You know you don’t have to pretend to be stoic all the time, how long have we known each other?” She asks, and he only rolls his eyes.

“This isn’t pretending,” he says to her before turning back to you. “Ready?” he asks.

“Always.”

Today was like any normal day at Spider Society, filled with missions to protect the canon of the multiverse. Albeit a little different, because it wasn’t too often that you were able to go on a mission with Miguel. He typically went on them alone, working best without distractions. But whenever he needed a partner you were his first choice.

With one last glance at each other (and a wink that makes Miguel snort) you both head through the portal.

It never gets tiring, travelling to a different dimension. What’s fascinating is the in-between, swirls of bright oranges, reds and blues all as an interconnected web between all possible universes in the multiverse. You get lost in the view, which is probably why you never realize that at the same time, Miguel gets lost in you.

After a little bit, you both emerge on the other side.

“That never gets old,” you grin at him.

“No…no, it doesn’t,” he says, his eyes trailing over your form for a moment.

“So, what’s the deal with this universe today?” you ask, and Miguel huffs softly.

“You would know if you ever listened to the mission briefings,” he says, giving you a side-eye as you both walk around the abandoned factory.

“Why do I need to listen when you’d just tell me anyway, love?” you ask, and he only sighs.

“Yes, but I shouldn’t have to say it twice, amor,” he mocks and you laugh out loud. Your laughter is contagious because Miguel lets out a chuckle himself before continuing.

“She’s a villain from Earth-17502, her main weapons are wooden spikes that emerge from her back and a pistol. What she lacks in speed she has in brute force, and the spikes can be shot out at 100km per hour, regenerated with hammerspace,” he explains.

“So like…a demented Sonic the Hedgehog?” you snicker.

“What? No, I just said she wasn’t fast,” he says, confused.

“No wait, a demented porcupine,” you say, and he only snorts. “Sure, querida.”

“Ugh, disgusting. Romance,” a disembodied voice interrupts, and the two of you immediately go on the defence. From the shadows emerges said villain in question, a cruel expression on her face as she readies her pistol by her side.

Without warning she begins shooting, but the two of you are fast and in sync, splitting off and slinging away with your webs.

“Look bud, I’m sorry that your love life is sad but don’t take it out on us!” You shout, swinging around with a relaxed look on your face.

She only lets out a growl, continuing to shoot at you to no avail. Behind her, Miguel is making his own advance, but like a triggered trap her spikes shoot out before he can get too close.

“Shit!” he says, leaping out of the way just in time.

“It wouldn’t do you well to sneak up on me, little one,” she laughs cruelly. “Wouldn’t want to get skewered!”

Now it's a game of ‘try to avoid the bullets and the spikes flying in all directions at once’, and it seemed like you were at a stalemate.

“There’s no way to get close to her!” you say frustratedly, leaping from pillar to pillar as you continue to evade her bullets. It seemed her frustration seemed to reach a peak as well as she lets out a shout, unable to hit her marks. You move down to the floor, trying a new approach from the ground.

“We’ll figure it out, we always do,” Miguel reassures, and you let out a little smile.

But in that minuscule second of distraction the villain finds an opening, and before you know it a spike is flying straight for you with no time to evade it.

“NO!!” you hear him shout, but it was already too late. All the while, the villain only laughs in the face of your anguish. The spike impales your side, and for a few breathless moments, you don’t even feel it, as though it was nothing more than a punch to the side, a bit of pressure. The adrenaline pumping through your veins does its job of allowing you to not feel the pain.

But as you stumble slightly, it starts to settle in. All at once the searing hot pain hits you like a train, and you collapse to your knees, unable to hold yourself up anymore.

Every breath you take becomes more difficult than the last as a ringing fills your ears.

In front of you, Miguel fights with a new vigour you had never seen in him before, claws slashing and webs flying. Each action is served with purpose and no restraint on his strength, and the villain can no longer keep up. But before long your vision starts to fail you as well, closing in on your line of sight as you collapse onto your side with a wheeze. What felt like an eternity was in reality only maybe 30 seconds, but you were so, so tired.

Out of the corner of his eye Miguel sees you collapse, and all he sees is red. Before he can realize it his fangs are out, and he bites through the villain’s neck effectively paralyzing them instantly.

Within moments he is by your side, scooping you up into his arms as you blink blearily up at him.

“LYLA, SEND BACKUP NOW,” he shouts, his voice cracking at the end and for once there is no funny banter between the two of them as she does his orders immediately.

You open your mouth, but no words come out. Slowly you feel your eyes begin to close, but he shouts your name.

"Talk to me, please. You need to keep your eyes open, just a little longer,” he begs, clutching you close. You’ve never heard his voice so broken, not even when he told you about his past.

“It-” you gasp. “It hurts so bad, Miguel,” your voice weak with pain.

He looks at you with panic and fear, but most of all a feeling of helplessness.

“Querida, come on. You’re strong, mi vida. Stay with me, alright?” he says, his hand gently brushing your hair back before he scoops you up, carrying you in his arms.

You can’t help but cry out in pain as he does, the spike digging deeper into your side.

“Fuck, fuck,” he says, moving as fast toward the portal Jess had just opened up. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, but I need to get you to the infirmary, alright? You’ll be okay, you’ll be okay,” he says, trying desperately to believe it himself.

But he doesn’t know anymore. You’ve lost too much blood, the injury too serious.

It throws him back to when he was carrying his daughter like this, frantically running as the world falls apart around him.

But this time it was you. His light, the best to have ever happened to him amongst the infinite possibilities throughout the multiverse, the one person that managed to pull him out of the pit he had fallen into after the destruction of his daughter’s world.

You were his salvation…and he was about to lose you.

“I love you, Miguel,” you say softly, before you let out a violent cough. “In case…in case I’m not here to say it anymore.”

“No, no. Don’t say that. You’ll be able to say it a million more times, alright querida? A million more, and even then it won’t be enough,” he says, but you can’t hear him anymore. You can’t even make out his beautiful face so broken in anguish.

All you can see are the colours of the space between the universes. The oranges, reds and blues.

~

You didn’t think death would be so cold and monotonous. You weren’t exactly sure if you believed in the concept of ‘heaven’ or ‘hell’, the Fields of Elysium were probably closer to what you expected the afterlife to be like. But you definitely didn’t expect it to be so…bland.

It was like an endless void you walked through, no warmth, no ‘light’ to go towards, just you and your thoughts.

Your thoughts.

Miguel.

The guilt hits you like a tidal wave at the fact that you left him alone. Another person was ripped from his grasp by the hands of fate. You couldn’t bear the thought of hurting him, and you did just that by leaving him behind. Even though you promised each other forever on your wedding day, here you were breaking that promise.

You couldn’t find the strength in your legs to continue walking aimlessly anymore. Like that fight in the factory, you fell to your knees, not because of your injury but because of the pain you felt in your heart for hurting the one you loved the most.

You remember his face as he held you in his arms, pleading for you to stay.

He was so warm. He always was.

You missed him.

“Miguel…” you whisper. “I’m sorry for leaving you behind,” you sob.

~

~

~

“Don’t leave me, querida,” a voice says, far off in the distance. Your head whips up at the sound, and you look around desperately trying to hear it again.

“Please…please, I can’t. I can’t do this without you,” the voice says, and in an instant you’re back on your feet following the sound.

“You were the best thing to ever happen to me, vida mía. Somehow loving me in spite of my brokenness. I don’t…I don’t know how to live without you by my side.” You’re running toward the voice now, running through the darkness with it as your guide.

“Don’t leave me…” the voice whispers before fading away, leaving you with nothing to follow anymore.

“NO!” you shout, and before you know it your webs are shooting out from your wrists, catching onto something, and then you’re swinging forward into the unknown.

~

Your hearing is the first of your senses to return, the steady beat of the heart rate monitor gratingly irritating after a while. It was ironic considering it was the first to disappear when you first got injured.

Next is your touch. You feel the weight of the hospital blankets, scratchy but warm.

Not as warm as the hand that grasped your own though, holding it tight.

Your sense of smell and taste come back around the same time, the sterile scent of the hospital unfamiliar, your mouth dry.

The last is your sight. Granted it was a bit difficult to see with your eyes closed, but you hadn’t quite found the strength to open them until now.

Blearily you blink as the bright lights temporarily blind you, but your attention isn’t on them for long. Instead, you turn to Miguel who sits staring at you in shock, eyes so wide it was almost comical.

“Hi,” you say softly, and he only blinks once before his forehead is pressed to your thigh, a broken sob escaping his throat. He grasps your hand all the tighter, as though he was never going to let go.

It makes you almost want to cry too, but instead you lift your arm up weakly before running it through his hair the way you knew he loved.

“I thought, I thought I was going to lose you,” he whispers, his face still pressed into your leg. He says it so quietly that you can barely hear him, like if he uttered the words too loudly they would come true.

“I could never leave you, my love,” you say. “I have to say ‘I love you’ a million times before then, remember? Or was it a billion?” He can’t help but chuckle, finally lifting his head up to look at you.

He looked exhausted, his usual dark circles darker than usual, his red eyes bloodshot. But he looked so, so relieved.

“No amount of times could ever be enough, vida mía,” he says before pressing his lips to yours.

You both smile into the kiss of a thousand swirling emotions, a million words left unsaid but you both understood even despite it all.

“Guess I’ll just have to get started then,” you say with a grin as you pull away.

“I love you, Miguel,” you say.

“I love you, querida,” he says in turn.

Taglist: @beiroviski, @scaraza, @blueoorchid,@phobia0325, @remuslupinwifeee, @local-mr-frog, @johfaam0, @raweggohan, @honeycriess, @alexenoirex, @chimpkinnuggies, @rqdior, @banana--belle, @notasadgirlipromise, @6billionyearsold, @gods-perfectidiot, @phobia0325, @alcinas-darling-side

A/N: Was thinking of leaving it on a cliffhanger, thought that would be too cruel LMAO. Thank you for reading! And thank you for requesting, anon <3 I had fun with this one hehe

[a-haunting-memory]

hello!! Hope you are having a wonderful day <33 This is a Lackadaisy request for a one shot so yippee! Basically just reader having a toxic relationship and how Mordecai, Rocky, and maybe other characters deal with it. Hope you have fun writing this angst prompt and I’ll be looking forward to it! Toodles <3

Hey, hi, hello! First of all thank you! I hope you're having a great day/night too! :3

Second of all, when I saw the request I was like: 'wait, that will be cool to write!' although ngl I've kind of procrastinated the writing process, sorry, I just lost my motivation and I had to push myself to start writing this ( ༎ຶ⁠‿⁠༎ຶ)

However I've finally got my motivation back. I'm not very good at making oneshots, it's my second time making one if I can even call this thing an one shot so if it's not looking like a proper one, I'm sorry. I wasn't sure how to get a hang of it. I was struggling a bit due to the lack of information so i tried to keep stuff neutral enough to not imply names nor gender which usually is not a problem to me, but lately I've been feeling like someone put a block to my creativity so if this writing isn't as good, you'll have to excuse me...

In case it is not what you expected, please let me know what to fix. Any advices are welcome!

Summary: How would Mordecai, Rocky deal with a reader who's in a toxic relationship.

Warnings: mentions of a toxic relationship of course, mentions of death, reader is gn, the relationship between the reader and canon characters is undefined.

Mordecai:

When he heard you complaining about some unreasonable arguments that you've had with your partner, he's been trying to be polite, trying to give you a few advices, telling you your partner was not acting wisely, not like a proper partner should. As the time passed, you had more and more complaints and on top of that you looked more gloomy. Seeing that, Mordecai's comments about how you should do something about it or just leave the person, worsened. How could you be so stupid not seeing what a two-faced, serpent with no respect your partner was?!

He always felt strange towards relationships, but now it was even worse after observing how someone close to him hurts themselves because of some weird relationships and odd feelings.

The line has been crossed when he saw you crying in a corner one day. The look of you - helplessly trying to wipe the tears off your cheeks, but only making it worse, rubbing them all over your face - reminded him of the time his little sister had scraped her knee and was weeping until he himself came to help her.

That was it.

You were too stubborn, too jumbled in those stupid feelings to do anything. If not him, no one is gonna take care of this situation.

That night he left his apartment with a fedora that cast a shadow over his face along with a coat that blended his figure into the darkness of the night. He already got everything he needed to know. He connected every little dot, every fact you said about your partner and the places you hung around - Mordecai quickly figured out their place of living.

In the future you have to be more careful what you say... he probably should tell you that.

After he reached your partner's flat, his lock picking skills were up to use. Much to his dismay, the rest of what he had left to do was a bit messy...

He didn't know how to comfort you the following days as you weeped over your not-so-alive partner, but at least neither you nor he had to worry about a certain somebody ruining your mental nor physical health anymore.

He's not a guy of many words nor one who shows much emotion / affection if any at all so you cannot expect much comfort from him, but he'll try to be there for you despite everything.

He will not tell you it was him who killed your partner tho, no, you would hate him for that even tho he 'did the right thing'... Or at least that's what he's been telling himself.

If you really want to, you'll find someone better, who will be the right for you, for sure.

Rocky:

He was happy to see you and your partner in the speakeasy. He loved bothering and teasing you two. It was fun and giggles until he started to notice you coming to Lackadaisy alone more often or acting somewhat odd when with your partner.

He observed you as you sat alone at the bar, leaning over a glass of illicit beverage. He was curious about the reason of it hence he came up to you:

- "hey there sulky-puss, where's your partner?" He rested his fists on his hips.

- "I don't really want to talk about this." You grumbled out.

- "Oh c'mon, pal! Spill the beans!" He cheered with his usual toothy smile.

- "No, Rocky, I'm not in the mood" you cut him off. Seeing his grin getting wiped away from his face exchanged for a confused look made you wince, you hated seeing him upset. "Sorry, I just-... It's a bit complicated, don't worry about it, okay?"

He nodded, he didn't want to bother you too much, he tried to ignore it... at least for now. However he couldn't shake off a bad feeling he had about what was happening. However he started to pick up stuff like: how your arms were often drooped, how hunched your posture was, how you looked like a walking ball of anxiety. He tried to talk to you, to crack a joke, to cheer you up. Sometimes it had the intended effect and sometimes it had the opposite outcome, but he didn't want to give up. After some conversations during which you may or may have not been slightly tipsy he concluded 'your partner was the matter'.

- "Woah, Woah, Woah-... Your partner did what?"

- "yeah... They started threatening me after I said I wanted to leave." You admitted quietly.

- "Oh no, that is not the spirit of love!" He pressed his palms to his cheeks dramatically, making his lips pursue like a fish.

- "Unfortunately you're right, it's not... I don't know what to do anymore." You whined and then took a sip of your beverage.

.

you may not have had any ideas on what to do but he did...

.

That awful person was making their significant other feel unsafe and unloved! I'll show them what the real threat is!-

He took a big swing and...

Clash ..Voomf..

A burning bottle filled with motor oil and gasoline hit the wall of a house and set it on fire.

- "TASTE THE BURNING FLAMES OF LOVE! Ahahah- Or rather the flames of sweet justice. I probably should've said that instead." Rocky brought his finger up to scratch his chin. "Hmm, I should have-"

- "YOU BASTARD!!" A sudden yell came from the window.

Rocky looked up and his lips widened in a twisted grin.

- "You brought this on yourself!! BhAHahHa!!" Once he saw the figure rushing and disappearing deeper into the house, he knew that was the moment to run and so he did...with a maniacal laugh.

The condition of your partner and their house depends on how generous Rocky felt that day.

Let's hope your partner is scared enough to leave you alone and not seek revenge.

[leighsartworks216]

Screaming crying crawling up the walls for your top tier Astarion content

Idk if you’ve seen this, it’s floating around the internet (I think it’s a tweet?) it says something like “I want someone to grab my face and say ON PURPOSE, I WILL CARE FOR YOU ON PURPOSE” and I’d love to see our love-deprived bi-centurion react to something like this.

Like maybe he’s caught feelings for tav and is starting to feel bad for manipulating them and starts self-sabotaging by saying/thinking stuff like ‘you only THINK you love me but it’s not real, I’m sorry I made you feel this way’ and tav getting v v serious and replying “I never loved you by accident”.

Him being confronted by the fact that things never would’ve gotten this far if they didn’t let it, if they didn’t choose him, that they’re still choosing him and that it has nothing to do with the act he put up or the situation he constructed, if they wanted nothing to do w him they could’ve and would’ve dipped.

Idk I’m just spitting ideas, have fun babe ✌🏻

- 🦇

I wrote this at 2am but I did proofread it (it's almost 4 now 💀)

Also the original tweet is by Jenny Slate (@/jennyslate) and says, "I just want someone to grab my little face and scream 'ON PURPOSE, ON PURPOSE I AM GOING TO CARE ABOUT YOU'"

Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

Warnings: self-doubt, references to manipulation, self-deprecation, references to dissociation, dissociation mention, hurt/comfort

Word Count: 1,392

Main Masterlist

Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

It began one night, almost a week ago. Astarion had gotten into the routine of joining you in your bedroll after feeding, cuddling close and relaxing to the steady sound of your heartbeat. That night, a week ago, he didn’t. He delicately bit into your skin and pulled away before you were even slightly dizzy, murmured something about how you’d need your strength for a fight tomorrow, and slipped off to hunt for animals. Truly, you didn’t think anything of it, then. And maybe you got so lost, so caught up in your daily stress, that was why you didn’t register it for so long. Comments under his breath about manipulation immediately covered up with Gale requesting a magical artifact or Shadowheart and Lae’zel fighting.

So, a week went by. And the realization finally hit. Guilt ate away at your stomach, but wallowing wasn’t going to help. When night started to creep in, your companions slipping into their tents, you slipped into Astarion’s. Sitting in a pile of pillows, he looked up at you with a smirk and a ‘Hello, darling’, but it didn’t reach his eyes. They were dark. Distant.

“I’m sorry I haven’t given you the attention you need,” you start. A baffled look flickers across his face, but it is not given the time to settle.

There is a twitch at the corner of his mouth, like it’s a strain for him to keep smirking. “It’s perfectly alright, darling. You’ve been busy running around camp, helping people - I understand.”

With any other person, this would have seemed a perfectly reasonable response. An apology accepted, a mutual understanding - the relationship goes on. Except, this was Astarion.

You sit down nearby, close enough to reach out and touch. Any closer and you worried you’d overcrowd him. You always tried to let him come to you first, though he usually struggled to initiate anything.

“You’ve been distant, too,” you point out. He begins to form the words to apologize, but you shake your head to stop him before they can build a sentence. “I’m not upset, I don’t need an apology. I just wanted to know why.”

To be honest, he didn’t expect you to notice. He assumed, quite stupidly, all things considered, that you would be too preoccupied to notice him slowly slipping away. Late night cuddles dashed for hunting, hand holding forgotten as he trails along at the back of the group, kisses never lingering and the ones that did lacking any emotion behind them.

“Is something wrong?” you prompt gently. “If it’s too much, we can work out what would be better for you.”

Guilt stabs at his own non-beating heart like a wooden stake. He’s drifting and you still throw him a rope, still ask for him to grab on and pull himself away from his past, from dissociating with the slightest hint of affection.

He smiles wryly. “I can’t hide anything from you, can I?” he teases, but it comes out a little too strained to be a joke. His fingers fiddle with the corner of the page of his book. He finds watching the paper fold and bend is much more interesting than looking into your eyes.

He sighs. “I’m sorry, my dear,” he says, but the endearment feels like fire on his tongue, “but it’s not real. This isn’t real.” Your brow furrows as you stare at him. He can’t bear to see the realization cross your face. “Two hundred years of manipulating - of course I would trick you, too. It’s instinct, darling, I don’t blame you.” Red eyes finally meet yours. You look confused, of course, but there’s an air of determination, like you’re ready to fight whatever plagues him. “But this… love… it’s not real. And for what it’s worth, I am sorry I made you feel this way.”

He expects anger. He expects tears, even. Crying and shouting and ‘How could you?!’s and ‘I can’t believe you’ve manipulated me all this time!’ But it never comes. You frown, sure, but it’s leagues away from being angry.

“You think… you manipulated me into feeling this way?”

It shouldn’t hurt as much as it does. Admitting it feels bitter. He blames it on his growing fondness for you, but he knows it cannot possibly be returned in any genuine way. Not with his underhanded tactics surfacing at every passing glance, soft brush, and gentle smile. “Come now, darling,” he smirks again, building a wall to separate himself from the shitshow that must be just ‘round the corner, “who could really love me?”

That only succeeds in making you frown further. “Astarion, I’m not with you because you’ve tricked me.” The baffled look from earlier surfaces again, but it lingers, mixed with doubt. “I understand that you started this to manipulate me into protecting you, but I’m not here because you successfully influenced my emotions - To be perfectly honest, I could tell from the start.”

He laughs dryly, suddenly, like it startles him. “And here I was thinking I’d learned some subtlety.”

You don’t laugh with him. You don’t even smile. “I chose you, Astarion. I still choose to be with you. Because I want to.”

Any lingering mask of confidence fell from his face. The creases around his mouth became more prominent as he frowned. His eyes darted around, glancing around your face for any tells of deception, any hint that you’re making this up to make him feel better. “How can you be sure? How do you know you’re choosing me and not just buying into another act?”

“Astarion.” You get on your knees and hold his face in your hands. He stares up at you with big, round eyes. “If I wanted to, I could break up with you. I am not staying because I feel stuck, or because I feel obligated to. I love you. On purpose. On purpose, I am staying with you. On purpose, I choose you.”

He opens his mouth, but no words form. His mind is reeling, chasing to catch up and process everything, all the while jumping and flipping, trying to find excuses or reasons why you shouldn’t care for him. He swallows the lump building in his throat. He speaks in a whisper, too stunned to speak louder. “Are you sure?”

Your whole face softens. Determination turns to fond affection, frown lifting into a soft grin. “Yes. I’m sure.” You press a kiss to his forehead, and he closes his eyes to savor it. It’s been a week without allowing himself your love - he deserves to enjoy it once again, even if he feels guilty for it. He wishes his thoughts would just shut up and let him have this. “If you still need space or time, I’ll be here. I’m not leaving. Just,” you pull his face back, “please talk to me about this next time. I know things have been hectic, but I’m never too busy for you.”

He sighs, slow and soft. Relieved. “Of course, my love.” He adores the way you smile brightly at the endearment. He turns sheepish. “Ah, could I, possibly, join you tonight? It does, admittedly, get rather lonely passing the time alone.”

You kiss his cheek. “Of course you can. C’mon, I’ll even play with your hair if you’d like.”

He chuckles, genuine this time. “I very much would.” His book is set aside, the page he left off on lost as he takes your hand and follows you from his tent. He can’t help himself from squeezing your hand in his, like he can’t quite grasp the fact you are physically holding onto him. Even when you lay down first and he settles in next to you, arms wrapped around your middle and his head on your chest, it still feels hard to believe. But the way you wrap your arms around him and gently detangle his curls and scratch lightly at his scalp cannot possibly be from his imagination. Nor the way you press kisses on his forehead and temple and hair with sweet praises and words of affection. His mind is not kind enough to imagine such tenderness.

Laying there in your arms, listening to the steady beat of your heart and even breaths that fill your lungs as you slip into sleep, is the closest he has ever been to true contentment.

---

Tag List:

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