#this wave of bone deep sadness came on very suddenly

[prehistoricmancunt]

Feeling sad

[hazbinhazmeinachokehold]

Alastor + apprentice!child!reader

A/n: this is some practice to get a footing in his character. (Also slight practice on husk as well.)

Reader is kinda scary but means well overall

Not proofread

Y/n ever elusive. Alastor would randomly mention your name in conversations. References your rampages and your sweetness in the same breath. But when anyone would try to quiz him on you further he would act like he didn't know what they were talking about. He might try to claim it's for privacy but it's pretty obvious he just likes messing with hotel members.

Charlie was especially sad that she might never get to meet you. If Alastor was to be believed you seemed really sweet! (And easy to rehabilitate *cough* *cough*) Also cool! You seemed to be an absolute powerhouse. After Al mentioned you Charlie got somewhat mopey. Until he mentioned you visiting the hotel, which piqued everyone's interest.

When you finally showed up, people's interest was at an all-time high. But now it was because the fabled y/n was a child. "It's a pleasure to be meeting everyone!" You were looking at Alastor but were speaking to the whole room. "I've heard so much about all of you!"

"They've also heard much about you too, dearie." Alastor bent at the waist down to your level. "You've become quite the hot topic here!"

As if to prove his point Charlie picked you up and spun you around almost hitting Alastor in the face. He glared at her but remained calm. "Welcome, welcome! Do you want to choose a room to stay in?"

"Sorry, but I'm not planning to stay."

"I know but just for the time being." Charlie clarified. To that, you nodded. Husk snapped his head toward The Radio Demon once both you and Charlie had left.

"Did you really stoop low enough to make a deal with a child?" He was just barely containing his anger. While he didn't particularly care for those he didn't know at least somewhat personally, taking a child's soul was a place he drew a thick line.

"Why of course not!" He said sounding offended but clearly, it was to mock Husk. "They are under my guidance purely by choice!" Vaggie and Husk both said some version of 'you're a liar' in unison. Alastor simply tsked as he walked away.

Niffty seemingly appeared out of nowhere. "Was thas thay y/n?"

After the crew (excluding Husk) let out a yelp, Vaggie spoke, "Yep."

Niffty let out a villain-esque laugh, though that was just her usual laugh, "I've been meaning to talk to them since they scared off a group of bad boys~" She flashed her sharp teeth and held a knife. Angel grabbed the knife and her before she could get very far.

Back with you and Charlie Alastor materialized next to you and you waved at him.

"Hello, sir!" You saluted him as a joke.

"Hello to you too! Have you found a room?" You nodded and entered said room. Charlie looked at him, her face painted with a confused yet kind look.

"They're the one who hurt so many people? Are you kidding? They are so nice."

"You've never seen them in danger." Suddenly as if on queue an explosion was heard. You shot up from your surprisingly comfortable bed and ran downstairs. Pushing both Charlie and Alastor out of the way while also throwing a quick ‘sorry’ their way.

Once you got downstairs the bad boys that Niffty mentioned earlier were spouting something about you. Once they looked at you they pulled weapons out. You grew and your arms turned pitch black with a slight claw shape. With your new size, you were just big enough to grab them to the point of almost cracking bones. Almost.

"Leave." You said with a deep booming voice that came with the size. You threw them and they scrambled. Once they were gone you shrunk back down to your normal size. Niffty pouted and stamped her foot.

Once you turned everyone had varying looks of shock on their face except Niffty and of course, Alastor who was instead proud. "Congrats dear! Would you like some jambalaya?" You nodded.

As you were walking with him Husk grabbed your shoulder, "Um good job kid... If he ever offers you a deal, don't take it." He felt obliged to warn you. If Alastor's moral code was against recruiting kids, he probably would have pounced on the opportunity to take your soul once you were an adult.

You smiled, "I know I know. But what could I even gain out of any deal with him?" You laughed and walked back to Alastor. Huh. Well, you certainly were being tutored by Alastor.

A/n: Y/n got kinda of edgy at the end-

[accultant]

His eyes well with tears and it threatens to break Iago's heart right there. "I'm sorry," they say quietly. They're messing this up all over again. "I'm not going about this the right way-"

The sudden bark of bone-chilling laughter makes them flinch, but the way he heads towards the hatch makes them panic. Things are too precarious right now. The rest of their family is down there. The most important people in the world to them - to both of them, though he doesn't realize this yet - are down there. Clover was already scared. This Puck isn't the kind parent Iago knows, not yet. This Puck is still under Bhaal’s thumb - a wave of nausea so strong it makes them shudder hits them at that realization. Their hands twitch when he steps closer and they're suddenly chasing him, reaching out for his arm, "Don't-"

They freeze when he starts towards them again, their hand just inches away from grabbing him. They suddenly wish they had their glaive. It's in a closet downstairs, collecting dust. They have to force themselves to look at Puck instead of the hatch. Draw his attention. It's odd, different from how they used to do this long ago, playing dead and avoiding his ire, but the skills are transferrable enough. He can hardly resist a chase. Better he focus on Iago than anyone downstairs, they decide as they drag their feet back, pulling their brother with them without having to lay a finger on him. Good. They haven't gotten too rusty at this. That thought makes them wince.

"It's nothing like that. I don't know how to convince you. You don't have a leash anymore, not at all. It's you, it's all you, you made this life for yourself. You don't die-" The words get caught in their throat as something he said earlier helpfully ( dreadfully ) pops back into their head. He told them he was with them while they were pretending to sleep. He didn't do that often, not as the years went on. One night comes to mind -

The words he wrote to them, his goodbye, have stuck in their head all this time. That letter was long gone, unsalvageable after Orin destroyed it in a frenzied rage, but it haunts Iago. They can still remember every word. Clear as day. They feel ill.

"You told me life is very beautiful!" they blurt out without any real plan. Maybe it's just to keep his attention on them. Maybe it's to change the subject. Mostly, they want him to believe them, to listen to his own damn words if he won't trust theirs. "I don't know if you truly believe that right now, but you told me that all the same. I think you do believe it, very, very deep down. You're a horrible liar. Regardless, you'll learn to believe it again. You will, because you do not die that night, Puck. Whatever you intended to do failed. I saw that letter months later. You live. You won't accept that yet, I know. We could hardly stand it when we both came to that realization but, well, 'too bad,' we agreed. You will live."

Well, until he did, in fact, die that one time. But one step at a time. It's already too much.

They realize they've drawn him away enough when their back hits a stack of boxes across the attic. They still have their eyes trained on him. If Iago were anyone else, it would be impossible to believe this is the same person who wrote to them that life is very beautiful. But Iago finds themselves searching his eyes for that good, sweet, sad boy they know is still in there. Almost snuffed out, dangerously close to being lost, but not entirely.

He’s half-tempted to claw his ears clean off. He regrets asking, regrets indulging his curiosity; he should have GUTTED them like he’s SUPPOSED to do, but he can’t bring himself to dig into his boots for another knife. He’s frozen in place. Staring, staring, staring at them vacantly.

Iago looks so  . . . animated as they talk about a world Puck couldn't even come up with in his wildest dreams. Well, it's not really talking, he supposes. It's more like they gush. They’re excited, LIVELY. ( They’re alive. They live. ) They’re rambling on & on, they’re- they’re almost crying, and he can barely keep up. He has never seen them so passionate ⸻ at least, if they ever had been, it was too long ago to remember. Again, it’s like a language he doesn’t understand. They’re speaking in tongues for all he knows. They have his twin’s face but not his twin’s voice. 

They’re lying. They must be LYING. They wouldn’t lie about something like this, and you know it. Iago’s gift for storytelling is one that terrifies him, really. How easily they can weave a web so convincing & so personalized that they bring people to their knees. They need not a WEAPON to destroy someone’s life, only their words. But they aren’t unnecessarily cruel. Not to him. They wouldn’t do this. They wouldn’t do this to him. 

❝ Why ？Why are you doing this to me ？❞ he pleads when they finally stop painting an utter nightmare for him. Iago betraying him in such a way is unbelievable to him, but all of this being REAL is incomprehensible. Unfathomable. Unattainable. He wants them to be lying. It’d be so much EASIER if they were lying. Easier to accept, easier to let go, to give up. 

❝ It isn’t funny, Ia. We don’t ⸻ I can’t ⸻ ❞ He can’t even get the words out of his mouth. They die on his tongue just as everything else does. He keeps seeing the way that girl looked at him in the armoire. That girl. That girl. You thought about killing that girl. You could have killed that girl. The rusty waterworks he’d long lost the ability to use sputter & turn, eyes stinging but tears never quite falling. The wood flooring blurs beneath his feet as he stares down, shoulders tense. He trembles. 

Then he breaks. The LAUGH that cuts through the air is sharp, manic & devoid of any humor. Limbs snapping to life as he remembers how to move, he steps up to the hatch. One twitching hand points down at it, the other squeezing in on itself in a fist so tightly it draws blood. ❝ You would have me believe those are MINE ？That I’m, what ⸻ family-friendly now ？ Tame, de-clawed ？Did you take pliers to my teeth ？❞ He’s marching up to them again, fire burning in his eyes. ❝ Do you keep me on a LEASH so I don’t bite my own children’s heads off ？ Do I tuck them into coffins at night ？！I was supposed to die ; I should be dead. ❞ 

[pherelesytsia]

Sense of Home

Pairing: Spencer Reid x female Reader

Summary: Spencer never noted how his girlfriend slowly faded away from his gaze.

Warning: Pure Angst, Mention of Panic Attack, Eating Disorder with a hint of Fluff

Word Count: 1.8k

a/n. Requests are open!!!

This story is filled with topics which can be triggering. Please do not read the story if you feel uncomfortable with the topics. But please know even if there are hard times, darkness and toxic people, there will be days that will be beautiful, full of laughter and love. One day the dark clouds will fade into oblivion and you find happiness, the happiness you will never discover if you don’t exist.

Spencer Reid Masterlist

Her nails weren’t long. The ends of her tied hair were brittle and no longer shining, like her eyes resembling a desert, monotonous and lifeless. Once they were filled with love, with life, oozing with happiness, but the spark was almost gone, only flickering when her boyfriend returned home after a long day which seemed to be longer than three weeks.

Y/N loved Spencer with all her heart, but he was barely home and thoughts hunted her like a demon, like a shadow, never leaving her side, whispering things into her ears she knew were wrong. Yet Y/N could not find a place to stop within herself, even though she knew her boyfriend loved her dearly. The thoughts drove her mad, chased her when silence reigned and did not allow her to find a moment of peace. She was not crazy, just sad and disappointed in herself. A tunnel stretched out in front of her, long and sinister, with no end and vibrant voices told her everything she was fearing. The voices were deep and gloomy, not of this world, dragging her deeper into a hole of total darkness.

She took her eyes off of the person looking at her, smiling faintly as she remembered it was her, but the person didn’t resemble her. Her skin was sickly and seemed weak. The person looked powerless, nearly fragile. Every minute of her life felt like years. She had forced herself to get out of bed but her motivation was gone the moment she realised rain was once again falling over the city. Her mood got worse when her phone rang and her boyfriend's soft voice let her know he wasn't coming, that the highway was filled with vehicles and they weren't moving an inch in more than half an hour and he would arrive very late.

In a specific rhythm, the rain collided against the window. A veil of pure gloom hung above the buildings.

Her fingers clawed into the hard material of the sink under the round mirror framed by light greyish tiles. She balled her hand into fists, in anger her hand wanted to collide with the mirror, no longer able to look at the person staring at her with a growing smirk, laughing at her, pitying her, telling Y/N her mother was right.

A soft sound came over her lips. Lips opened a crack. An unpleasant dampness spread on her palm, felt sweat spreading in her armpits, felt drops travelling down her back, thought she could see the salty tears moving across her exposed body. She couldn't recall the last time she had seen herself naked, but the instant she examined herself, she knew it must have been a long time ago. She didn't feel young, nor beautiful, so unlovely not even a doctor could help and suddenly she wondered how Spencer could love her, didn't see anything beautiful about herself.

Bones almost broke through her skin, pierced it as thousands of daggers, sharp and painful but she felt dull. Streaks of growth broke through the darkness, saw them clearly spreading down her calves like an unstoppable wave and up her backside, letting her know she had grown fast. The scars bore no stories, dripped with no heroism or epic battles, and could not be taken back, would accompany her until death.

When she had last eaten, Y/N could not remember, did not even know what the feeling of hunger was. Bruises snaked up her ribs, reappearing here and then there, and she knew exactly where they came from. It was enough if she bumped into the corner of the table or if even a dull object collided with her skin and deep tones of blue and purple appeared. Y/N laughed weakly, half-amused, remembering her friend who was afraid that Spencer had become violent, but the man she fell in love with couldn't even hurt a fly, couldn't even raise his voice against her.

Eyes met on the battlefield, seeing the devastation no words could describe. She drowned, the waves were high, the ocean ragging, making it impossible for her to see the beauty of the sunrise, to see the light.

The tall man looked down at her. His eyes slid down her body, but his gaze was not lustful, not wanting to find her body beneath his and drill his fingers deep into her flesh, was not longing for her flesh, loved her heart and soul. The shoulder bag she had given him for Christmas hung around his shoulder, resting on the white shirt covered by the black waistcoat. The lengthened hair framed his face. Brows almost touched as his bag fell with a loud thud to the floor. A noise was muffled by her lips. Y/N turned and realised she wasn’t alone.

She hadn't heard his footsteps followed by the echoing voice calling her lovingly by her name, the waves were too loud. Noticeably, the young woman swallowed, looking as small as a dwarf at Spencer's side. She smiled faintly, hoping he hadn’t seen anything. She had never hidden her body from her boyfriend. Y/N quickly clutched the T-shirt which once belonged to him and pulled it on, hiding her panties and most of her body. Wordlessly Y/N walked past him, surprised that he didn't reach for her, that he didn't try to stop her to storm away. Standing in the long hallway like a statue, Spencer stared after his girlfriend, believing for a moment it was just a terrible nightmare, but then as he felt the lone tear rolling down his cheek, he quickly realised it wasn't a dream. Her steps quickened and she turned into the room, hearing Spencer calling for her, trying to stop her but not even the silent pleas could stop her. She wanted to run, but she could no longer. The door slammed loudly into the lock. The mattress didn’t creak under her weight. She didn't want him to see her like that. Tears blocked her vision; she had imagined the day differently. She hoped it was a dream from which she would wake up, but the footsteps echoing through the flat let her know it was not a dream.

Behind the door leading into the bedroom, Spencer stopped. He exhaled deeply, steadied himself and wiped away the trace of the tear off of his cheek with his hand. The door creaked and he stepped into the dim room yet he could clearly see her sitting on his side of the bed. He knew exactly what had to be done, he swallowed the words he wanted to say, the words of a boyfriend who was worried about his girlfriend, he tried to calm himself down and succeeded. Weakly Spencer smiled and loosened the reddish tie around his neck.

Leaning against the wall, Y/N tried to shield her body from his eyes as best she could, but the image had already burned itself deep into his mind and could no longer disappear. Ashamed, Y/N looked down at her trembling fingers clawing at the blanket. Slowly, as if fearing Y/N would run away from him again, Spencer walked slowly towards her. The knowledge he had memorised over the years returned, knew how to calm her down, saw fear and terror ruling in her eyes full of sadness.

"Hey, my love," Spencer breathed lovingly.

Her eyes expanded, expecting him to speak differently, to tell her in a domineering tone she was an imbecile, but suddenly she realised it was Spencer who was standing in front of her and not any other man who once played a role in her life. Slowly Spencer settled on the edge of the bed as if nothing had happened, sitting a few steps away from her, giving her the much-needed space.

"I hope you know you can tell me anything," escaped him but no answer crossed her lips, looking into the distance.

He felt like an idiot, could tell lies from truth, saw every movement, looked into eyes and could tell what the human was thinking but for the first time, Spencer felt helpless, didn't know how to begin, was ashamed he had seen the signs earlier.

"I'm sorry, Spence," she breathed, hearing the voice, which didn't resemble hers.

He couldn't take his eyes from hers.

"May I?" escaped Spencer softly.

She nodded in response, not wanting to hear her voice ever again. Spencer slid closer to her and then he gently and carefully placed his hands on hers, releasing her fingers from the blanket she was clinging to. She wanted to protest but kept silent, knowing Spencer would never hurt her. Y/N didn't want to get up from the bed, wanted to stay hidden under the covers, but Spencer made it impossible, forbid her to drown in the gloom, in the dense layer of darkness. No further question crossed the man's lips as he studied her face closely, cursing himself for not seeing the signs sooner and remembering the countless excuses she had said over the past months.

"What do you think about if we go to your favourite restaurant for lunch today? And I'll take the whole week off. Tonight, we'll have baguettes, some sweets, I'll buy some good wine and together we'll watch a good movie. And tomorrow we can go out, a nice date or maybe we can visit the zoo or we book a little cabin in the mountains." breathed Spencer in a loving tone.

Y/N didn't want to cry but her lower lip betrayed her. Shyly, Y/N nodded and was already looking forward to the evening. She realised what she would miss if she no longer existed, if she would have listened to the voices. Even if days can be painful and full of agony, she knew light and happiness are awaiting her.

[dreamerstreamer]

Rain, Rain, Go Away

Pairing: Ranboo & gn!reader (platonic)

Summary: [Dream SMP!AU] Ranboo’s memory may not be the best, but that doesn’t mean he’s not your best friend. Sometimes, you just wish he remembered to do to some things—like not get stuck in the rain.

Word Count: 4.1k

A/N: at last, some appreciation for my favourite enderman! let’s give this awkward, polite, tall child some love :) i tried a different writing approach to writing this, so please pardon the fact that there’s less dialogue in this one.

You let out a small gasp as your eyes scanned the page in front of you, your toes curling in your shoes as you swallowed. Your fingers curled a little tighter around the spine of the book. You could not believe that just happened—they couldn’t just throw your favourite character into prison like that!

Chewing on your bottom lip, you sank back against the bench seat, you huffed as you set your book down face-up on your lap. Whatever. He’ll probably just break out, anyways.

Leaning back slightly, you stretched your arms out above you with a soft groan, your bones cracking with a satisfying pop. Relaxing once more, you blinked at the space around you while a soft breeze caressed the side of your face. It was a beautiful day out, but Ghostbur had told you earlier that it was probably going to rain, soon.

“How can you tell?” you had asked him once.

He had shrugged at you, humming aloud with a thoughtful look. “The sky just seems a little sad, don’t you think?”

You had glanced up at the clear, boundless blue expanse lying above you, your lips curling into a small frown. “I dunno. Looks pretty happy to me.”

“That’s the thing,” Ghostbur had said, flashing you that soft, ghostly smile of his. “It may look happy, but there’s more than what meets the eye.”

While you supposed he had a point, you still didn’t quite understand how he could tell it was going to rain. It must be me his ghostly senses, you thought to yourself, swinging legs back and forth on the bench, your heels dragging along the slightly dewy grass. That, or maybe he’s officially lost it. You wrinkled your nose. Can ghosts even go crazy? Is that a thing?

You shook your head. Crazy or not, Ghostbur was never wrong when he said it was going to rain—you weren’t about to start doubting him, now.

Above you, the sky was still as clear as ever, the sun cresting high above you as its warm rays shone down on you. Just how long had you just spent reading? It felt like you hadn’t talked to anyone in ages, now.

Just then, something moved in the corner of your eye, and you turned your head, blinking.

A head of black and white hair bobbed along the distance, the figure slowly growing closer and closer until you could clearly make out the face attached to it. The moment you did, a wicked smile shot across your face, and you opened your mouth.

“Hey, Ranboob.”

Ranboo froze at the sound of your voice, raising his head only for a look of horror to pass through his eyes as realization sunk in. “Not you, too.” Exasperation tinged his voice as his eyebrows curved downward. “Have you been talking to Tommy, again?”

You simpered with a coy gleam in your eye, tracing a finger over the edge of a page. “Maybe.”

Crossing his arms over his chest, a long sigh fell from his lips. He strode up to you, stopping a few feet away to stare you down. “I came out here to have a good time,” he said lowly, “and I’m feeling very attacked, right now.”

You raised an eyebrow at him, your smile widening slightly. “Quoting stale memes now, are we?”

He lifted his chin at you, his expression firm. “Stale or not, it’s fitting for my current situation.”

You blinked at him, then shrugged. “Fair enough.” Picking up your bookmark from its spot on your lap, you swiftly slid it in between the pages of your book, letting the pages fall shut with a satisfying clap. “So,” you said, peering up at him, “what are you up to, right now?”

“Well, I kind of wanted to go exploring for a while. You know, see some new sights, get a break from—” He shivered. “—politics.”

A laugh bubbled out of your throat, and you caught the way his lips curled up at the sound. “A 2-in-1 deal then, huh? Sounds good to me.” You leaned back, your eyes pointing up at the sky above. “Ghostbur said it was going to rain, though.” Furrowing your brows, you shot him a worried look. “Are you sure you’re gonna be okay?”

He jutted a thumb over his shoulder, rocking back and forth on his heels with a nod. “I’m heading home to grab my helmet, actually.” When you narrowed your eyes at him, he waved a hand at you. “Don’t worry—I’ll be safe, I swear.”

You cocked your head at him, a hopeful look flickering across your face. “But we’re still baking potatoes later, right? At four o’clock?”

He nodded, an earnest smile tugging at his lips. “Of course. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

You grinned at him, wide and giddy as you lifted one hand in a wave. With the other, you opened your book once more, tugging the bookmark out and placing it on the space beside you. “Awesome. Take care, now.”

Turning on his heel, he waved over his shoulder, sending you a reassuring grin. “Will do.”

Ranboo was a few yards away when your eyes widened, a sudden thought barreling into you. Slamming your book shut, you shot to your feet, whipping around with a hand cupped around your mouth. “And do not forget,” you shouted, your voice ringing across the air, “you hear me?”

Stopping in his tracks, Ranboo turned, a smile stretched across his face as he called back, “Loud and clear!”

With a relieved sigh, you lowered your arm, watching as he darted down the path toward his house. You sat down on the bench with a hum, casting your gaze down at your book only to freeze. Then, you let out a long groan.

You forgot to put your bookmark back.

Grumbling quietly to yourself, you pulled back the cover, scouring the pages with a glower as your bookmark stared back at you tauntingly.

At least you had something to look forward to this afternoon.

Ranboo strolled through his house with a soft hum, unlocking chests here and there to dig around and stuff things into his pockets. Food, check. Sword, check. Map, check. He blinked, tapping his foot. Am I missing anything?

He paused for a long moment, blinking down at the items lying in front of him before snapping his fingers, letting out a quick, “Aha!” Scrambling to his feet, he rushed to the other side of the room, leaning up against the wall to pluck the clock out of its frame. How could he not remember to bring a clock? After all, he had to be back in time to bake potatoes with you.

Slipping the clock into his pocket with a quiet hum, he turned back to the table where he had laid everything out. Clock, check. Is that everything? He squinted for a moment, staring at the open chest pressed up against the wall as the wheels in his head slowly turned.

A moment passed, then two.

He felt like he was forgetting something.

Didn’t you tell him something—reminded him of something? He wrinkled his brow, staring long and hard at the top of shoes. What could it possibly be? He was pretty sure it was something along the lines of... something, something... sky?

Ranboo lifted his head, his eyes trailing over to the window with confusion swimming through his eyes. Just outside, the sky was bright and vibrant, not a single cloud to be seen. There hadn’t been such a clear day in weeks, now.

You must have just said something about how nice the weather was, today—he was sure of it.

Moving quickly and surely, Ranboo slipped his belongings into his pockets, making sure to strap the sword to his back before stepping outside, a soft breeze immediately caressing the side of his face.  He took in a deep breath, feeling the cool summer air fill his lungs. With sunlight dancing on his cheeks, he felt his lips quirk up into a small smile.

It was time to explore.

Ranboo gazed up at the towering trees with a soft gasp, shielding his eyes from the dappled sunlight flitting across his face with his hand. People said he was abnormally tall, but when he was surrounded by trees as big as this, he just couldn’t believe that to be true.

Ducking under a low hanging branch, he let out a whistle as he stepped into a sudden clearing, a short stump lying in the center. The sunlight almost seemed to shine a spotlight atop the cut wood, and he found himself immediately walking up to it and sitting down. With one hand, he lifted his sword from his back and tossed it onto the ground. With the other, he pulled out a carrot from his pocket and took a bite, glancing around him with curious eyes.

He had never even known that there was a spruce forest in this area. Maybe he should go exploring more often instead of spending so much time thinking about countries and borders and allegiances and—

A shiver ran down his spine, and Ranboo shook his head. Now was not the time to think about all that.

For a few minutes, Ranboo simply sat and chewed, stretching out his legs. He watched as a pair of foxes darted between the trees, their orange, bushy tails swishing behind them as they ran off into the bushes. He smiled at the sight, finishing his carrot. He had to tell Fundy about them later.

All of a sudden, something wet dropped onto the bridge of his nose, and he let out a sharp yelp while leaning back. He slammed a hand over his face, not quite realizing how far he had leaned back before he was suddenly lying face first on the ground, crashing into the earth. Letting out a groan, he lifted his head, rubbing at his nose.

The skin burned where he touched it like a hot ache, and Ranboo scrunched his face. What in the world was that? Tilting his head back to look up, his breath hitched in his throat at the sight that met his eyes.

The once clear, blue sky was now overcast with dark, stormy clouds, their hazy appearance overshadowing their softness.

He squinted for a moment, desperation stirring in his veins. It wasn’t raining, was it? It couldn’t be. You would have told him if it was going to rai—

Ranboo froze, then let out a long sigh. “I,” he said aloud to himself, his low voice ringing out in the quiet forest, “am an idiot.”

You did tell him, didn’t you? That must have been what he had forgotten—that, and his helmet.

He paused again, furrowing his brow. Wait, no. There was something else too, something else he was forgetting.

With a huff, he pushed himself onto its feet, screwing his eyes shut as he pressed a hand to his temple and ran through the jumbled mess of memories in his head. He remembered walking down the prime path and seeing you on the bench... you had called him Ranboob, asked where he was going, and...

His eyes flew open, a low, sinking feeling settling in his gut.

Potatoes. He was supposed to bake potatoes with you at four.

Without even an inkling of hesitation, Ranboo shoved his hand into his pocket, frantically fishing around for a moment before pulling out his clock, his eyes widening.

It was four eleven.

You were so going to kill him.

All of a sudden, another wet droplet landed on the top of his head, and Ranboo let out a quiet shriek, feeling his scalp grow hot with the same, uncomfortably familiar burning sensation as earlier. Whipping around, Ranboo swept his eyes across the clearing. He wasn’t going to make it back in time now, at least not without possibly dying. For now, he had to find something—anything—to hide under.

Something burned against his backside, and Ranboo didn’t need to turn around to know what it was, far too busy turning this way and that. But no matter where he looked, all he could see were tall, looming spruce trees, there branches too spaced out separated to serve as even remotely sufficient shelter.

Just then, another raindrop splashed onto his shoulder. Then another fell on his arm. Then another dropped onto his foot.

With each passing second, the rain grew heavier and heavier, more and more droplets landing on him and leaving his body aching all over. Ranboo gritted his teeth, his chest heaving with wracking, wet breaths. Choking back a pained cry, his hand desperately clutched at the front of his now damp and soggy shirt.

He was so, so screwed.

You stared at the empty baking tray sitting on your kitchen counter, your eyes darting back and forth between it and the clock on your wall. After a few moments, you let out a groan, smacking your head against the counter.

It was four fifteen.

Ranboo was late.

Admittedly, it was only by fifteen minutes, but late was late.

You turned your head so that your cheek was smushed against the counter, the coolness seeping into your skin as you glared at the sack of potatoes sitting on the opposite side of the kitchen. Ranboo was a punctual guy—he was almost never late, and if he was, it was never by a landslide, or anything.

Lifting your head, you nodded to yourself, feeling yourself fill with resolve. Yes, that was it—he was surely going to show up soon! In the meantime, you could always just read some more of your book.

Abandoning your baking, you were soon curled up on your couch once more, your book clutched between your fingers as you drank in the rest of the story. You were right—your favourite character did break out of prison.

Although you were engrossed in your novel, you slowly found your eyes returning to the clock every few minutes, anxiety gnawing away at you. Everything’s fine, you reasoned with yourself, flipping to the next page with a nervous glance. Ranboo’ll turn up soon.

But soon enough, twenty minutes passed with no sign of Ranboo.

Then thirty.

Then forty.

By the time an hour had gone by, you found yourself staring out the window, your lips pursed and your eyebrows furrowed in worry. The rain ran down along the glass panes like tiny rivers, and you could hear it pattering against your roof. Beside you, your book lay abandoned facedown on the couch. Is he okay? you wondered, clenching your jaw. Did something happen?

You didn’t let yourself think about it for a moment longer, shutting your book and setting it onto the coffee table before getting to your feet, your eyes narrowed. If Ranboo wasn’t going to come to you, it looked like you were simply going to have to get him yourself.

It only took you a few moments to grab your jacket from its spot on the hanger and tug it on, your fingers deftly buttoning the front while you muttered to yourself. “He probably forgot we were hanging out, didn’t he?”

Rolling your eyes to yourself, you walked up to your front door, your hand reaching for the handle when you paused. A grimace stretched across your face, and your gaze shifted toward the coffee table.

You forgot your bookmark, again.

You stared at your closed book for a moment longer, then scoffed, twisting the door open. Who cared about some book when your best friend was missing? You had your priorities straight.

Flipping your hood over your head, you rushed down the path, splashing past puddles and damp grass as you raced toward Ranboo’s house, grumbling. Keeping you waiting for half an hour was one thing, but two? This called for some serious retribution.

When you arrived, you didn’t bother to knock before pushing the front door open, your mouth already open in a shout. “Ranboo?” you cried, your eyes taking in the room. “Are you there?”

There was a beat of silence, then you frowned. Now he’s ignoring me? Rude.

Slipping off your shoes, you stepped inside, ducking your head around as you searched for him. But it was only after a few moments that it was obvious that he wasn’t home, and you were alone. Blinking, you stared at the open chest near the wall and the empty frame attached to the space above the door.

Is he... still outside? you thought carefully. Your bit your lip, crossing your arms over your chest. There’s no way. I specifically told him that it was going to rain today. You paused, your frown deepening. Unless...

Stifling a sigh, you slowly turned until your eyes landing on the armour stand sitting in the corner of his room. Your jaw dropped.

He forgot his helmet.

You didn’t even have to think about it before you were ripping the helmet off the stand and diving for Ranboo’s open chest, immediately pulling out a handful of regeneration potions and stuffing them into your pockets. Maybe this was considered stealing, but in that moment, you couldn’t care less.

“He is so dumb,” you whined in a panicked tone, pulling your shoes back on and kicking down the door. “I cannot believe him.”

In a flash, you were sprinting down the hill that led outside L’Manburg, Ranboo’s helmet bouncing along at your side. He said he was going exploring, you remembered, panting to yourself as you tried not to slip on the wet ground, so he must be somewhere in the wilderness.

You were about to turn the corner when a figure came into sight from the side, blond locks bobbing along the side of your vision. At the sound of footsteps, Tommy lifted his head, sending you a bright grin as he waved. “Hey, [Y/N]!” His eyes fell down to your hand, and his eyebrows knit together. “Is that Ranboo’s helme—”

“No time to explain!” you shouted, barreling past him without even a second glance.

Tommy made a face as you passed, his cerulean eyes following after you. “Wait, what the f—”

But by then, you were already long gone, leaving Tommy behind to swim in a puddle of confusion and unanswered questions.

Ranboo huddled further against the tree trunk, his back digging into the bark as he wrapped his arms tighter around himself where he sat. Above him, the branches rustled, and a raindrop whizzed past his face, sliding down the side of his arm. Bristling, he let out a small whimper, his nails digging into his palms.

This was probably the most pathetic situation he’d ever been stuck in.

He could feel the back of his eyes sting with unshed tears, and he sucked in a shaky breath. He half-wanted to cry, but he knew he couldn’t let that happen. He could already imagine the way his cheeks would burn at the feeling of his tears flowing down his face. Crying would only make everything even worse than it already was.

To think that of all the days he could forget something you said, it just had to be today. God, just how bad of a friend was he to get stuck in the rain even after you told him to bring his helmet, let alone forget about hanging out with you?

He buried his face into his knees, squeezing his eyes shut with a ragged breath. He really was awful.

Suddenly, a distant voice pulled him out of his thoughts.

“Ranboo?”

He whipped his head up at the sound of his name, eyes wide as he scanned the clearing. “[Y/N]?” he shouted.

Just then, you burst through the bushes, stumbling forward. Before you could stop yourself, you found your shoe catching on the tree stump he had been sitting on earlier, and he winced as you toppled headfirst into the ground with a crash.

“A-Are you okay?” he asked, concern etched onto his features.

You quickly pulled yourself up from the ground, completely ignoring the mud staining your pants. “I should be the one asking you that,” you said in a blur, rushing over to him with a focused gaze.

Ranboo could only gape at you with a stunned look as you crouched down in front of him. “How—how did you even find me?” he sputtered, his head still reeling at the sight of you. “This forest is hundreds of blocks away.”

You deadpanned at him. “Lots, and lots, and lots of running.” You gestured to your dirty shoes, soaked with rain and mud all over. “My feet are kind of killing me, right now.”

He winced, his voice growing quiet. “I’m sorr—”

You raised a hand. “Ah, ah, ah. This comes first.” Pulling his helmet out from behind you, you immediately slammed it atop his head, easily making sure it was securely attached to his skull. “Also,” you added, burying a hand into your coat pocket, “drink this.”

Without missing a beat, you pulled out a potion of regeneration and shoved it toward him. As his hand clasped around the glass bottle, Ranboo opened his mouth, only to close it at the stern look you gave him. Swallowing, he removed the cork and lifted the potion to his lips, the sweet liquid pouring down his throat. In an instant, the burning of his skin subsided, and he felt his shoulders relax.

At his calm expression, your eyes finally softened, and you nearly sagged against him in relief. “Feeling any better?”

Capping the empty bottle, he let it drop to the damp grass as he nodded, but something sad flickered across his gaze. “Yeah, but...”

The words were flying out of your mouth in a flurry, and you already reaching for your pockets again. “Did you still need anything?” You pulled out another potion. “I, um, didn’t bring a lot of stuff with m—”

Ranboo shook his head, and you fell silent. “No, no, it’s not that, it’s just...” He paused, and sucked in a deep breath, his voice coming out fragile and cracked. “I’m really sorry, [Y/N].” He curled his legs closer to his chest, and he suddenly looked very, very small as his words came out in a mess of choked out syllables. “I forgot we were going to hang out and I just couldn’t remember and then it was raining which I also forgot you told me about and now you must hate m—”

Before he knew it, your arms were wrapped around him, your head pressed against his as you softly crooned. “Shh, Ranboo, stop. I’m here, okay? And I would never hate you for something like that.” You patted your hand against his sopping back, and felt him melt into your touch. “I’m just glad you’re alright.”

He pulled away from you, his lips parted in surprise. “Really?”

You smiled, sincere and true. “Really.”

Just as a slow, shaky smile spread across his lips, you suddenly realized how quiet it was. Turning, you peeked up at the sky once more, your eyebrows raising at the sight of a clear, blue sky. The rain had finally stopped.

“Well,” you said, your smile widening, “would you look at that.” Then, you blinked, and frowned down at your dirty shoes. “Dang. That means I got all muddy for nothing.” You saw Ranboo wince again, but you merely shrugged, getting back onto your feet. “Oh, well. Enough of that. Let’s get going, instead.”

For a moment, Ranboo simply stared at you as you dusted off your front, a soft, affectionate warmth filling his chest. Then, he spoke. “Thank you for coming to get me,” he said so softly you almost missed it. “I really am sorry.”

You paused, then smiled at him again. “And I really do forgive you.” Stretching your hand out toward him, you tilted your head. “Now, stop thinking about it, okay? I promise I’m not mad.”

Ranboo hesitated for a second, then slipped his hand into yours, letting you tug him up onto his feet with a grateful grin. “Okay.”

Once he was upright once more, you clapped your hands together. “C’mon, let’s go back to my place. I’ve got some bandages you can use. Besides,” you said, shooting him a cheeky wink, “we still have some potatoes to bake.” You shivered, sticking your tongue out in disgust. “I also need to do some laundry.”

Laughter bubbled up his throat, lighthearted and pure as the two of you strode out of the forest, the sun shining down on you as you made your way home.

Ranboo might be forgetful, but he was sure he wouldn’t ever forget the important things—things like you.

[oneshotnewbie]

When your feeling better maybe a oneshot where Liv convinces her daughter to get the migraine injections despite her fear of needles?

A/N: Very short but I didn't know what to write, had a writers block that day.

---

It was another day where your headaches, the accompanying nausea and too many pills for you to count flared up again. You weren't able to get up today so you skipped school and promised to get out of bed and keep brave before your mother got home so that she wouldn't notice that you were not feeling well.

She had enough to worry about, she didn't have to worry about her daughter too.

But apparently, after all the protest of your aching head, you fell asleep and hadn't set your alarm clock be forehead. Olivia had come home and found you with a pillow over your head in your darkened room; the blinds closed as far as they would go.

"Oh baby," you heard a voice that seemed too loud behind you. Olivia sat down on the free space in front of you and put her hand exhausted and desperate on the bedspread that you had previously thrown over your body before she stroked it soothingly. "Migraines again?"

"Mmm." you mumbled and didn't move. Every movement felt like a skull bone was breaking out and poking through your scalp. "Why didn't you text me? I could have came home earlier."

You took your arm out from under the covers and waved it off, hoping she would let the subject sink. But in vain; instead, she took your hand firmly in both of her hands, squeezed it lightly and tickled the back of your hand.

Olivia took a deep breath and sighed. "It can't go on like this, honey."

You grunted and carefully tried to free yourself from the pillow over your head and turned in her direction to look at her. The concern and sadness was written on her face and you could see clearly that it was bothering her to see you in pain.

"Let's try the injections, please." she asked and you put a hand over your eyes. You were annoyed and divided; you wanted this pain to stop and finally live your life, but you didn't want your mother to spend so much money on something that might not help anyway. "No."

"Why?"

"Because you have to prepay injections for six months and I don't want you to throw it out the window if it doesn't work out! We could use the money for so many other things." you spoke a little louder, but regretted it due to the stabbing pain that ran through your temples. "You won't get the money back."

You just wanted her to stop talking about it. You knew it wasn't easy for her and it wasn't easy for you too but you didn't want to let your mother pay for your problems even if you knew that mothers would do anything for their children. You wanted to help at least a bit, to pay at least a small part, even if you'd prefer everything, but you couldn't-

The brunette knew right away that you were thinking about how to afford it yourself without sitting on her pockets when she ripped you out of your thoughts. "Don't think about the money, darling. Think about the fact that you will be better! It hurts me to see you like that."

The tears came to your eyes. It wasn't easy to see your mother so desperate.

Suddenly you heard a sob and you realized it was coming from your mother's direction. Immediately you startled, no matter how bad the pain was, you stood up and squeezed yourself into her arms. "Hey, mama. Stop crying. It's all good."

Wrapping her arms around you, she grabbed you tighter and rested her head on your shoulder. "I'm sorry. I just can't see you like that anymore. It hurts." She apologized.

"Okay, I will try the injections. But promise me, that if they don't work, we are not going to do the next treatment, okay?" you asked, loosing yourself slightly from her again to look in her eyes. "And I will pay at least 25%, alright? I really don't want you to shell out that much money for headaches."

She nodded and began to smile before gently pulling you back into her arms.

Little did you know that your mother already had a plan and that the money you gave her for the procedures, she would put aside and save the part for your driver's license as a little surprise for the tireless time of pain that you had so bravely endured.

[thefanbasewhore]

Accidentally Bare - Preference #2

Summary: A preference/snippet of pedro characters accidently seeing the reader in their underwear. Honestly, ignore the title I suck at them lmao. I also have no idea why I kept mentioning showers. 

Warnings/Content: A little suggestive, dirty thoughts. 18+ please. 

Paring: Din Djarin, Javier Peña, Agent Whiskey, and Frankie Morales/Female reader

I am also taking requests for head cannons and more preferences at this moment if anyone has any ideas!

Din Djarin

Nothing could stop the deep chill that created goosebumps that made your body shiver despite the thick wool of Din’s cape that was pulled tight around your chest. The walk back to the crest was freezing, clothes heavy and weighing you down with every squish your boots made underneath you, the temperature of the stupid desert planet plummeting at night into single degree temps, falling into the lake was definitely not on your to do list.

Water still dripping from your sleeves, fingers shaking where the fabric bundles in the middle of your chest to support the heaviness of the cape as the crushing on dense sand from heavy boots behind you let you know the Mandalorian is still there. He’s silent as ever, mad at himself for letting you even step on the ice but as soon as he saw you fall into the deep pit of water he dived right in after, forgetting the bounty, making the choice to let him escape.

The first step on the Crest is a relief, familiarity and warmness welcome you but it’s not enough to calm the numbing that took over all your senses, voiding any sensation in your trembling fingers. The breeze that falls over the crest as the ramp closes with a gush of wind but you don’t seem to care as the cape wrapped around you falls to the floor. The Mandalorian walks past you silently, which you guess retiring for the night because at the last second before the he climbs the ladder of the cockpit by the way his fingers start to peel of the beskar not caring as it trails and clanks against the floor of the ship, fingers rim the edge of his helmet lifting it just enough to see the ends of his hair curl and stick against the nape of his neck as it drips to his tunic before the cockpit swallows him. 

If it wasn’t for how freezing you were there is no doubt you would be taken back by his openness, even wet you weren’t expecting it to so wavy, a little messy but it touches the collar of the tunic and you honestly couldn’t move as the realization dawned on you. Eyes running over the length of the ladder that rattles due to deep hum of the engine, the imagine burning behind into them. 

The cool shiver reminds you of the current predicament, fingers burning and toes numb at the verge of turning purple. A frustrated huff falls from your lips as you pull at the laces of your boots, fingers too stiff to move but eventually get them off, not caring where they fall. Only functional thought is to feel the warm water of the fresher to regain feeling in your appendages.

Hands grasp the hem of your shirt, lifting it despite the cool air that nipped the skin of your stomach. With only one goal in mind and a stubborn button that just won’t latch from your pants, you don’t notice as the ladder shakes with the weight of the Mandalorian as he gains entrance back into the belly of the ship. He’s out of his armor, but the helmet had seem to find it’s way back onto his head but his upper body in a white, thin shirt, his pants hand dangerously low on his hips, they offer his body more warmth with no doubt lined with some kind of fleece, gray in color and a pair of socks. The wet pants stick to you, with your back turned toward Din who freezes the moment he notices you shimmy them down your legs, revealing the black pair of underwear the hugs your ass in the most delicious way.

He’s red, blushing, no doubt you can see the way his chest spots pink through the white shirt, hands forming fist next to his side as you turn to make a b-line for the fresher but the mass of the man catches your eyes, pausing.

Eyes never leave you, he just freezes up, unable to move as the situation seems to do the same to you. He tries, really tries not to look but can’t help it as he notices how thin the bra is, a pretty pastel pink, cute but the way your nipples harden against it is anything but, he’s speechless, mouth drying as eyes take in the smoothness of curves, drops down to the thinness of underwear, they leave little to the imagination, sticking against skin letting him see every inch and suddenly he wants nothing more than to rub his own -

His eyes lift back up to your own, the embarrassment that paints your cheeks makes him realize just how wrong it is. “I-I’m sorry.” He stutters, eyes casting down to the cotton that covers his toes, ashamed with red cheeks, horrified that it has even happened. “Just came down to use the shower -.”

Desire sirs deep inside his stomach, makes him awkwardly shift his hips as he turns to leave but the smooth hands that catch his fingers makes him pause, turning to face you once again.  “We can both use it.”

Javier Peña

Nothing can still your pounding heart, it’s racing, taking up all the space in your chest that it barely allows room for your lungs to expand, to take one good breath to sustain your frantic body needs, instead it’s broken up into patchy, erratic breaths that make you dizzy, vision blurring as a result. 

It’s a blur but there’s no mistaking the metallic taste of blood, it’s not yours but it seems like it should be by the way it covers every part of you. It dots your face, coats your hands with such thickness, soaks through the shirt to stain your chest pink. There’s so much of it, it takes over and fills all your senses. All you see is red, all you feel is hands rub your face to talk yourself out of this moment of weakness but the way it smears even worse across your skin, fills the pores of your skin, makes bile raise but swallow it down. 

It’s been an hour but fear still makes you shake, not bothering to even talk to anyone the moment you pull the trigger just driving home without a single word, not even to your partner Javi. The door of your apartment is even left open in your own wake, trying to yank the soaked clothes, not caring as your bloody shirt falls from shoulders staining the white carpet of your apartment. 

Finger fumble with pants as well, too shaky but none the less slowly shimmer them down flushed thighs. You suddenly can’t move, no matter how bad the shower calls you from the other room, shaky fingers press to the floor under you for support as you lower yourself to the ground until the rough carpet scratches the back of thighs but your thankful to feel something other then pure terror, relish in the scratch the spreads to the back of your knees as you bring them to your chest, lean against the couch for support with a shaky chest.

“I’m sorry.” You don’t realize how much time passes as the low baritone breaks through the sound waves, Javi averts his eyes, realizing the vulnerability on the situation. “The door was open, I just let myself in.”

“I-It’s okay.” Chest moves with the stutter, unable to realize your in nothing but a thin bra, that leaves little to the imagination and a matching black thong, that shows just how much the carpet irritates the skin of inner thighs, leaves a big rash just on the underside of your cheeks.

It’s not the way he intended seeing you like this the first time, beautiful doe eyes filled with tears that slip past beautiful, full eyelashes. It makes his heart stop, the low light of the lamp in the corner contour the dark shadows of your face, show the sharpness of cheek bones, outlines the shape of your jaw. He hates the way he can’t look away from your heaving chest, flushed breast barely fill the cups of the lacy bra, down the smoothness of skin, still stained a dark red from all the blood, down to the edges of inner thighs. 

You watch as his gaze falls between your legs but when they meet up at your face again, his lips fall, a deep sigh as a thick layer of tension fills the room. There’s nothing you want more then to forget this feeling, distract yourself with Javi.

Suddenly, he’s all that’s on your mind. The way his tongue runs over those perfect lips, wanting to feel the sensation of his moustache against your upper lip, the burns between your thighs. It’s what you think you’re getting as he lowers to his knees, finally give into the temptation of each other but the blanket that falls to your shoulders surprises you. His fist wraps around each end to ball it against your chest as his other hand reaches for a small piece of hair that frames your face, pushing it behind your ear as his lips ghost over it. “Let’s get you in the bath, cariño, yeah?”

Unsure eyes meet his, not trusting your own legs but his gentle fingers that fill the gaps between your own reinsuring. It’s a soft whine of surprise that makes you look up at him, a thankful sad smile that makes Javier return one that shows every scar of his soul, the feeling all too known to him. “I got you, honey.”

Agent Whiskey

It’s a mix up, an annoying one but none the less it’s not like you can kick Whiskey out of the hotel room and besides you’re both functioning adults, staying together in the room should be no problem but it’s a little difficult to feel comfortable with a stranger especially with one as pushy and touchy as the cowboy. 

He’s nice, very polite but smug. There’s always a tight smirk across his face, sexy eyes that test your every move as you bring the rim of the glass to your lips with a soft sigh. The bar of the hotel is loud, a thick cloud of smoke from the passerby's tickles your nose. You try to ignore it, but turn abruptly even catching Whiskey off guard as he adverts his gaze but he’s not as sneaky as he thinks. 

It’s hard to remember exactly why you turned when he offered a sweet smile, elbow against the bar while his hand wrapped around his own glass, other hand spraying over the thickness of his thighs, sitting to face you with that dumb smirk. You really can’t help it as your eyes fall between his legs, “What’s up, sugar?”

It’s either he chooses not question why or is just so used to women checking him out but your throat dries at his peering gaze, the way he wraps his lips around the glass after his tongue pokes out to wet them. It makes your face hot, averting his intimating eyes. “Nothing, thought I saw something is all.”

“Mmmm.” It’s a small hum, hesitant like he wants to ask more but settles with the answer. It’s quiet, not awkward but the tension is heavy, clouding the space between you both. Scooting to the end of the seat, eyes nervously looking at him as you shift onto your feet, standing and muttering. “I’m going to head back to the room.”

“Alright sweetheart. I’m gonna have a few more drinks, head up without me. If you need me.” Two fingers press against the shell of his ear, his way of saying I’ll hear ya. You try not to let it affect you but the heat that crawls up your skin makes you huff, closing the door of the hotel room tightly. 

A shower, to sooth the burning desire for your new partner, it was embarrassing, feeling like a teenage girl for a man that you barely know, all hot and bothered by him simply spreading his legs but it felt like an open invitation just for you. Hands reach for your shirt, pulling it up with little hesitation except for when it catches the onto the ear piece, stepping forward with a yelp as your foot comes in contact with the large bed frame. Pulling the ear piece off with not much thought, throwing it and the shirt onto the bed, fingers pop the metal from the buttonhole also discarding your pants. 

It all happens so fast, the door crashes open, hitting the wall. Pure instinct takes  over, despite only being in a very, very revealing bralette and a matching lacy thong fumbling for the gun on the night stand next to you, pointing it towards the mass of a man but let out a sigh of relief. “What is wrong with you? barging in like that, I could have shot you.”

It goes to deaf ears, smooth lines of your collarbones catching him off guard, dropping to the soft curves of your breast. He steps closer, shutting you up immediately as his fingers spread out across the hem of your underwear, warmness erupting to the lazy trail of his fingers. 

The cocky smirk that overpowers your own confused one as a tick falls from his lips, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth, eyes peering under that stupid cowboy hat, “Now If you wanted me to see you naked you didn’t have to pretend you’re in trouble, darlin’.” 

Frankie Morales

There was never a day Frankie thought he’d be in the deep end of the forest again. The memories are still fresh, the sun doesn’t quite sting his skin like the one in Brazil but it’s a close second, the aching memories still squeeze his heart but it’s a silent burn, one he’ll take to his grave and a life he thought he left behind forever.

Frankie is a man haunted by his past, the memories never let him forget that life he used to lead. He is anything but soft, he’s kind, caring, smart, passionate but a sucker for a pretty face. It’s shown in the way he shameless answers too quickly for his liking at your proposition. To rescue your father, a man that owed a bunch of narcos too much money but you had nothing to offer except to help a single father who seemed to be struggling. 

Maybe it was the way your sad eyes looked at him with an exaggerated expression, tiredness sag your face, large purple bags that crinkle with every sigh. There was no hope, and even if your father was alive, he kissed that life away a long time also, but then again here he is.

Deep in the jungle of Argentina, sun beating down and burning his skin, sweat beading on his forehead, between the valley of his chest as he swings the bottle of water back, the coolness soothing his raw throat. Your stance matches his own, shoulders dropped, heavy breaths but slower, the heaviness of the gun wrapped around your shoulders.

You were slowing him down, it was no lie. He told you multiple times he would do it but specifically didn’t want you to come with him, he would handle it all but sending a man alone to do something like this, despite how experienced he may be it didn’t seem right.

“Go.” You huff, fingers pushing against his shoulder. It had been the third time he stopped for you in ten minutes, clearly frustrated with a crinkle of his forehead, annoyed eyes looking for any sign of danger, even with the thick trunks of trees that camouflage into the color of face paint that decorates both yours and Frankie’s faces. “I’ll be right behind you.”

He looks unsure but nods lowly, turning as his feet to walk up the ledge of the tree as you take a deep breath, fingers trembling as you try to catch your breath, ass hitting the dirt harder then you intend to but it’s a relief to aching feet. It’s a blur of blackness, hand reaching up to pull yourself up but instead pull at something squishy?

Before you could react, big, black bugs by the hundreds run up your legs, crawl under your vest and shirt. The yell that echoes the forest is what catches Frankie’s attention, turning from his short distance ahead to find you. Face hot, fearing the worst as his heart pounds against his chest. Arms flaring frantic through the thick ropes and vines as he slips skillfully past above ground roots of trees.

You are no where in sight but the peaks of dark green clothes along the brush catch his eye, picking the fabric up, clutching your shirt between fingers. With one more look around he notices another piece of clothing, but the sound of splashing catches his attention. It’s not too far, just over a large tree that separates his view from you. It’s not what he expects, practically naked except for the nude bra and matching underwear that makes his eyes widen. If it wasn’t for the panic on your face he would have taken a second to appreciate the beauty in front of him, let desire burn deep on his skin but the way you frantically try to rub the bugs off makes him take action, hands catch your own, comforting eyes meeting your own. “Relax, relax, I’ll get them off.”

“It’s burns.” It’s a soft whine, as his fingers fall to your own, pressing them against his warm skin as he flattens his other hand down the skin of your arm, down your stomach with a delicious sting from the heat of his. 

“I got you, honey.” The words are low, sugary as the realty of the situation makes your own cheeks flush. The bugs are gone, scattering at feet but his gaze never leaves your own. Only inches away from your face, lips so, so close but what really makes you dizzy is the way his hand cups your waist, squeezing so gently as his hot breath fans your face, fingertips trail to the wire of your bra, something in him snaps, giving into the desire as his lips press against yours with urgency.

tags: @victias​ @altarsw​ @coonflix​ @mudhornchronicles​ @buckysalefty​ @capsheadquarters @godohammers​ @ilikemymendarkandfictional​ @rogertaylorsfalsettogivemehives @maileecabudol @itsfangirlmendes​ @mermaidbrina​ @nikkixostan​ @moonlightnumbsthepainifeel @dinsbeskar​ @est19xxshit​ @owloveyounever​ @engie115 @impala1967666​ @akatasukilove​ @nerdalert-andi​ @mailee420​ @you-and-i-deserve-the-world​ @thatonedindjarinfan​ @winter_rxn @Sporadicshoebailifffish

[mmvalentine]

What Cardan Knows | Jurdan

Canon compliant I suppose, just more post-QoN nonsense. Smut aplenty.

Cardan knows a secret about Jude.

Knows she likes to be kissed right between the shoulder blades.

Knows that if you move your lips on the vertebra that sticks out at the base of her neck, she melts like chocolate in the summer sun.

Jude has spent today, like many days, sitting on her throne like she was born there. There is something so natural in the way that she rules the fae that never came quite so easy to Cardan. He feels more comfortable next to her now than he ever thought he would. Still. He does not think he relishes the power like Jude does.

And of course Jude looks spectacular while she does it. Cardan reclines in his own throne, throwing one leg over an armrest and letting his head fall back against the back. He watches Jude, straight backed and imperious, as she hands down stern judgement for a faerie who stole a human child. She had outlawed changelings since she has been Queen, and although the folk do not like it, they abide by her word.

Cardan finds it sexy that the court is still a little afraid of Jude. Cardan finds it sexy that this sharp and unyielding ruler is his alone to unravel. Later.

Jude does not like anyone to know that she can be tender. Even now, years after she’s gained the loyalty of her court, she avoids being vulnerable. Puts on her armour every morning to meet her subjects, her advisors, and even her sisters. Oak might be an exception. And Cardan, when he knows where to fit his myriad keys.

These are not things Jude has ever told him out loud. Not even to her husband would she confess the chinks in her armour aloud. But Cardan knows anyway. Knows the secret places she keeps her softness, and delights in uncovering them when they are alone in the safety of the dark of their bedroom. Only when she is sure no one is looking does she bare her underbelly to him and let him press toothy kisses there. Cardan loves when Jude is ruthless. Cardan loves when Jude is soft.

Now Jude is sending the faerie away and the fae dislike her changing the rules. But she hands out cruelty like treats in the throne room and so they still adore her. A good public punishing is as good as trading babies. There is a hard glint in Jude’s eye as she watches him go, and then she flicks her wrist and the revelry begins once again. It’s all so simple. She looks out at the crowd with a cold boredom on her face, but Cardan knows she’s riding a high from watching her own orders executed. He also knows it turns her on like nothing else.

And so Cardan pushes himself up off his bramble throne, leans over to his wife with his back to the court, and murmurs, “take your leave my Queen, for I have business with you elsewhere.”

Jude’s lip curls when she answers, and her voice trickles like ice water over his skin. “I do not attend your bidding my Lord, I would stay to see the end of the revel.”

“Nevertheless,” Cardan says, and his fingers slide down her wrist to read her telltale pulse. “I have business with you elsewhere.”

And although Jude does delight in denying her husband, she rarely denies herself. So she rises smoothly while Cardan watches with one eyebrow raised, and allows him to take her hand and lead her into the alcove behind the throne room.

Cardan shuts the door and the noise outside suddenly chokes off. He turns and Jude is staring at him with her chin up in her regal golden gown, and she is resplendent.

“Well?” She demands. “What is it you wish to discuss so urgently?”

“First,” Cardan purrs, “I mean this to be an informal meeting, since you and I are wed and need not stand on ceremony. Let me remove your formal attire.” He walks behind her and Jude’s head turns, but she doesn’t otherwise move. Cardan’s movements are careful as he removes the heavy crown from Jude’s head; he has had his fingers bitten for this before.

But Jude does not react, so he goes for the heavy collar of gold plates she wears, unhooking the clasp and lifting it carefully from her shoulders. Next is the fastening in the back of her bodice, and even as she is undressed Jude’s spine remains as straight as the sword at her hip.

There have been times where she fucks him just like that. With steel in her eyes and Cardan’s throat between her fingers, when she holds him down with her thighs and draws his rapture from his lips like she can summon his very soul.

But today Cardan wants to pull at Jude’s threads and unspool her at his feet. So he stands behind her, and kisses her like feathers in that secret spot of hers. In between her scapulae. Traveling up toward the bones of her neck. And infinitesimally, Jude’s shoulders loosen beneath his touch.

Cardan smiles against her skin as his fingers skim the outside edge of her bare arms, and she leans her head back toward him so his lips can better reach her throat. When her eyes slide closed, Cardan pulls the tie of her skirt and it pools around her feet. He lifts her out of it and by the time her weight is in his arms, Jude is pliant against his chest.

Cardan lays Jude down on the low couch, and in the moment between kisses where his tongue lifts off her skin and his teeth touch down elsewhere, he whispers honeyed pet-names to her. "Ruthless," he calls her sweetly. He moves down her belly. "Unscrupulous. Uncompromising. Without mercy. Immovable."

At the last, he curls his tongue in the apex of her thighs, and Jude lifts her hips to his mouth with a soft cry. She is not immovable, and he knows it. His tail wraps around her ankle as her leg tries to jerk upward, and holds it in place. Cardan moves lazily, breathes steadily against the Queen and relishes in her slow undoing.

"Cardan," she whispers, and he hums with his lips on her pussy.

In fact, the real secret that Cardan knows is that Jude is not any of the things he calls her, and despite the way fae crave wickedness like opium, it is the very heart of Jude that he loves the most.

"Will you punish me, too?" Cardan asks her. His face moves up her body but one of his fingers replace his tongue inside her and Jude is not able to answer him. "If I confess my sins to you will you hand down my own judgement?"

"Did you steal any children away?" Jude manages to ask him, but her breathing is coming in short pants and her voice is strained.

"No," Cardan laments. "Although I think I would enjoy having a pet."

Jude's eyes flash, but Cardan makes one finger two and her words don't make it out.

"My sins," Cardan tells her, and then leans close to admit it in her ear while his hand speeds up between her legs. "are so numerous as to be unforgivable." He even sounds a little sad, and Jude's eyes open.

"There is always mercy," she breathes.

"Then forgive me, my saint," Cardan says, and then twists his fingers and presses down on her clit at the same time, so Jude climaxes suddenly and unexpectedly. Her lovely brown eyes widen in surprise and her lips part in bliss, and before she has come all the way down Cardan removes his fingers and slides his cock into her even as she shudders and spasms.

Cardan barely moves before Jude is coming again, and the waves of it around him are exquisitely divine. He moans his pleasure as he sinks into her again and again, and revels in the Queen laid bare. His hips kiss hers and it is in this space he finds his absolution daily. For as hard and uncaring as Jude is not, so is Cardan secretly not so unaffected or shameless as he makes out to be.

And as Jude wraps her legs around his waist, and her hands around the back of his neck pull his forehead down to hers, he wonders if this is what Jude knows, too.

Cardan moves his lips against Jude's neck and the increasingly irregular rhythm of his hips matches the erratic beating of his heart, and when Jude's teeth bite into his throat as if to suckle at his lifeblood, he comes hard buried deep inside her.

Minutes later, the King and Queen of Elfhame are still tangled together on the couch. Jude's head is on Cardan's chest and he has the sharp claw tip of a fingernail circling against her shoulder. A faint bruise is blooming on his throat, and the tip of his tail is brushing against her elbow.

"Shall we return you to the revel, my love?" Cardan asks her. Jude looks at him, then stands fluidly and holds her chin up and her arms out.

"Dress me, husband," she commands, and Cardan picks up her clothes off the floor and puts everything back on. Piece by piece, layer by layer, fingers meticulous. Pinning her hair and fastening the scabbard by her waist. Jude is still like a mannequin, and when he is done she lowers her arms and sweeps out of the room without a backward glance.

Cardan straightens his own clothes, plonks his crown back on his head and then saunters back out to the thrown room. Jude is already being offered a selection of the fattest, sweetest grapes and she spears them with a fine dagger before she puts them to her kiss-swollen lips. And when she drags the knife point back out of her mouth, he doesn't know whether he'd rather be the blade or the fruit.

Either way, he is more than content to spend the rest of the night watching Jude rule the fae with an iron fist, as his kisses fade on her skin.

****

Sorry that was so curly! When I started writing Jurdan I just thought I would write these snarly, snappy creatures but it turns out I'm just a sucker for them shedding their skins when they're alone. Also, I planned on writing hardcore smut and all that came out was... intense feels? What is happening?

MASTERLIST

TAGLIST: @asteria-of-mars @swankii-art-teacher @loosingdreams @feysand-loml @cityofbookish

*NOTE* I have two entirely separate masterlists/ taglists for my feysand and jurdan stuff!! Hope this makes it all easy to navigate!

[shreddedparchment]

A Wife for Thor Pt.16

No One

02/04/2021

Pairing: King!Thor x Reader          Word Count: 5,025

Warnings: angst, jealousy, crying, infertility, talk of pregnancy, trouble conceiving, smut, LOTS of fluff

A/N: I’m sorry this one took me a bit to get out. I know y’all tell me not to be sorry but I am still sorry lol I stopped taking my endo meds since I can no longer afford them with no healthcare, I got my period and my endo said FUCK YOU! I was in bed for the entirety of my period with no energy to do anything but lay there and do nothing. Anywho, I hope you enjoy this chapter. I’ve been excited to get to this chapter and I hope it’s worth the wait. Thank you for any comments or reblogs! xoxo

Thor has never been so eager to get back to New Asgard. Even back in the beginning when Jane had been living with him in those first small houses that they’d built when his new Kingdom was nothing but a distant dream.

Even then, this sensation of yearning had not been so strong.

Every moment away from you has been unbearable. The detour he’d taken after just arriving only increased his desire because if seeing Jane has shown him anything it’s that he has indeed made the right choice.

He really hadn’t doubted it, but it’s nice to know that even with Jane standing inches away from him, his heart had not pounded. His breath had not caught. His fingers had not tingled as they once had in their wish to touch.

Her brown eyes, once beyond beautiful, are indeed still pretty. However, they aren’t yours. Yours that look at him with an innocent admiration. Love pours from them so freely. Eagerly.

You’re not afraid to show him how you feel and it takes his breath away how much you’ve given into loving him.

All he can do is try to return your love with the same fervor. So far he thinks he has been doing the job well.

As he struts forward towards your shared bedroom, he reaches into his cloak, down along his left hip to unhook a small leather satchel bulging with its contents.

Smiling down at what he hopes will be a welcome and pleasing gesture, he makes to open the doors to the room but finds them thrust out towards him.

Instinctively his hand twitches around the satchel, almost throwing his palm out to call his remade hammer, but he resists.

From his bedroom spill two beings. One Asgardian, one human. The doors swing shut behind them.

“Doctor Wilson? Alric?” Thor teeters back onto his right foot, completely surprised to see them. “What brings-?”

Both of them look grave and Thor’s heart hits the pit of his stomach. All of the strength in the universe leaves him in one terrifying instant.

“Is Y/N alright? Is she hurt? Injured? Has something happened?”

In his panic he begins to push through them and they move aside for him but before he can open the doors to get in to see you, Alric reaches out to place his hand on Thor’s shoulder.

“Just our monthly visit, nothing to fret about Your Majesty,” Alric assures him and yet, Thor’s squirming nerves are not put at ease. “Unfortunately things do not look well for an heir as of now.”

“They don’t exactly look bad either, Alric,” Doctor Wilson interjects. “We’re in uncharted territory, Your Majesty. We have to play this as it comes at us. I’m sure with Alric’s help we’ll find a way to make it work.”

Their words at the moment aren’t making any sense to Thor. All he wants is to see you.

“Right…” he says on reflex, but his voice is weak.

His mind on you and only you.

“She is a little melancholy after our news so, perhaps it’s best we let you go see her. Until next month, Your Majesty,” Doctor Wilson gives him a curtsy. “If you need us before then, you have our numbers.”

Alric gives Thor a bow and the two of them march off, Alric lugging a strange metal case along with him.

With nothing to hold him back now, Thor pulls the doors open and hurries inside.

He scans the room from the left to the right, expecting you in the bathroom but you aren’t there. Several of the doors to the balcony are open letting in a much warmer breeze than this morning but still very cool.

Thor finally spots you sitting at your vanity, your hand pressed to the inside of your elbow as you hold a small cotton ball against the point at which one of your doctors probably drew some blood.

Even that tiny sting of a needle piercing your beautiful skin makes his heart ache. Any pain you feel is his own and he can’t believe he forgot what today was.

“Cherub?”

You don’t look at him and instead keep your hand pressed tightly, fingers moving in slow and small circles.

He can’t see your face from here. You’re turned away, sitting with your gaze trained on the balcony doors closest to your vanity.

Thor can’t take you not looking at him. He sets his satchel on the chaise at the end of the bed and when he reaches your left side, he squats down so that he can look up at you, his right hand taking gentle hold under your left bicep. His left hand he places over your right one, pressed against the inside of your left elbow.

“I’m sorry about today. I forgot they were coming for your tests,” Thor confesses, feeling so guilty he could leap from the balcony and welcome the pain of any bones he might break.

The silence is heavy and he thinks he might really be in for it and opens his mouth to plead for your forgiveness when you give him relief, “So did I.”

He breathes in deeply and with a wave of relief releases his worries in a gust of air.

“Alric said that things did not look good. You’re not with child?”

Even though he knows, he still needs to hear you say it. He wants to know what you’re thinking to make whatever is making your face look so sad go away.

He takes his right hand and runs it along your lower back instead, rubbing in what he hopes is a soothing way.

Finally, you turn your head towards your vanity and he can see more of your heartbreaking expression. He hasn’t seen that loss of hope in your beautiful face since the night you begged him not to make a fool of you just before dinner on a night that feels a lifetime away.

“No, it-it wasn’t a no. The test was inconclusive.”

“Inconclusive? So, what does that mean? Does that mean they don’t know?” Thor asks, confusion twisting his handsome face.

“No, it just means that the test didn’t come back in any way that they could read it. We’re not exactly the same species even if we are compatible physically, we don’t know if we can even get pregnant. They took more of my blood and are going to do the test with more reliable equipment.

“They’ll call when they know something,” you sigh heavily, leaning back against your seat and trapping his hand between it and your body.

Thor tries to think of what he can say to make you feel better. What can he do?

And then what he has to say doesn’t matter as you turn to meet his gaze with your own full of betrayal and suspicion.

When your mouth parts, your words freeze him and his brain short circuits.

“I saw you with Jane earlier on the tower, Thor. I’m sorry but I-I thought you were going to come find me as soon as you got back, not your ex.”

You take a deep breath and Thor watches as your nerves spill forward, your lips trembling as you slowly exhale and all of your fears shine out through the depths of your eyes.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Why are you crying, cherub?” Thor gushes, pulling his hand from your back to turn your seat to face him.

He cups both sides of your face, his large thumbs wiping away at the tears that spring forward.

It had seriously messed with you to see him and Jane so happy and close earlier. And then the tests and Doctor Alric and Doctor Wilson had no idea what was wrong with them so that was stressing you out.

All of your jealousy and frustration pours out of you suddenly. So fast and so unrelenting that with just this small bit of affection from Thor makes you shut your eyes tight as you sob two-three times.

“Y/N...no, my love, please. Don’t cry,” Thor begs, his own throat tight as he pulls you towards him.

You let him hold you because as insecure as you feel, as upset as this morning has made you, his love still feels real. The softness in his voice doesn’t sound fake and as much as he is the source of one of the aches in your chest, he’s your comfort now too.

How fucked up is that?!

He caresses the back of your head as you bury it against his shoulder, slumped down a little because of how low he is in his squat.

His other arm is wrapped all the way around you, firm. Possessive and eager to make you feel better. Can you trust this display?

Until this morning you had no reason to doubt it.

“We will have our baby soon, I know it. I can feel it. I’m not only the God of Thunder, you know? Trust me, cherub. I know these things. We’ll have our little one before you know it.”

He sounds so confident, so sure. He’s lost that tightness in his throat a little and he pushes you back so that he can look into your eyes, quickly wiping away at the saltwater stains on your cheeks.

“As for your former worry, I went to the tower because the lights were on. I wasn’t sure who was there so I simply went to check. I wasn’t expecting Jane out of all the people it could have possibly been.

“I’d hoped it was you, finally making use of the tower for your own office to write or perhaps your own personal library?” Thor’s instincts on what you might want a private space to be.

You suddenly feel foolish for doubting him for even a second. It makes you cry again, and you bury your face in your hands.

“No, my love, please don’t cry anymore,” he continues to beg. “Look, I’ve brought you a gift.”

He gets up suddenly and moves towards the package he’d been carrying when he came in. It wasn’t large. About the size of a shoebox.

“I thought of you when I was passing over Paris on my way home. You can eat them all at once or slowly, whichever you prefer,” He flips open the leather satchel and from inside pulls a thick and shiny rust colored box with a satin brown ribbon that delicately holds it closed.

It looks expensive and he doesn’t wait for you to take it since you’re too busy wiping at your cheeks and sniffling to grab it. He pushes the ribbon off of the box then removes the lid and places it underneath while tossing the ribbon onto your vanity.

“I’m not sure what each of them is, but you don’t have to eat the ones you don’t like. I’ll eat them for you,” he pushes fancy gold tissue paper aside to expose the contents within.

Inside the box is a tray of twenty-four chocolate pieces. Some of them have designs painted on them with what is more likely more chocolate in bright colors and patterns. Other pieces look to be decorated in plain chocolate with small embossed hearts, triangles, or teeny tiny bows.

The box is too thick for this to be all there is, so you’re pretty sure there are two trays of chocolates.

“Do you like them?” Thor checks, his voice light and rising at the end gently almost as if he’s talking to a small child which maybe should offend you?

But it doesn’t because you know that’s not what he means by the tone he’s using. He’s being as gentle with you as he can in your moment of sad anxiety and you love him so much for it.

“They’re so pretty…” you hiccup, wishing you weren’t so emotional and crying all over his lovely gift.

“That’s not all,” he tells you, putting the chocolates on your vanity to free up his hands to reach into his satchel again.

You quickly cover the chocolates, pushing the ribbon around the sleek container before they can be ruined.

Thor tosses the satchel onto the chaise with a flick of his wrist but draws your attention to him when he places another box on your lap. This one is much smaller, but wide and square.

“Happy two months of marriage, cherub,” Thor says softly, then carefully lifts the lid of his second gift.

Nestled within lush purple velvet is a beautiful platinum chain, thin, short so that the gorgeous lotus flower with your birthstone gem settled at its very center will sit just below your collarbone.

“It’s so beautiful, Thor.”

All of a sudden you’re crying again.

Thor smiles and rises again, taking the necklace from inside the box which he tosses onto the chaise too before moving around behind you to slip the necklace around your neck.

You reach up to place your fingers on the pretty flower, sniffling and trying not to make your crying too vocal but a sob or two slips out.

Thor moves back around you and takes a long look at your mess of a face before he takes your hand and pulls you to your feet, “Come here, love.”

He waits for you to stand then takes your spot on your seat but then leads you down onto his lap.

Reaching up with his hand, he gives the back of your neck a squeeze while his other hand finds a resting spot on your thigh.

“Is it Jane still upsetting you?” he guesses.

You nod, unwilling to say it aloud.

“Why? What exactly is it that’s troubling you?”

He genuinely doesn’t seem to understand. While he might understand your nerves about her, the reason you’re still crying is lost on him.

You don’t want to say, but Thor bounces you a little in his lap, taking his hand to caress the side of your face and hold your gaze.

“Nothing you can say will make me love you any less.” A promise.

“When I saw you two this morning, you just looked so h-happy,” your lip quivers. “You looked happy. Pleased. You were smiling that one smile that’s only supposed to be mine.”

For some reason Thor’s chest puffs up a little, a proud fix to his chin as he reaches up to grab yours and give your head a little shake.

“It is all yours, cherub. I am completely yours. I was so happy when I was with Jane this morning because I felt nothing of what I’d once felt for her. I had no stuttering in my heart, no butterflies in my belly. I wasn’t taken by her eyes or tempted by her lips.”

“Alright, I get the picture,” you grumble, hating everything he’s describing even though you know he’s telling you that he wasn’t feeling any of it.

He chuckles, bringing his hand down to rest on your hip.

“I was happy because Jane is no longer the source of all of that for me. You are. All meeting her so unexpectedly proved is that I am more in love with you than I ever thought I could be. You were my arranged match. The most I had ever expected was friendship. And when that turned into more, I wondered if it could really be more than what I ever felt for Jane and it is.

“Jane was always a dear love but you are family. It’s only been a short time since we married but you are more my love than Jane ever was. You’re my cherub!”

He doesn’t wait for you to recover from his little speech. He hooks his hand behind your neck and pulls you down for a kiss.

It quickly changes and shifts and the lonely night you’d spent tense and worried, missing him, explodes you onto him. You’re both a frenzy of movement, Thor ripping away at his armor until he’s in the plain dark undershirt and a very small pair of black briefs.

You’re about to push him onto your bed when he suddenly grabs you and tosses you around his massive body and onto the bed to bounce as you land with a gasp.

He shoves his briefs down, still kicking them away as he steps towards you and gathers the long skirts of your dress higher and higher around your hips.

“Thor…” you whisper, a gasp of anticipation which drives him a little wild as he yanks you closer to the edge of the bed and thrusts into you with a shaky groan.

He goes still for a moment, hooking his hands around your thighs more securely. He bottoms out, sheathing his cock within you until you reach down to scratch at the bottom of his shirt then his hands as you fall back against the bed.

“Please,” you plead and he quickly obliges.

He pumps into you, filling you to the brim with no intention of ever stopping.

~~~~~~~~~~

You and Thor eventually come out of your room. You dressed in your carefully chosen dress and Thor a little less regal in a pair of crisp dark jeans, and layered up in a green sweater over a blue button up collar shirt over a plain white t-shirt.

Honestly though, even in his slightly more casual ensemble, Thor screams royalty. He’s so beautiful.

Both of you giggling like giddy kids, he pulls you closer and loops your arm through his.

It makes you happy that he likes you close by. He proves it now as he leans down to whisper so that only you can hear him as the palace staff moves about cleaning and fixing up the rooms that have been used throughout the day.

“I’m a little glad you’ve decided not to use the tower for a workspace.” Thor confesses.

“How come?” you wonder, turning your face to look at him, genuinely curious as to the change of mind. He’d been so insistent before about you having your own personal space to work in peace where no one could bother you and you didn’t have to give up writing your stories even if you were now Queen of New Asgard.

“I don’t know if I could stand having you that far away from me. Our night apart has only driven that home for me. I want you always at my side.”

His sentiment is sweet and you stop to turn and face him, reaching up to place your hands on his bearded cheeks to smoosh them because he’s so damn adorable. He’s massive so you have to push yourself up, lifting your heels a little to do so comfortably.

“Do you have any idea how incredibly lovable that makes you?” you ask.

He smiles despite you morphing his face, beaming down at you with a look that must mean he loves you. Everything he says has to be true. The more you think about it, the more you realize that your jealousy, while founded, doesn’t make any sense now that you’re married.

Not after everything the two of you have shared and been through. Not after all the time you’ve spent building this foundation with him. 

“Quite a lot more than I was before?” he guesses. “Only, maybe not when I go to the bathroom?”

Through your smile you tilt your head to the side a little, confused by his amendment to his desires.

“Why?” What difference does it make?

He drops his voice to a whisper and leans down a little closer to you, “Sometimes I have smelly poops.”

You’re not expecting that and throw your head back as a loud unfiltered laugh rips through you. The movement pulls you down flat onto your feet but Thor catches you with one arm around your waist to pull you back up onto your toes and against his hard body.

He’s laughing too as he dips down and kisses your laughing mouth, silencing you a little so that it’s only air slipping through your lips as you kiss him back.

It’s just a long held peck. He’s relishing in the feel of your lips against his as your body shakes with more laughter.

Still laughing with you, Thor pulls back and gripes, “Stop laughing and kiss me!”

You drop your head against his chest as you keep laughing, unable to help it because the cuteness of him being self-conscious about his smelly poops is too much for you to handle.

Especially considering that you’ve both already been in the bathroom together when the other is using the toilet.

He loosens his arm around your waist so that you fall down a little further but keeps his hand resting on the small of your back while the other hand he places on the back of your head, caressing it as you chuckle weakly from laughing so much.

The sound of a clearing throat brings both your heads turning to the end of the hallway.

Your visiting trio stand there, Tony smirking, Bruce smiling shyly, Jane averts her eyes.

“Uh, get a room?” Tony suggests, but you can tell from his tone that he’s only teasing.

“Where do you think we’ve been all morning?” Thor grins, readjusting with you to hook your arm on his elbow before leading you towards your guests.

“So that’s what those screams were,” Tony counters.

Thor wiggles his eyebrows at them but your neck burns and your mouth pops open in surprise and embarrassment.

You start to fret, hands fluttering up towards your new necklace as you look from Tony to Jane, who’s looking at her shoes, to Bruce who is smiling with his own laughter in his eyes.

“Was I-? I didn’t mean to-! Thor, I didn’t know that I was being-” your panic is real and your heart is thrumming a million miles an hour.

“He’s teasing you, cherub, don’t worry,” Thor assures you, dropping your arm from his elbow to wrap his own arm around your waist to pull you into his side again.

You turn to Tony and he’s laughing a little. Not maliciously, just purely entertained by your reaction.

“I-a joke?” you ask him, still uncertain.

“Sorry,” Tony says, nodding. “Just a joke.”

You swallow hard, trying to settle your heartbeat.

Thor kisses your head and like a switch is flipped, all of them shift into work mode.

“Have you started installing the security system?” Thor asks Tony and all together the five of you move down into the lowest level of the palace which actually happens to be a dungeon?

You’re not really listening to their conversation as you move with them, still flustered about you possibly letting all of your sex noises reverberate through the halls of the palace for everyone to hear, but when you reach a large vault-like door, you start to focus again.

As the heavy door slides open like part of some futuristic spaceship, you’re thrown into a large room about the size of the throne room where you’d had your wedding reception only it looks nothing like the rest of the palace.

This place looks more like the Avengers compound. High-tech stations line the walls, large monitors with readings you don’t understand and camera footage from places you recognize from around New Asgard and the palace itself.

There’s a full crew working all of the stations, Asgardians and humans, all of them wearing the same charcoal gray uniforms, splashes of gold and red like Thor’s cape on their shoulders and chests.

As you and Thor enter, they stop what they’re doing to stand at attention, bowing to both of you as Thor leads you to the center of the room where a large stone table is set with schematics of plans that you don’t understand.

Tony moves over to them and starts to sift through the many scrolls all laid out for viewing while Thor nods to the crew.

“At ease, my friends.”

He’s so nice. The crew fall back into their respective jobs.

One of them moves towards a large screen against the wall, a TV you realize, playing different news footage from all over the world.

He flips to another channel and you pull away from Thor to walk and stand beside the crewman who stands taller once you’re beside him.

He turns to you and gives you a quick bow, “Your Majesty.”

Turning to him, you smile and then look back at the screen, “To monitor any weird things happening around Earth?”

“Yes, m’am,” he asserts then flips the channel again.

This time it’s a documentary style report, you see a familiar scene. New York in shambles as Iron Man, Hawkeye, Black Widow, the Hulk, Captain America, and your Thor fight off the invading Chitauri.

Slowly another body settles beside you, its warmth drawing your attention to it.

“I still remember that day, sort of,” Bruce says gently, his voice always so easy and calm.

It’s hard to believe he can turn into the giant Hulk in seconds.

“Was it scary?”

“Sort of. I think for me, I was just worried that Hulk would hurt someone other than the aliens. But by then I think he understood what side we were on.” Bruce nods.

“But, aren’t you the Hulk?” His words confuse you a little.

“Well, yeah, but also no. He’s like another half of me? If that makes sense? I haven’t worked out how to combine both sides yet. I’m there, I’m just...it’s like someone takes who you are and reduces you to your most basic instincts.

“We’re almost like two different people but we’re also the same person. I’m working on understanding our connection better. Underneath the Hulk, I’m still me. I’m still there I think. I’m just trapped for some reason.”

The two of you watch the screen in silence for a moment then Thor shows up, blasting the Chitauri with his lightning. He looks a little different because he has both eyes and his hair!

“Thor had long hair,” you realize, gushing a little.

“Did I look better with long hair?” his deep voice slips into your right ear and you jump not having been expecting it.

“Not better,” you promise him, smiling at him before turning your eyes back on the TV. “Just different. It suits you.”

“Should I grow it back?”

With excitement, you turn to face him and he chuckles at whatever look you have in your eyes, “Would you? Wouldn’t it bother you?”

“If it will make you look at me the way you’ve been staring at me on that television, I will go out and buy a wig.”

You laugh and Thor leans down to give you a quick peck.

“It’s that time of year I guess,” Tony says, sliding over to stand on Bruce’s other side where Jane is already standing having moved over at some point.

She still hasn’t said anything.

“What time of year?” You wonder.

“Oh, in Spring they always start to play footage on some of the news channels about Loki’s party days in New York. Some type of anniversary celebration or something? Only it’s more like a wake.”

“It’s a memorium,” you realize, then look at Thor who seems to sense your upset.

He wraps his arm around you and settles in beside you, kissing the top of your head again.

“Where is Loki?” you ask him, frowning with worry and wondering if it must upset him to have one of his biggest mistakes thrown in his face for weeks.

“He’s tending to business with the guard. He’ll come find us when he’s finished,” Thor promises.

After a tense moment, Tony claps his hands and then pats Bruce’s shoulder, “Shall we? Pepper wants me home by Friday so that we can explore the wonderful art of tantric massage.”

As Bruce turns to follow Tony back to the center table where a new console computer has come from a panel at the center you hadn’t noticed, he gives him a skeptical look.

“Pepper? Are you sure it isn’t you pushing the tantric massage?” Bruce sounds like he already knows the answer.

Tony shrugs, “I’m not the bossy anymore.”

You look back at the TV, your worry only spiking at the thought of Loki coming down here and finding all of you watching.

“Change it to something else,” you tell the crewman. “Make sure no one puts it on that channel again.”

“Yes, m’am,” he bows his head in obedience and quickly changes the channel while moving to a small box hooked up to it where a small screen comes out and he quickly goes about pressing buttons hopefully blocking any and all sources of that footage so that Loki doesn’t accidentally have his face shoved into his past.

“Don’t worry, my cherub. Loki is well aware of what the Earth grieves at this time of year. He won’t be blindsided by it.”

“I still don’t like it,” you insist, unable to shake the frown from your face.

“Thor?” Jane’s voice interrupts you both softly.

He looks at her and you give her a glance before turning to look at the news reports on the TV.

“I’m gonna need one of these mainframes for the telescope. Which one can I take?”

“Right,” Thor nods, “Of course. Let’s find you a place to work.”

Before he leaves you he leans in and kisses the side of your head again, squeezing your hip before he moves with Jane away towards the many workstations in the very large room.

After getting everything sorted out this morning, your heart doesn’t even sway towards jealousy and even though you’re worried about Loki, you breathe a sigh of relief that your realization about Thor’s loyalty has really engrained itself into you.

He loves you and nothing will change that. Even as they laugh somewhere behind you, your confidence doesn’t waver.

You reach up and touch the lotus on your necklace, a shining reminder of Thor missing you on his very first night away from you since your wedding.

You’re sure now that no one will ever come between you and Thor.

No one.

[peachsayshi]

Chapter 8 - Heat

Gojo Satoru x Female Reader

Tags: Friends with Benefits, Angst, Tension. 

Summary: Rina spots you and Gojo together out in public. Furious that you are keeping a secret from her, she confronts Gojo instead to try and get some answers.

A/N: x

- - -

Goosebumps creeped up Rina’s arms as a weight dropped to the pit of her stomach. She blinked a couple of times, thinking she imagined the scene that played out. Her heart was racing uncontrollably and her response was to dodge behind a tree to try and catch herself.

Rina was working on her day off but she wasn’t too mad about it. In fact, she was glad to spend her time outdoors instead of being confined to her store. What she didn’t expect on her little morning adventure was to find you and Gojo at a park. Without hesitation, Rina stepped her way towards the two of you to say hello but froze when she saw Gojo cup your face in his hand and draw you in for a kiss. His lips lingered for a moment until you lightly pushed him away, cheeks flushed with embarrassment but smiling otherwise. His hand was still pressed against your cheek, his fingers trailing down your neck where his touch stayed as he spoke. Rina couldn’t tell what he was saying, but from the way you reacted she could see that something in his words took your breath away.

Lovers , the two of you were behaving like lovers…  

Lifting her back from behind the wooden tree, Rina trudged in the other direction hoping to avoid any confrontation while her thoughts ran rampant.

You were keeping a secret, a first since all these years you have known her. Suddenly your strange behavior started making sense to your dumbfounded best friend. All the secret phone calls and text messages, your constant excuse of not being able to hang out with her, the person who came into your life and somehow uplifted you from this terrible cloud that shrouded you…

There was no “guy at the office” you were dating. Rina swallowed hard when she realised that the person who you have been with this whole time was none other than Gojo.

By the time Rina arrived back home, the hurt began sinking deep in her bones. How long have you been hiding this from her? She could understand keeping things on the low for a while since you have been hesitant about jumping back into a relationship but what possessed you to start getting romantic with Satoru ? You knew better than anyone else that the man could barely commit to a favorite pair of sunglasses let alone an entire relationship!

None of it made any sense…

The two of you talked about everything, it’s been that way since you were teenagers. You weren’t just Rina’s best friend, you were practically her sister. The fact that she found out in this way pained her beyond words. There had to be a reason why you wouldn’t tell her…

Gojo.  

This is his fault.

That’s the only explanation.

She clenched her fists together in annoyance. After all this time she thought she could rely on him to keep the one promise he made her but he didn’t.

What else was I expecting? she thought to herself, he’s always been selfish.  

***

A few days later, Rina decided she needed to confront the truth head on and get some information. At first she was thinking of speaking to you directly but hesitated. There was a wall that barricaded her from questioning your relationship and she found herself nervous even approaching you to ask. Instead of treading that very awkward path, Rina decided to ask the only other person who could give her some indication on what was happening. That’s how Gojo wound up sitting at the counter of her confectionery shop, drinking lemonade and watching her with curiosity as she tended to her last few customers of the evening.  

“Rina-chan,” Gojo said with a big smile, his voice almost sickeningly sweet. “You did well today! I am glad to see your business is so successful!”

Rina nodded her head, forcing herself to return the smile but Gojo could clearly see that she was faking it.

“Thank you.”

Gojo leaned back, folding his arms over his chest while maintaining the happy mask on his face. “I appreciate you asking me to come over to try out some new things but honestly, I don’t think you seem very interested in my feedback,” he paused for a moment, gesturing that he was thinking hard before jokingly adding on, “are you just feeding me to get rid of items you don’t like?”

Rina furrowed her brows, not finding his teasing words amusing at all.

“No.” she replied curtly.

Gojo hooked his thumb underneath his blindfold, lifting it up as he leaned on the counter.

“Rina-chan…” he said softly, “are you mad at me?”

Rina squeezed the apron she was wearing with her hands, unable to look him in the eye.

“Yes.”

“Did I do something wrong?”

“ Yes.”

“Huh,” Gojo let go of his blindfold, aware that Rina was completely avoiding his gaze. “Sometimes I don’t realise it. If my criticism was too harsh, please don’t get upset with me! Who am I to tell you what improvements you need to make for you products-”

“It’s not that. I don’t care about that …”, Rina blurted, finally shifting her attention on to him and noticing that her string of words caught him off guard.

“Well, at least you’re saying full sentences now!”

For whatever reason his careless attitude was making her angrier. Rina could feel herself erupting but knew she was being irrational. She needed to explain her feelings calmly so as to not cause a scene. She’s seen Gojo clock out of conversations before when they got too serious. Inhaling slowly, she took her time to remove her apron before standing in front of him.

“Do you remember a conversation we had three years ago?”

“You’re mad at me about something I said three years ago? We’ve had quite a few conversations since then, I think I need you to jog my memory…”

Rina looked down at her feet, “the conversation where you promised me something…”

Gojo’s eyes widened, knowing exactly what Rina was talking about. “I never broke my promise…”

“ Liar,” Rina hissed, “I saw you two at the park, Gojo!”

The smile that had been settling on the curve of the sorcerer’s lips finally rested into a straight line. Gojo sensed that he might have seen Rina in the distance that day but second guessed his gut instinct.

“ Oh”

“ Oh?! That’s all you have to say!”

“Well, what do you want me to say?”

“I want to know why you broke your promise! You told me you had no intention of crossing the line with her. You said you wouldn’t!”

“I know what I said…”

Tears brimmed Rina’s eyes, she was clearly visibly frustrated and Gojo wasn’t helping the situation at all. She expected him to confess immediately once she informed him that she knew the truth but he brushed her off like it didn’t mean a thing.

“I never broke my promise,” Gojo explained nonchalantly, casually taking a sip of his drink before placing it on the counter. “I never made a move on her. She approached me.”

“She... what ?” Rina questioned, a wave of confusion running through her and making her slightly nauseous.

“Look, I’m sorry you found out this way. I understand how you feel, nothing hurts more than when the person closest to you keeps secrets from you,” Gojo continued, hoping to diffuse the situation. “In my defence, you didn’t specify that I couldn’t accept her if she were to ask for my company...”

“Then why would you ask her to lie about it?”

Gojo scoffed, “do you really think so little of me? I don’t care if you know. I don’t care if anyone knows! She’s the one who is choosing to keep it from you.”

Rina’s shoulder slumped, realising that hearing those words was definitely worse than proving her initial theory right.

Gojo wasn’t manipulating you into hiding your relationship from Rina because you were doing that yourself. On top of that, you were distancing yourself from her by not revealing the truth. Whatever was going on between you both, you were working damn hard to ensure that Rina wouldn't find out, which was making her worry even more.

Gojo remained stoic, an usual response for his character but he knew he was treading on unstable ground right now. You and Rina were two peas in a pod, and right now he was caught in the middle of an argument. He didn’t want to say anything that would further upset your friend, nor was he willing to disclose any information that might betray your trust.

Tsk, this is annoying, he thought to himself.

Rina placed her hand on the table, her body trembling slightly but she ensured she made full eye contact with Gojo before she said her statement, “I don’t care how handsome you are, or how strong, or powerful...She’s too good for you . She always has been. The only reason she’s with you right now is because she’s hurt . She is convincing herself that dating you will make up for her heartbreak but it won’t…”

“Wait, you think we’re…”

“Once you get bored of her, you’ll toss her aside. You’re just going to end up hurting her! You think I don’t know that you are the reason why her ex broke up with her in the first place?! He told me about the conversation you had with her the night of my Halloween party! He told me that you threatened him! You pathetic excuse for a man. ...”

“Rina…”

“You’ve been trying to get with her since you met! Your immature, selfish nature is the reason why she hasn’t been able to get over her sadness! You don’t care about anyone but yourself!”

Gojo slammed his fist on the counter, the vibration from his strength forcing Rina to jump back in surprise, snapping her out of her anger.

Her emotions began fizzling away, taking her out of the rage that she was in. The words she shot at Gojo were now registering in her head, and her hurt was replaced with guilt. She didn’t mean to yell at him. She couldn’t understand why she was angry to begin with. None of this was her business and frankly if you wanted to start a relationship with Gojo who was she to stop you?

Except, she didn’t trust him.

You were fragile as it is, and he was the last thing you needed.

“Gojo... I …”

“Rina-chan,” Gojo said, softening his words and flashing her a cold grin. “Clearly, you’re upset about this situation. I think the best solution is for the two of you to speak directly with each other. I’m sure she’ll give you a proper explanation that will ease your worries.”

He stood up from his seat, bowing politely in her direction and taking this opportunity to leave.

“I’ll get out of your way now. Thanks for the lemonade.”

“Gojo...wait…” Rina protested, her voice breaking but he merely waved as he walked out the door.

***

Gojo was seeing red.

He paced down the streets, his own irritation brewing within him like a hurricane from the scene that just unfolded. He held his tongue for your sake; most people would think twice before even thinking of speaking to him in that matter.

He didn’t care that Rina was upset. Frankly, that wasn’t any of his business. However, the fact that she threatened him with his own secrets was the reason he couldn’t suppress his growing vexation. Despite what he was feeling, he empathised with Rina; it’s frustrating not being able to speak to the person who mattered to you the most.

The sorcerer understood that more than anybody else.

He would give anything to talk to Suguru again.

When  he needed somebody to turn to is when he missed his best friend the most. Even if it was over a petty, meaningless situation like this. The fact that Suguru filled the silence with words was something. Nowadays he suffers with his own thoughts, his dear friend’s voice merely conscious in his mind.

Why are you allowing yourself to get upset over these monkeys? , is what Suguru would probably say. You’re pathetic for letting them twist you in this way.  

Then again, there was another side to Suguru, the man he was before he changed. That man would have probably said: “ just tell her the truth, you’re digging a hole for yourself trying to control the situation.”  

Although Gojo was calculative with his decision, his mind was volatile. Sometimes he would act then settle the aftermath of his choices later. As a result he had a habit of not thinking things through. He had no clue what your ex-boyfriend told Rina but she had a picture perfect idea on who the villain was in the scenario. Gojo, on the other hand, would argue his case if you were to ever find out what really happened.

She has to believe I was looking out for her, he thought.

Were you looking out for her? Or was her friend right about your intentions? Suguru’s voice replied back.

With nowhere else to go, Gojo decided to make his way over to your place. The two of you were always busy and rarely planned surprise visits, but right now he was desperate to see you and all he wanted to do was blow off some steam.

By the time Gojo arrived at your door it was dark outside. He waited patiently for you to open it for him, his heart racing slightly as he heard the patter of your footsteps from behind the frame.

“ Satoru…” you said, greeting him in a pair of fleece shorts and an oversized tee, your voice soft and gentle as always. “What are you doing here?”

Gojo leaned against the frame, peeking into your apartment for a second. He caught a glimpse of your table, your laptop was open and documents surrounded your entire set up. He could hear the sound of some music playing from your computer, and could smell the coffee that you had resting on the coaster next to it.  

“Are you busy right now or working?”

“I’m working but I can stop for a couple of hours if there’s something you need.”

He passed the threshold, stepping around you before shutting the door on your behalf. He was positioned behind you, one of his large hands planted on the door as he looked down at you with desperation.

“Is there something wrong?” you asked, squinting your eyes at him with confusion.

There’s no way she would hate me, Gojo thought, finally answering the question Suguru posed in his mind. If I was looking out for her, who cares what my intentions were?  

The sorcerer bent down to pick you up from your thighs, carrying you in his arms before pinning you against your front door. He felt you grab onto him for support before crashing his lips onto yours and proceeding to kiss you with sheer intensity. Your lips were soft against his and he could tell you weren’t anticipating his reaction, but the two of you have made kissing such a habit it was easy for you to find your rhythm with him the minute you settled yourself. Your legs were wrapped around his stomach, and he felt your thighs clench against his waist as he slid his tongue on yours. One of his hands gripped tightly around your leg, while the other snaked its way underneath your shirt.

Gojo groaned into your mouth, realising that you weren’t wearing a bra and his thumb stroked your nipple, feeling it perk up at his touch. One of your arms was draped lazily over his shoulder, the other tangled in his white hair which you tugged at before pulling away from him. You pressed your forehead against his, the two of you breathing heavily as you finally managed to open your eyes to face him. Your cheeks were flushed, your heart racing so hard that Gojo could feel it beating against his chest.

“Is-is everything alright?” you asked, panting heavily and only fueling Gojo’s growing desire.

“I don’t really feel like talking,” he replied through gritted teeth, squeezing your breast as he brought his lips back down to yours, wanting nothing more than to suffocate himself with your lips.  

- CHAPTER 9: INTIMATE (1) - 

[deberiaestarescribiendo]

Fools who dream #Writer Wednesday 07/28/21 Javier Peña x f!reader

For #Writer Wednesday created by @autumnleaves1991-blog and tagging @clydesducktape that creates the masterlist every week. Thank you for the amazing work to both of you!!

Paring: Javier Peña xf!reader (addressed as you/she)

Summary: Long time ago, Javier met a girl full of dreams living a hard life. One day, driving around town he finds out that maybe, dreams do come true.

Warnings: smoking, swearing, +18 SMUT not very descriptive sex but it’s there, allutions to prostitution.

A/N: This is the lovechild of: me being angsty, listening to Lalaland’s soundtrack, and rereading a novella I wrote a long time ago about an escort girl that I was planning to rewrite (I thought that it could be an interesting Javi’s fic, but I don’t know). So to conclude: a mess, voilá! bear in mind, there’s mention of sexwork and we respect sexworkers in this house.

Sorry for any mistakes and bad grammar!!

Fools who dream

She turns and faces the camera, they make a dramatic zoom on her while the orquestra rises in a beautiful romantic crescendo. With pink parted lips she smiles at the protagonist, her eyes glow and shyly she lowers her gaze.

Back to the male lead he’s looking at her like there’s nobody else in the room, the camera blurs everything except his face and hers. Love, romance.

The movie was not really interesting until the moment she appeared. Same old story about a guy in search of that perfect girl, his life is miserable; making him fall into very comedic and not very surprising adventures and misfortunes on a very normal life up until she appears and then she shows him the meaning of life and live life to the fullest or some bullshit.

Javi didn’t pay a ticket for a good story, fuck he didn’t even read the plot before buying it. But he saw the sign while he was waiting at the traffic light, the local drive-in cinema and its yellow lights against the night presenting:

The right one (or something like that) starring some guy and then her name.

So he drove in and asked for a ticket, probably looking a bit weird being just a guy alone buying just one ticket to a romantic comedy surrounded by couples. It looks fucking sad, Peña he thought. But he has to see her, he has to see if it is true.

“Hi”

she says on the screen and it takes him away from his thoughts. Hearing that voice again after many years hits him so differently. To think that those sweet lips moaned and called his name pressed against his skin, so close that he can almost feel the heat of her body on him in his cold lonely car.

The guy smiles at her and makes a fool of himself gaining a sweet giggle from her. And it reminds him of the times she danced in his apartment or made fun of him for being such a grump.

Deja de fruncir el ceño, Javi, que se te va a quedar así (Stop frowning, Javi, or it’s gonna stay like that) she used to say, brushing her index finger over her nose giggling just like now in the movie.

She said something back, but he’s not listening. Javier just puts the words he remembers she said to him on her lips. A fantasy within a fantasy.

What is more real? those intimate moments years ago or him watching her on a movie alone in his car?

He has lost the plot, but who cares? She laughs and pushes the protagonist's hand to the empty streets of New York and the lights shine on them, and as the world perfectly bends to lovers in movies, it starts raining and she receives the drops with open arms and a wide grin. And they kiss, a perfect one, soft lips over the other. Nothing like the kisses they shared

Their kisses were hungry, knowing that they were borrowed and paid in time, rushed sometimes, others slowly and messy pouring all the heat and the pain and the adrenaline in which he lived in those years.

Now he wishes he could have kissed her once last time, just like that, softly, the world far away from them. Perfect just like a movie.

The audience claps rejoicing in this celebration of love, some young couples are celebrating love in some different kind of way, the movie merely an excuse to have some time alone under the stars.

And Javier is suddenly aware of his loneliness of the empty space by his side, he’s the antonym of what he’s seeing on screen, of having the luck of finding the one and being delighted in love.

He could’ve been in love, once. He certainly felt something growing and shattering the hard shield he had on his chest when they were together.

And now watching her mimic those feelings, those desires, he feels jealous, of what? he doesn’t know, it’s not like they had a chance...did they?

Colombia, 1984

“You’re going to laugh” you say the fan above your head blows waves of hot air that still smell of sex and the cigarette Javi’s smoking languidly over the window.

He has barely put his jeans on, the zip and top button undone. He looks tired, the dark circles under his eyes are way more visible today than ever. You can even see the weight on his shoulders, he’s hunching, his neck curved down as he smokes.

He doesn’t say but you know there’s something bothering him, he’s quieter than usual, rougher.

He called you late in the evening, paid a taxi to get you to his house and you barely made it to the door when he grabbed you by your hips and pressed his body against yours. The kiss was ardent, his tongue invading your mouth in a mix of coffee, whiskey and smoke and need. You tried to push him and talk, just maybe say hello how was your day but he whimpered, he’s dark eyes pleading while he caressed your cheeks. And you let him, you know what he needed so you said nothing when he impatiently fisted your skirt up your navel and pushed your panties to the side so he could bury himself in you.

Covered in the dim lights of the scarce traffic in the middle of the night, silent apart from the rhythmic thumps of your hips hitting the door and both of your whispers and moans, Javier performed his usual rite of expelling his demons away on you. Each thrust, each second he was in you, the world became nothing, just white noise, there was only you and the primal need of achieving pleasure skin against skin.

Your soft voice, those sweet lips gasping brushing against his ear, he thinks it’s the only time he likes to hear his name being called or actually being aware of himself. With you there’s no Javier running to and from monsters and there’s no brutality or violence.

There’s only your soft hands locked on his neck, fingers curled in his hair and when you smile at him, eyes up the sky, lost in pleasure, he feels good and the world seems a little bit better.

“I even didn’t offer some water before…” he said after he recovers his breath still inside you

“I’ve never had a warmer welcome in my life, Javi, it’s alright” you laugh with legs trembling

“Still” he kissed your wrists and held you close, walking slowly towards the bedroom.

You barely made some small talk before his eyes grew darker, lost in something that chokes him, and he quietly covers you with his big body

“I just need to make love to you...please” he said with his forehead on yours. And here you are, body exhausted and numb, cooling the sweat with the sweet waves of air from the fan.

“I won’t laugh at you” he answers resuming the conversation, you were lost in your thoughts but when you look at him, you see he watches you intently and you believe him

“I mean it’s so cliche how I ended up doing this...it’s ridiculous” you shake your head

None of your clients has ever asked you about how you ended up doing this. None of them are really interested in you anyway, they prefer a fantasy, a character. But not Javi, and that scares you. He sees right through you.

“I wanted to get out of my small town, I had big dreams, big plans” you smile “I came to the city and I tried and tried to succeed but...well, long story short, a friend proposed it once and the money was too tempting”

“What did you want to do in the first place?” Javi approaches the bed. His skin shines against the moonlight, his disheveled hair makes him looks younger

“Now you’re going to really laugh” you cover your face with one of his pillows

“C’mon tell me” he smirks squeezing your tight

“I wanted to be an actress, do novelas, films, everything” you shyly confess. For a moment, you don’t look at him, expecting him to chuckle at your stupid little dream, but seconds pass and he doesn’t

“ I think you could do it” Javi’s hands draw small circle over you hip bones

“You think?” you bite your lip

“I do” he shifts position, resting his back on the bed and you open your legs so he can rest his head over your belly “Would you send me a dedicated picture once you made it?” you brush his hair out of his face and you see he’s smiling

“Of course, To my very first fan, who always believed in me” you wave your hand over the imaginary paper “And a kiss just under it”

“Would frame it and put it in my office...nah” he shakes his head “I put it right here” he motions towards the nightstand “I don’t want my colleagues greasy hands over my picture”you laugh out loud at his comment

“Sure, so you can dream about me” you joke stealing his cigarette and smoking a long drag

Present day

You don’t know how many times he has dreamt about you.

How many times that stupid movie has played in his house late at night, he bought it, foolish at it may seem, he has rewatch every frame, stopping to admire you.

You look happy now, your sweet eyes shine more and he’s happy, really is, that you have made it, but deep down, he wonders, as much as it makes he’s heart ache, Do you think about him? surely you don’t.

Probably you left that part of your life buried somewhere in Colombia. You changed your name, your past, everything, how could you think about him?

You’re probably living your best life, full of glamour, opportunities opening just in front of your eyes. How could you remember him?

You don’t (surely) so he has to content himself with the fiction. He replays that scene where you turn to the camera, smiling

Hi

and just for a second, he thinks, he dreams, it’s for him.

[cdroloisms]

more of the ghost!dream au!! still no good names for it, sorry (feel free to give me recs? maybe?) - picking off right where we left off here [x]. i’ve gotten quite a bit of this pre-written already as well as quite a bit planned - it’s definitely one of my favorite universes at the minute and something im really excited to show yall !! 

tw: death, memory loss (?), grief, unhealthy coping mechanisms, unhealthy relationship, grief, emotional distress, implied torture/abuse, aftermath of prison arc/pandora’s vault, dark(ish?) portrayal of c!sam (he’s one of the main figures of this au lmao but it grapples quite a bit w/ what he did in pandora)

Sam had only met Ghostbur once.

He never knew the former president well, had been busy with his own base during the Revolution and came back to the server in chaos after an ill-fated election and the man exiled. It hadn’t mattered, much, at the time; Wilbur was an imposing man, even in others’ recollections of him, and their words left very very little to the imagination. From what he knew, Wilbur was a smart man, cunning and silver-tongued, brimming with an unending fountain of belief that he could change the world with his words and his words alone; the server, overrun with memories of scuffles and battles and wars and countries Sam had not been around to remember, only seemed to serve as proof that he could. The few glimpses of the man that he managed to catch showed dark, tired eyes, a figure that stood almost as tall as he did, lips twisted in a perpetual tight-lipped smile.

Even as he spiraled, unexplainably, whispers of madness chasing the wind and landing in choppy fragments in the Badlands meetings held over Skeppy and Bad’s dinner table, those eyes never became less piercing, never failed to seem like they were burning through whatever and whoever they looked at. Sam hadn’t been the subject of that stare many times, but he remembers the bone-deep anxiety from having those eyes on him, even now.

Ghostbur, somehow, was the complete opposite; where his eyes had once been all-too knowing, belying their owners’ intelligence, a ruthless penchant for analysis that would split bone from marrow with a single sharp-edged glance, the phantom’s eyes were completely vacant. Instead of the glossy whites and rings of brown that would flicker warm to cool and warm again without warning, there was only an empty, all-encompassing blue.

He had floated over to Sam following a particularly difficult- session, with the prisoner, greeting him with an airy call of his name as Sam set off to his base for the night. He’d startled, then, still fresh off the adrenaline that was sent coursing through his veins each time he entered those blackstone walls, and started a sort of easy, unfocused conversation as they went along the path to the nether portal.

Ghostbur was - off, for the lack of a better word, even with Sam’s lack of familiarity of either side of the man - who he’d been before and what he’d become. His memories slipped through his mind like water seeping through fingers, and his attention span didn’t seem much better. Still, Sam listened to that echoing, otherworldly voice, nodded along as he eagerly recounted his day - or what he could recall from it, at least, until his feet had brought him along the same well-worn path to the nether portal, spitting purple sparks into the night.

“I’ll have to be going, Ghostbur,” he’d said through a thin smile, muscles aching under netherite as he pulled his shoulders back. The ghost’s head had cocked to the side, watching him with empty eyes, hands outstretched in front of him, palms up.

“Sam-” the ghost blinked slowly, “Are you sad?”

Sam froze. Ghostbur stared at him, face still kept in that same blank expression, eyes still an endless blanket of blue, but something - in his stance, perhaps, in the echoes of his words as they reverberated off of nothing, felt familiar, felt like looking up expecting a window and coming face to face with a shattered mirror - before the phantom’s face broke out in a weightless smile.

“Have some blue!”

The blue was dropped unceremoniously into his hands as he fumbled the catch and nearly let it fall to the ground; the clear, glassy surface of it tainted blue by his fingertips, the color swirling and darkening in his hands. He watched it, mesmerized, as blossoms of blue bloomed beneath his skin; his feelings, sharp-edged, became sea glass tossed in its shifting waves, smoothed, numbed, slowly sucked away in a pulsing chorus of blue blue blue-

“That’s quite a lot of blue,” Ghostbur chirped, and Sam blinked at the thing in his hands - navy, the same color as the sky above their heads clinging to the last remnants of twilight - “Would you like some more?”

“...no thanks, Ghostbur,” Sam looked back up, feeling through the new, blue-tinged fog in his brain, memories blurred at the edges but lacking the same burning sting of regret, “Good night.”

“Good night, Sam!” Wilbur smiled, blank blue eyes trained on his face even as Sam stepped into the portal and the world swirled away. “See you soon!”

---

“Sammy,” Dream walked - no, floated, forwards as Sam took a step back, unresponsive, “is there something wrong?”

Sam swallowed, mouth suddenly dry.

He was a spitting image to Dream as he first knew him; the same tousled hair, freckled face, down to the ratty old jacket that he’d insisted on wearing at all times, made of a garish shade of lime-green and covered in customized patches that Bad - unable to resist his puppy eyes - had always ended up fixing the thing with. He had a gap in his teeth that had left him with a lisp for weeks back then, prompting Sapnap’s teasing much to Dream’s annoyance; his head tipped to the side, curious, familiar, and something deep inside Sam’s chest ached.

“Dream-” he tried, chest tightening further when the ghost’s face broke out into a brilliant smile, “why are you here?”

Why do you remember me?

He hadn’t talked to Ghostbur much, but he’d heard, to some degree, about how the ghost operated, how his memories were inconsistent at best, seemingly dependent on the emotions he’d attached to them while alive. How he went through the world in a state of unshakable bliss at the cost of his mind. Dream’s memories of him should’ve been anything but happy; why was he here?

“What do you mean?” Dream blinked at him, eyebrows scrunched, lips set in a small frown. His eyes, black and vacant, seemed to swallow all light, even with the sun streaming through the branches. “Where am I suppos’d to go?”

“Don’t you want to be with George and Sapnap?”

Dream’s face was blank, and the pit in Sam’s gut grew deeper. “Who’s that?”

“George?” Sam could feel his voice begin to tremble, eyes widening. “Sapnap? You know them, right?”

“No?” Dream drew out the word, looking at him like he’d grown another head. “Should I know them?”

“Should you- Dream, this isn’t funny- they’re your best friends! They were your best friends- Pandas? Do you know Pandas?”

“You mean like in the jungles? I haven’t been in a jungle before, Sam, d’you think we could visit one?”

“No- Pandas, do you-” Dream only looked at him with the same confused, uncomprehending expression, not even a flicker of recognition in his face; Sam could hear his heart thudding in his ears, a distant horror growing and wrapping around his throat, “How about Ponk? Alyssa? Calla? Bad?”

Each name did nothing to change the blankness on Dream’s face, the screaming thoughts in Sam’s head growing to a fever pitch when the ghost in front of him shook his head, hair whipping back and forth.

“Nope!” His hands tugged at his hoodie sleeves, the movement familiar in a way that had echoes of long-forgotten memories drifting to the surface, holding his heart in a chokehold and squeezing tight. “Are they your friends?”

“Dream,” he stepped forward - felt a shadow of a pickaxe held in his fists, the shape of the name in his mouth bringing forth the taste of iron and smoke and painting the inside of his eyelids red - and stopped in his tracks. The images melted away, left just a kid standing in front of him, rocking back and forth on nothing, and Sam was going to be sick.

“Who do you remember?”

Dream smiled as the question registered, directing a look of such open, unadulterated adoration his way that it stole all of the air from Sam’s lungs.

“You, dummy!” He laughed, airy and light. “Who else?”

---

He brought him to his base, because what else was he supposed to do?

Dream skipped behind him, entirely enamoured with Fran; he watched as she melted under his enthusiastic scratches at the tufts of fur at her neck. He’d always been a soft touch with animals, had brought home stray mobs more than a few times as a kid; Sam swallowed around his unease and trudged forward.

“Puppy!” He nearly screeched with laughter, and Sam looked back to see Dream with his arms wrapped around Fran’s neck, face buried in her fur as giggles made his shoulders shake. Fran gave him a sloppy lick on the cheek, making him break out into a new round of high-pitched wheezes, “Good girl! Good puppy!”

“Hurry up, Dream,” Sam turned away. “We don’t have all day.”

“Oh- m’sorry,” Dream’s voice quieted, almost seemed to wobble, and Sam bit down on his tongue as they continued to walk back. He- didn’t know what to do, not with this version of Dream, not the little kid he’d half-forgotten instead of the masked monster he’d become so accustomed to. It was so much easier to slip into the mask, let his voice drop cold and deep and empty, the role of the Warden heavy and comfortable like a set of netherite armor. He pointedly kept his eyes staring forward, looking for the edge of the forest they’d ended up stuck in so he could finally see.

A sudden, yipping bark came from behind, thoroughly startling him and sending a sword appearing in a flash of white. He huffed at Fran, looking at him with faux innocent eyes, really?

Unfortunately, both she and Dream had somehow fallen ridiculously behind, the ghost having lowered to the ground at some point as Fran sat and wagged her tail. He rolled his eyes, making his way back towards the duo, feeling irritation press in the form of a headache against the front of his skull.

“Come on,” he muttered, wincing at how clipped his words sounded, even in his own ears. Not the same Dream, Sam. You’re not in the prison anymore. He shoved his hands into his pockets, eyes narrowing as he came closer; Dream hadn’t just stopped because of some distraction, as he first assumed. The kid was leaning against Fran, hands twisted loosely in her fur, head tipped forward and leaning against her body.

“Dream?”

The ghost looked up at his voice, one hand going to rub at his eye. His hair seemed to be moving around less than earlier, lips twisted in a small frown.

“M’sleepy, Sammy,” he mumbled around a yawn, bottom lip jutting out in a pout. He reached both hands up, palms facing the sky, as he stared expectantly. “Up.”

Aren’t you a little big to be carried? The retort came to mind as easily as breathing, echoed in his own head by his own voice, younger, exasperated but fond. His arms shook with the memory of a kid wrapping his arms around his neck and fumbling with his crown, with the feeling of a dead weight resting against the crook of his elbows, tall and lanky and far too light for its size, held in his arms one final time-

“Please?”

Sam shook his head.

“We’re walking to my base. Come on.”

[the-broken-truth]

Hey um if requests are open could you do house dimestrecu headcanons with a 👦🏻 reader maybe where the reader is alcina's biological son perhaps how the girls would be with an older brother sibling rivalry and stuff like that

Broken Truth: I smell drama! Let the words weave together!!

The Son of Castle Dimitrescu

"Mother, we brought you fresh prey." Bela said as she and her sisters drop the cloaked man on the ground behind the Lady's Grand Chair.

"Once again, my daughters are tending to my needs; so kind." Alcina said as she placed her wine glass down. "Let's take a look at them." She rose from her seat and looked down at the cloaked figure, obviously in pain.

"What is this, Daughters?" Alcina asked as she walked closer to the groaning figure - obviously male from the deep pitch of voice.

"We found him struggling to get to the castle - he kept muttering to himself." Bela said.

"He was obviously in pain but he really wanted to get here," Cassandra said as she kneeled by the downed man and grabbed the back of his hood tightly - catching his hair too. "Must really wanted to die."

"Ngh...Gah...M...M...Mother..." The man groaned but Cassandra scoffed before throwing his head to the ground - slitting the side of his head open.

"Ha, so pathetic - it's calling for its mother." Dani laughed when the smell of blood hit their noses. "Mmmm... He smells good. Do you want the first bite, Mother?" She asked.

Silence.

"Mother?" She asked again as she looked up at the tall woman...and the stunned look on her face - pure disbelief.

"Impossible...There's no way..." Alcina said as she sniffed the smell of blood again - it was familiar...far too familiar for her to be mistaken. She kneeled to the ground and gathered the man in her hands before yanking his hood off - her face gave a shattered expression when she took in his features.

"[Y/N]?" Her voice came as a whimpering whisper, she looked as if she was going to cry. The man opened his eyes - piercing golden eyes - and looked into Alcina's before smiling weakly and reaching out of her.

"M...Mo...Mother..." He said before his hand fell to the ground and his awareness was pulled to the back of his mind.

"[Y/N]? [Y/N]?! STAY AWAKE, MOTHER'S HERE! MOTHER'S GOT YOU NOW!" Alcina panicked as she gathered the man into her hands and ran out of the room, calling to the closest maid to get the doctor to the Old Master's Room.

The sisters just stood there confused for a few moments before they followed their mother and the man who was supposed to be their dinner.

[An Hour or So Later]

"How is he?" Alcina asked the doctor as she came out of the room with her mask on her face.

"He's very weak and malnourished, not to mention all of the scars and insection marks on his body. Wherever he's been for the past decades shows that he wasn't treated well and was used as a lab rat." The doctor explained.

"When will he wake up?" Alcina asked.

"Judging by the bags under his eyes and the paleness of his skin, he hasn't been able to get a proper night's rest - he might be asleep for a few hours or even days, but when he does wake up, he'll need a proper meal to get his weight back up." The doctor explained.

"Thank you, you may leave now." Alcina gave a dismissive wave of her hand and the doctor walked away as Alcina opened the door and walked. The entire time - the Dimitrescu Sisters were standing behind their mother, completely confused as to what was going on and why their mother was taking care of the food. They looked at each other before nodding and following their mother inside the room.

Here's the thing - throughout their entire lives living in this grand castle, they have never once been in this room; it remained locked for as long as they remembered and their mother kept the key close. When asked about the room, Alcina would get defensive and explain that the room was never to be opened - and if it was opened for any reason, there would be horrible punishments.

The first time they saw the room - it was grand: The walls were covered in Royal Blue Velvet with dark Ebony trims along the walks, the rug was large and circular - black with the Dimitrescu Crest in white in the center, the bed was against the wall with dark blue blankets and sheets, around the room was black wooden dressed and along the walls were different kinds of blades - from knives to full-blown dragon-head spears.

Bela walked over to her mother - her sisters following behind her - and looked as her mother eyed the sleeping figure of the man who rested in the bed with a smile on her face and tears in her eyes.

"Mother..." Bela tried to find the right words, "Mother, who is he? Why are you crying for him? Who is he to you?" Bela asked. Alcina wiped her tears before turning to face her 3 daughters.

"He...This man is someone very important to me. Someone I lost a long time ago before I met you, my wonderful daughters." Alcina said in the chair at the dresser - it was strong enough to hold her weight. "As you all know - I have a blood disease and it made it hard for me; one main issue I had was that I couldn't birth my own children...or so I thought." Alcina gave a sad smile.

"What do you mean 'or so you thought'?" Cassandra asked.

"There was a time, around the time I met Mother Miranda, that I found I was pregnant - I didn't believe it until I began seeing the results of pregnancy. I thought I would lose the baby, just as I had lost all my others but...I didn't. The baby was born healthy - it as a miracle that it didn't inherit my blood disease; it was strong...just like his father." Alcina smiled sadly.

"His Father?" Bela asked before her eyes widened in realization, "Mother...you don't mean..." Alcina nodded.

"Yes, that man is [Y/N] Dimitrescu - The Son of House Dimitrescu." Alcina smiled and looked at her sleeping son but the daughters...they could be more afraid.

[A Month Later]

Once [Y/N] opened his eyes, Alcina was all over him, babying him just as she did before he was taken away from her when he was a toddler - she tried asking him where he was for all that time but it made him whimper, he couldn't even be touched without flinching. His right leg experienced a deformity and Alcina gifted him a cane to aid him in getting his mobility back.

Whenever he would move, Alcina was right by him.

When he needed something, Alcina would be the one to get it.

When he was hungry, Alcina would personally demand the best food for her son.

When it was dinnertime, Alcina insisted that he'd sit beside her, which was Bela's spot.

Alcina would do anything and everything for her son - and the girls didn't like it.

They would try anything to get their mother's attention but nothing seemed to work.

Bela managed to get her mother a rare vintage - she shared with [Y/N].

Cassandra managed to hunt down large game for her mother - it was overlooked while she dined with [Y/N]

Daniela made her other a painting - it wasn't even looked at for Alcina was watching [Y/N] read.

The girls hated their older brother.

They didn't even see him as their brother - just an old burden that should have stayed gone.

He took their mother from them and he was going to pay for it. Dearly.

One day - Alcina had left for a House Meeting; [Y/N] begged her not to bring up the fact he turned to the castle in the meeting - it was a strange request but she agreed and left for the meeting. The moment she was gone, [Y/N] began to hobble in a random direction on his cane before it was suddenly kicked from under his hand, making him fall onto the cold hard tile.

"Look at this, sisters; the little thief without someone to protect him." The voice of Bela stood over him as she placed her foot on his back - her heel in his spine.

"We've been waiting a long time for this, you bastard." Cassandra said as she walked into the room with her sickle in her hand - the sight of the tip made the golden-eyed man freak out and try to crawl away.

"Oh, look. He knows he gonna die and he's trying to scurry away." Daniela said as she kicked the man in his side, making him curl in pain.

"No! Please, no more! Leave me alone!" He cried in fear.

"No more?! We haven't even done anything to you yet, rat!" Bela yelled.

"But you've done so much to us - taking our mother from us?! Have you lost your damn mind, Man-Thing?!" Daniela yelled.

"No, Mother, please don't! Mother! Mother!" He cried again.

"Mother isn't here to save you now but you're gonna suffer for all the time you spent with her, taking her away from us, you useless burden!" Cassandra raised her weapon and was about to strike when the words that came out of his mouth made them freeze.

"No, Mother Miranda; please don't hurt me! I'll be a good boy, just please, no more needles! No more pain! I won't ask to see my sisters again, please don't hurt me!" He curled up, clenching his head in pain as memories flooded back into his mind.

"Mother Miranda?" Bela asked.

"Needles and pain?" Cassandra said.

"His sisters?" Dani finished.

Bela took her foot off the man's back and listened to his pleads - his begging not to be hurt, wanting to see his mother, wanting to see his sisters. They looked at each mother before Bela kneeled on the ground before him and gathered his face in her hands, silencing him and asked what he was talking about. Once he calmed - he explained everything:

When he was a toddler - his father took him to see the Village's Priest, Mother Miranda, who gave him a large pouch of coin and he was never seen again. Mother Miranda then began to run experiments on him, trying to determine what made it possible for him not to inherit Alcina's Blood Disease. She mixed his blood with the Cadou and found an interesting symbiotic relationship between the two and was kept there for further experiments. The Cadou gave him the ability to regenerate faster but broken bones were harder to heal with the power. After decades of being a lab rat - he watched as Miranda made the daughters right before his eyes; he was there when they came to life and he called them sisters before Alcina called them daughters. He begged Miranda to see them, talk to them, and know something beyond the walls of his cell, but all Miranda did was cut him open and harvest his organs while he was still awake.

He managed to escape when Miranda was distracted with another experiment and left her keys unattended - he let himself out under the cover out night and got away from that hellhole. He had been limping with a broken leg, missing organs that were still regrowing themself, just to get to Castle Dimitrescu to see his mother & sisters.

The Daughters looked ashamed - for him to go through all of this for decades and risk everything to be with them...they were horrible sisters. They held him and begged for his forgiveness but all he could do was cry as he finally had sisters and was able to learn their names.

When Alcina came back - she wanted to spend time with her children but it turned out that the sisters wanted alone time with their brother and she was shooed out of the room - guess she'll have some wine until dinner then.

[andfollowthesun]

come kiss me silver and gold

written for @dinlukenation's dinluke week day 5! prompt was: knight/prince au.

read it on ao3 if u prefer (5.6k words)

Din is covered in sand and krayt dragon blood and other various fluids when he enters the inn, the smell of it lingering in his nostrils and causing everybody to go silent once he steps past the doorway. Peli swoops the kid from his arms as soon as she sees him, and it’s testament to how exhausted he is that he doesn’t protest. She points up the stairs, “Bath’s waiting for you,” and he only spares her a grateful nod before trudging to his room. He’d usually be a little more considerate— beskar is heavy, and Peli’s stairs don’t deserve his clomping footsteps— but given the day he’d just had, he figures he’s allowed to take a few liberties.

Maybe that’s why he doesn’t notice Luke the first time, because when he comes back downstairs, body and armour clean, vision still tinged the same red fog as the colour of the dragon’s stomach lining, he finds it hard to notice anything but Luke.

He’s sitting in the corner, alone, and that’s the first thing— nobody ever came to Peli’s alone, or if you did there’d be someone trying to swindle you or sell you something within the first five minutes. But he’s just sitting there on his own, a berth of at least four or five seats between him and any other patrons.

The other thing is that he’s so still. Head bent over some papers on the table in front of him, empty plate pushed to the side. Hands steepled in front of his nose, only one hand gloved, brow furrowed. For all appearances, he held himself with the calmness of a man who knew he had all the time in the world and knew exactly what he was going to do with it all.

Din tears his eyes away when Peli sets Grogu down on the seat next to him, along with two covered bowls of stew. He reaches to gather Grogu in his right arm while balancing the bowls in his left, to take up to this rooms to eat, but Grogu rips the covering off one of the bowls and in the blink of an eye is wrist deep in food, half of it already smeared over his mouth. Din stares at him, the grainy feeling in his brain meaning it’s a good few seconds before he computes the fact that apparently, he’s so tired even the kid has faster reflexes than him right now. He’s acutely aware of the way his stomach is cramping with hunger, but he knows getting Grogu to stop eating for the five minutes it will take to move them to their rooms will be more effort than it’s worth.

Peli’s smiling at him, a half-crooked, reluctant twist of her mouth, and Din tilts his head in thanks for watching Grogu as he cleaned up. She nods in return before heading back to the kitchen, and Din settles in to wait for Grogu to finish his dinner. He runs a gentle hand over his head, before letting him grab hold of his thumb and chew on his glove. It’s clean. Mostly.

His thoughts are interrupted when the chair across from him scrapes out with a loud screech, and he looks up to see the dark figure from the corner now sitting at his table.

“Hello.”

Din is suddenly glad that his signature response to people introducing themselves unexpectedly to him is to stare them down in silence, because currently, behind his visor, he’s gawping. The man in front of him, for lack of a better word, is bright, even more so now that he’s right there instead of in the corner. Din feels like he can’t look at him directly, needs to steal glances through his lashes instead, like a bloody schoolgirl. But at the same time, he can’t look away.

“My name is Luke.”

And the last sign that Din has completely lost his mind and is going delirious with exhaustion— and perhaps also that he’s getting old if he’s so easily soft for shiny, pretty boys— is that he answers, before his brain has really caught up to his mouth, “Din.” Not with continued stony silence, not even Mando. His actual name.

“Din.” A smile spreads across Luke’s face. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Din is thankfully saved from answering when Grogu pulls on his glove a little too hard, overbalancing to tip forward and flip the remainder of his dinner over on the table. Din clucks his tongue, and leans forward to clean up the spill.

“Be careful, kid.” he chides, and he’s in the middle of claiming Grogu’s bedtime as his graceful exit from the conversation when Luke holds up his ungloved hand.

“Let me,” he says, and with a wave of his hand, flicks the tissues across the table to clean up the mess, and then sends them flying neatly into the bin across the room.

“What,” Din says, “the fuck.”

That seems to cow Luke a little, or, at least his smile turns sheepish. “Sorry,” he says, even though he doesn’t seem very sorry at all. In fact, now that Din has been staring at him for a couple of minutes and can decipher some of the twitches of his brow, the jut of his jaw, he seems, of all things, a little smug.

Din refuses to think about how the neat motion of Luke’s hand— something he was clearly practiced in, confident, precise— showed the delicate bones in his wrist, which only made him look more fragile, and Din especially refuses to think about how his mouth had watered with the sudden desire to lick over the joint. He has no interest in competing with some wizard in a weird ego game, no matter how attractive he is, so he gathers Grogu more firmly in his arms and makes to stand, but before he can pick up the other bowl that contains his own dinner, Luke speaks again.

“Wait!”

And there’s something in his voice that makes Din pause; a note that wasn’t there before. It’s not quite a cry for help— Din can already tell Luke is too proud for that— but it’s close. That brightness that had first caught his eye before is more apparent than ever, and Luke looks at Din with pleading eyes that rivals Grogu’s.

God, how is he even prettier like this? He curses himself for being weak, and sits back down.

“Sorry.” Luke repeats. His posture as slumped a little, and the bravado from before is all but gone. It’s like he was trying to be someone else before and now he’s exhausted from the effort. “I’m not very good at this.”

Din tilts his head questioningly.

“Making friends, I mean.” Luke elaborates.

Din has to stop himself from snorting. The last friend he made was Cara, about ten years ago. He didn’t need to make friends. He had the kid. He knew enough people.

Luke takes Din’s silence as an answer, and changes the subject. “What brings you to Naboo?”

This, at least, Din knew how to respond to. “Business.”

Luke’s face goes cheeky. Din knows his answer sounds suspicious on a good day, and he knows that Luke knows that. What he doesn’t know is why Luke’s face now looks like a foundling’s on Life Day, momentarily flooring Din with this new, relaxed, open expression. He’s still holding himself incredibly still, but not like before where he was tensed like he was trying to prove something, or even before that in the corner, when he seemed to be propping himself upright with the sheer force of that stillness. Din finds that he likes this version of Luke best so far, bottom lip full with smiling, one dimple sitting on the corner of his mouth, and despite himself, Din finds himself leaning forward.

“What brings you to Peli’s?” he asks, trying to level the playing field. It didn’t seem fair that Luke already had such an effect on Din, when he was still just sitting there, regarding Din slowly, deliberately.

“What,” Luke spreads his hands. His tone is affronted, but the cheeky smile is still on his face. “A man can’t come get a drink?”

“To Peli’s?” Din doesn’t keep the incredulousness out of his voice, and he only lowers his voice as an afterthought. No need to get on Peli’s bad side, but if Luke wants to be secretive, that’s his own business. Din knows what it’s like to hold everything you know tightly to your chest. It would hardly be right for him, of all people, to judge.

“If I’m being honest,” Luke says, after the silence between them has stretched out to the wrong side of awkward, “I came over because I noticed you watching me.”

“I was watching you too.” he adds, when Din doesn’t reply immediately. Din feels his face go bright red under his helmet, and he watches, transfixed as Luke’s tongue darts out briefly to wet his lower lip.

“Why?” he asks, when he remembers how to talk.

Luke gives Din an appreciative once over. “You’re not bad to look at.”

It’s such a line that Din is embarrassed it only makes him hotter. He thinks it’s something to do with how Luke has shifted, bodily, the long line of his legs now sprawled out in his seat like he’s on a chaise lounge, not a creaky chair in a dingy bar. But it’s not just that; Luke has shifted in other ways too, and Din can’t quite put his finger in it, but there’s a hungry look in his eyes that wasn’t there a minute ago, even though that must have been the very reason Luke made his way over to his table. The brightness has dimmed, not like the spluttering out of a torch, but like coals at the bottom of a fire.

The thing is, Din doesn’t do this— doesn’t indulge. The right thing to do, the safe thing, would be to turn Luke down, gently, but firmly, take Grogu back to his room, go to sleep, and head back to Nevarro tomorrow morning.

“It’s my last night as a free man,” Luke says, watching him with those bright, bright eyes of his. His smile is so sad that Din forgets to ask him to elaborate. He wants to wipe away the downturned tick of Luke’s mouth, forget about the dragon, about how the kid nearly died, again.

Luke must sense Din’s resolve caving, because he says, brightening, “So, what do you say you humour someone on his last night of freedom?”

“Who?” he says, pretending to look around, and Luke laughs, the last thing Din can coherently remember is the feeling of his ungloved fingers wrapping around the sliver of exposed skin between Din’s glove and vambrace.

+++++

Din wakes up alone.

Not that he was expecting anything else, but there’s a brief moment while he’s still swimming out of sleep, curled in the warm patch of sunlight that’s filtering through the window, where he can pretend the phantom heat next to him is Luke’s body, bare and soft.

When they’d stumbled up to Din’s rented room last night, Luke’s breathy laugh fogging up Din’s visor as he clumsily bounced his cheek against the beskar in his effort to get closer, closer, Luke’s clever fingers had snuck to the back of Din’s neck, looping to pull him in. And even though there was no indication he meant to pull off Din’s helmet, Din had still flinched, and then marvelled in shock at the way Luke had immediately softened, pulled back, the way he’d been able to read the minute twitches of his body him so accurately already.

“Not the helmet,” he’d said, his voice already a rasp even though they both were still fully clothed.

“Okay.” Luke had said.

And afterwards, when they were both sweaty and Din still trying to catch his breath from quite frankly the most incredible sex he’d ever had in his life, Luke had gotten up without a word, BUT before Din even had the chance to miss him, was back in bed, curled up against Din’s side, finishing off the knot for the blindfold he’d looped around his eyes.

“If you want to take your helmet off to sleep,” he’d murmured softly, and then he was out like a light, leaving Din to stare at him open mouthed for the second time in three hours, stunned at the trust, the thoughtfulness, the vulnerable nape of Luke’s neck.

He’s taken his helmet off with shaking hands many, many times before, but it’s the first time it feels like a benediction.

He shakes himself out of the memory, and rises out of bed. By the time he comes down the stairs, collected Grogu from Peli who is looking at him with a shit-eating grin on her face, he’s mostly convinced himself that he can live the rest of his life with Luke as a sudden flash of brightness, the scent-memory of his skin on the sheets.

Grogu chatters to Din as they walk from Peli’s towards the Naboo Spaceport, and Din makes all the appropriate noises like he can understand him, and he’s concentrating on making sure his kid is getting the enrichment he needs (he read somewhere once it was very important for early development)so he doesn’t notice the unease in the Spaceport at first. But he rounds the corner to where the Razor Crest is parked, and suddenly it’s all there; the prickling silence and sideways glances from the deck crew. Din’s gaze zeroes in on his ship, and he sees the men waiting outside the Razor Crest.

Not just men. Royal guards, from the look of their deep blue uniforms.

They must be on the lookout, because as soon as he steps foot into the hangar, one shouts, “You there!” He keeps walking forward calmly, but he shifts his grip on Grogu to one hand and rests his other hand on his blaster.

“You own this ship?” one of the guards asks once he’s within earshot. The leader, Din notes, spying the gold crescent badge on his breast.

Din nods warily. He’s half-distracted thinking how he can get Grogu to safety, if it all goes to shit, and the other half is mentally running through all of the ship’s modifications. He’s pretty sure most of the illegal ones are well hidden enough that a preliminary search wouldn’t have found them.

“You fought the dragon yesterday?”

Din blinks, jolted out of his train of thought, and he’s too startled to lie. “Yes?” he says, and then tenses, widening his stance a little. Everybody had seemed ecstatic when he’d come back into town yesterday, but the last thing he needed was lord furious about their precious pet dragon being injured.

“Come with us.” The head guard’s tone brooks no argument, and he doesn’t offer any further explanation either. And although his last fifteen years of bounty hunting are all screaming at Din to run, take the kid and get the fuck out of Naboo, there’s a fuzzy feeling behind his sternum tugging at him to follow that makes him feel lighter than a second ago. It’s the same way he’d felt when he’d seen Luke in the inn last night, what had allowed Luke to reach across the table and touch him. And inexplicably, it feels well worn, familiar to him.

Din goes with them.

+++++

Din forces them to circle the speeder back around to Peli’s first, where he drops off the kid. She takes Grogu with a fearful look in her eyes, and Din doesn’t look at her as he presses his forehead against Grogu’s. He doesn’t think about how it could be the last time he sees the kid.

The palace at Theed is built on the edge of a cliff, with domes of gleaming jade and its marble walls carved out straight out of the rockface itself. When they pull over the drawbridge, Din can hear the thundering of the waterfalls, and through the windows of the entrance hall, see the vast ocean to one side, glittering in the sun, and the green of the rolling plans on the other side. It was beautiful and grand and a little bit terrifying all at once, if Din was the kind of person who was impressed by that sort of thing.

The entire trip to the palace is silent, and it’s only when they’re deep into the castle, in front of a huge set of doors, that the head guard finally addresses Din, “Wait here,” before he disappears through the doors.

Din’s stuck outside the grand oak doors, and he briefly contemplates prying one of the rubies or emeralds that are encrusted into the door’s bolts with his vibroknife— could probably get good money for them— and how he could distract the remaining guards around him for long enough to do it, when the doors open.

It’s a throne room, that much is clear, with a lush red carpet and floor to ceiling windows along one wall. The sun is at midday height now, and its glare casts long beams of light across the floor, leaning towards the people at the other end of the room. Din steps through the door and takes stock of his new surroundings.

Seated on the throne is the Queen, who Din understands is well beloved and not at all prone to torturing bounty hunters, although her dark expression says otherwise. To her left, sitting on another throne—although perhaps lounging would be a better word— is a man who Din presumes is the king. In another world, Din knows, instinctively, that he would have been a dangerous opponent, long scar over one eye, shaggy brown hair, gaze sharp and keen. The same can be said for the young woman standing behind him, the same gaze, the same tight line of her lips.

To the Queen’s right stands an old man, white beard and white hair, drab brown robes. He looks mildly more welcoming, mouth drawn up into a soft smile, although Din can still read tension in the way he’s holding himself. And next to him…

Din stops as he looks at the last figure on the left of the room, the warm brightness, the shocked curve of a mouth dropping open. Din remembers how that mouth had opened against his throat last night, hot and wet, and how he’d wanted Luke so badly he thought he might combust.

Luke, who is in front of him right now, in golden robes, nothing at all like the black ensemble he wore last night. Luke, who had disappeared from Din’s bed this morning without a goodbye.

Din feels the mark he knows Luke bit into the inside of his thigh last night throb for a second, and he has to force himself to keep walking down the room. He stops in front of the thrones, and stares at them for a minute, the five of them assembled in front of him.

“What is your name, Sir Knight?” Queen Naberrie’s voice is kind, but there’s a steel underneath. She doesn’t look very happy to be sitting there. Belatedly, Din realises that he probably should have knelt.

Din shakes his head. It’s hard for him to keep his eyes off Luke. “I’m not a knight.”

Her face doesn’t lighten up, exactly, but a flash of humour does cross her face before it’s as gone as quickly as it came. “How would you like to be addressed then, good sir?”

Din tries to hide his grimace at good sir, although he doesn’t think he’s very successful. “Just Mando is fine.”

“Mando,” Queen Naberrie says, all trace of laughter gone from her expression. Beside her, the king’s face goes completely blank, like he’s trying to hide a sudden tide of emotions, and the young woman standing behind him scowls, glaring daggers at Din.

“Naboo is in your debt,” the Queen continues. “We thank you for your act of service.” It sounds like the words are being forced out of her mouth as she says it.

“What?”

The Queen’s expression becomes a little more impatient, a little more sour. Din feels like he’s running out of time, even though he didn’t realise there was any sort of rush to begin with. But before she can say anything, the old man standing the right of her chair speaks.

“You’re Mandalorian?”

“Yes.” Din’s hand goes to his blaster. The old man may not look like much, but Din knew better than to be fooled by appearances. However, the movement doesn’t make him any more tense. If anything, it seems to amuse the old man.

“Padmé,” he says, turning to the Queen. “I don’t believe he knows.”

She turns to her other side to look at her husband, and a silent conversation passes between the three of them, quirking of eyebrows and slight flicks of the wrist. Din takes the moment to drink in the sight of Luke, who is still staring straight back at him, eyes glittering. Din wants to rip those golden robes off him where they’re buttoned up to his neck, run his hands down his sides to the spot where he learnt last night Luke is ticklish, hear the breathy giggle before he firms his touch.

Except Luke is standing next to the throne, not beside him under the coarse sheets, and the distance between them may as well be one of Naboo’s oceans.

“Mando,” the Queen says, drawing his attention back to her. “You slew the krayt dragon yesterday, and in doing so, saved the lives of hundreds of my people. As is tradition, a dragon-slayer is given the princess’ hand in marriage.” She gestures to the girl standing behind the king.

Din’s thoughts come to a screeching halt, and his eyes flicker to follow the direction of the Queen’s finger. The princess’ arms are still crossed across her chest, and her expression looks more thunderous by the second.

“However,” the Queen continues, and Din has to stop himself from sagging in relief, there’s a however, thank god, “my daughter is already promised to another. As such, I hope you will be similarly pleased with my son’s hand in marriage.”

The relief vanishes, and Din turns sharply to look at Luke, who’s practically glowing looking back at him. But all Din feels is the swirling sickness in his stomach.

“No.” He can barely hear himself over the rush in his ears.

The Queen raises her eyebrows. “No?”

“I don’t want to marry him.”

“It is tradition.” The Queen is cool and calm, and it makes Din want to hit something.

“I don’t want him!”

His voice bounces off the ceiling. There’s a shocked beat of silence, and when Din dares to look at Luke, all the light has left his eyes. And no sooner than Din has caught a glimpse of his face, as if Luke senses his gaze— which he probably has— he turns sharply on his heel and leaves the room.

Queen Naberrie watches him, with an eye far too keen for Din’s own liking. “I think,” she says slowly. “We might give these two some time alone.” She stands in a rustle of silk, and gestures for her husband to do the same. She puts a firm hand on her daughter’s shoulders and the old man does the same for the king, guiding them out of the room through a separate door despite the king and the princess’ loud protests.

It leaves Din alone in the throne room, the silence suddenly suffocating around him. The heat from the sun streaming in through the windows no longer feels like an extension of the palace and the view, but instead sharp, urgent, stifling.

Din takes a deep breath, and follows the door Luke had exited through.

It opens out to a courtyard behind the throne room. The air is muggy outside, and he feels the dampness of sweat on his underclothes, the awkwardness of the quiet clank of every movement with the bulk of his armour. Luke is standing on the far side, by a balcony which overlooks the sea.

Din comes to a stop in the middle of the courtyard, unsure if he’s allowed any closer. Last night, he would have said that closing the distance between himself and Luke would have solved any problem between them, healed any miscommunication. He can still feel the phantom strength of Luke’s fingers laced between his, like a balm to his aching joints. Now, he’s not sure if his presence is welcome at all.

“You really didn’t know?” Luke asks without turning around.

Din’s tongue feels clumsy in his mouth. “No.” he says. He knows he’s not saying exactly what he means, because he does, very much, want Luke. Just not like this; passed around like a political jockey, one of the means the end is supposed to justify. Luke, being given to Din like a playing piece in chess, bound to him out of duty, instead of choice. The mere thought of it makes the sickness in Din’s stomach swell up again.

He doesn’t know how to say any of that, so instead, he says, “I wasn’t trying to slay a dragon. I was just protecting my foundling.”

Luke gives a startled laugh. “Of course. Thousands of knights actually trying to kill it and you go and do it by accident.”

They lapse into silence. Din wants to get that awful, stricken look off Luke’s face, but the only way he can think of doing so would be to touch him, just once, softly; cross this vast distance between them and dig until he sees the brightness he’d held to his bones last night. It kills Din to think he’s lost the privilege to comfort him.

“I thought,” Luke says, his voice quiet, wobbly. He takes a breath and starts again. “They told me yesterday that someone had slain the dragon, and I was to be married the next day. Figures the only dragon-slayer I’d actually want wouldn’t want me back.”

He sounds so self-deprecating, none of the soft sureness Din had seen last night, the cocky slant of his smile when he’d wrapped his mouth around Din’s dick. Din wants it back so acutely that he can feel it like a physical weight in his ribs. He doesn’t like this version of Luke, buttoned up tight, uncertain of Din, of the trembling thing they had cradled between them last night.

But he can’t seem to have Luke back without anchoring him to Din, so instead, he says, “I didn’t kill the dragon.”

Luke turns around. “What?”

“I wounded it, sure. But it was definitely still alive when I last saw it.”

“So you don’t have to marry me.” he adds, when Luke just stares at him, but even as he says it, it feels like there’s a crack in his heart. This morning, he’d shored up the hole Luke had left with the curled imprint of his body on the sheets, and now it’s all coming back, all the golden light pouring out with how much Din wants, simply, to hold Luke. Not to marry, not even to fuck. Just to hold.

Luke does not seem to be on the same page as him. “So the dragon is still out there?”

Din nods confusedly, and Luke closes his eyes. “Fuck.” he says.

“It’s a good thing, isn’t it?” Din says. “You don’t have to marry me.”

“It’s still out there.” Luke repeats, but it’s not a question this time, and Din looks away from how he’s wringing his hands, tries not to think about how much he wants to press his palm against Luke’s heated skin, in hopes it would loosen some of this sudden nervous energy. Looking away allows his brain to clear up a little, not completely occupied with the sight and thought and smell of Luke Luke Luke, and it hits him all at once.

“It’s still out there. Oh, god. It’s still out there in the village.” Din feels the dread pool in his heart. “I’m gonna have to go kill it, aren’t I.”

“Well, you don’t have to…” Luke trails off.

Din’s already striding back into the throne room, before a thought occurs to him, and he turns around and goes back to Luke, taking one of his hands in both of his. “If I manage to kill this thing for good this time,” he says, “you still don’t have to marry me. I don’t care about tradition.”

Luke has gone completely still under his touch, just like he was when Din first saw him in the corner of Peli’s, his grip strong under Din’s palm. His eyes are very wide, very blue, and even though Din knows he can’t see through the visor of his helmet, he feels like Luke is reading his face with inexplicable familiarity. With the calmness of a man who knew he had all the time in the world and knew exactly what he was going to do with it all.

Din drops Luke’s hand like he’s been burnt and steps away, his face going red with the realisation of his rash decision in the heat of emotion.

Luke says, “I’m coming with you.”

And Din forgets all about how completely inappropriate it was for him to touch Luke like that. “What? No.” Not Luke, with his soft body and curves and bony wrists, who had a family in the palace who clearly cared about him. Who Din still wanted to hold afterwards, and they couldn’t do that if Luke was dead via krayt dragon.

“I can handle myself.” And there he is, Din can see the man last night who wiped the table clean with his freaky powers just because he could; because, Din realises now, he was trying to impress Din, not compete with him. The relief at seeing the glimmer of that Luke again, without the frills and false airs, almost swallows him.

“Also,” Luke adds, as Din is still marvelling at the appearance of Luke’s brash edges again, “if someone else went and killed it now, I would have to marry them. I’m just making sure you make good on your word.”

Din feels a flare of anger in his chest, way too intense for having only known Luke two days, and resolutely puts it out of his mind, deciding to think about it later. But then Luke grabs his hand again, tugging him through the throne room and back to the speeder, and Din can’t find it within him to pull away. He’s only thinking about peeling his glove off so they can be skin to skin, and then peeling that disgustingly impractical gold ensemble off Luke’s body. He’s thinking about how Luke didn’t pull away when he’d grabbed his hand before, and now, how he’d reached first, and the lucent gleam in his eyes when he’d looked at him, like suddenly everything had become clear to him.

And as the speeder roars to life, the warm shape of Luke in the passenger seat next to him, Din dares to hope, could it really be that easy?

+++++

The dragon, surprisingly, is easy enough to kill, what with Din having mostly incapacitated it the previous day when he’d ripped himself out of its stomach. He’s honestly surprised that the dragon had survived long enough to drag itself back to its lair. Luke almost looks disappointed, and if Din’s learnt anything as a bounty hunter, it’s that as soon as you complain about it being quiet is when things start going to shit.

They’re climbing back into the speeder when the first blaster shots are heard, some very angry knights— real knights— who apparently were banking on slaying a dragon and marrying a princess to get fat and rich off the royal coffers, pissed off that someone else had gotten there first.

Din groans, rolling out the crick in his shoulder— after the dragon (twice!), knights seem as relevant as gnats— but he draws his spear all the same. After all, it didn’t matter what killed you, a blaster shot is just as deadly as krayt dragon teeth.

And then Luke, out of fucking nowhere pulls out a green sword and dispatches them all without breaking sweat. Din hasn’t even moved from his spot next to the speeder. A ball of heat shoots straight through his stomach, and he feels his mouth go dry.

“You weren’t kidding when you said you could handle yourself.”

Luke smiles serenely, sheathing his sword. Din feels his stillness again, this time, the kind that indicates imminent danger. Unfortunately, because Din has now accepted that he just functions on a lower brain capacity around Luke, he can feel certain parts of himself getting very interested in a dangerous version of Luke.

“Luke.” he manages. He knows he has to say this before anything else happens. “You don’t have to marry me.”

And Luke just looks at him, patient, light, none of the heavy sadness Din had seen in the courtyard, and Din knows, then and there, that Luke understands, that he’s been able to read in between the lines: everything Din hasn’t allowed himself to want from fear of losing it. Luke knows what he wants to say— what he’s going to say. He just has to say it.

“But would you like to come with me?” he gets out.

Luke’s face breaks open into a smile, like rain after drought, and this time, Din doesn’t stop himself from crossing the distance between them, pulling Luke flush against him by the waist. Luke knocks his forehead against Din’s helmet, and Din closes his eyes, basking in the sheer sense of rightness.

“I’ve always wanted to see the galaxy.” Luke says after a long minute, and Din laughs, feeling so light he could fly.

[jamiemackenziefraser]

All That Was Fair 

Chapter 27: Fraser Publishing Part 2

Summary: Claire and Jamie finish out their day at work

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Read chp 27 on tumblr below the cut

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a/n: A huge thank you to my friend @isthisclever (/isthiscleverr on twitter ;) ) for being an amazing beta for this chapter and also dealing with my writer's block/overall overthinking <3. Go check out her story "The Other Side," which one of my favs and is almost completed, ahh! While you're at it, maybe just stalk her whole AO3 page.

Thank you so much for your patience, lovely readers. I managed to get past the writer's block, and this 5k if what just sorta happened after a month of not writing. Hope you like it!!

*

Chapter 27: Fraser Publishing Part 2

The air felt heavy despite the fresh scents and slight breeze. Hand in hand with Claire, Jamie walked slowly around the trail that wound its way in a meandering circle around the park. If he was being honest, he was stalling, trying to give them both time to gather themselves before going back to Fraser Publishing. Jamie couldn't ignore the grief tugging at his insides, but he forced it down deep, praying that Claire couldn’t feel it from where she held onto his hand like it was her lifeline. 

Oh Christ, if she could feel how his grief was eating him up inside...

A cloud hung over them for a long while, but Jamie was trying his best to reassure Claire with comforting touches and sweet words.Gradually, her face began to lift, and he caught sight of the spark of his faerie beneath the sheen of guilt and lost potential blanketing her face. It was still clearly on her mind, though, and Jamie couldn’t shake the discomfort that he was trying to shove itself forward from the pit of his stomach and the back of his mind. 

It was well past lunchtime and when he should have taken her back, but he couldn’t seem to bring himself to force her to go inside when she still seemed so… off.

Apparently that was the right decision because at one random moment, Claire stopped him and abruptly pulled him into a hug. 

“What was that for, my wee faerie?” Jamie asked, brushing a few stray curls away from her forehead after holding her for a long moment. 

“I love you,” she said simply. 

There clearly was more on her mind. In that moment, he didn’t know whether to push her or to leave her be. He tilted his head down, catching her gaze, praying silently that he was making the right decision. 

“What’s botherin’ ye, a leannan?” he asked. He slipped his fingers under her chin and lifted her face higher so he could press a soft kiss to her lips. 

“I just..” she started, but cut herself off to take a deep breath. “I just… I don’t know how to tell you how I’m feeling, Jamie. I’m sad. But also I’m so, so happy. I want to be with you, be happy with you—” she tugged on his hand which was still gripping hers “—forever. I just… want it to last, I suppose?” 

“It will, Sassenach,” he assured in an exhale. “It will, lass. 

“I,” her eyes filled with unshed tears, and Jamie wished he could take them all in the palm of his hand and keep them from spilling from her eyes. She didn’t cry, though, just blinked watery eyes up at him. “I know we haven’t talked much about… the rest of our lives… but— talking about not having babies today just made me think. Maybe... maybe I’m not meant to be forever for you?” 

Jamie’s heart dropped below his toes, sinking down through the grass beneath his feet and likely down into the very core of the earth. He could barely force the words out through his suddenly raw throat when he asked shakily, “Do… do you no’ want that, Claire?” 

She shook her head so violently that the curls swished back and forth over her face. The expression of horror at the question eased Jamie considerably, and her answer fully assuaged the rest of the rising panic. 

“I do want that, Jamie. From the second I ran to you from that hill I knew it was forever. I love you more than the life that was mine. I just… if that’s not what’s best for you, I wouldn’t take the rest of your life from you. Your dreams.” It was her turn to raise a hand to his face, cupping his cheek with oceans of tender, selfless concern swimming in her eyes. 

“It’s always been forever for me, Sassenach,” he told her firmly, voice low. He believed it with every bone in his body. “And I told you before, I have no life but you, Claire.” 

She blinked, and he could tell she was trying very hard not to break down into tears. 

If he could have, he would have gotten down on one knee and proposed to her then and there. He knew it was forever, and he wanted desperately to share that with her, but there were conversations that needed to be had and preparations to be made before he could.

He let go of her hand and raised both to her face. He held her between his hands, cradling his whole entire world between his palms. Beseeching her to listen, he held her gaze for a long moment. 

“I dinna have to be an empath like you to ken that ye’re still feelin’ guilty, mo ghraidh,” he said. “Please, listen to me. I wouldna tell ye this if it werena true.” He took a breath. “If you could gi’ up yer old life, yer people, yer home… for me... it is nothin’ for me to no’ be able to have biological children. I would trade everything I have to keep ye. Everything. And I wouldna think twice. I want ye forever, Sassenach, whatever that means.” 

Her cheek was so soft under his fingers, and he was startled to find wetness there. He glanced up to her eyes to find that she’d finally lost her control and tears were escaping to roll down her face. 

“Please, dinna cry anymore,” he pleaded, “I canna bear for ye to be in pain.” 

“I’m not crying because I’m sad, Jamie,” she whispered. “I’m crying because I love you.” 

***

Walking back inside Fraser’s Publishing some time later, Claire seemed much more at peace. She no longer visibly waged war inside herself, and Jamie felt like he could finally breathe. The heartache they’d shared was far from over, but at least its troubles for that day could be left outside in the park. 

As they came inside, they were greeted by Mrs. Crook, who immediately beckoned them over to her desk with an eager wave. 

“Claire, darling! I have some homemade cookies I thought ye might like to try…” 

“That’s verra kind, but she has food allergies, Mrs. Crook. She doesna accept food from anyone,” Jamie quickly cut in. 

“Oh, well,” Mrs. Crook looked back toward Claire again. “I saw ye wi’ the Murray weans earlier, dear. Maybe ye would be interested in seein’ some photographs of my darling grandbairns?” 

The woman was clearly desperate to bond with Claire, and Jamie couldn’t help but feel proud to see how much of an impression his lass had made. Claire shot him a quick smile, giving him a nod and a look that said “I’ll be alright.” 

“I’ll meet ye back in my office,” Jamie said, leaning down to press a quick kiss to the top of her curls. 

Before she could even reply to him, Mrs. Crook had snagged her arm and was herding her over to her desk, Claire good-naturedly following while blowing Jamie a kiss. 

Leaving the ladies in peace, Jamie started toward his office. Before he’d even made it out of the reception area, however, he found himself face-to-face with Geneva Dunsany, forcing him to grind to a halt. 

Geneva was one of the lower level staff members in marketing and a relatively new hire. Jamie usually only hired people he knew personally, but John had insisted on her as a favor to her father, a longtime family friend. Jamie didn’t know much about her other than that she was competent enough at her job that he never had to interact much. 

But here in front of him stood the dark-haired lass, her face caked in makeup that was a shade too dark and her fake lashes blinking up at him. 

“I wondered if I might have a moment,” she asked. 

Jamie spared a glance behind him, checking that Claire was alright. Upon seeing her chatting away with Mrs. Crook over a picture on the reception desk (and hopefully not in immediate danger of revealing her secret), he turned back to Geneva. 

“Of course. What can I do for ye?” 

“I had a question about… Well, I thought I might ask you to have a look over some quarterly reports I’ve completed.”

As she was speaking, Jamie shot another look over his shoulder. He couldn’t help but worry about Claire when she wasn’t by his side, and he was impatient to get her tucked safely away in his office so he could finally get some real work done. 

Geneva was clearly displeased by his less than courteous behavior. 

“Mr. Fraser,” she sighed. 

He turned back toward her, reminding himself of his dedication to his company— as distracted as he was, an employee didn’t deserve to be treated like this. 

Geneva was already speaking again. “I was wondering if perhaps later today you could come by my office? Or I could come to yours?” 

“Ms. Dunsany, I’m afraid I’m verra busy at the moment and I’ve lost a fair bit of time already… Perhaps ye could take it up wi’ John instead?” 

“But…” her response faded from his attention as a familiar wee hand suddenly wrapped itself around his bicep and a body pressed flush against his side. 

At Claire’s sudden appearance, Geneva cut herself off mid sentence, her painted mouth falling open into a disgruntled “o.” 

“Hi, my love,” Claire all but purred to Jamie, giving his arm a squeeze. She tugged him slightly downward, enough so that she could stand on her tiptoes and press a kiss to his cheek. 

Jamie was left bewildered as one of her hands snaked over to plant itself firmly on the center of his chest and rub back and forth. 

“Hi, mo ghraidh, ehm—” he struggled to find words as Claire gave him another kiss, this time to his shoulder. He could barely focus his mind as it seemed her hands were everywhere at once: stroking his chest, rubbing his arm. What the devil had gotten into her? 

He finally remembered what he was trying to do, and managed out a weak, “This is Geneva, our…” her job title flew out the window as Claire’s hand went from his chest to hook into one of his belt loops on the opposite side, effectively stopping his heart and his brain in one simple motion. 

“Geneva, this is Claire,” the words burst out in a rush with zero brain cells behind them as he desperately tried to fulfill his social duties in the face of his girlfriend’s advances. 

He lowered his head to try to catch a glance at Claire’s face, to make eye contact and glean some sort of clue about what had gotten into her, but he found she wasn’t even looking at him. Instead, her eyes were fixed straight ahead, right on Geneva. 

“Hello,” Geneva said, a hint of disapproval in her voice. She took a step back from them as her eyes flicked up and down. 

“Hello,” Claire replied, but her tone made Jamie start. Never before had he heard his faerie— his joyful, bubbly, loves-everyone-without-discrimination faerie— sound so cold. Her voice was low and steady, without even a hint of smile. 

Jamie’s brain went on high alert as Geneva reached a hand out for a handshake. They had rehearsed this in the car (not that Claire’d had a chance to use it yet with all the hugs she’d been giving out), but Jamie was worried that all the training had gone from her mind when she had apparently lost her marbles. 

However, Claire removed her right hand from where it had been placed over Jamie’s stomach to reach out and clasp Geneva’s while keeping herself firmly glued to Jamie’s side. 

He could feel her stiffen against him the moment the two lasses made contact, and then, as if a rubber band had been snapped, Claire withdrew her hand and turned to Jamie with a jerk.  

“I need something from your… room, darling,” she said forcefully, clearly forgetting the word for office. 

“Of course, a leannan, what do ye—”

Before he could finish getting out his question, Claire was stepping in front of him to drag him away. He allowed himself to be tugged off by his faerie, leaving behind a nonplussed and rather displeased looking Geneva. 

When they got down the hall to his office, Claire all but shoved him inside. Jamie stumbled through as Claire shut the door behind them. He was just beginning to ask, “What the devil has gotten into ye—?” when Claire was suddenly on top of him, her lips claiming his so insistently that it was almost an attack rather than a kiss.

His words were muffled by her lips, and he found himself getting shoved up against a wall as she took his mouth. All protestations died in his throat and her strange behavior was wiped from his mind as her kiss clouded his senses, filling him so entirely. He let her tangle her fingers in the curls at the nape of his neck, pulling him down to her, and he didn’t resist even as she tugged hard and her tongue swiped into his mouth. 

He was fairly certain that she would be the death of him, but he was more than willing to die of asphyxiation if it meant that her lips wouldn’t leave his. Her mouth pressed hot against his, demanding and consuming. Still, as his lungs screamed for air, and he urgently squeezed her waist where his hands were resting. 

She tore her lips away, gasping for breath, and then stood there, panting. She was quite a sight. Her hair was mussed, lips puffy, and her eyes held a hard look, darker than he’d ever seen them before. 

What the hell?

“What— what was that?” Jamie gasped, barely able to find his breath. Claire had clearly stolen it from him during that heated kiss, right along with his wits and perhaps even his free will.  

“You’re mine,” Claire said hotly, drawing closer again so her body could press against his as she said it. Her eyes blazed as they locked with Jamie, as if daring him to disagree. 

“Of course I’m yours, mo nighean donn, but what brought this on?” 

Claire had been in the process of leaning in to trail a line of kisses down his neck when he spoke, and she halted on her second kiss to draw back with a huff. 

Clearly bothered, she looked almost dangerous as she said in a low voice, “Geneva. She wants you.” 

“What?” it was almost a laugh as Jamie reacted to her claim. 

Claire took a tiny step back so she could properly meet his eyes, and then said, very resolutely, “She does, Jamie. I touched her, I know. I could tell even before I felt it that she wanted you.” 

Jamie’s mouth fell open at this revelation. He knew better than to protest, and upon hearing her confirmation, he realized that Geneva had been rather forward lately, but that didn’t mean she… 

Looking at Claire’s heated expression, it clearly did. His lass was inflamed. Her cheeks were flushed, pupils dilated, and her jaw clenched tightly. 

Jamie couldn’t help it as a smirk began to turn up the corner of his lips and a warm feeling of something akin to satisfaction spread in his chest. 

“So ye’re tellin’ me… that whole scene outside, and then you all but attackin’ me in here… was because ye were jealous?” 

“Well,” Claire shifted on her feet slightly, for the first time in several minutes breaking free from her severe look, “yes. You’re mine, and she—”

“Aye, I’m yers, mo ghraidh, no doubt about it,” he confirmed without hesitation, making sure she knew it was the absolute truth of his heart, “jes’ as ye’re mine.” 

He couldn’t help but smile though as the pieces all fell into place. She’d seen him from across the room and gotten jealous, so she had marched on over to stake her claim on him before demonstrating her power by stealing him away, only to kiss the living daylights out of him. It all made sense now. Her behavior wasn’t random. It was possessive. 

“You’re enjoying this!” Claire exclaimed, looking up at him with an open mouth. She was trying to sound appalled, but he could see the smile she was trying to smother turning up the corners of her lips. 

The laughter bubbled up from his chest, and he grabbed her around the waist to pull her against him as he chuckled. “Ye’re too much, mo nighean donn. And it only makes me love ye more and more.” 

Despite herself, she started laughing too, grabbing his shoulders as he hauled her against him. 

“I suppose it was rather… petty,” she admitted, biting her lip. 

“Mmmm, the way ye kissed me, though. I think I wish more lassies would take a fancy to me jes’ to get that reaction from ye again…”

She smacked him lightly on the chest, but she was still smiling as he leaned down to peck her on the lips. 

“You don’t need silly girls to want you in order to get me to kiss you like that…” Claire teased, standing on her tiptoes so she could hover her lips over his. 

“Oh, is that so? What must I do, then?” 

“Absolutely nothing,” she breathed. 

And then her lips were on his again, and she showed him exactly how little he had to do. 

*

Jamie lost another solid twenty minutes of work time due to the makeout session with Claire that ended up with him pressed against his desk and Claire doing her darndest to make him lose every ounce of self control he’d ever possessed. He’d never been more grateful in his life that his office window had blinds and a locking door. 

As nice as it was to have the very enjoyable attentions of his love, he had wasted so much of the day away already, and there was work to be done. He reluctantly detached his faerie, pulling her away by the waist while she murmured a protest. 

Jamie swiped a thumb over her puffy lips as she pouted at him, resisting the urge to laugh. 

How he loved her with his whole heart. 

“Sorry, Sassenach, I really hafta finish up some work before everyone leaves for the day, and at this rate, I willna ever be able to stop kissin’ ye.” 

She caught his fingers in a quick kiss before she frowned. “I don’t understand why all of you are so caught up with ‘work’,” she commented with distaste. 

“I’m beginnin’ to agree wi’ ye, Sassenach,” Jamie snorted. The temptation to throw everything out the window and pay attention to absolutely nothing save this alluring creature in front of him was nearly enough to drive him mad. But Jamie loved his work, cared about his business, and he had to have some self control— what few scraps remained. 

“Why dinna ye look through some of my books on the shelves while I work? I ken ye canna read the words, but there are some verra beautiful illustrations— uh, pictures, drawings— in some of them.” 

Jamie cursed himself for not bringing adequate entertainment for her. Although, beyond Adso, the space heater, and the garden— well, and him, of course— Jamie wasn’t sure what exactly entertained Claire. 

She agreed with only a brief pout, and Jamie could finally let out the breath he’d been holding when she was safely across the room, browsing the bookshelf. Feeling his heart rate finally descend (was it safe for it to be that elevated for that long?) he settled down in front of his computer. 

He managed to get a good chunk of work done while Claire busied herself with flipping through nearly every book he owned. It turned out that it was an excellent idea, as she seemed well entertained. Every once in a while, Jamie would hear a gasp and have to look up to see the adorable expression of wonder on Claire’s face as she discovered another illustration. It was mainly the kids books, he noticed, that really wowed her. Likely because she could follow the story based on the pictures, and she grew absorbed. Before long, there was a semi-circle of opened books surrounding her on the floor. It warmed him to notice that she never closed them— always leaving them open when she found an illustration she particularly liked, as if she wanted to go back and see it again. 

Despite her fascination and apparent entertainment, it was what felt like a short time later when Jamie was interrupted from deep concentration by a hand sliding up his arm to rest on his shoulder. 

“Claire, what are ye—?” he started, but was cut off when both of her hands smoothed over his shoulders. 

“You’re so tense,” came her smooth voice startlingly close to his ear. 

“Aye,”  he said, rolling his shoulders, “I tend tae carry my stress there when I’m workin.” 

“I don’t want you to be tense.” Her breath tickled his ear, and a shiver rolled down his spine. Warm hands began kneading into his shoulders, digging into the soreness of the muscles. Her touch was the perfect mix of gentle and strong, pulling the tension from his body. He couldn’t help the sigh that fell from his lips. 

Her hands didn’t let up their work, but she sometimes paused to smooth over his shoulders in broad strokes. Without meaning to, his hands fell away from the keyboard and his head tilted back. His eyes were closed in relaxation… when had he closed his eyes? 

He realized distantly that Claire was murmuring soothing words above him. 

“Does that feel good? Let out the tension, darling. There. I’ve got you.”

She hit a particularly tense knot, but the magic of her fingers had it loosening after only a second. 

“Oh Lord,” he breathed, feeling like he was in a trance. “Ye’re so good at this. I—”

His eyes suddenly popped open and he bolted up in his chair, “Christ, lass. Ye’re doin’ yer best tae distract me from my work, are ye no’?” 

“Shhh, don’t worry about it, just relax, my love,” she murmured into his ear, pressing down on his shoulders to get him to sit back in his chair again. 

He was onto her game now, though, and reached up to grab her hand and still her. 

“I have tae work, lass.” 

“I’m not stopping you,” she replied. 

The hand he hadn’t seized stroked over his shoulder. Feeling unequipped to the task of arguing with her, Jamie simply let go and brought his hands back to the keyboard. 

Alright, Fraser. This is a simple game. If you stop giving her attention, she’ll get bored and leave ye be. 

He focused all this attention on the computer screen, ignoring her as she continued her ministrations. It wasn’t the best job, but he managed to type out a few sentences before suddenly there were soft lips tracing the shell of his ear. 

Another shiver ran down his spine, and there was a slight tug of teeth on his earlobe before she kissed it again, soothing the spot with a flutter of breath. 

“Sassenach,” he said in a warning tone. 

“What? I’m not stopping you,” she replied innocently before stooping lower to brush her lips— just barely— down his throat. 

“Ye ken verra well that ye are,” he sighed, the sound turning from frustration to pleasure as she hit a particular spot that made his stomach twist. 

Her fingers were tracing just barely under his shirt, tucking themselves inside the collar. She didn’t seem to be listening, or maybe it was just that she didn’t care, because she refused to respond to the protestation. Instead, she breathed out, “Do you know you have beautiful collarbones?” 

“I didna ken, and I thank ye for the observation. May I return to my work now?” Jamie asked, trying to keep the pleading from his tone. 

She hummed to herself, “I’m not standing in your way.” 

Okay. So maybe he wasn’t quite strong enough to ignore it. And she was in no mood to free him from her clutches on her own accord. 

Swivelling so abruptly in his chair that Claire nearly fell over backward in surprise, he faced her. He took her hands in his and brushed his thumbs over the back of her knuckles. 

“Listen, lass. There’s no way I’ll get anythin’ done while ye’re toyin’ wi’ me, and I still have much to do. So let me make ye a deal. Gi’ me one hour wi’out interruptions, and I’ll… well…” Jamie found himself at a loss for bargaining chips. Ifrinn. The lass had him so well in the palm of her hand that he already gave her whatever she wanted. He decided to flip it and open it up to her. “What do ye want? In return?” 

Her eyes flashed with excitement and a twinkle of mischief. Jamie braced himself for some devious declaration or demand for a game that would prove tortuous for his self control, but instead of anything like that, Claire surprised him by smugly requesting, “I want one hour in front of the heater.” 

Jamie nearly laughed out loud. He’d come to realize that the lass thought that the space heater was a precious, exhaustible commodity, not some piece of junk hooked up to electricity. He hadn’t wanted to disavow her of that notion for fear that she’d spend every waking second in front of it instead of with him, and it seemed now it was going to play the situation to his advantage. 

“I think I may be able tae make that happen,” he said slowly, keeping his cards close to his chest. 

“With you!” she added quickly, narrowing her eyes, “for the full hour.” 

“Do we have a deal then?” he asked, putting on his best business face. 

“We have a deal,” Claire nodded primly. 

Rather than a handshake, Jamie opted for a quick peck of lips. As Claire drew away and made to head back toward the bookshelf on the opposite corner of the room, she looked like a cat that got the cream.

Better luck next time, lass. If you wanna bargain, better come knowing what’s of value. 

Feeling smug in his own right, Jamie returned to his work. This time, it wasn’t his girlfriend’s hands on him distracting his mind. Rather, it was the unshakable feeling of fondness that filled his stomach and warmed him to his toes. 

***

“Hey, Jamie?” Claire asked, breaking the silence about 45 minutes into the agreed hour. 

“What is it, a leannan?” 

He tore his gaze from his computer to find Claire looking up at him from where she sat on the floor at the foot of the bookshelf. Her arms were wrapped around her middle, and she looked so wee curled up in the corner, shooting him a troubled gaze with eyes that were round as a doe’s. 

“I’m cold.”

Brows furrowing, he abandoned his work— in the middle of a sentence no less— and went to her. She was shivering, despite it being rather balmy in his office. 

His wee faerie, typical. 

“Here, lass.” Jamie stripped off his suit jacket to wrap around her shoulders. She took it gratefully, her hands brushing Jamie’s at the edges. That bit of contact jolted through him, shattering any notions of him returning to his work straight away, and he fell to his knees beside her so he could wrap her in a hug. 

She melted instantly into his arms, laying her head on his shoulder. He smoothed his hands up and down her back, and it was at that moment that he felt her shivering. 

“Christ, lass, ye really are cold,” he burst out in concern. 

“It’s cold,” she repeated, shifting herself within his arms to burrow closer. 

“It’s no’ this cold,” he breathed. 

She didn’t say anything, just trembled against him. She withdrew her hands from around his middle and instead tucked them against his chest between where their bodies were pressed together. 

Jamie bit his bottom lip and repositioned himself to get comfortable. It seemed he was in for a longer break from his work than expected. His heart was beginning to beat faster as anxiety for his love rose in his chest. 

“This is more than temperature, a ghraidh,” he said softly. 

She shook her head where it laid on his shoulder but made no move to raise it and look at him. 

“Ye were fine all mornin’,” he noted quietly as his brain began working in earnest. 

“I’m fine now,” Claire insisted, her voice muffled from where her mouth pressed against Jamie’s shoulder. 

“I dinna think ye are,” Jamie finally said out loud, admitting the fear that had been rattling around inside of him for days now. He’d watched the little things add up, even worried over them, but every time he managed to convince himself it was nothing. Even just this morning he’d thought perhaps everything was in his head. Now, however, it was just another item to add to the growing list that was too long to be coincidence. 

“I told you, Jamie. It’s nothing,” Claire said, her voice gaining an edge to it. “I can feel you worrying.” 

Jamie swallowed thickly. A rush of guilt washed over him, and he wondered whether she could feel that too. Gah! It was impossible not to feel things, especially when it came to her. It was terrifying to know she could read them, and that what he was feeling could make things worse for her. 

“This isna nothin’ Sassenach, but I dinna ken—”

Claire sat up abruptly, pushing herself away from him with two hands planted firmly on his chest until she had gained her distance. Irritation was rising in her as warm spots on her cheeks, and her eyes flashed a darker shade of gold. 

“Don’t tell me about me like you know better than I do,” she said, brows drawing together in frustration. 

“I’m no’, I just—” 

Jamie reached for her, but she batted his hands away. 

“I’m telling you, it’s nothing. If you were tired of trying to warm me up, you could have just said something.” 

She was moving backward now, attempting to put more distance between them, but Jamie reached out to grasp her upper arm, holding her still. Her head whipped toward him, eyes hard and ready to lash out, but Jamie spoke before she could. 

“Please, dinna go,” was all he could think to say. 

It wasn’t like she was actually going to storm out of his office— at least he hoped not— but it still hurt for her to tear herself away like that. He didn’t want to fight.  

Something— perhaps it was his pleading tone, the look on his face, or maybe she could actually feel his distress— made her freeze and give him her attention. 

“I’m sorry if I made ye feel like ye werena my priority, mo ghraidh, because ye are. Always. I would abandon work entirely jes’ tae hold ye in my arms, for however long ye wanted. I’m jes’ worried, lass, I dinna mean to presume I ken more than you do about yer own body. I’m sorry. Please, lass, come here to me?” 

Claire’s eyes filled with tears. She remained stock still, her eyes locked with Jamie’s. There was a long moment where he watched the moisture gather in her eyes and the gears turn in her head as she fought within herself, and then she broke the stillness. She did come to him then, scrambling up into his lap and throwing her arms around him. A wet face pressed into the crook of his neck, and Jamie quickly brought his arms up to hold her, pressing her face into him and feeling relief course through him. 

“I’m sorry,” she said, “I don’t know why I lashed out at you, Jamie. I didn’t mean that.”

“Hush, hush, it’s okay, a leannan,” Jamie soothed, carding his fingers through her curls and rocking her back and forth. “Ye’ve had a long day. Ye’ve felt yer share of heartache, met so many new people and seen so many new things, and ye’re tired. Why dinna we head home now, aye?” 

She drew back, blinking tears away from her eyelashes. “Maybe just in a moment?” 

“Of course, Sassenach.” Jamie didn’t need to be an empath to know that she needed a second to gather herself together before she could face the task of exiting the building and encountering whatever people went along with that. 

“Hey, I love you,” Jamie added softly, petting her hair, pulling it back away from her neck over and over. He stretched his thumb so he could smooth over the long muscle of her neck, feeling the soft skin and wishing he were at an angle that he could press a kiss there. 

“I love you, too,” came her quiet response.

***

a/n: Important Update:

Hey friends! So I may be going off the grid a bit later in June, not 100% sure yet. There probably will end up being a brief hiatus for this story, and I wish I could tell you exactly what it will look like, but I don't know yet. I will keep you posted here. Thank you so much for your flexibility and investment in the story, and I'll do my best not to leave you at cliffhangers. While I still have time left, be prepared that updates may get a bit more frequent.

I don’t remember if I’ve announced it on here yet, but I also want to officially say that an Arc III is in the works! I’ve already started writing a bit on it because I’m so excited about it. So don’t worry, even if there is a brief hiatus, there is lots of story left. Thank you for sticking with me!!!

Next

[lyallblacklupin]

Don’t miss the Yule Ball.

Sirius finally opens up to James Potter, and he realizes a lot of things. He has decided he will go the yule ball, but the question is: with whom?

Tags: Post-Incident with Severus Snape, Angst with Happy Ending, Getting Back Together, Trust Issues.

Chapter 3

Sirius kept chewing his first bite for a little longer than he was supposed to, because Remus had left the Great Hall looking apprehensive, and gruesome. He sighed through his breakfast, waiting for the day to get by. He was pushing down all the unnecessary thoughts and emotions because he didn’t want to expect anything from anyone, especially how the last night had turned out.

He had woken up with a better feeling���if he had to be honest with himself—because Remus had finally not just smiled at him but hugged him with genuine earnest and he had held him until Sirius was done crying. The memory was painfully sweet in his head. Nevertheless, he was slightly hopeful than yesterday. Remus had always tried to bring the best out of him. The tug of war in his brain about his friendship and relationship with Remus was easing out in his mind, while also clenching his heart. He took another bite of his porridge, and thought that he should stop worrying about normalcy. He realized that wanting normal with this desperation was going to make him fall in the pits of agitation. He was not able to deal with another heartache. For once, he wanted to give his heart a break.

He gulped down his bite, and he decided he was going to the same with his desires and dreams. He was going to be grateful of the things he had in life; Good friends, miles away from his abusive parents, good education, and especially, his magic. He was himself because he knew how to kindle fire by the swipe of his fingers, he could wave his wand and conjure blue stardust while walking alone in the forest, and he could conjure a patronus to keep the sadness away for a while.

His thinking cycle came to a halt when James and Peter rushed to the hall, and haphazardly began swallowing their breakfast. Sirius was so captured seeing them not uttering a word and gulping down their teas and milk in one breath.

“Merlin, Pads—could have told us—“ James was managing to breathe while munching his toasts, debauching all the manners and etiquettes of eating by spraying the breadcrumbs everywhere on the table.

“Wow, Prongs, you really know how to eat.” Sirius laughed amusingly. Both of the Marauders glared at him. And once they were done, James said that they were already five minutes late for Transfiguration. This time Sirius didn’t think of manners at all, and stumbled out his seat as the three of them raced to the classroom. The air whooshed through them as they pushed through the crowd of students and teachers who shouted things like ‘Hey! Watch it!’ and ‘5 points from Gryffindor!’

The air smelled of nostalgia as Sirius felt the adrenaline in his blood and giddiness in his stomach. The three of them were running like they used to when Filch would catch them and they would hide in the broom cupboards for hours until the course were clear, and then they would laugh like maniacs. It felt all the same to Sirius when they reached the classroom, and he was getting breathless in the most satisfying way. The doors opened, stealing everyone’s attention. Mcgonacall had her usual glare, and Sirius spotted Remus sitting with Lily, his face looked scarlet which made Sirius feel the same heating flush beneath his cheeks and neck.

“Mr Potter, Mr Black and Mr Pettigrew, why is it always you three to be late in my class?” There was something different about Mcgonacall as her gaze is fixed at Sirius. He could swore that there was a hint of smile playing on her lips. She ordered them to take seats, and Peter sat with Mary while James with Sirius. The both of them had to keep hands on their mouths to suppress the bubbling laughter. James gave him a playful nudge, his eyes were whispering something meaningful, and Sirius felt a gush of affection for him.

The day went by with Double Transfiguration with the Slytherins, Charms with Ravenclaws, and Double History of Magic with the Hufflepuffs. James and Sirius were walking to the common room to put their books and notes and then return to the dinner with the rest of Marauders.

“So, Padfoot…” James smirked at him, “I have an unbelievable news to share with you.”

“Have you finally learn not to make a fool of yourself?” Sirius got a harsh fling of James’ arm around his shoulder that he staggered in his pace, almost collapsing on the floor but James held him firmly.

“Hey, hey, hey,” James’ voice was soaked with concern, “You okay? I’m sorry I didn’t know I was that harsh.”

“No, it was not harsh.” Sirius managed to say but the other didn’t seem convinced. He was getting some serious brain-fogs from the past few days, and he hadn’t told anyone yet, not even Madam Pomfrey.

“Then what was that, Sirius? What is going on? Are you not well?” Those were so many questions for Sirius to answer. He didn’t want to disrupt his day which was finally going better for the first time in forever. However with James’ big hazel eyes were staring at him like that as if they were saying hundreds of things to him he felt the urge to tell him everything—by everything meant everything.

And then they didn’t return for dinner, they were in their dorm alone with no interruption. Sirius told him how frequently he had been experiencing panic attacks, and how much tired he felt, like always, how he felt like his bones were feeble, and his muscles were aching, how he was also experiencing constant brain-fogs. And then, he also told him how he was dealing with emotional pain the most, how constantly he was thinking and trying to commit act of self-harm, and how much he was thinking how he had let the Marauders down. James listened him very carefully with full attention, nodded in the right places and shushed him when Sirius talked about how much he missed Remus. He was struggling to get louder because his voice was not cooperating with him. He was gushing out all of the emotions which were buried in the depths of him. He cried at some parts but he was calm because James’ hand was there squeezing his arm, and rubbing his back. When they were done, they fell into comfortable silence, and Sirius felt as light as a feather.

“So what was the good news?” Sirius said to break the silence.

“Uh…” James smiled weakly at him, “I asked Evans to go with to the ball as my date and she said yes.”

Sirius smiled at him genuinely, “I’m happy for you, Prongs.” He hit him with a playful punch but James didn’t respond too much. He looked sad, and it was awkward. Sirius never wanted that. They fell into another round of silence before he felt two arms wrapped from his behind, tugging there. Sirius put his hands on James’, sitting under the cloud of melancholy.

“I’m sorry, Padfoot. You were keeping a lot inside of you. I don’t like when you do that.” Sirius smiled warmly at his mildly aggressive voice, “I am your brother, and you are supposed to tell me that. And all of that. Everything, buddy. I love you, you know that right?”

“There is no reason to be a sap, Potter.” Sirius elbowed him, “But yeah, and I love you, too. Always have and always will.”

“Look, who’s a bigger sap now.”

“Okay, Evans said yes—“ Sirius pulled away to face him, but he was cut off by James in mid-sentence.

“For the ball. I don’t want to get my hopes up.”

“Who are you and what have you done with my best friend?”

James didn’t smile. There was still something despondent about him. After a brief silence, he said, “Pads, this may sound a little weird but hear me out…” Sirius nodded, “You should ask Moony for tomorrow.”

“Oh no, no, no, no,”

“Why!?” James whined.

“’Why’? What do you mean ‘why’? Out of all people, you should not be the one to say that.”

“No, Padfoot, I should be the person to say that! You told me how he encouraged to go to the ball. I mean, why would he? Either he is trying to be your mom and asking you to have fun or he is giving signals for you to ask him to be your date for the ball!”

“Considering Remus, he was definitely being a mother-hen.” 

“Think about it, Moony doesn’t easily like someone. He never dated anyone except you because you are the one he fell in love with, you tosser!

That’s when the door swung open, revealing Remus and Peter which confused looks. Sirius felt like his heart was in his throat.

“Thought we’d find you guys here.” Peter said, throwing his satchel on his bed, “Why did you miss dinner?”

“Oh, we completely lost track of time.” Sirius said successfully because the room had started to feel small with Remus’ presence, “We should go to the kitchen, Prongs.” He was hoping he could just skip the anxiety and continue his chance of talking out with James more. He was talking after ages, and it felt lighter and easy. Suddenly, he was very grateful for having James Potter in his life.

“Oh, you know what, you stay here. Wormy and I will bring food for you.” James piped up with his stupid grin, and Sirius began to have second thoughts on being grateful of James.

“What!?” Peter retorted, “But I just came back!”

“And you could come back again, my best friend Wormy!” Sirius scowled at James who in returned gave him a thumbs-up, gesturing to talk to Remus who was putting down his books in on his nightstand. Soon, the whiny Peter and an overly-smart James were out of the dorm, leaving him and Remus alone.

Sirius was fidgeting with his fingers anxiously, gazing at Remus’ back.

“I can feel you staring at me.” Sirius thought he was completely frozen. Remus turned to face him, smiling small at him.

“Yeah…” Sirius let out a breathless chuckle, “I was just…”

Awkward silence.

“Remus, I wanted to ask you something and if you don’t think the same way, I would completely understand.” His heart was hammering in his chest. Remus nodded at him. He took a deep breath and finally the words were out, “Will you go to the ball with me as my date?”

Extremely awkward silence. Remus was opening and closing his mouth to say something but no words were audible enough as an answer to Sirius. That’s because he doesn’t have any answer, Sirius thought to himself.

“Sirius…” Remus finally said, “I can’t.”

It wasn’t like Sirius wasn’t expecting this, but it still hurt him like a dagger shot right into his heart.

“I mean…” Remus continued, scratching the back on his head or pulling his sleeve, “it’s not like I don’t want to, because I do…A lot, actually…”

His voice was turning croaky, and Sirius was able to see that it was not easy for Remus either.

“But, I already have a date.” This time it hurt more than earlier. Sirius wanted to laugh, and he did. Remus froze, looking dumbfounded. It was a strange thing that hurting not always accompany the act of shedding tears. Sirius was actually laughing at himself that he was a fool to believe, like actually believe.

“Of course, of course,” Sirius wiped the tears in the corner of his eyes, “Of course, you have a date. How can you not?” He was shaking his head, still unable to control his laugh. It was a very wrong judgment.

Chapter 1  Chapter 2

Chapter 4 coming soon!