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no-droids · 4 years

Text

Beginner’s Luck

Part Twelve of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 14.6K

Warnings: 👀👀👀 SMUT. Oral sex (male receiving), cockwarming, sexual acts in public, the use of blasters and other canon-typical weaponry

A/N: Twas the night before Mando season 2, and all through the house—NO IM JUST KIDDING SDKSFKSVS anyways I am so sorry for not being here for basically all of last month but I could not miss this incredibly momentous occasion for anything. Merry season 2 my lovely baby yoditos

***

“Well,” a modulated voice gruffs expectantly from behind you, clearly tired of waiting. “Turn around, let me see.”

“No. I look ridiculous,” you sulk from the corner of the hull, refusing to do as he says. You thought this was stupid from the very beginning and openly told him so, but you’re also a complete pushover for him with just enough backbone to be frustrated when you inevitably give in. “And don’t you ‘sweet girl’ me, it’s not gonna work this time.”

“Sweet girl,” Din’s deep voice lulls through the helmet, raspy and soft.

Fucking fine, if he’s gonna twist your arm about it. You spin around with a deep frown and a chrome visor stares back at you as you waddle forwards, and you don’t even need to look at the kid cradled in his forearm to know he’s smiling toothily as you clunk and rattle. Once you’re standing directly in front of them both, you blow the stray hair out of your eyes and plant your hands on your hips, just waiting for the inevitable response.

Only, you don’t get practically any response at all from him. He stays perfectly still and says absolutely nothing, and though the baby’s mouth falls open with happiness and he reaches for you, he doesn’t make a sound either.

“I told you,” you grumble after a few moments of pained silence. “I look ridiculous.”

Still, nothing. You purse your lips, shifting from side to side uncomfortably, and eventually your suspicion grows and festers until it finally bursts forth. Oh for the love of Maker—

“I know you’re laughing under there,” you accuse with a growl. He doesn’t move a single muscle but you don’t buy it, not for a single fucking second.

Then suddenly the helmet glances away from you and stares purposefully at the wall of the hull as the kid starts giggling, and you knew it. You fucking knew he was laughing.

“You look great,” comes tightly through the modulator after a moment, and you pull your lip up into a snarl, vindicated in your findings but not happy about it.

“Is that how this is supposed to protect me?” You wave your arms, hearing them squeak and clank like you’re a droid that hasn’t been maintenanced in centuries. The rough metal jerks up and smacks your chin with the shoulder movement and you grimace. “Make the bad guys laugh themselves to death?”

“It's bad,” Din finally turns back to you and admits with zero shame, and your cheeks burn at how stupid you must look right now. “Way too big.”

“Too big?” You blink at him. “That’s your criticism?”

When he presented it to you, your first impression was some sort of brown paint—but no. It’s fucking… rust. It’s damaged and scraped up and it looks like it’s been through the ringer and back, and not in a way that gives it character. There’s almost a literal hole in the fucking chestpiece and it’s dented so much that it actually creates more than enough space for your breasts, what the fuck happened—?

“You’re telling me you went from this—” You ask pointedly, knocking your knuckles against the ill-fitting piece of metal and feeling it wobble against your chest, “—to that—” you tap the pristine, gleaming armor strapped to his body that easily costs more than probably quadruple your entire life, “—without any go-betweens? It’s missing one of the shoulders, Din.”

He ignores you, flipping the chestpiece over your head with his free hand and letting the metallic clatter of it meeting the floor behind you ring out through the hull. “I’d hoped at least something would fit,” comes his filtered sigh. “This planet isn’t nice.”

That sobers you up a bit, and you feel your heart thump painfully. “Are we on Corellia?” You ask without thinking.

“No,” he tells you immediately, quelling your panic while pulling off your one singular pauldron. “Tatooine.”

You’ve never heard of it, but from the grave undertone of his voice, you know the drill. Different setting, same kind of people. Smugglers, rogues, criminals—the type he’s used to being around and knows exactly what to expect out of them. You always feel safe when he’s with you, but when he leaves?

“Oh,” you say, because you don’t really have anything else. It’s quiet for a little bit, but then he continues on before you can come up with something to fill the sudden uncertainty on your end.

“I know someone here,” Din murmurs, bending his knees and sinking down to start undoing and pulling the shoddy thigh braces off your legs. “Someone… nice. It’ll be safe as long as nobody sees me leaving or coming back, and the kid would be happy to see her.”

Your eyebrows pull inwards, something… unfamiliar settling inside you. Din doesn’t have friends, he’s made it clear that he doesn’t really like anyone that he knows well enough to introduce you to. Even when he’s lowered himself in front of you and is technically undressing you, you feel a spark of… no, not jealousy, that’s crazy. But for real, who is he talking about?

“Why can’t me and the baby just lay low somewhere remote like normal?” You ask instead, but he shakes his head.

“No such thing,” he grunts, pulling off the other thigh brace. “Tuskans or Jawas will find you even in the middle of the Dune Sea.”

“I like Jawas,” you blurt, having had many positive experiences trading with the little creatures on Arvala-7, but his helmet immediately tilts up to pin you in place and you shut up, feeling the tangible unamusement radiating from the thin blade of the visor even when the kid starts giggling again. “I mean I… don’t like Jawas?”

Din sighs and rises back up to his full height, finally handing the baby over to you now that you’re not weighed down by that ridiculous getup anymore. “You can either stay with her while I get the quarry or run the risk of pirates finding you drifting above the atmosphere,” he reasons bluntly, not mincing words. “But it’s not a good idea to be stuck on the surface without protection, someone will find you.”

You bite your lip, hugging the kid closer to your chest for a second. “Okay, that’s fine,” you murmur quietly after a moment. “We can stay with your… friend.”

You clear your throat and move to let him pass by to get to the cockpit, except Din doesn’t take a single step. You blink up at him and after what feels like an eternity of no response, the helmet slowly tilts sideways at you and… oops.

Was that not subtle? You didn’t know what to call her, genuinely, that’s why you hesitated. You didn’t want to use the word acquaintance, it felt too detached for the fact that he said the kid would be happy to see her again. That’s what’s called a friend, right?

Maker, why are you being so weird about this?

Thankfully, you end up getting away with it. After a few painful seconds of looking at every single thing in the hull besides him and humming a song you make up on the spot, Din slowly walks past and disappears up into the cockpit. You take a deep breath and gently rub the baby’s ears between your fingers as the Crest powers up with a ferocious rumble beneath your feet.

***

It’s bright. Fuck, it’s so bright here. You hold the kid to your chest with one hand and shield your eyes with the other as the ramp slowly descends, dust immediately kicking up around it. Din’s palm is resting against your lower back and his thumb gently brushes back and forth, but your heart decides to drop the very moment his hand does, and as soon as the ramp clanks against the landing platform, he’s striding down into the blazing hot desert sun without you.

Something in your chest squeezes and whispers to you that he probably doesn’t want to touch you when he’s about to see an old friend again, so you wait a few seconds of space before descending down the ramp behind him, not really knowing how you feel right now. But you’ve barely taken a single step to follow when a woman’s voice screeches out from across a vast distance. “Oh no, no no no—don’t you even think about it!”

Din slows to a halt at the end of the ramp and gives whoever it is a small nod, nothing beyond it, and if you weren’t purposefully looking at him for cues right now, you’d probably miss the greeting entirely. You stand on your tippy-toes from behind his cape as a fiery little middle-aged lady in a mechanic’s jumpsuit marches up to him with an attitude that more than makes up for the height difference.

“You’re not allowed here anymore,” she pokes his chestplate brazenly with one hand and props the other on her hip, clearly not excited to see him. “Not after the ruckus you caused last time, no sir, not on my watch.”

“That won’t happen again,” he gruffs shortly, not providing a single thing beyond it, and you blink. What… what happened last time?

“It sure won’t!” The strange woman agrees shrilly, crossing her arms and widening her eyes until she looks a bit like she’s been out in the suns too long. “I’m still recovering, Mando!”

“I compensated you,” he reminds her, a quiet edge of frustration beginning to creep into his voice.

She suddenly narrows her expression at him, going from manic desert lady to sharp and discerning skeptic within a split second. “How much do you think my life is worth?”

Din takes forever to respond, seeming to either be choosing his words very carefully or grinding his teeth under the beskar in frustration. Probably both. “I brought my ki—”

“You bring trouble!” She bursts out, stomping her foot on the dusty landing platform and holding her ground. “I don’t care how cute your little one is, go park your ship on some other poor soul’s hangar bay!”

He doesn’t say anything back, staying completely silent while you stand there awkwardly and wait for his response, and it’s almost like you… forgot. How quiet Din can be, how unnervingly little he can choose to offer to conversations until he deems the information absolutely necessary to provide. He allows you to forget that reserved nature of his. He talks to you. He never used to at the beginning, but somewhere along the way it just became increasingly common to hear his voice, both with a high-pass filter and blissfully without. Now though, there’s just too long of a weirdly tense pause in the reunion for you to handle without doing something about it.

So you step out from behind him with the child in your arms, giving her an apologetic smile with as much friendliness as you can possibly put into an expression.

“Hello,” you greet her gently, musically, lifting the baby’s hand to give her a companionable three-fingered wave from the both of you while he coos. “I promise I’m not trouble, but he did bring me along this time.”

Din and the woman simultaneously turn to look at you; her like you’re just as strange and jarring of a sight to see on this planet as the tiny unnamed boy in your arms and him like your voice by itself is enough to loosen his shoulders. Though neither one of them ultimately respond to you, you can tell by the way his fists unclench that you’ve at least helped him relax, even if the frizzy-haired lazy otherwise ignores your introduction entirely.

“Now just what in Maker’s name are you doing with a poor little stowaway like that?” She faces him and pokes his armor again. “You runnin’ a charity out of that battered piece of junk you call a ship?”

“Three hundred credits to let them stay with you for a week,” he turns back to tell her, cutting directly to the chase. Alright, so you don’t really understand their relationship at all at this point. He said she was nice? And yet he’s already bribing her that handsomely?

“Five hundred,” she immediately shoots back, and your heart sinks. Fuck, there’s no way. There’s no way he would spend that much, you’re going to have to find somewhere else to stay.

But… he doesn’t respond. Which you now remember with a jolt of surprise, means confirmation. Not wasting words agreeing, he’d say something back to her if he had an issue. Maker, five hundred credits. You’re starting to wonder if he’s really able to make any money at all doing this, or if the job is just… fitting for him, so he continues to do it. He’s spending more and more credits on you every single time you turn around, and while you don’t feel great about it, you know Din well enough to know he’s stable and independent enough to make the decisions he wants to make.

So you just stand there and hold the baby to your chest, unsure of your place, while Din eventually turns around to face you.

Sometimes, if you’re being honest, you almost find yourself wanting to… do soft things with him that you know you shouldn’t while other people are around. Granted, he’s never told you not to, but the last thing you want to do is undermine his reputation by unintentionally revealing his gentler side. You want to give him a hug and maybe hand him the baby to say goodbye, but you don’t know if that’s how he wants to present himself to company right now. Unfortunately, that ends up translating into you just looking at him and awkwardly waiting to see what he does. Your feelings won’t be hurt if he just takes off without another word now that you know that that’s his intent—you promise, they weren’t hurt the first fifty or so times he’s done it. You understand him, it’s alright, he doesn’t need to—

But then he leans in and lowers his voice until only you can hear it.

“I’ll be back soon,” he tells you, and you feel warmth creep into your chest.

You understand him. Which is why you feel like you could almost burst with how much he didn’t have to say that but chose to do so anyway. You already have a solid time frame—a week—which is more information than you usually get, and it’s such a small thing. It’s insane; if you made a list, you’d have 1) talking to you, 2) knowing his first name, and 3) seeing a glimpse of his forehead as your top reasons why he might care just as much about you as you care for him. That’s insane.

He takes a second to reach a glove out and rub the baby’s ear as he makes his adorable little baby noises up at him, before the helmet tilts back up just slightly to look at you.

“Be safe,” he waits for you to whisper back.

And you think now is finally the time to go, right? Except he waits just a few precious seconds more, just holding there, silently. Maker, you don’t want to miss him, why is he doing this to you? You’re trying to play it cool, see-you-later’s have been commonplace between you for nearing a full year now, so why does it feel like now is the first time he truly doesn’t want to go?

You hold the kid with one hand and start to reach for him the split second he turns to walk away, and you quickly drop it as the dry wind snaps through his cape. He leaves and doesn’t look back.

Still, you watch him disappear, until eventually you’re reminded of your host’s presence with the tap of a wrench against your shoulder.

“Hope you know your way around a hyperdrive,” the woman says with a smirk. Maker, Din didn’t even give you her name, you’re going to have to ask. “Gotta repair at least two of ‘em by sundown.”

You catch the hefty tool with your free hand and turn to her. “Pre-Imperial or post? Never done a restoration, but I’m a quick learner.”

She blinks at you like that was probably the last thing she expected you to say, but you give her the same friendly smile from before and look towards the entrance of the hangar for the ships needing maintenance.

***

So Peli is… a character.

She’s quick and entertaining and whip-smart, but you worry that if she had a whip, she might actually use it. She’s nice—she is, but she damn near works you to the bone once you prove yourself capable. You don’t think she expected the extent of your practical knowledge of mechanics, she went into it assuming you were going to be useless and did a hard U-turn that very first night. You both worked together to fix two malfunctioning hyperdrives by sundown, just like she told you she needed, but then she looked vaguely surprised and nobody showed to pick up until two days later.

The second day is more hectic, and the third day is worse. You cradle the kid on your hip while you work one-handed, smudged grease all over your forehead and sweat sticking your hair to your neck. Using Peli’s sonic shower never leaves you feeling clean no matter how many times a day you find yourself wanting to wash the dust and grime from your body, the same way yours used to back on Arvala-7, and you immediately get why her dark hair seems so frizzy and dry whenever you step out of the stall and catch sight of the similar rat’s nest on your head in the small mirror. Hypersonic waves dry it out more than the blazing hot suns on this planet—you look the same exact way you’ve looked for decades and while you don’t mind hard work, you can’t stand the complete lack of water on this forsaken rock.

Din was right, though. She is nice, but in a way that she never wants anybody else to find out about. She cooks you food every night but expects you to clean the whole kitchen after, she lets you have free reign over the caf maker as long as you remember to make enough for her, and she allows you and the kid to pass out on the beat-up sofa in one of the secluded back rooms for the time being. On more than one occasion, when she assigns you chores that require two hands and a steady focus to complete, you overhear her babytalk behind the control panel as she bounces the kid in one arm and plays with his ears. It fills your chest with a quiet, subtle kind of warmth, and you understand why Din trusts her with him.

At least you stay busy—which, understatement. She works you so hard that eventually she starts handing you tasks that don’t really seem… pressing. Replacing the spherical joints on her three pit droids, hand-scrubbing the grime off the pots and pans she uses to cook the same two meals everyday, polishing the dusty windows overlooking the landing platform even though they’re caked over with dirt not even an hour later. You realize soon enough that she doesn’t have nearly the workload here as she claims, periodically catching her playing cards with the droids while you’re busting your ass doing chores once all the real work has clearly been accomplished, but you’re not upset. You like being busy, it’s how you’ve lived most of your life. However, at some point, you actually end up running out of things to do. After that, it’s like she has to actively look for tasks she still needs completed.

One morning you find her in the parked Crest, ripping open the guidance systems paneling and talking to herself. You sip your caf and watch silently from the landing bay, hair pulled up in a messy bun and the baby on your hip as the suns rise on your shoulders and she mutters, whole sheets of metal being tossed out from the insides of the Razor Crest.

You've also learned she responds incredibly well to the prospect of credits, so you don’t spend too much time wondering what her goal is—find something in the ship for you to fix and then charge Mando extra for the materials whenever he comes back.

Hilarious though, as if there’s anything in your ship that actually needs fixing.

You spin around with a sigh and walk back into the hangar, knowing today will probably be the first slow day in awhile.

***

A few hours later, you’re invited to play a game of Sabacc for the first time in your life.

There are so many rules—so many suits and names to keep track of, so many values to memorize, only to be forced to choose one card after every round to keep just in case the rest of them happen to shuffle at random, which occurs at least once or twice every game. There’s too much luck involved to figure out any sort of strategy; you feel like sometimes you’re hopelessly lost and end up winning anyways or you wager nearly your entire stack of bolts on a perfect hand and then you lose the entire thing regardless.

It’s an unpredictable nightmare. But it’s something to do, and you’ve learned that playing just as stupidly as you bet allows you to easily stay in the game. The baby sits in your lap and plays with one of your rusty metal gambling pieces while your leg bounces, and Peli grumbles under her breath once it appears you get ahead of her in winnings.

“Beginner’s luck,” she tells her favorite pit droid quietly, who focuses its singular eye at you in a way that somehow feels unfriendly and nods on a brand new swivel, courtesy of yours truly.

You don’t argue, because there’s no point. The whole fucking thing is luck, but there’s no point. You know enough about this game to know that you might give something away if you speak, so you keep your mouth shut and let her fill the void. You know how to stay silent, you’ve learned from the best. Wordlessly drawing a card from the deck and tucking it in between two others of the same value, you decide to trade one of your other cards at complete random and hope it all just works out.

“Ship looks like it’s brand spankin’ new on the inside,” Peli mutters into her mug out of nowhere, and you pause for a moment, before silently nodding at the offhanded comment and trying not to show how pleased you are by it. “Was falling apart the last time I saw it.”

You keep bouncing the kid on your knee and fan out the cards in front of you, hoping his big black eyes aren’t reflective enough to reveal your hand. “I have a lot of free time.”

“I can tell,” she acknowledges, crossing her legs and leaning back into her chair. Peli sets the mug down and sighs. “You’re a good mechanic. I’d offer you a job here, but something tells me you wouldn’t even consider it.”

Now, you do smile. But it’s a hidden one. A fond one. One you find impossible to fight when you’re reminded of him. You miss him and ache for him and all those collectively angsty things, yes—but mostly you’re just… able to find a bone-deep solace in even thinking about him. Your heart tightens, but it’s far less constricting than it is a comfort, a firm embrace. It surrounds you in its safety; Din’s mere existence is your protection, wrapping around you the same way the beskar protects him. Nothing can touch you. You’re safe, from all the things you used to fear and all the new things you’ve learned to fear.

No, you’d never consider it. This planet is too much like Arvala-7, just slightly more populated and dangerous. You love the baby. You love him. You’d never consider it.

“Don’t you get bored?” She asks you with a raised eyebrow, and your smile admittedly drops the slightest bit. “Just waiting around for him to come back?”

You don’t have to think about your answer. Of course you do. If you’re being honest, it does feel a bit like your life is split between worlds—one with him, and one without. Whenever he’s not here, you’re thinking about how much you want him to come back, and whenever he is here, you’re thinking about how much you don’t want him to go. You’ve never experienced anything like that before. There were a few local farmers scattered far across the arid landscape of the place you used to call home, and three of your neighbors all had kids around your age. So you experimented when you were younger, since you never had much else to do in your spare time, but you never loved any of them. You’d always go back home and continue to do chores, continue to look up at the sky and wonder what you were missing.

“Yes,” you admit quietly.

But what you don’t tell her is that in exchange, you get to see the galaxy. You get to have experiences you’ve only dreamed about, take care of the cutest little baby you’ve ever seen and become part of a family. You don’t know of anything you could want more. Adventure, companionship, pleasure, and fulfillment. Sure, you get restless, and sure, you don’t necessarily feel good about the fact that Din seems to be your driving force even when he’s away, but you know independence. You know what it means to live for yourself. You’ve done it long enough that you’ll never forget how to, you’ve experienced it more than enough to know you’re happy about throwing yourself off the cliff and falling into something different. As much as it’s new and terrifying, it’s better. Now you have other people to live for, too.

You marvel at the change—not just from a year ago, but from a handful of months ago. He used to terrify you. You used to keep your mouth purposefully shut around him because you were scared of overstaying your welcome and being dropped off somewhere equally as remote as the place you grew up. Never could you have imagined that the fiercest guardian the galaxy has ever seen would decide you’re also worth protecting.

No, you figure, you just need to… find something in addition. Something else to also commit to, give yourself something to do. You can practice the new self-defense maneuvers he taught you, that’s a good idea. But maybe you can also…

You eventually decide to prompt Peli in a change in conversation. “Hey, can I ask you something?”

“What do you want now?” She takes another sip of her caf as if you’ve been bothering her about this all day long, and… well, it’s times like these that you wish you had a helmet, too, if only so you could roll your eyes.

“I’ve got a few pieces of rusted metal in the Crest,” you eventually tell her, careful with your phrasing and not sure how much you want to reveal. “They’re in bad shape, but I want to keep them. Could I use some of your tools here to hammer out some of the dents, dissolve whatever crud is on the surface? I saw you have a forge back there that’s barely been used, just need the metal hot enough to be pliable without sacrificing its integrity.”

She furrows her eyebrows at you. “But I still need your help with…”

You wait, but she’s got nothing and you both know it. Still, you keep a pointed silence and wait for it, wondering if this’ll actually work. This is what Din does, right? Just refuse to say anything and make the other person crumble under the crushing quiet? Miraculously, it proves to be successful—you watch her flounder for a response, her will wavering the longer you sit there and stare expectantly at her.

“Fine,” Peli finally acquiesces, and you grin. “But only if you win this round. What d’you got?”

You set down your cards to reveal your hand. A perfect twenty-three if you’ve been counting right, unbeatable unless she or any of the droids managed to get the same, and you know it didn’t happen as soon as she takes a few seconds for mental math and then scoffs.

“Beginner’s luck,” you tell her kindly, pushing all your winnings back over to her side of the table with one hand and scooping the kid up with the other, before turning around and heading towards the Crest in search of Din’s old armor.

***

It’s late afternoon on day five and you’re on your back on a creeper seat, sweat dripping down your neck as you reach up to fiddle with the engine of a T-16, a Skyhopper similar to one you built yourself on Arvala-7. They're not space-faring vehicles, they’re only capable of reaching the upper troposphere, but owning one allowed you to develop solid flight skills without ever truly being able to leave. Honestly, you don’t think you’ve ever despised a ship more.

You know you’ve got engine grease all over and you feel like you’re boiling in your own sweat, but you’re almost done. After this, you’ll be able to go back to working on your side project.

As soon as you’d been granted Peli’s direct permission to do so, you mixed the chemicals necessary to eat away at everything besides the basic structure underneath, and then spent all day yesterday manipulating the metal to better fit someone your size and shape. You slaved over the wickedly hot forge and developed a whole new muscle in your arm from hammering and reheating, hammering and reheating. You had to repair the way the chestpiece was tapered into a concave point by folding the thin metal back in on itself multiple times, strengthening it without flattening it back into its original shape too much, and then you ended up melting down some of the extra material from the needlessly large shoulder and thigh pieces to fill in the gaps.

Granted, you still have a ways to go on replacing the crushed magnetics box that was falling off the chestpiece and filing down the rough scrapes and sharp edges, but you’re now left with almost a full set of armor that’s a uniform dull silver in color and molds way better to your general figure than before. You’re not a blacksmith or armorer by any stretch of the imagination, but you’re good with your hands and did what you could in the time allotted. It looks better than you ever thought it would, and without access to Peli’s enormous collection of tools and machinery, you know it would’ve been better off in the trash.

Still, you have to finish this engine first before you can rip apart the control unit wiring on the armor to see how the whole set fits together and what else needs to be repaired. You’ve been working on it for a few hours before you hear the door to the hangar open. Yet, when you don’t immediately hear Peli’s voice calling out to you, or anyone else’s voice for that matter, your heart thuds in your chest with sudden excitement.

“You’re back early,” you tell the engine suspended over your head, knowing he must’ve already thrown the quarry into the Crest parked outside before coming to see you. Right on time, footsteps approach and then a boot carefully catches the flat platform between your legs, slowly rolling your seat out from under the ship until the rest of the sunlit hangar is revealed to you.

You know you must look a hot mess right now. Your hair is a disaster and there’s not a clean spot to be found on your body—sweat glistens and pools along every curve you have and you’re probably drenching the spare jumpsuit Peli let you borrow, but Maker, there he is. Every time you see him is like the first time all over again, except this time the Mandalorian is looming like a giant over you, the helmet tilted down and silently taking you in.

Instead of settling you, his daunting presence gets you hotter than dual suns in the sky ever could. Fuck, he hasn’t said a word to greet you, and yet you’re already wondering if you can entice him to shove you back under here and join you.

You slowly push yourself upright and he steps back just enough to allow it, but not an inch more than that. You have to crane your neck up to keep looking at him, and he stands close enough over you that you wouldn’t have to reach far at all if you wanted to touch him.

And it’s crazy to think that… you absolutely could touch him, if you wanted. He radiates danger, he hunts and tracks for his continued survival, he’s probably got fresh blood staining the dark fabric of his cape and he’s so fucking intimidating—and if you wanted to, you could touch him.

Maybe you can partially blame your sore muscles as to why you immediately drop your head back down, but mostly you just want to stare at a part of his body that happens to align perfectly at eye level. And fuck, nothing stops you from looking. He doesn’t help you up, but he also doesn’t move so you can haul yourself to your feet, either. He just holds perfectly still with his body standing tall over yours, content to stay exactly like this while your hand slowly reaches out to wrap around one of his ankles.

He’s so warm, his muscles flex strong under your palm as you let it drift upwards, biting your lip as you flick your gaze back up to the chrome visor and then down again to the apex of his thighs. Your other hand comes up to scale the beskar strapped to his leg and you roll yourself forward slightly, wondering if he’d let you…

The black fabric stretching over his crotch just barely touches your fingertips before his hand is suddenly whipping out and grabbing hold of your wrist.

You gasp and jerk your head up to look at him, somehow equally hoping that you’re both in trouble and not in it at the same time. Din’s abruptly chest raises with a large, labored inhale, as if he wasn’t breathing at all that entire time, as if he just now remembered the setting, the fact that he’s not alone on the Crest with you right now. Peli and the kid have to be somewhere in the hangar, you know that, but…

“We’re leaving tonight,” he breathes out through the modulator, and you have absolutely no fucking problem with that at all. “But… shit, but…”

“But…?” You prompt, wanting nothing more than to let your hands reach back up to his pants again, but you settle for slowly dragging one palm up his forearm as his grip on your wrist tightens.

“Fuck, I wanted to take you somewhere first,” he groans like your feather-soft touch is actually hurting him, his hands suddenly dropping yours and pushing you away to clench into fists at his sides. “Maker—why do you always f-fucking do this to me…”

You raise an eyebrow at him this time, the curiosity starting to mix with the heat simmering down low, the kind that you'd feel even on a frozen wasteland of a planet as long as you were with him. All at once, you decide to channel him and his trademarked silence, enthralled by the incredibly slim chance that it will work equally as well on its creator.

“…Distract me,” he finally growls out an answer to the question you never asked him, sounding frustrated with you for reasons you still haven’t figured out, and your mouth is drier than the desert outside. Oh stars, you feel… fucking powerful. “From everything,” he goes on, talking honestly and openly, more words given to you in thirty seconds than he’s probably offered to anyone all week long. “Fuck, I feel like I can barely do fucking anything anymore, I’m losing my fucking mind.”

Your heart slams in your chest, wondering if he possibly feels the exact same way about you as you feel about him. Missing you whenever he’s gone, dreading the moment he needs to leave again whenever he’s with you. The thought alone is enough to set off fireworks through your veins, pumping hope and excitement from your fingers to your toes.

“I’m sorry,” you breathe out, biting your lip in a way that doesn’t look or feel sorry at all.

“No, you’re not,” Din grunts, before reaching out and hauling you to your feet, and even if there wasn’t a flat seat under you with wheels, it’d still be awkward and uncoordinated as fuck. “Shit. I… I need to clean up. Grab your things, go tell…”

Din trails off after a second, suddenly sounding at a complete loss. You catch your footing and stare at him as he falters. “Uh. Go tell…” He gestures with a sense of finality to the control room, as if he’s actually successfully communicating with you by doing so. “Her. That we’re leaving tonight.”

“What?” You ask him, thoroughly fucking confused. “What are you saying right now?”

“The woman,” he clarifies, clearing his throat. “The mechanic, with the… droids. Tell her I’ll pay her before we leave, but we’re g—”

“Peli?” You blurt, completely flabbergasted at this point. “Did you forget her name, Mando?”

“I…” he shakes his head slightly at you, like you should already know him better than that. “Never asked.”

“But you—?” You blink at him. “But you said she was your friend?”

“You said she was my friend,” he immediately points out, with—oh Maker, just biting accuracy. It wasn’t necessarily a jab or anything, but you still feel dizzy with how fucking spot on he is about it. Yikes, you absolutely did say that. You forgot.

“Oh…” you mumble, at a stunning loss for a response. “Ha. Oh. Yeah, huh.”

There’s too many beats of awkward silence after that, probably because he’s just so blown away by your way with words that he’s just attempting to analyze the wisdom. Stars, you’re making a complete fool of yourself in front of him, aren’t you?

“Were you jealous?” He suddenly asks, and you jerk upright, your heart kicking up to a gallop in your chest at the question.

“I’ll go tell Peli we’re leaving soon,” you quickly agree and go to scurry away in abrupt panic, but he catches your wrist and hauls you back before you can get far. You run into him with a gasp and immediately start to repeat your explanation for why you very suddenly need to depart, but the tips of Din’s fingers catch your chin and force you to look up at him.

“Hey,” he cuts your rambling short with a hushed murmur and the pad of his thumb brushes down your jaw. “Tell me the truth.”

You don’t have an answer that won’t be incriminating, and you don’t think you can get the delivery right on a lie, not to him and especially not when he’s got you so cornered. So you just keep completely silent and look up at him like a scolded child would. Innocent, wide-eyed and scared shitless about the unknown consequences of your actions.

His helmet slowly tilts as he studies you, watching you look up at him for help. His fingers gradually spread out across your jaw, flattening under the curve of your throat but so gentle, so careful that you’re almost worried he actually is mad.

“I’m sorry,” you immediately offer before he can say anything, your eyebrows pulling up in the middle. “I’m so sorry, it’s just—I just…”

His thumb carefully stretches up to brush your bottom lip, and you… Mind blank, no thoughts. Stars, you’ve got fucking nothing.

“I’ve got nothing,” you admit, giving up before you can even try. “There’s no reason. I was jealous. It’s stupid and I wasn’t going to say anything because I know it’s stupid, and I shouldn’t feel possessive over you but I do, and it’s stupid. I don’t want anyone else to know you the way I know you, and I’m really sorry if that makes you feel weird, I don’t want you to feel like you can’t have—”

Your chin lifts slightly with the gentlest movement of his hand and the subtle pressure is enough to cut your mindless oversharing off. Din’s voice lowers until it’s throaty and quiet.

“See that wall?” He asks, keeping the visor pinned to you while carefully turning his hand to the right, and your whole head easily follows the movement as he guides it. You have to blink your eyes into focus a few times, but then you immediately see what he’s talking about. It’s a partition separating the welding room from the rest of the hangar. He waits until you nod in the cradle of his palm, before leaning in and murmuring to you. “If we were alone, I’d take you around behind it and show you exactly how that makes me feel.”

You pull back from him with a startled gasp just as a voice calls out from the entrance of the hangar. “Well, look who finally decided to come back!”

Din slowly drops his arms and stares at you for just long enough to make you seriously worry that he’s going to say fuck it all and do it anyways, before finally turning around and greeting Peli with another silent nod.

She plants one hand on her hip once she’s standing right in front of him, cradling the kid on with her other arm, and you have to take a second to collect yourself now that you’re not at the direct center of his attention anymore. “Sure did take you long enough, didn’t it?”

“I’m two days early,” he grunts in his immediate defense, but it’s like she doesn’t hear him.

“You’re leaving soon I hope,” she drawls while handing the baby over to him, who makes an adorable little happy squeak at seeing his dad again. “You owe me five hundred credits.”

“It was five hundred for the full week,” he reminds her, and… he has a point. Though it was never part of the agreement, you wonder if she’ll be willing to accept less compensation for having the burden of your company be lifted early.

“Five days count as a full week, far as I’m concerned,” she shoots back, and your heart suddenly sinks when Din’s shoulders tighten and he doesn’t respond.

“Peli…” you sigh from behind him before you even realize you’ve spoken aloud.

Your host quickly sidesteps your bodyguard to eye you dubiously, and at the same time, you also jolt and wonder what your goal is here exactly. You’re ultimately just attempting to diffuse any tension sparking between them, you figure, knowing you’re probably the best mediator here. She looks at you up and down for a long time, hard and judging, before the baby babbles something wordlessly and she sighs.

“I suppose we can just call it even,” she finally huffs, turning back to him. “You’re lucky your girlfriend earned her keep, Mando.”

And then your jaw drops. Holy shit, is she serious? You assumed Peli valued credits above almost anything else, you never expected her to just… turn down the entire offer like that, so willingly. Clearly Din didn’t either, because you both just stand there for a moment in front of her in a baffled silence.

Also… girlfriend?

Is that what you are to him? Admittedly you haven’t talked to him about what to call your relationship, but then again, you’re a practical person and you never really saw a specific need to do so. You care about him, he cares about you—what else is important? You don’t need a title to recognize your value to him, and for some odd reason, calling yourself his “girlfriend” just feels like you’re a teenager again. If you were actually looking for a different word to use instead, you wouldn’t be able to find it, but you know that one just feels… not enough. Not old enough, not encompassing enough, not complex enough. It’s an elementary school version of what this is. And to refer to someone like Din as your boyfriend? Maker, just saying it aloud would probably make his eye twitch.

“Uh.” He stands there awkwardly, and you’re so blown away by both the sentiment and specific verbiage she used that you’re practically useless at this point. Shit, what’s beyond girlfriend, you wonder? Lover? No, not good enough. Partner? No. No, not wife, definitely fucking not— “Thank you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Peli waves him away and spins around to leave, but not before throwing one final thing over her shoulder. “That ain’t an open invitation to come back, by the way.”

All of a sudden, you just can’t stop yourself from breaking out into a wide grin, tucking your chin in hopes that she won’t see it with her back turned and decide to pounce on the display of weakness. The three of you watch her stride out of the room and immediately bark an order at one of her droids to get back to work, who starts looking around in desperate search of something to do, and Din’s palm finds its usual place on your lower back as she disappears.

“What a nice lady,” you offer to him, and he gives you a wordless grumble in response.

***

So it’s a couple hours later and you think the kid might actually have the right idea this time.

You find yourself wishing you had a little hover pod of your own that followed Din around, one you could close the lid on and hide in while blaster fire whistles through the air around you like the baby is currently doing. You’re trying to listen to instructions—you’re trying, but there’s a lot going on here. Voices chatting, guns firing, targets being pinged, a lively little band playing in the cantina next door.

When Din first led you through Mos Eisley and inside this specific adobe hut, if you’re being completely honest, you had hoped for food. A comparatively large restaurant, perhaps? Peli didn’t starve you by any stretch of the imagination, but her dinners were the exact same every single night, and you’ve learned to thrive on new things. While you didn’t necessarily think he was going to take you on a… a date, or anything, you certainly didn’t expect him to take you to a shooting range.

Well. Now that you think about it, this might actually be a date.

Luckily you’re hidden away in the furthest firing partition from the door, but even without the near-constant barrage of gunfire to your left, the distractions are still plentiful. The kid actually reached down and pressed the button to close his crib himself as soon as the bright beams of plasma started zooming past and reflecting in his large black eyes, and oh how you wish that were you. You don’t necessarily feel like you’re in danger or anything, but you’ve also never seen so many guns in one place before and you’re worried you’re accidentally going to hurt someone else.

So far Din has taught you the fundamentals for any firearm—always keep the safety on until you’re ready to fire, never point at anything unless you’re a hundred percent willing to shoot it, yada yada yada—and also the safety fundamentals for blasters specifically. So, making sure there’s no leaks in the gas cylinder when you first load it, never letting a strong magnet get near the power pack, checking the surface of your target for deflection curves if you want to prevent a ricochet, or maybe in his case, inspire one. He’s taught you your stance, he’s taught you how to read your sights, now all that’s left is just to… shoot.

Your arms raise up in front of you and the metal feels too heavy and awkward in your hands, and you have to hold the handle in your left and creep your right index finger all the up the side of the barrel until you feel the indented safety switch. It clicks and you reset your grip to slowly ease your finger onto the trigger, staring down the sight, right at the bullseye. Din is standing directly behind you next to the kid’s tightly closed hovering pod, arms crossed and just waiting for you to pull it.

Come on beginner’s luck, come on beginner’s luck—

You fire, and… well. You don’t think you’ve ever seen a shot miss its target that spectacularly in your entire life. You’re almost surprised the beam of plasma didn’t somehow ricochet back into the booth you’re both standing in, that’s how spectacularly you missed.

“Try again.”

There’s no amusement in his voice, nothing mocking about it. Pure monotone under the helmet, as if he was just naturally expecting that to happen.

No, you think in frustration. You want to surprise him again, impress him with how quickly you can pick things up, turn him on like last time. You just fucking know that would get to him—seeing you easily hit the target dead center with his own blaster, you know that would get to him.

You adjust your aim and fire a few more times. Miss, miss, wild miss, miss. Fuck, so many distractions, plasma flying in the corner of your vision and an increasingly heavy gaze from behind you. Another miss, a miss, yeesh that’s a miss—

Alright, so you're just embarrassing yourself at this point.

“I think it’s broken,” you shrug in defeat, taking a second to find the safety switch and toggle it before going to set the gun down on the raised adobe platform separating the line of booths from the targets—but then Din suddenly snatches the blaster from your grip and extends his arm over your shoulder, firing off six rounds in rapid succession so wickedly fast that you jump backwards into his rock solid chest in surprise. He doesn’t give an inch under the collision and even wraps his forearm tight around your tummy as he hits the bullseye with such deadly accurate precision that even the char marks and the line of smoke left wafting from the target’s center are razor-thin.

“Works just fine,” he grunts, setting the weapon back down again before urging you forward a bit. “Go ahead, give it another shot.”

But you’re on a remarkable delay, just trying to process his sheer speed, how fluid and seamless the entire fucking motion was. Fucking Maker, blink and you’d miss the whole thing. He waited to grab the gun from you until you turned the safety on, but then… then how did he fire it so insanely fucking fast? That’s like five different things he had to do with one single hand within a split second…?

“I turned the safety on,” you blink down at the blaster, clearly just trying to process.

“Yeah,” he agrees blankly, as if he’s unsure as to what specifically you’re so stuck on right now.

“So how did you toggle so fas—?”

He picks it from the shelf gracefully and lightning quick—as if he just can’t help but go that speed around his weapon—and then he twists it on its side, flexing his wrist back until the barrel is pointed upwards and you can clearly see his index finger extend all the way up to the safety switch, flipping it up and down while his middle finger rests over the trigger guard.

“How in the f…?” You mutter, lifting your hand up next to his and positioning your fingers in the exact same L shape, only the tip of your index finger barely stretches an inch shy of the switch. “Psh,” you huff, dropping your arm back down again. “Design flaw.”

“For you,” he acknowledges, using the trigger guard to flip it back to its proper position in his hand like fucking spinning it like that is just the easiest and most natural way to handle the deadly weapon. “This gun was made for me, it’s a feature. Yours would be smaller and lighter, have the safety towards the back of the chamber instead of along the barrel.”

The words and the casual display of ability cause a rush of stirring excitement to burst forth inside you, suddenly giddy at the very thought.

“Wait,” you draw the word out with a grin, leaning back into him and gently nudging him with your elbow to make sure he knows you’re only mostly joking. “You gonna buy me a blaster, Mando? I did earn my keep this week, didn’t I?”

“Have to find one that fits a big enough sight first,” he mutters while setting the gun down on the table, and you scoff at him as his hands come to rest on your hips. They squeeze and try to guide you forwards once again. “Prove that you can at least hit the target with mine and we’ll see.”

“You only get to make fun of me if you give me a real answer,” you rule, planting your feet and refusing to budge.

“Okay, but we both know I’ll make fun of you anyways,” he sighs, and you have to dig your heels in and push back into him to keep yourself rooted to the spot.

“You’re not being a very encouraging teacher,” you accuse without trying to hide your grin. “In fact I feel very discouraged right now and I think that y—”

But then Din suddenly tips his helmet closer to your ear and lowers his voice, cutting you off. “Did you know that gifting someone a weapon is considered a proposal of marriage on Mandalore?”

Your smile quickly drops and you gasp, wholly startled at the implication and immediately trying to spin around to look at him. “Holy shit, are you serious?”

“No,” comes his modulated grunt, tightening his hold and keeping you firmly facing forwards. “Of course not. Pick up the gun.”

Okay.

Okay, so that one gets you.

You immediately start giggling, painfully aware that this isn’t the time or place for it, but that one actually fucking got you. Din easily guides and parks your gullible ass in front of the window carved out of dried mud before picking up the blaster himself and forcing you to hold it with your loose hands, grumbling under his breath.

Shit, okay, focus. Focus, you can do this. You clear the laughter from your throat and suddenly get deadly serious, staring your target down like it’s personally gone out of its way to ruin your entire life. The blaster feels cold in your palms but not when Din’s hands wrap warm and tight around the back of yours, letting you hold the gun how it’s most comfortable for you before gently settling his fingers down over yours. His chestpiece presses tight against your shoulder blades when he guides the gun up and out, and his arms are long enough to extend yours fully even though he’s behind you and still has some bend to his elbows. He uses his feet to kick your ankles apart until they’re shoulder-width and then you both carefully find the trigger together.

He’s quiet and slow about it and the whole thing is one giant fucking turn-on. Maker, chill out. Chill out, he’s teaching you how to shoot. This is important stuff, there are people around, chill out…

Din takes a moment to aim the barrel and his hold is so fucking steady, so unwavering and strong. You wonder if it’d be too obvious if you pushed your hips back a little, you might be able to feel his—

“Fire,” Din murmurs next to your ear, and you pull the trigger without a second thought.

The bright red plasma beam launches from the end of the blaster and hits the target dead center. You gasp, pulling the trigger again, and unsurprisingly, it’s another perfect shot.

He suddenly lets go of your arms and takes a small step back, but the second he removes his body from yours, the rounds start bouncing wildly off the edges of the target. Your eyebrows furrow and you try to emulate how you think the angle felt before, but you can’t find it anymore and you’re just failing spectacularly.

When you decide to pause for a second, Din steps up close behind you and wraps his arms around you once more. You can feel the exact moment he’s locked in his aim, and you fire wordlessly as soon as you know it’s going to hit. Bullseye, right on the nose.

This time, he lifts just his hands away from yours, staying perfectly still otherwise and you swear you don’t move a single fucking muscle in your entire body before pulling the trigger, but it still hits the far corner of the target.

“It’s broken,” you shrug once again, and Din drops his helmet to your shoulder with a sigh. “This gun was made for you, which means there’s obviously some mod you have installed that reads biometrics and ruins the shot no matter how good it—”

“Not even close, but that’s not a bad idea,” he tells you, watching you click the safety on and set the uncooperative blaster down. “I can’t figure out what you’re doing wrong. Are you just distracted?”

Uh, fuck yeah you are. So much is going on and more than that, he’s here and he’s just… fuck, you know what he meant when he said he felt like he was losing his mind. He’s your biggest distraction, all the time. He’s still standing so close to you and the baby is still isolated and tucked away in his hovering sphere, and you take a moment to think about it.

Yes, it’s… it’s possible that you may learn better by example than anything else.

“Can I watch you do it?” You ask him, and Din shrugs before reaching around you and quickly grabbing the blaster from its mud shelf. “Wait—” you tell him while he raises and extends his arm over your shoulder, and then you wiggle sideways as much as possible in the small booth to squeeze around behind him. He doesn’t say anything as you swap places with him and scoot up behind him, but you can tell by his body language that he’s confused. You wonder if he liked that position and watching you shoot his gun, even if you’re complete shit at it.

He stands in front of you for a second and you give him an encouraging, “Okay,” to let him know you’re ready, but then the helmet turns back to look at the target like he’s still unsure as to what you want specifically. You keep your mouth shut and let him figure it out. You meant what you said—you want to watch him shoot. You want to watch him where he’s infamous, watch him do what he’s best at and let completely loose in front of you.

As if it finally clicks for him, Din turns to face the target and suddenly throws the blaster into his left hand while reaching down and pushing a button hidden under the hollow platform with his right. You have to lean around his broad shoulders to watch the target slide backwards on its track easily triple the distance before squeaking and slamming to a stop. Din stretches his non-dominant hand out and subtly tilts his helmet before firing six times, easily hitting the bullseye with just as much accuracy as before, and you frown when you notice the only shots that have actually hit the target so far have all been dead center.

He sets the gun down and stands there for a second, staring across the range like it’s nothing at all to him and it’s… remarkable. Not that he’s a wicked shot, you’ve known that the second you laid eyes on his armor all those months ago. No, it’s just… you would think this is where he’d thrive, if anywhere. The entire place is full of smugglers, raiders, scavengers, mercenaries—occupations that define themselves by their grit. They’re talking as much as they’re shooting, conversing in languages you’ve never heard but suspect Din easily understands. But instead of fitting in, he’s just… there. He doesn’t look comfortable, but he also doesn’t look uncomfortable, either. He doesn’t look like he’s having any fun at all.

None of this is considered a hobby to him, you suddenly realize. It’s not fun because he’s too good at it. This is life. This is going back to school for the most basic fundamentals of a job he’s excelled at for decades—it’s not interesting, he’s gaining absolutely nothing from practicing.

You try to think of the last time you’ve seen him truly in his element. You think back on all the different settings—he looked out of place on Canto Bight, got into fights on Corellia, hated Coruscant, seemed stressed on Nevarro, and even on Naboo, even in the middle of paradise, he looked unsure if he actually deserved to be there with you. Now here on Tatooine, where he has real people that he trusts, where he’s surrounded by like-minded individuals shooting his favorite things in the world, it’s like he’s still not able to fully let go.

Is it just you, you wonder? Does he stand out more just because you’re the one looking?

No, you think. No. You have seen him relax. You’ve seen him laugh before, you’ve seen him be himself with you.

But… only with you. A hardened bounty hunter that much prefers the company of a young woman and an infant to literally anyone else in the galaxy.

Fuck. Why does that turn you on so fucking much? It’s the display of prowess, the sheer skill he’s developed, how fucking deadly he is—and how you’ve felt him use that trigger finger to trace slow circles around your clit. The Mandalorian standing with his blaster raised has probably been the last thing too many people have ever seen in their lifetimes, and yet watching from this angle just makes you feel protected, guarded, and… so fucking horny for him.

“Do it again,” you eventually murmur, touching both your palms to his back this time just to feel it. You want to feel him shoot, you want to feel his muscles move with it. You want to touch how mechanically he’s able to aim, you want to know if he’s loose or tense when he fires, you just want to… feel it.

Din grabs the gun and as he extends his arms out, you slide your hands up his back to rest under his shoulders. He’s so broad, he feels so warm and strong, and his trigger releases are so steady that nothing above his wrists move.

Shit, before he’s even finished setting the blaster back down again, you’re already scooting up behind him as close as possible and carefully slithering your arms around his waist, hugging your body tight to his back. Din stays completely still while your mouth presses against the fabric of his cape and your hands begin to slowly slide down his stomach.

He doesn’t say a damn thing, which makes it even hotter for some reason. There’s no warning he gives you, no low growl of your name or sweet girl being dragged through the modulator. He stays completely silent and holds there while blasters continue to fire from stalls to your left, and it gives you the thrill of your lifetime. Big strong man holding perfectly still for you to touch in the middle of a crowded room.

Your hand slips under his waistband and sink down low until you can trail your fingertips along his cock, hidden from sight beneath the edge of the clay shelf. The small sound you make at feeling it already firm and at attention for you gets lost in the noise of the shooting range, but you wrap your palm around it and give it a good, slow pull upwards, feeling Din’s back expand with a breath from the sensation.

“Do it again,” you whisper into his shoulder blade, slowly playing with his cock in his pants with one hand while keeping the other wrapped tight around his abdomen.

Din immediately snatches the blaster off the platform and fires it the very moment he takes aim, and you can feel his cock pulse in your palm as he lets off the shots. Dead center, as always, but he clunks the metal back down with a bit more force this time and then lingers his fingertips at the sloped edge of it for a second, as if he’s considering whether or not he should hold onto it.

You’re already wet between your legs, but it gets worse the longer he allows you to keep doing this. His skin is furnace-hot and he throbs for you, and you trail your thumb up to check—oh, Maker, he’s leaking for you, too. You drag the pad of your thumb over the tip and gently rub the wetness along the curve of his head, before easing back down to give the shaft another slow pull.

A quiet puff of air comes through the vocal filter, but that’s all you audibly get out of him. Still, it’s more than enough to fill you with a wicked heat and a desperate desire for more. So you bite your lip and glance around just to double-check that nobody else has wandered over behind you and the kid is still tucked away in his crib, probably passed out in the secluded darkness at this point. And then you barely take a split-second to consider it before your knees are bending and you’re slowly sinking down the length of his body.

Din is a fucking statue. He doesn’t do anything to allow your wiggling underneath the raised platform anymore than he widens his stance to prevent it. Once you’re on your knees in front of him in the dim isolation of your hiding spot though, he takes a single step forward and pins his waist to the hardened clay above your head, and a thrill skitters through you at being completely walled in on all four sides.

You reach up to hook your fingertips in his hem of his trousers and begin pulling them down, so tight and achy between your legs that you want to shove your hand down between them already. You don’t though, not yet, because you need two hands to be extra careful in getting his cock out. You don’t even want the fabric of his pants to touch it, you want your mouth to be the only sensation he knows here.

At the very last second, you decide to pull the waistband down far enough to let his balls rest outside the confining clothing, getting increasingly hotter at the thought that this isn’t going to be sneaky and dirty, even if you’re in public. Din’s wide stance and the floor-length cape hide you perfectly from any prying eyes behind his back, so it’s going to be soft and it’s going to be slow and he’s going to be comfortable while you go down on him.

Your mouth is already watering, so you bend down just slightly and lift your chin to gently drag your tongue along the smooth skin of his balls before anything else. Honestly—you don’t think he’s expecting you to go there first, because his whole body suddenly jerks at the velvet soft sensation between his legs and you let out a low hum in response. He can’t reach you down here unless he tries to, so you scoot your knees up a little bit and just decide to go for it. This way he won’t be able to get it confused, he won’t pull you out from under here halfway through when you suck on his balls before anything else. This is what you want from him, what’s right here in your mouth.

You switch to the other one and Din twitches with a filtered breath, the skin already tightening up and responding gorgeously under your tongue. His hand hovers somewhere near the raised platform above your head, fingers curling in his leather gloves and caught right between stopping you and letting you continue. While he allows it, you ease your way up and make it just tantalizing enough to make him ache without providing any real stimulation, slowly trailing your tongue up the length of his cock and pressing plush lips to the flared head.

Din exhales a shakily while you take your time, tasting the precum as his body produces it, just kissing and licking and purposefully refusing to touch him with anything besides your mouth. Without being able to see the rest of him from this angle, you're left to your own devices—you’re so gentle and soft about the pleasure that you start to separate the man from the throbbing erection you’re currently playing with. You begin to enjoy yourself without thinking too much about the struggle he must be withstanding right now, you moan softly against his heated skin even though you know you’re being a tease at the worst possible moment, but no matter how you decide to take your time with it, Din continues to allow it. He endures. Silent, perfectly still, until you eventually decide to wrap your lips around the head of his cock and flutter your tongue up underneath it.

But then he jumps and your eyes open when a deep, unkind voice from the stall to your left calls out, “Hey, Mando! Gonna fuckin’ shoot or just stand there, huh?”

You can hear his immediate frustration in the blaster scraping against the shelf over your head, and you moan softly around his cock the second you feel him tense and start firing. The smooth skin pulses on your tongue and you slide your fingers around the backs of his knees, opening your throat and slowly taking him deeper.

And, for a man that has repeatedly fired six perfect shots every single time he picks up his gun, he falters after just three this time.

The heat of your mouth must be too overwhelming. Too fucking good, too detrimental to his focus and composure to even perform the most basic tasks he typically excels at. Like a seasoned mathematician that suddenly struggles to count to ten, a renowned author that can’t recite their ABC’s—Mando can’t even fire a weapon right now and it’s all because of you.

He has to keep trying though, he has to make an actual effort now that you both know someone nearby is paying at least some sort of attention to his performance. The sound of more plasma arcing through the air over your head slowly disappears into the background in a way that it never could while you were the one firing—you’re completely hidden and safe down here, you can moan low in your throat while keeping your hands around his knees and begin to bob your head without another thought or worry whatsoever. Handling it is all on him. He just needs to stay quiet, be still, and shoot his gun. It should be the simplest thing in the galaxy for him, right?

Wrong. So wrong. You hear the way the bolts are pinging off the sides of the target now, you listen to him grunt and let off a few more shots that also sound like they miss. Your soft palate lifts and you’re practically drenching yourself at how wide he stretches your throat while you take him down as far as you can, and there’s a moment where you’re holding there and you think about doing something about the dull ache throbbing between your legs. But once you pull off him for air and automatically touch your drooling tongue to your palm, you decide this is what you want more.

Your slick hand wraps around his cock and starts to slowly jerk him off while your mouth moves down to attach to his balls once more, your touch gliding strong and wet along his entire length. Din almost doubles over into the platform, his hips stuttering up for the first time at the hard stimulation you’re finally giving him. His skin swells and tightens in your mouth—you can feel the tension locking his thighs down, you can hear the shots above you start to decrease in frequency, and you know he’s already close.

So you move back up to suck on the head of his cock again and slowly swirl your tongue around it, continuing to use your hand to pull steady and firm on the rest of his shaft, and you just close your eyes and wait for him to give you what you want. His firing soon stops altogether and you squeeze your finger between your thighs and press hard against your clit, just needing to relieve some of the ache. You keep doing that, you keep drawing circles with your tongue while slowly jerking the rest of him off into your mouth, and at some point, it all just becomes too much for him.

“Shit,” Din gasps, along with the sudden sound of metal skittering against the clay above you, and your eyes pop open in surprise. “Ah, sh—shhhhh—”

Maker, did he just drop his fucking gun?

You start to pull back, but then suddenly a trembling hand shoots down and clutches tight under your throat, hooking hard behind your jaw to make sure you stay right there.

His cock starts throbbing and he shudders, slamming his other palm on the shelf and cumming hard in your mouth. You’re already swallowing before he even gives you anything but Maker, you’re fucking desperate for it that your hand moves to curl your fingers against the exposed skin at his hips as if that’ll somehow help you get it sooner. The first taste of him comes as soon as you dig in and drag your nails down his flesh, and Din is helpless to do anything else besides clutch your jaw tight and gasp raggedly while emptying himself down your throat.

He shakes and shudders and you don’t spill a single drop, clutching his hips and pulling him close to keep him in your mouth, and as he slowly comes down from that plateau, you lick every inch of him clean. His fingers gradually lose their rigidity around your jaw and eventually, his fingers drop down to press gently against your throat while his hips pull back.

He slips from your mouth and you wipe the wetness from your chin, staring up at his cock wistfully and almost wanting to keep going. Is that fucked up, you wonder? What would he think?

He hasn’t moved yet, why isn’t he moving? Your job is clearly finished here, no matter what kind of way you may feel about that. The coast must not be clear, you have to assume. Perhaps someone is wandering around behind him, maybe he’s still being cautious about the nosy person next door—all you know is that you can tell he wants to move but he isn’t, which likely means he can’t. You know his cock must be so unbelievably sensitive right now, but he’s not easing his body back far enough away from the shelf to tuck it into his pants. He’s keeping it right in front of your face and expecting you to stay there until he deems it appropriate for you to get up.

The longer you wait for him to step back and let you out from under here, the more your need sparks and grows. What would he think? That you’re so desperate for his cock that you still want it in your mouth even when it’s soft and spent? Maker, he’d be fucking right on the money.

At some point, you can’t stop yourself. You lean back up to slowly take his soft cock back in your mouth, and Din nearly spasms while you slip your hand under your waistband and widen your knees.

You don’t do anything spectacular to it—you’re not that cruel—but you do hold him on the heat of your tongue and keep him there, fluttering your eyes closed as your finger finally touches your clit. Air puffs shakily through your nostrils and you think Din is actually shaking harder than you are, his body fighting oversensitivity while yours starts the race towards bliss. He doesn’t stop you but it also feels like he’s purposefully trying not to, like everything in him is rebelling against the wet heat of your mouth but knowing you’re only doing this because you’re so painfully turned on. You’re doing this because you need it, in spite of the electric shocks of wicked sensation it seems to be inspiring in him.

Your finger speeds up and you start gently sucking on the warm, giving flesh, and his hand trembles as it grabs at your hair. Fuck, you don’t care if he thinks you’re desperate—you want him to recognize it, you want him to know exactly how much you love his cock—

That thought sends a dark thrill down your spine and pleasure burns bright and needy where you’re still rubbing your clit, dropping your hips and rolling them forwards against your hand. And oh, your only lament is that you wish he was the one doing this. You wish Din was building your pleasure instead of letting you use his body in search of your own, you wish it was his hand working between your legs and about to shove you over that ledge, but then again. Something about this whole fucking scene is just so… undignified. Debased. And you’re getting off on it, quicker than you ever thought possible.

When you cum, you’re good and you don’t make a single sound when you cum. You squeeze your eyes shut and your entire body jolts with every single shattering wave of ecstasy, and Din tugs a handful of your hair and slowly rocks his hips once, twice, fucking your mouth while you endure wildfire burning through your veins. By the time you finish convulsing on the fucking floor of a Tatooinian gun range, you know you can go for another and probably get it equally as quick as that one, but Din is already pulling his cock out of your mouth and shoving it back into his pants. You’re like jelly as your elbow is immediately caught in his arm and you’re hauled up from your hiding spot, dazed and disoriented.

The chrome visor stares you down and you want to shrink in on yourself, thinking he’s going to take your happy ass back to the Crest. You should be in trouble, you know you should be in trouble. Leaving the recesses of your dark cubby and coming face to face with your surroundings brings a brand new clarity to light—you totally should not have done any of that. He was trying to teach you, for Maker’s sake. He was taking the time to show you the valuable knowledge he’s gained regarding weaponry and self-defense. Fuck, you even told him on Naboo that you wanted to shoot a gun, and he brought you here to do just that.

Except then he just spins you around and picks up the blaster from the adobe ledge in front of you, placing it firmly in your hands.

“Okay,” he pants quietly next to your ear, breathing hard and shallow through the helmet. “Now you should be able to focus, right?”

Fuck… Fuck, is he serious? You can barely hold the damn thing, you’re shaking so hard. How does this work again? What does this do?

“Wh-What?” You croak—fuck, your voice is gone. “I… I can’t—”

“Try,” he encourages, helping your comparatively tiny hands flip off the safety but other than that, stepping back and leaving you to it. Completely and hopelessly lost, you weakly twist around to watch him stand next to the kid’s closed metallic shield. “Hit the target,” Din reiterates with a nod, trying to catch his breath. “You can do it.”

You look back out with unfocused eyes to see it still all the way on the far end of its track, and there’s just absolutely no fucking way. “I… can’t.”

“Hit the target and we can go home,” he tells you, and while you don’t exactly know what home is anymore, something tells you it’s somewhere in hyperspace. A resting baby, a metal floor, a pitch black hull, and your cheek pressed against a warm chest.

It sounds… wonderful.

Inspiring a newfound kind of desire in you, you lift your arms as best you can and work so, so hard to keep them steady. The target is in your sights and you do your absolute best—fuck, you really do, but you pull the trigger and the shot sadly bounces off the edge.

You drop your hands, already defeated and drained. “I can’t.”

“Hit the target and I’ll buy you a blaster,” he ups the ante, and you instantly lift your dead arms again. Fuck, come on, come on, you can do this.

You shoot. Nope. So you shoot again. And then you shoot again, and again, minutely adjusting your wrists purely based on where the bright red plasma is landing and ignoring the scope entirely.

“A nice one,” he continues over the pew pew pew of you just continuing to fucking miss, fucking miserably, over and over again. “Expensive. Hand-crafted, one of a kind…”

Miss, miss, miss, and—no. Just, no. There’s only so much glaring failure you can take before you snap. You finally stop shooting and growl in frustration, going to slam the metal down on its resting place. “Mando, I ca—”

“Hit the target and I’ll marry you,” he says quietly, and you freeze just before impact.

… What? N… No…

Miraculously, you somehow manage to calmly switch the safety on and set the blaster down before turning back to see the helmet staring at you, unmoving.

You… you know it must just be a joke, right? Just a stupid extension to the one he made earlier, it must be. You blink dumbly at him and flick your gaze between the visor and two large black eyes staring at you from the crib, wondering if you glitched or if you’re just hallucinating.

“Uh…” you hear yourself say, even though you’ve got absolutely nothing, but Din doesn’t offer anything else to fill in the gaps of your startled misunderstanding. If you didn’t have such a wild fucking reaction to the words, you'd probably wonder if he actually said them or not—that’s how much he gives away. Silent, so unbelievably silent when you’re begging him to give you at least something. Is he messing with you again? Is he just that confident that you’re going to fail?

It takes forever for you to turn back around and face the target, but you eventually do when he refuses to elaborate. Your heart slams in your chest and you wonder what you’re doing even attempting this.

The moment you lift your trembling arms is the moment you know your heart is pounding too fast—your finger twitches with the wild rush of blood flow and you end up pulling the trigger way before you’re ready. You fire before you’ve checked your sights, you fire before you’ve taken any sort of aim whatsoever, you fire spontaneously enough to surprise even yourself and it—

—it hits dead center.

Your stomach drops and a jolt of some rabid feeling punches through you, you have no idea what it is. You whip around so fast that you get dizzy, seeing him standing there, completely still.

“That was just beginner’s luck,” you quickly reassure him, suddenly feeling faint. Holy shit, holy shit, what the fuck just happened? “Listen—hey, no, listen, I can’t get it again,” you explain shrilly to the utterly dead silence from him. “Look, watch this, double or nothing.”

You spin back around, well aware that absolutely nothing about what you just said or what just happened made any fucking sense at all. Beginner’s luck when you’ve been consistently awful at this, telling him repeatedly to listen when you’re very, very fucking aware he hasn’t said anything, double or nothing on a literal proposal as if double marriage is something that actually exists?

No. Shut up. Don’t even think that word, don’t think about fucking anything. Fire, fire without thinking, just lift the gun and pull the trigger—

You do, and oh. Oh, no.

“Uh?!” Your voice comes out on a squeak, now in a complete fucking panic. What the fuck? No fucking way. Perfect, perfect, the odds are fucking astronomical—another deadly accurate shot. “Ah, um, okay, scratch everything I said—th-third time’s a charm?”

Wide-eyed and having absolutely no clue what you’re doing at this point, you fail to see Din slowly turn his helmet down and to the right as he stands behind you. You go to lift your arms and pull the trigger, but then he suddenly reaches out lightning-quick and bumps your elbow upwards at the very last second.

The abrupt push causes your shot to be angled off course spectacularly and you can’t do anything but look up and gasp in horror, worried it’s going to ricochet off the ceiling and land somewhere this building isn’t architecturally designed to absorb. There’s just enough time to wildly wonder why the fuck he did that—

—but then, like pure magic before your eyes… the beam of plasma adjusts itself in midair.

It fucking bends. Across the length of your entire firing lane, it curves in a downward trajectory and hits the target with absolutely impossible physics.

Your jaw fucking drops and you whip your body around in dumb shock to see Din staring hard at the closed shield next to him.

… that’s not closed.

The baby tilts his head at you and coos happily, one ear tipping up while the other tips down, and you’re completely blown away. Not only at the entirely unexpected demon-power display, but what specifically he was hoping to get out of it. You’re still stuck, blinking down at the adorable little goof with abilities you’ll never understand.

Only, a hand suddenly grabs yours and drags you back to yourself.

“We need to leave,” Din says quietly, switching the lid shut on the hovering crib and pushing it towards the booth’s exit while tugging you along behind him. “I don’t know how many people saw that, we need to leave.”

Sure enough, voices in the next partition over start picking up, likely the only ones in here who had a good enough angle to watch the physically unthinkable shot somehow meet its target, and your adrenaline quickly begins pumping while you keep your head down and power-walk your ass to the door. You don’t know the kind of consequences that could potentially arise from others witnessing the kid’s literal sorcery, but you know you’d rather not take the chance. The voices start growing louder as you three make your quick escape, beginning to ask others around them if they just saw that, but you’re already out of the rectangular adobe structure and long gone by the time anybody steps out of their panels to hear the uproarious accusations of cheating beginning to fly.

***

Stay tuned for the next part!

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin #din djarin x you #star wars #fanfic #reader insert #no-droids

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spunkpunx · 3 years

Text

I Don’t Share - Kai Anderson

Plot: Reader is the only person who Kai Anderson ever really listened to.

Word count: 1899

Warnings: SMUT, Manipulative reader, Smoking, Blood, Aggressive Sex, Mocking, It’s AHS Cult so it’s gonna be dark, Misogyny

I walked down the steps, into the basement. The place he dwelled. The dark web was a strange place, full of internet trolls, but something about Kai Anderson was different. Something in his words garnered attention, and now, it was time to find out.

“Hello?” I called out confidently. At this point in my life, nothing scared me, not even death, but my survival was important. After all, what could I achieve from beyond the grave? To be without fear is to be dangerous.

“Who are you?” a voice called out from the sofa. The man sat there was not the man I expected to see, and I was pleasantly surprised.

“Kai Anderson?” I queried, and he nodded. I had expected someone much less attractive, but Kai’s dark eyes, handsome face and fit body were all things that played into my hands. His eyes bore into me as I walked into the room and sat opposite him. he wore sweatpants, and his shoulder length hair was dyed blue.

“Answer my question, bitch,” he snapped at me, but I just looked at him disapprovingly, taking a cigarette from my pocket and lighting it. He glared at my lack of response, but I made sure to take my time before I replied.

“When a dog bites it’s master, they take it into the yard and put a bullet in its head,” I calmly spoke, resisting a smile at the taken aback expression on his face. The surprise soon turned into rage, and he stood up and grabbed me by the collar of my t-shirt, making me jump.

“I don’t even know you! No bitch will be the master of me!” Kai yelled, and I met his eyes with a level gaze. I gave him a look, a look of indifference, and he released me from his grasp. He stood above me.

“Sit down Kai, I’m not speaking to you until you sit.”

“Fuck off.”

I met his eye with a steely glare, and reluctantly, he took a seat the other side of the coffee table.

“Now, I’m (y/n) (l/n), and I came to see you because I need you,” I began to explain. Kai raised an eyebrow. “There’s something about you Kai, that shocks people, that commands attention, but you’re wasting it away sat sweating in this shitty basement.”

He leant foreword in his seat, starting to listen more attentively. It was almost too easy.

“Now I have a proposal, because I need you to realise your potential,” I continued, and he was captivated.

•

The cult had been running for just over a month. Of course, no one had identified it as what it was yet, but it was coming together as intended. When I first met Kai, I wanted to rile him up and let him lose to wreak havoc on the world, to scare people into action, but after speaking to him, I realised an intelligence more than I had initially thought. It was a waste not to push him forward into something on a national level. Of course, he had been harder to break than I first thought, but eventually I had had him wrapped around my finger using the only weapon women had against men, the weapon that sat between my legs.

Within the ring I took the position of Kai’s right hand and lover, his assistant, and it was widely assumed that I was abused and too love struck by our “Divine Ruler” to realise. As much as they admired him, they feared him. In reality, I was in control. Everything Kai had become was because of me.

I knew I had control at the first “pinky ritual”. As soon as our fingers made contact he dived into the first questions, but by that point I’d already won. He was angry, emotional, irrational. I’d got under his skin. It didn’t take long for me to turn the questioning round onto him, and soon he was spilling his guts to me. Everything about his parents, his brother and sister, every fear, hate, love and regret in his life he gave to me. We had sex and with that he’d given me all of his power.

Despite the impression that the rest of the cult held, Kai was ready to lick the shit off of my shoe if I asked. Of course, that didn’t mean I had absolute control. His ideas were his own, I just gave him a push in the right direction. After the killing of Bob Thompson and his gimp, I had pulled Kai’s mask off and kissed him, hard, to show my appreciation. He pulled our bodies closer together and when he brushed his finger across my lip I could taste the blood on it. From that point on, there was no better sight for me than a bloodied Kai Anderson.

•

“I don’t share Kai,” I stated, coldly, as he walked down into the basement. I had been sat on the sofa, waiting for him to return.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t lie to me,” I spat. “You’ve been upstairs fucking Mrs. Lavender,” I pointed out, referring to Meadow.

“There’s a reason,” he defended himself simply. “She needed to think I loved her so she’ll be willing to die for me. It’s exactly what you asked.”

“I don’t think you understand,” I replied slowly, opening my legs to reveal no underwear on beneath my skirt, and I noticed Kai’s next words catch in his throat. “You belong to me. To this.” I gestured my womanhood. He knelt in front of me on the floor, tracing his hands along my thighs, temptation in his eyes.

“No, I don’t,” Kai spat. I snapped my thighs shut and he pulled his hands away sharply. “I am the Divine Ruler,” he announced, standing to lean over me, taking my throat in his hand and squeezing slightly. I looked him back in his dark eyes coolly, daring him to do what he was threatening to do. Kai didn’t have the strength in him to kill me.

“I made you what you are.” I felt his grip tighten. “You’re nothing without me,” I croaked, my voice hoarse as he cut off my breath. His grip tightened more, and for a moment I almost considered he might go through with it. I saw a tear run down his face and then he let go. He dropped his head, tears running down his face, and I opened my arms to him. He dropped down to the sofa, next to me, falling into my embrace. He buried his head into my shoulder and sobbed, while I stroked his hair, shushing him.

“I’m sorry,” he almost whimpered. I pushed him down of the sofa, back on his knees in front of me, opening my legs. He sighed in appreciation, his eyes darkening with lust. As he reached his hand towards my leg I smacked it away.

“No, you have to beg,” I instructed. He looked up to meet my eye. There’s nothing more dangerous than a humiliated man, he had once said, but here he was, willing to get down on his knees in front of me and beg for my attention.

“Please, forgive me, (y/n). Let me touch you,” he pleaded pathetically. I leant forward and took his jaw in my hand, guiding his lips up to meet my own. He desperately leaned into the kiss, sitting up on his knees to pull us closer. His hand ran along my thigh and brushed across my heat, and when I didn’t pull away he rubbed the rough pad of his thumb against my clit before pushing a finger inside of me. I let myself moan against his kiss. He added another finger and curled them inside of me, swallowing my noises up with his lips. I pulled away from the kiss, panting.

“I want you to show me how much you hate me Kai,” I told him, and he removed his fingers from me, confused. I continued, pulling my shirt over my head leaving me in my bra. “Oh, I know you do. The way I make you feel confused, the way I treat you. I let you know how much of a piece of shit you are and you let me tell you that. What kind of man are you? You hate the way I make your prick harder than anyone else could,” I tease, reaching to grab his erect cock through his trousers. I pull my knees back, showing my full pussy out in front of him and that’s all he takes to snap. He stands up and pushes me down on the couch, kneeling himself between my knees before pulling his shirt over his head. It’s hard not to admire his muscular body. It’s no wonder he could get people to believe he was their god, he looked exactly like one. He unzipped his jeans and pulled them down, freeing his cock from his boxers and stroking it while looking at me.

“You’re right,” he told me harshly, grabbing my jaw and resting his thumb in my mouth so I kept it open. “I do fucking hate you.” With that he leant forward towards me and spat directly into my mouth. His harsh words were making me drip with lust. Without any warning he plunged his cock into my warmth, grunting and dropping his hands to my grip onto my waist and the flesh of my stomach. He pounded into me relentlessly, letting out small moans of pleasure. I panted, and when he hit a spot inside of me I let out a breathy moan. I felt a sting across my face, realising that he’d slapped me. He moved a hand to my thigh, pressing it back toward my chest. He growled as he hit my cervix, his hands heavy and his grip tight. Kai grabbed my throat and leant over my body to give the most bruising kiss, and as he pushed my legs back, his cock hit even deeper in me. I even whimpered as he mercilessly pounded into me, harder and harder. His kiss travelled, down my neck, and I felt him take the skin between his teeth, leaving bite marks. I took his head in my hands, fingers tangled in his hair, and I connected our mouths once more, tongues and teeth colliding. He let out another desperate moan. Even when he hated me I still controlled him. The room was filled with the sound of wet kisses and skin slapping. I felt the pleasure build and reached down to rub myself, reaching a shuddering climax and clenching around Kai. He let out a groan and swore, pounding into me faster, his thrusts sloppy. He pulled my bra down and grabbed onto my tits, desperately panting and he brought himself closer to finish. I could do nothing but moan and tremble as his thrusting overstimulated me. His breathy moans brought me to finish a second time, a wave of pleasure hitting me and making me shake again. Kai groaned, pushing himself balls deep inside me and spilling hot cum. He collapsed down on top of me and I let him rest his head on my chest, wrapping my legs around his waist and kissing the top of his head.

“I do think I could love you, Kai,” I murmured against his hair, and I had no reason to say it, but I truly meant it.

#kai anderson #kai anderson x reader #ahs cult #ahs imagine #evan peters #evan peters x reader #ahs x reader #kai anderson smut #ahs smut #american horror story #tate langdon #kit walker #jimmy darling #rory monahan #james patrick march #kyle spencer

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lillotte17 · 2 years

Text

Aili sits at the base of a large tree, whistling to herself as she weaves clovers and daisies and violets into a single long chain. It is slow going with only one hand, but she has to teach herself to be self-sufficient with the new limitations of her body, and it seems like a simple enough distraction for the time being. The wind rustles the leaves softly. Birds warble distant love songs. The sunlight is strong and bright through the branches overhead.

A shadow passes, so fleeting fast that she certainly would have missed it if it wasn’t what she had been waiting for. There is no difference to the scene, save for a faint sense of presence. Like eyes watching from afar.

Aili tilts her head questioningly, but does not lift her gaze from the flowers in her lap.

“Will you sit and talk with me a while?” she wonders. “I have missed the sound of your voice these past two years.”

“What would you have me say?”

She glances up and meets the gaze of a large black wolf with eyes as blues as winter. He is sitting on his haunches, as requested, but he is a good distance off. Well beyond the reach of her fingers.

“Whatever you’d like,” she shrugs. “I’m assuming you won’t answer any of the questions I want to ask, so we might as well start with something you’d prefer to talk about. You can even tell me stories about spirits and ruins, like you used to.”

“If this is some sort of trick to get me to reveal my plans or my location, it will not work,” he tells her gently.

“If you assumed it was a trick, why did you come?” Aili asks, returning her attention to her flower chain.

“…There was no word of you after the Exalted Council.” He sighs at last. “Nothing from agents or rumors or spirits for more than a month. I was… I considered the possibility that even with my intervention, the remnants of the Anchor’s power might have proven fatal.”

“Is it really so horrible to admit that you were worried about me?”

“It is not horrible,” he shakes his head slightly. “It is simply that…I think it would be best to keep this conversation as professional as possible. For both our sakes.”

“Is that why you chose that shape?”

“Yes.”

“I see.”

Aili sets her work aside for the moment, stretching out her cramped fingers and rolling her shoulders a bit to loosen them up. She leans her head back against the rough tree bark behind her, face tilted upwards towards the sky. A deep breath that seems to convey wistfulness and exasperation parts her lips.

“Do you remember this place?” she asks.

“The Emerald Graves,” he replies easily.

“Just beyond that rise to your right is the Rush of Sighs. When you cross the stream, there is a large mural painted onto the rockface that dates back to at least the time of Halamshiral, if not before. It was overgrown with vines, but we still stopped for a moment to admire its beauty.”

“I remember.” He says softly, uncertain of the point she is aiming to make, but willing enough to let her continue.

“It was the first time you held my hand.” Aili smiles to herself, but does not turn her gaze towards him. “We had only really agreed to a relationship a week or so beforehand, and we hadn’t set any boundaries about public displays of affection, but I knew that it would probably best if our feelings were kept...discreet. I had been thinking about you all day, and I was so nervous. And excited, too. Your shoulder bumped mine when you moved to pull some of the vines away from the painting, and I just about jumped out of my skin. I wasn’t going to press for anything more, but then your knuckles brushed the back of my hand in passing and I just…grabbed onto you. My heart was pounding in my ears. I was certain you’d find an excuse to pull away.”

She looks him in the eye.

“But you didn’t. You laced our fingers together and squeezed my hand. As though you had been waiting for me to offer it all along.”

“I am sorry.” And he means it, too.

Aili blinks at him.

“Sorry for what, exactly?” She presses. “Do you regret that you held my hand?”

“No,” he answers, “But I regret that the memory of it causes you pain.”

“...I am not hurt that you chose to take my hand, Solas,” she frowns, “I am hurt that you would not do the same now, even if you wanted to. I am hurt that you hid things from me, even when I had every right to know them. I am hurt that you will not face me as your equal and give me the truth about what you plan to do to change this world back into the one you knew before.”

“It is because you are my equal that I cannot tell you,” He sighs. “If you were a slow-witted simpleton, it would hardly matter what secrets I divulged, as you would have very little chance of figuring out how to turn them against me.”

“Is that the reason why you didn’t tell me that you are Fen’Harel?” Aili scoffs. “Or the reason you lied about the vallaslin?”

“I did not lie about the vallaslin.” He insists.

“But you didn’t tell me the whole truth either, did you?” She snaps back. “You told me they were slave markings, but you let me continue thinking that they were the symbols of our ancient gods. Real gods, not mortal elven tyrants who kept most of us in chains. Don’t you think that bit of context makes a difference? A madwoman who made monsters for fun and wanted nothing more than to burn the world for her own glory has her marks on me. On my face. And now I have to think of that every time I look in the mirror. And I have to think of you. And how you could have taken them from me. How I would have let you take them if I had known. I… You should have told me! …You should have told me. I had a right to know.”

There are tears winding their way down her cheeks. She wipes at them angrily with the back of her hand. Her are eyes fixed firmly on the dirt by her feet. Furious.

“Fuck.” She mutters. “I swore I wasn’t going to cry.”

“I am sorry.” He says again, sounding close to tears himself. “That…was not the subject I had planned on discussing with you that evening. My explanation was rushed, and my words more poorly chosen than I would have liked. You deserve…better than anything I have managed to give you.”

“If you didn’t take me there to tell me about the vallaslin,” Aili sniffles, “then what did you plan to say?”

“I was going to tell you everything,” Solas says, “Every truth I had been withholding. Every secret I wish I could share with you now. I intended to throw myself into your mercy, and see if either of us could make it out the other side.”

“You were going to tell me that you’re the Dread Wolf?”

“Among other things.”

“What stopped you?” She wonders, her eyes still bright and sad.

“I…am not certain it is wise to revisit those memories,” he replies, his ears tilting back in a show of canine unease. “I am afraid I have no answers you would enjoy hearing.”

“I am not asking you for words of comfort.” Aili frowns at him. “I’m asking for the truth. You promised that when Coryphues was defeated you would make things clear, but you didn’t. You just ran off into the wilderness like a thief in the night.”

“If I had waited any longer, Leliana would have had agents follow me when I left.”

“Bullshit!” Aili growls, “You had access to the eluvian network, you could have slipped away from her people and been half way across Thedas if you wanted to. You just didn’t want to explain yourself once your plan with the orb failed. …You just didn’t want to see me anymore.”

“That is untrue.” He insists.

“You didn’t even spare a moment to say goodbye!”

“Would you have let me go if I had?”

“Of course, I would!” Aili says, sounding affronted. “What do you take me for? Some love-addled tyrant who throws her would-be paramours into the dungeons if they refuse her?”

“Would you have let me leave if I had told you that I am Fen’Harel?”

“I…I don’t know.” She sighs, deflating a bit. “I’m not sure I would have believed it without any sort of proof. It is strange enough believing it even now. To think that I have personally met two of the legendary figures hailed as gods among my people, and I offered my service to one, and my heart to the other… Varric is right, my life is too fucking weird.”

She laughs, and it is a brittle aching sound.

“…The reason I did not tell you the truth that night, as I had intended, was because I realized that there was no good outcome.” Solas admits at last. “If you had learned that I am the Dread Wolf, you might have simply rejected me out of fear or hatred, but you might have also tried to lock me away, or worse. And then I would have lost not only you, but any last chance to recover my orb and heal the world by bringing down the Veil as well.”

“And if I had accepted you?”

“I am afraid the outcome would not have been much better.” He huffs in bitter amusement, and she can near hear the sardonic smile in his voice. “I could either choose to take you with me, and expose you to endless deaths and horrors as you watched the raw chaos of a dying world and the madness of the Evanuris and their lust for power and vengeance. Or I could give up all hope of my plan’s success and spend the rest of your life at your side. I could watch you age and die, as I remain as I am now. Unchanging and alone in my grief. The world would decay and sicken further, and a hundred years from now, or perhaps even less, it would limp into its grave of its own accord, without my interference. The sweetness of the time we shared together would be marred by tragedy, along with the shame and guilt of a duty left to rot. You would die, and the world would die, and all of it would be my own doing.”

He tilts his head slightly as he looks at her, his gaze soft and brimming with intent.

“Despite knowing all of that, I was tempted, even so.”

Aili smiles at that. Small and fragile and bright as candle-flame. Barely alight for more than a few moments before snuffing out again.

“Thank you,” she says. “I suppose knowing what we both wanted weighs very little against the tides of duty and fate. But it’s something.”

“Something good?” he wonders.

“Mostly good.” Aili concedes.

“Then, if I may ask,” Solas begins curiously, “Was this small piece of truth the entire reason you vanished after the Exalted Council?”

“Of course not,” she chuckles. “Do you know how bad those potions that block you off from the Beyond taste? A few soft words are hardly worth a month of that kind of suffering.”

“Then why…” he trails off, seeming confused.

She cocks her head to one side, something almost like mischief curling across her face. Almost like the way she used to look at him. Before the broken orb, and the broken promises and broken hearts.

Almost, but not quite.

“I am testing a theory.” She tells him mildly.

“A theory?” Solas blinks. “You wished to see if concern would draw me to you?”

“Hm, not exactly.” Aili replies. “When I kissed you in the Fade, you shied away initially, but then you came back. Twice, actually. You waited for me to take your hand, but then you were the one who kept holding it the rest of the day. You lured me into the crossroads to stop the Qunari, but you could have taken care of it on your own if you wanted to, or you could have sent agents to deal with me and the Inquisition. But you knew I needed you to survive the Anchor, so you came yourself. When I reach for you, you always answer. Not immediately, in most cases, but you do.”

“Ah, I see.” He says, a sour note of unhappiness sharpening his tone. “So, you wished to see if my affections could still be leveraged as a potential weakness.”

“Don’t say that like you think I could ever bring myself to use it as a means to harm you, Ma sa’lath,” she admonishes gently.

“Then what is the purpose of gaining this insight?”

“I am offering you my hand again, Solas.” Aili tells him solemnly. “It’s the only one I’ve got left, but I’m holding it out to you anyway. I’m betting that you won’t take it today, but…I’m also betting that you’ll take it eventually. Before things go too far.”

“So, you would have me abandon my duty after all?”

“I would have you share it!” She huffs out in exasperation. “I refuse to believe that unbridled chaos and death is the only way to set things right in the world again.”

“But it is.”

“If that were the case, then why bother giving Corypheus the orb?” she counters, sticking out her chin stubbornly. “If your current plan was the only thing that would work, you would have used it first. You changed your plans when they were no longer tenable. So. We can change them again.”

“It is not that simple.” He sighs.

“But it could be!” She insists. “I…I understand why you made the choices that you did before. I don’t know if I can forgive you for all of them, but I do understand. However, you can’t just make a decision about the fate of the whole world because you have regrets. And you certainly shouldn’t refuse the help and counsel of people who care for both you and this world. There is always more than one path to reach a destination. We can find it together.”

“I…wish I could believe that was possible.”

“You will.”

“You sound very certain,” he nearly laughs, but he cannot quite bear to.

“I am.” Aili says firmly. “You are not a god. You never wished to be. You are not a monster, though you would make yourself one now. You are only a man, when all is said and done. Only Solas, whom I love. Mortal, and fallible, and mine. …And Solas knows his limitations. He knows what pride costs. What it has already cost. Do not repeat the mistakes of the past.”

“The mistakes of the past are why I must do this.” He tells her. “I…have long admired your tenacity. Your untamed hope. You burn so brightly here, even without the Anchor.”

He gives her a look.

“I assume this is not your only plan to stop me?”

“…It is the one I prefer.”

“I see.”

“I hope you never do.” Aili says earnestly. “Not everyone believes that you are deserving of mercy. My word alone will not be enough to hold them back forever.”

“I am not deserving of mercy,” he replies in kind.

Aili frowns at him.

“I don’t want you to die.”

“I know, Vhenan,” he says gently. “And it is the kindest gift I have yet to receive. Unfortunately, it may be beyond either of us to stop. All things must end. Empires and love affairs and Dread Wolves alike. Even sweet dreams such as this one, I fear.”

“Wait!” Aili begins, caught in a panic. “Solas, don’t-”

But it is already too late. The woods and the wolf and the sunlight vanish. There is nothing but her darkened bedchamber and a rosy hint of dawn creeping out from beneath her curtains.

Aili slams her remaining fist against the bedside table with a curse.

#solavallen #solas x lavellan #Solas #Lavellan #Aili Lavellan #fic #oops idk how this happened #i couldn't think of a clever title #just been thinking about Them a lot

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palaceofpassion · 3 years

Text

Tempverse: Episode 2: Camping Time!

Here is episode 2, which I had to cut down cause going past 5k is starting to drive me insane! Also my finger has been locking up.

Pyrrha Nikos was a lot of things, she was a champion, a S Grade Fighter, someone who always thought about doing the right thing. Someone who believed her destiny would be to save as many as she could, even if it were to cost her life. She was many things, and one thing that many forgot or didn’t realize, was that chiefly among everything else she was still a young woman. Another thing very few knew was that she was an actor, a person who could put on a front when pressured by others and who could mask how she really felt. And finally something that no one knew, because of the former reasons, was that she was a Grade A pervert. Though really, could you blame the young woman? As previously stated she WAS a young woman, one who was currently blossoming into her full youth, one who had urges and desires. One who was currently in a field filled with health… strong… robust young individuals who were practically spewing out sexual pheromones.

In fact, she had been invited to no less than 4 orgies in her past! So yes she was a bit of a pervert, often having wild fantasies about her competition together, or them alone, or other women and men it really didn’t matter to her. But one thing she was, something that oftentimes got her called a stiff, was someone who was devoted to the idea of destiny and love. Despite her… growing lust, she was strong willed so much so that she really never saw the point in participating in sexually charged campaigns. So despite the invitations she declined, albeit a small part of her HAD regretted that decision a few times. Though when ‘accidents’ happened and said competitors ended up in quite the pickle, well she was most grateful to have stuck to her guns.

Still to sate her urges she fantasized, which wasn’t too difficult when shower rooms were all unisex. Despite her attempts to keep her eyes low she HAD seen quite a few individuals in their bare and well… she may have had some seriously twisted thoughts. Like that one time, her old classmate and rival Arslan was actually the sweetest of girls! Pyrrha wasn’t sure if she was like her or not, hiding her devious desires, or was simply naive enough to not care… but there had been times where Pyrrha had thought about her rival being pinned. The very thought of various men and women taking their turns with the gorgeous dark skinned muscular fighter had seen her through SEVERAL heated nights.

So yes… Pyrrha Nikos was in fact a pervert… one who may or may not have had several metal piercings at various peculiar places… ones that she made SURE to keep hidden. She was fine with being called prudish, fine with no one knowing her secrets or her desires. It was easier that way, easier to be seen as abstinent, clean, pure. So she made a vow to herself, never to display herself in public, to hide her dirty little secrets taking them to the grave. She’d always been good at it, she never thought it would change.

Yet, as she rested beneath the cold droplets of a running shower head, she found herself unable to concentrate. Her thoughts laying back to the night before, the soft husky moans reverberating from within arms reach, or… or her own lack of inhibitions. She could still feel the sensation of her fingers running through her soft soaking pussy, her digits roaming across the plump lips squeezing and grinding against her needy flesh. Her new friends lusty moans still filled her ears, the wild scent of… of Jaune’s seed still clung to her nose. Every breath was filled with a deep murky aroma. Everytime she closed her eyes she could still envision the bag shifting as they… as they… as they plunged themselves into one another.

She could only imagine, only DREAM about what was happening beneath those sheets, what they were doing to one another. Pyrrha was an observant woman, always keeping an eye out for competition… always watching for an opportunity to imagine. And… while others had ‘chosen’ to mock Jaune in his surprisingly adorable onesie… in her perverse and twisted little thoughts had chosen to take a peak downstairs. Oh how easy it was to see, she was surprised at the lack of attention his lower region had received, perhaps the only other person to notice was the woman who had struck first?

As thoughts of the night before continued to flutter through her thoughts, her hands began to slowly descend down her tight finely fit stomach. Fingers, sliding between the curvature and creases of her abs roaming lower beneath her pelvis and finding themselves sinking between her drenched lips.

Yet as her hands began to seep into her flesh, her thoughts fell back to their conversation. Her eyes shut tightly as she bit her lip, everything coming back to her as clear as day.

The young Nikos had never been so far away from home, even in her old school she was still within walking distance of her family house. Even as she closed her eyes to try to lul herself into a comfortable rest she found herself unable to. She wondered, as her heart paced quickly within her breasts, if her new friends, oh a word she’d so adored to use, were already fast asleep. Perhaps they were not? Mayhaps she would be able to start a brief conversation with them. And yet, as she willed herself to fumble around, she heard them speak. Their voices but a soft whisper, almost drowned out by the snoring in the distance.

The young woman’s heart began to race, the sound of the two laying just within arms reach whisked its way towards her. “I don’t belong here…” She stilled, her thoughts running rampant at what Jaune meant. He was approved, he must have belonged here, right? “I… I faked my transcripts.” Quickly her hands wrapped around her lips forcing down the gasp that nearly escaped. She… she shouldn’t be hearing this! But… he DIDN’T belong here! Her heart began to crack, she’d just made a friend, and now she would have to part. She WOULD tell the Headmaster, even… even if she destroyed their new friendship she couldn’t let him get hurt, couldn’t let him hurt anyone else. She knew… knew that… there was a selfish part of her that didn’t want to.

Despite her reservations, they continued to talk, her thoughts in shambles as they came upon May’s response. She heard them shift around, nearly drowning out May’s soft, “I’ll protect you.” Pyrrha wondered, was that what friends did? Did a good friend still let something dangerous happen to their new companions? She didn’t know, she’d never been close to anyone before… but… but… then they got to the conversation about her. She hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, hadn’t meant to… but now she found herself completely enraptured by their muted musings. “She’s really pretty…” “She’s apparently famous…” “Doesn’t matter…” “She just wants friends…”

She bit upon her lips, fighting back the choking sobs that were sure to follow. Her heart swelled and body trembled. She’d never had anyone talk about her that way, they… their voices were genuinely concerned. They wanted to be around her, they really didn’t know who she was, yet they wanted to be with her. She heard the Schnee’s name brought up, but mostly in jest, though she too had noticed the lustful glances that the young Heiress had passed her way. Despite herself, despite the previous thoughts of turning Jaune in… she decided that maybe it would be okay to be a bit selfish this time around?

Then something she wasn’t EVEN sure wasn't part of one of her fantasies happened.

Even as Pyrrha’s legs trembled beneath her, her painted breath washed out by the hot flooding water above her and her toes curling into the hard tile floor, she found the events of last night to be too outrageous. Her fingers curled within her quivering hole, grasping at the soft edge of her lips and plunging deeper into her depths. Squelch her ears were surrounded by the soft sound of liquid and air passing between her fingers and her pussy. Her soft vulva folded beneath her tight white knuckles as she squeezed around her digits. Her tongue whisked around her free hand, flicking between her fingers as she squeezed upon the strong pink muscle.

She could only imagine what they were doing, and oh how it delighted her! Just the thought of May’s small short stacked body being penetrated by that ridiculous monster between Jaune’s legs set her off! Oh Brothers’ she wished she could have seen it, just… oh just watching them mate would have been so very delightful~ Would her little stomach bulge as his member punched into her? Would those huge, delicious wobbly tits jiggle and bounce with every thrust? She felt something shake inside of her while she pushed her head against the hot tile bracing herself for what was to come.

“Oh gods oh gods!” She couldn’t stop herself any further, pinning her head against the tile, her ass wiggled expectantly. Her mind was cracking, turning hazy as she continued to think about what she’d experienced yesterday. She’d seen so many, seen a ton of things, but never that close, or! Or that BIG, THAT HUGE! Jaune’s massive cock hidden and tucked away, May’s massive bouncing soft breasts hidden away by her thick jacket. How either of them moved was beyond her, but she couldn’t get the image out of her mind! She wanted to touch them! To suck on them, to feel both of them!

Her eyes shut tight as she imagined herself, pinned between both Jaune and May, her face buried between May’s massive breasts rubbing herself back and forth as her fingers squeezed into those plump swells. She imagined Jaune behind her, his massive GIANT FUCKING COCK, Piercing her insides pushing all the way into her depths burying himself into her. She couldn’t stop herself as her fingers grew faster and faster. Her body quaked as her nails curved into her soaked pussy.

She wanted something else, something bigger, harder, something to fill her with thick hot seed! She wanted Jaune to bury into her, to breed her and pin her! Despite her lustful experiences in the past, she’d NEVER felt the desire to be bred. To have someone pump all their baby batter inside of her oven. She’d never wanted to motorboat someone so badly before, to bury her face into a woman’s breasts, to suck and pinch them as much as she wanted now! Her body was on the edge, her womb quivered in hope and anticipation. She knew it was something more, something far deeper than a physical attraction. They had treated her differently, had ignored her status that… that had turned her on far more than it should have! And… and they both had a scent to them, an intoxicating aroma that she oh gods! Just thinking about the smell coming off of their bodies that morning! It was still trapped in her nose, her thoughts befuddled as she was getting to the edge. “DICK DICK COCK! TITS BREASTS MILKBAGS! BREED ME BREED ME BREED ME! FUCK ME FUCK ME FUCK ME FUCK ME FUCK ME FUCK ME! COCK COCK COCK COCK COCK DICK DICK DICK! CUM CUM CUM CUM! INSIDE INSIDE INSIDE!” SHE WANTED SO BAD! SO BAD! “SUCK IT! SUCK DICK! SWALLOW! DRINK!” She tried as she might to stifle those last words, thanking the brothers she was alone.

Her lips sucked on her plunged digits as she tried to muffle her coming orgasm. With a silent scream she fell to her knees. Her core tightening inside, no one would notice the sticky clear fluids being washed away by the falling faucet water. Her chest heaved as she let her mind clear of the thoughts of last night. “How are those two doing?”

By the time Jaune had woken, May and Pyrrha had already gone off, obviously starting their day. Fighting back the residual grogginess he began to shift, slowly sitting up. Slowly he began to clench his hand into a grip and then release it, repeating it a few times to make sure that he wasn’t dreaming. After a few cycles, he felt his blood warm inside his body at the realization and dawning of what had happened last night. He could still feel May’s body pressed against his, the phantom warmth of their embracing forms floated within his thoughts. “So it wasn’t a dream…”

While he wanted to relish in satisfaction, the sound of a bell chiming above stripped him from his thoughts. “Right… I have a lot to do today.” Though as he stared down, the sticky feeling between his thighs was still ever present, he knew the first thing he would have to do was take a shower…

Thankfully it didn’t take too long to shower, and it had been a rather uneventful affair, well minus a few of the stares he’d been getting as he made his way over. Perhaps it was because of his close proximity to Pyrrha? Or maybe they’d caught notice of his and May’s little endeavors last night? He wasn’t really sure… and honestly he had more important things to think about, like surviving today. He couldn’t shake the feeling of how out of his depths he was. Everywhere he looked he was met with confident grins, robust bodies, people who KNEW they had this… people who knew they belonged here.

While he, Jaune Arc, truly didn’t belong here, he wasn’t stupid… well okay he probably wasn’t what one would call street smart, it was kind of hard to be with how much time he spent in bed. But! But, he’d been given the best education that his parents could afford, and thankfully that was quite a bit! He’d also had his sisters help him out from time to time, they’d all been such wonderful supporters. Also being bedridden had given him a lot of free time! So he’d read, and no not just comics though he really did enjoy those, no he’d gone out of his way on reading about the outside. Reading about Grimm, reading about how to survive, not once had he ever given up hope on being a huntsman. So even though he’d honestly felt like he’d never get the chance, he’d still sworn to try.

So yeah he wasn’t stupid, he knew oh how he absolutely knew that au… that Headmistress Glynda and Headmaster Ozpin knew his transcripts were fake. Which made it all the more shocking when they’d accepted him in. His parents hadn’t taken it well at first, but they’d relented when he talked it out with them. His family had their reservations about him coming to Beacon, so they did their best to try to get him ready in the short amount of time that they’d had left. He knew that none of them expected him to pass, they were banking on him flunking out during initiation. He knew… or at least he felt that Un… that Headmaster Ozpin was just humoring him. He knew that of course but… but he had to take the chance!

And yet, he knew how right they were, how he didn’t even believe in himself. You know, if he was being honest with himself right now, he’d say he was scared. Because he was he was honestly doing everything in his power to keep from shaking. He was terrified, terrified that he was putting his life on the line for something that he had no right of doing. He didn’t belong here, he was just some kid whose head had been filled with fantasy after fantasy. From the stories of his parents, to his older sister. He’d always wanted to see the world, wanted to experience what was behind his walls. So… even with how terrified he was, even ignoring the terrible shakes running through his body, he decided not just then but long ago. That no matter what, he’d do what he had to do. And, even has he knew that he could be facing his death at any moment, he decided that dying while doing something he wanted to do was far better than not doing anything at all.

Besides it wasn’t all that bad, he’d actually gotten to make friends! Him! Jaune Arc, quite possibly the most socially inept person in existence! Heck it wasn’t even just Pyrrha or May, there was that gi- “Jaune!”

At the call of his voice he was suddenly pulled from his thoughts. His head snapped to his right, as his gaze fell upon a small girl within a redhood. “Jaune!” She called out once again, a smile spread across his face. Yeah, this wasn’t all that bad.

“Hey Ruby.”

“Jaune! Jaune! It’s good to see you!”

How could he not feel better as he watched one of his new friends practically bounce on over to him, though the girl tagging along behind her seemed far less amused. “So sis, this is the boyfriend you were talking about.” He felt his cheeks flash hot for a moment, though only for a moment as he realized the sisterly tone coming from the girl. And as someone who had to endure CONSTANT teasing from seven sisters, he’d grown a resistance to it.

Ruby however, seemed to still lack that natural but very important defense. “What?! NO!” The young hooded girl floundered around trying to think of an excuse without also insulting her new friend at the same time. “I’m not looking for anyone! Evenifhewasreallyniceandhelpedmeout!”

There was a moment of silence between the three of them, however only for a moment as both Jaune and Yang began to burst out in a cacophonic laughter. “Oh Rubes, never change.”

And just like a kicked puppy, the young girl eyed her sister and pouted. Something that was giving Jaune serious deja vu vibes from his own little sisters. He wondered if it was just a universal sister thing or if perhaps he just didn’t have enough data. “That was mean Yang!”

The elder sister pulled the younger into a tight hug rubbing her face against her, “Oh Rubes, it's fine! So.” Jaune blinked as she brought her attention towards him, “No bunny pajamas today?” This time, however, he felt his face grow a small tinge of red as he scratched the back of his head.

“Uhm haha, no not right now at least. Though they’re honestly really comfortable.”

“And stylish too.”

Ah, thank goodness he’d had all that sister training or he may have thought that was a real compliment. He wasn’t exactly the best at picking out sarcasm, but that definitely was one. “I mean, I like them enough, and they were a gift from one of my little sisters.”

That had the unexpected effect of pulling the grin off her face and bringing her to a more serious look. It was like she was pondering something for a moment before she started talking, “Family gifts ARE important.” The blonde woman began to gently rub her hands through Ruby’s hair, running her fingers through the dark locks and pulling her close. “Okay, you got me there then.”

Jaune smiled at the small victory. “Oh uhm, I’m Jaune, Jaune Arc.” Reaching out his hand for a shake, which the girl replicated though she may have squeezed a bit too tight as he had to fight back a yelp.

“Yang, Yang Xiao Long, Ruby’s big sister.” When she released his hand he felt it pulse, “She has a seriously strong grip!” “So you on your way to get your gear then?”

“Yeah, it's almost time I think, and I don’t wanna be late.” “I’d rather be there early, otherwise I’m going to fret all day.”

Finally Ruby chimed back in, “Then we can all go together!” The excitable girl hopped around the taller blondes with a bright smile on her face. He couldn’t help but feel a bit of a confidence boost after witnessing Ruby’s own confidence. She must believe that she had this in the bag, and if someone as young as her could do it? Then well he could at the very least try, even if he failed at the end of the day he could say he at least made an attempt. And honestly, that's all he could ever ask of himself at this point.

“Yeah, that sounds like a good idea.” He could at the very least give it his all. And who knows, maybe things will turn out better than he’d expected.

May found that she was practically floating! Even the little part of her that screamed and chided her for last night’s acts was quashed down by how overall delighted she was. She’d done it! She’d practically confessed to her long time crush, and they’d almost gone all the way. It had been an absolutely fantastic experience, one that she could only HOPE would get outdone when they finally DID have their first time together. And as she all but glided across the Beacon grounds, she found herself still soaking in the memories of his touch. She could practically still feel his body around hers, his big round cock sliding between her plump thighs, or his hands grasping onto her bare bottom. Or oh how could she forget, the feeling his hot white seed soaking in her panties, foaming around the curves of her pussy.

Just the thought of it sent shivers running up her spine and making her core clench in joy. Though, and as much as she wanted to keep on with the memory, she had things to do. So, she’d left her friend behind that morning, wanting to let him get as much sleep as he could before they HAD to get up. She knew things were going to be rough for him, there was no way that whatever training his parents had given him was going to be enough. She highly doubted he’d had any official training either, so she would make due on her promise. She would protect him, and watch out for him. But first thing first she needed to get herself in the mood.

She’d spent a lot of time cleaning out her gear, her sniper though on the simpler side of things required a lot of attention and maintenance. Something she went through on a daily basis to make sure that it was still functioning properly. She would much rather be over prepared rather than not prepared, if things went bad after all. This of course meant that she was the first one in the locker rooms. It also meant that she was there when other people started to come in. She heard a few passing remarks about her getting close to Pyrrha, or how she had gotten along with the scraggly looking blonde, but she ignored them. Thankfully, and perhaps part of the reason WHY she put so much attention into her maintenance was because of how it let her wash out her normal shyness.

She was able to ignore the dreadful thoughts of dealing with others, of having to face other people. It let her simply concentrate on something that wouldn’t judge her, or talk about her behind her back. She could just put her all into making sure that the very thing keeping her alive was working. And that was something she could get behind, something she truly enjoyed. So she ignored the conversations going on around her, and gratefully so. Though, there was one conversation she found herself almost completely unable to ignore. Thankfully she’d finished her preparations by that point.

“So Pyrrha, have you thought about whose team you would want to be on.”

“I’m not quite sure. I was planning on letting the chips fall where they may.”

“Uhm, excuse me?”

Okay, that was enough familiar voices to grab her attention, though as she finally snapped out of her own little world she realized how very few people were in the locker room now. As far as she could see it was only herself, the Schnee, Jaune, Pyrrha, and two girls off in the distance. “Oh, it's a good thing I finished.” She wouldn’t want to be late after all.

Though, she felt a chill run down her spine as she began to watch the rather painful event in front of her unfold.

“What do you want?” She flinched, if looks could kill she was sure that the Schnee would be charged with murder.

Poor Jaune didn’t seem to notice though, “I’m sorry I was just wondering if you two could move please? My stu-”

“How dare you! Do you not know who this is?!” Oh she wasn’t going to let him finish. She wasn’t sure she should join in, but… Jaune would have done it for her. Letting out a sigh she walked up to the group. Though by this point the Schnee had begun to make Pyrrha quite uncomfortable if the pained expression she had on her face was anything to go by.

“And do you think you deserve to be on the same team as her?!”

“I uhm…”

“He… he didn’t… say anything about that though?” May despite her normal meekness decided to chime in. This of course had the unwanted but expected effect of earning her the Schnee’s wrath.

“And WHO are you?” Oh jeez, how could a girl just a bit smaller than her be so frightening? It was like dealing with an angry chihuahua.

Though, thankfully before May had to respond, Pyrrha decided to comment. “Ms. Schnee, that’s enough.” May was quite surprised at Pyrrha’s hardened voice as she gazed down upon the little Snow White. “I believe that you’ve been rude enough as it was, Jaune here wasn’t even asking to be on a team.” She turned her attention to Jaune, “But I would be delighted to be.”

May smiled as Pyrrha gave Jaune a reassuring grin, the young boy’s face turning a deep crimson as he sputtered out a few nonsensical words.

“Now that's most un…”

“I believe he was simply asking us if we could move. Isn’t that right Jaune?”

“Yes please, you’re uh, in front of my locker.”

The Schnee blinked as she turned towards the number in Jaune’s hand, and then the locker behind her. Thankfully she had enough and stayed silently shortly after, huffing as she decided to take her leave.

Frankly Jaune had no idea what to do in this situation, it had been awkward enough with the girl who’d already probably didn’t like him, just kind of threatening him. “Well… that was interesting.”

Pyrrha simply smiled his way, something that caught both May and Jaune’s attention as they felt a small warm feeling churn inside of them. “I hope neither of you are bothered by any of what she said.”

“None here.” Jaune shook his head, he didn’t really get famous people.

“That’s the same for me.” May found herself stating what she felt was obvious. Despite her shyness, she liked to be upfront about things.

A warm cozy feeling fell upon the trio, only to be interrupted by the other two students still in the room. “THAT WAS AWESOME!” Ruby’s sudden appearance between the three caused the trio to suddenly jump back in surprise. The young redhead turned her attention towards Pyrrha, a gleam in her eye that Pyrrha had seen all too often, however what came next wasn’t exactly what she expected. “The way you shut her down! Ms Snooty never saw it coming!” This officially caught Pyrrha off guard, maybe coming here wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

“Well now, I see why you weren’t instantly smitten by my adorable little sister lover boy.”

Jaune nearly jumped out of his pants as Yang suddenly appeared by his side, her arm resting on his shoulder, “You’ve got these two beauties fighting over! Heck one of them’s even a champion!”

Pyrrha couldn’t help but flinch at being called champion, even if this woman, she didn’t know their names, said it only in jest towards Jaune. For now she’d let it slide, though she did take note of the way Jaune’s demeanor flattened. Regardless, now wasn’t the time for that, they would all need to be at their utmost best if they wished to survive.

“Well uuuuh! We should get going!”

The younger girl, Ruby she believed her name was, decided to break the awkwardness.

Pyrrha nodded, “I agree.” The sooner she got her partner, the better things would turn out. And hopefully, peering over to Jaune and May, she would end up on a team with these two splendid individuals.

Jaune wasn’t ready for this! He’d already been prepared for what was to come, but actually standing on a launchpad without any real plan other than “Use your Aura.” was not something that he felt comfortable with.

“Today will be the day that you decide not only your partners, but your teams.”

“Oh man!”

“I knew it!”

Jaune’s face scrunched as he heard two different voices in the background. One he recognized as Ruby, and the other he didn’t.

He couldn’t really argue with Ruby’s dismay, finding their partners in the middle of a forest was going to be awfully troublesome, it didn’t help that it was simply adding more pressure onto him, something he REALLY didn’t need right now.

“Oh gods I hope I don’t hurl.”

That had been another thing he’d been worried about when his elder sister had informed him that they’d be flying over the valley.

“The first person you make contact with will be your new partner.”

“Oh that's… that doesn’t seem like a good way to build partnerships!”

“As for teams?”

Ozpin took a sip of his ‘coffee’. Of course Jaune knew it wasn’t actually coffee, if he had to guess it was either tea or hot chocolate. The man couldn’t handle anything bitter on his tongue. He had a serious sweet tooth about it.

“Well, that’s a secret.”

Even in this rather unfortunate situation, Jaune found the time to roll his eyes.

“Now then, Professor Goodwitch?”

Jaune’s attention fell upon the disciplinarian and vice headmistress of Beacon Academy. Probably the only real reason he’d actually made it in. Even as he took the time to scan her cold demeanor, he couldn’t help but smile. As scary as she was when she was stern and in her working mood, he’d always see her as nothing more than his loving aunt.

“You will be launched one at a time into the Emerald Forest.”

This he knew, “And when you touch down you will make an attempt to route with your fellow students. The first individuals you make eye contact with will become your partner.” He caught note of the s at the end of individuals, and that confused him slightly. Had she miss-spoken?

“From there, you have 48 hours to survive.”

He blinked, this was different from what Rua had told him it would be! But… survival? He could make do with that! Surviving off the land was probably the ONLY thing he was good at.

One nasally redhead decided to speak up, “What? What does that have to do with being a huntsman!?”

He was dutifully ignored.

“We have provided all of you with a starter pack.”

“Oh, that's what this is!”

He heard Yang call out this time.

“In it you will find various items, such as rope, a flint and steel, and most importantly a flare. If ever you feel that you are unable to continue you and your teammates must decide on withdrawing. Do note, there ARE Grimm in the forest. You will have to learn to balance your survival instincts as well as your combat. Being a Huntsman will often leave you in situations where you are low on supplies, or have to forage to survive. This will be a good deciding factor on if any of you actually have what it means.”

And with that she fell silent, pushing up her glasses as she took her place behind Ozpin.

“Well then, any questions?”

Jaune didn’t say anything, for the first time since he got here, he was feeling confident… except there was one thing he wanted to ask. Raising his hand he was also ignored.

“Good, I wish you the best of luck.”

He couldn’t help but frown, catching the smile on Ozpin’s face as he was suddenly shot into the air, “I HAD A QUESTION!”

Glynda watched as her nephew was suddenly launched into the air, having not noticed that several other students had already been sent off before him, “You know, Dana’s probably going to hear about that.”

“Oh… hmm…”

Ozpin frowned, that wasn’t good.

“Well… he should be fine, he always did enjoy reading survival guides.”

Glynda simply shook her head and sighed, this was going to be a very long initiation. And, while she was supposed to be impartial, she did hope her nephew ended up on a good team.

“So… has everyone already placed their bets onto the betting pool yet?”

Glynda frowned, “You know how I feel about betting…”

“Well?”

“Ugh… yes.”

“And?”

“Oobleck believes that at least a few students will get frisky during the initiation. He stated that Winchester is definitely going to try something.”

She glowered at the thought, “I don’t blame him… god I hope no woman ends up on his team.”

“Agreed.”

“Peach thinks that Lie, Valkyrie, and Sustrai will be up to some form of mischief and hanky panky.”

“Mmhmm.”

“And I believe that Zedong and Arc will push their relationship a little further.”

“Oh come now, that’s an easy bet. We all could practically hear them last night.” He took a sip of his drink once more, “I’m betting that Nikos snaps, you can smell the repression on the girl a mile away, your nephew is in danger.”

“I swear, he’s just like his mom…”

#tempverse #Jaune Arc #Pyrrha Nikos #May Zedong

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jaskierrrrrr · 3 years

Text

Have I not written anything in basically a year because of my crippling fear of failure? Yes.

Did I also write this the night before my final exam and upload it at 11.30pm? Also yes!

Bad decisions aside, I really hope you enjoy this!

***

(2.5k, canon typical violence, bodyswapping and SFW shenanigans)

***

The mid morning sunlight finally roused Geralt from his sleep, which was the first sign that something was very, very wrong. Normally he started awake, just before dawn and had plenty of time to pack up the camp before Jaskier even considered opening his eyes.

The second sign was his own body lying motionless next to him.

It took Geralt several seconds longer than he’d ever admit to to accept that he wasn’t some spirit looking down at himself from beyond the grave. For starters, he could see his chest rising and falling. He also felt starving, which didn’t seem like something you’d have to deal with after dying.

Still processing his initial shock, he was just debating whether to wake himself up or not when his hair fell into his eyes. He brushed it away impatiently and then started, looking down at his hands. Where had expected to see grimy, scarred fingers, he instead saw soft skin, calloused fingernails and ostentatious rings, which could only mean-

He fell backwards, reaching behind him to grab his sword, before realising it was on the other side of his motionless body. Still in denial, he stumbled towards himself and picked up his sword. It felt unnaturally heavy, and looking at the reflection in the blade confirmed his worst fears.

He was Jaskier. Or rather, in Jaskier’s body. Which suggested that Jaskier was in his.

Turning round just in time to see his own body- Jaskier- finally stirring, he braced himself for what would most likely be an incredibly dramatic reaction. For once, he would class it as appropriate- Melitele knows he’s screaming internally. It’s bad enough not being in your own body without also having swapped with the person you care about the most, who has no idea. There’s a great sense of vulnerability and a deep-set fear that somehow this will lead to Jaskier realising how he feels, but he tries to push it away and focus on the problem at hand.

His own eyes blinked sleepily up at him, before widening in surprise.

Oh what the fuck,’ Jaskier exclaimed, hauling himself off his bedroll and circling Geralt, tripping over his feet in the process. ‘Why didn’t you tell me my doublet didn’t match my shirt?’

‘You- what? That’s the first thing you say?’ Geralt asked, Jaskier’s nonplussed attitude momentarily distracting him from the current clusterfuck of a situation.

‘Well yeah,’ Jaskier huffed, placing his hands on his hips in a manner that looked so bizarre under his armour that Geralt felt the uncontrollable urge to laugh. ‘I have a reputation to uphold.’

‘It doesn’t matter anyway,’ Geralt muttered, turning away from Jaskier. His brain was starting to hurt. ‘You look fine.’

Jaskier cleared his throat. When Geralt turned back, his face was stretched into a grin.

‘Don’t you mean- you look fine? After all, you’re wearing it.’

Jaskier had a point. Not that Geralt would ever admit it.

‘Whatever, Jaskier. Let’s just find someone who can fix this.’ He reached for his sword, before remembering he no longer had it, and wouldn’t be able to carry it if he did.

Jaskier clapped his hands together. ‘Gods, this is going to be fun.’

***

“Okay, I’ll be the first to admit that this is decidedly not fun,” Jaskier muttered, the medallion around his neck bouncing as they made their way up a steep hill. The sun was now low in the sky and once again Geralt found himself irritated at the amount of fabric he was currently baking under. Why did all of Jaskier’s clothes have to have so many frills?

“The novelty’s worn off then?” Geralt added dryly. They’d been walking for about two hours before they’d come across the first town- there was no mage, but fortunately they found a place for Roach at a local stables. She’d found the entire body swapping incident incredibly disconcerting (she wasn’t the only one), and had refused to let either of them ride her, even when enticed with apples.

At first, Jaskier had kept up a steady stream of his usual chatter, albeit in a much gruffer tone than usual, but he had fallen silent as it got later in the day.

‘I just don’t understand why it’s so loud? I feel like I’m back at Oxenfurt, there’s just so much noise.”

“It’s from the Trials, remember? Enhanced hearing has saved my life- and yours- countless times,” Geralt replies, not without a twinge of sympathy. He remembers how chaotic and confusing it had first felt as a child.

Jaskier grimaced. ‘Right, right,’ he mumbled, before jerking his head back towards Geralt with a look of horror on his face. ‘Is this what I sound like to you? Gods, I had no idea- my prattling is bad enough without advanced hearing-”

“Jaskier,” Geralt interrupted, “your voice doesn’t grate- it’s fine.”

Jaskier raised an eyebrow.

“Okay, maybe it did at first, but I’ve gotten used to it.”

“So what I’m hearing…” Jaskier said slowly, “is that you like my voice?”

Geralt scoffed. “Don’t push your luck,” he muttered, although he couldn’t quite hide his smile.

“I knew it!” Jaskier crowed triumphantly. “So much for fillingless pie.”

“I said talking was fine- I didn’t say anything about your singing.”

Jaskier’s mouth fell open in outrage. “You- you absolute brute, Geralt of Rivia! Mark my words, one of these days I’ll, I’ll-”

“You’ll what?” Geralt asked teasingly, looking away to hide his laugh. “Splutter at me?”

Jaskier didn’t reply. He’d come to a complete halt and was staring at the trees, a frown on his face. Without warning, he drew his sword. Geralt had just enough time to wonder if joking about Jaskier’s singing was going to be the thing that killed him, when something huge burst out of the foliage. He whipped his head, following the flash of silver as his sword flew elegantly and almost lazily in an arc from Jaskier’s hand and buried itself in the side of the creature, which collapsed in the dust.

Geralt turned to stare at Jaskier in amazement. “How the hell did you do that?”

“I don't know,” Jaskier muttered, eyes still fixed on the creature. “I guess I’ve got your fighting skills too.”

As he bent to withdraw the sword from the creature’s side, Geralt noticed Jaskier’s hands were shaking.

Geralt knew how he was feeling. He’d felt sick to his stomach the first time he’d killed something. He hesitantly reached out a hand and placed it on Jaskier’s armour. He could feel him trembling.

“You did the right thing,” Geralt said gently. “It’s not easy, but you did it.”

Jaskier’s eyes finally moved from the corpse, and he gave Geralt a brief smile.

“You think so?”

“I do.”

***

They walked in companionable silence after that, occasionally bashing into each other when Jaskier forgot how wide his shoulders were. They reached the next town at dusk. After a few brief enquiries, it was apparent that there was no mage.

“I guess we’ll have to accept defeat for the night,” Jaskier sighed. “Even I’m feeling tired, so you must feel exhausted. You’re just too stubborn to admit it.”

He was right on both counts. Geralt’s feet have ached since midday, and he’d even tripped a couple of times. Maybe Jaskier constantly falling over was more due to tiredness rather than not paying attention.

“We can find a place to camp for the night in those woods over there,” he suggests. “Figure out where we’ll head next in the morning.”

“Why don’t we just ask for a room at that tavern over there? I could do with a hot meal.”

Geralt hesitated. After the day they’d had, he could definitely use a drink, but they’d been lucky to travel so far without drawing too much attention to themselves.

Jaskier must have noticed his reluctance.

“It’ll be fine,” he said as he rolled his eyes. “Besides,” he added, swinging open the door, “we’re in the middle of nowhere, there’s no way anyone will recognise us.”

As he opened the door with a flourish, the entire tavern fell silent, their eyes fixed on the two newcomers standing frozen in the doorway.

“What were you saying?” Geralt hissed out of the corner of his mouth.

Jaskier was saved from answering by the innkeeper bustling over to them with a wide smile on his face.

“Geralt of Rivia and the bard Jaskier! It is an honour to welcome you here. Will you be in need of a place to stay tonight?"

They both nodded.

The innkeeper clapped his hands. “Excellent! We’ll have a room ready momentarily. Sir Witcher, we have a table free over there- and will you be performing tonight, noble bard?”

“Well, I-” Jaskier began, before noticing the confused look on the innkeeper’s face. “Oh, well… I’m sure my companion would be delighted!”

Geralt barely managed to restrain the torrent of curses on his lips before nodding tightly. He was going to kill Jaskier.

“Wonderful,” beamed the innkeeper. “The stage is over there whenever you’re ready,” he added, before returning to the counter. Geralt slowly turned to look at Jaskier.

“What? Oh, don’t look at me like that, what was I meant to say?”

“You were meant,” Geralt growled lowly, “to say no. I thought that was fairly obvious.”

“Look, it’s too late to back out now. You’ll be fine! If I got witchery skills, you must have bardic skills, it’s only fair.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt groaned in despair, “how many curses have you known to be fair?”

Jaskier started to laugh. Geralt turned away.

“Oh yes, laugh all you want. It’s my reputation at stake.” Geralt grumbled.

Jaskier looked at him with an odd expression on his face. “Geralt, it’s my reputation, remember?” He takes Geralt’s hand and squeezes. “I promise it’ll be okay,” he said softly. “And if it isn’t, I’ll start a distraction. I’m great at that.”

Geralt snorted in acknowledgement. He pulled the lute off his back, and let adrenalin carry him over to the stage. As he settled in the chair, the patrons fell quiet once again. He catches sight of Jaskier, who’s drinking a tankard of what looks like Cintran ale. Lucky bastard. He caught Geralt’s eye and raised his tankard in a silent salute. Geralt inhaled deeply, praying to Melitele not to fuck up. Closing his eyes, he began to play.

Somehow, thank the Gods, Jaskier was right. His fingers are flew over the fretboard to the familiar tune of Toss a Coin. He doesn’t understand, but he isn’t going to question it. He’ll play a few songs to keep the audience happy, and then make his excuses.

He’s about four songs in when he finally gets the courage to open his eyes. Everyone seems to be enjoying the performance, but there’s only one opinion he really wants. Jaskier is leaning forward in his chair, his ale forgotten as he listens to the music, swaying gently in time. He has a soft smile on his face, but there’s something odd about his features. Geralt’s seen his own reflection far less than he’s seen Jaskier’s face, but he knows something’s different.

He’s lamenting his poor eyesight and squinting from the stage to try and see more clearly when the truth hits him.

It’s his eyes. Even in the well-lit tavern, his pupils are blown wide so his irises are barely visible. Which normally only happens in the dark, or-

His fingers briefly slipped on the strings. He blinks to recover, his mind reeling. The only other time his eyes are that wide are when he’s looking at Jaskier. But, if Jaskier’s looking at him, then that means-

There’s a sudden, unpleasant tug in his navel. His stomach flips, but before he has time to cry out, the sensation has gone. Realising his arms are empty, he opens his eyes.

He’s across the room, looking at Jaskier on stage. Relief floods through him. He’s back in his own body, and more importantly, he never has to sing again.

Jaskier catches his eye and waggles his eyebrows. “Told you it would be fine,” he mouths over his strumming.

Jaskier finishes with a flourish after another two songs. To Geralt’s annoyance, he gives in to demands for an encore. Geralt taps his foot impatiently. He’s desperate to be alone, to get the chance to talk to Jaskier. Finally, finally, Jaskier strums his final note and bows deeply, before jumping off the stage and sauntering towards Geralt, who meets him halfway.

Jaskier grins at him, face flushed. “Guess we don’t need a mage! Strange, I wonder what made us switch back.”

“Hmm,” Geralt replies, as they make their way up the stairs.

“Oh, well someone’s definitely back to normal!” Jaskier laughs. “Don’t pretend you didn’t enjoy yourself up there by the way, I could tell.”

They find their room at the end of the corridor. It’s a simple room, but there’s a fire in the grate that gives it a homely feel. Geralt finally finds the courage to talk when he’s interrupted again.

“You gave a fine performance, you know,” Jaskier said brightly as he set his lute on the table by the door. “I mean, starting with my best song was an interesting choice- I usually save it for the end, but you pulled it off. Could work on your stage presence a bit too, but I suppose that was to be expected, given the circumstances.”

He paused for breath, grinning at Geralt. Realizing this was his only chance, Geralt didn't pause to think, just crossed the room in two strides before pushing Jaskier up against the door and kissing him.

Jaskier let out a startled breath before responding in kind, gripping Geralt’s waist and pulling him in close.

When they broke apart, Jaskier smiled widely. “What brought this on?” he asks, before frowning suddenly. “Wait, if I had ale in your body, does that mean you’re drunk? Is that why-”

“I’m not drunk,” Geralt reassured him. “I’ve wanted to do that for a long time, I just… didn’t know if you felt the same until I saw how wide your- my- pupils were during the performance.

Jaskier scowled. “That’s not fair,” he mumbled into Geralt’s shirt. “I had all your witchery senses and I still couldn’t tell how you felt.”

“I just hide it better than you.”

“Now that I won’t argue with. Your face is like a block of granite, it’s impossible to tell what you’re thinking.”

“Know what I’m thinking now?” Geralt said in a low voice, leaning towards Jaskier, who blushed a deep shade of red.

“I have an idea,” he mumbled.

“I’m thinking,” Geralt continued, leaning in even closer before grabbing a pillow and thwacking Jaskier over the head with it.

“I’m thinking,” he laughed over Jaskier’s splutters, “that you can sleep on the floor tonight for that!”

Ignoring Jaskier’s halfhearted protests, he pulled him towards the bed, where they collapsed in a heap.

“I’ll get you back for that,” Jaskier muttered from where he was sprawled against Geralt’s chest.

“Oh?” Geralt laughed. “And when should I expect my comeuppance?”

“Not now,” Jaskier replied. “After all, we have all the time in the world.”

Geralt grinned, before pulling him into a soft kiss. “That we do,” he replies. “That we do.”

#this was going so well at the start #and i just reread it and I HATE IT #oh well #enjoy anyway!!!#past tense can F off #geraskier #fic #writing #my writing #the witcher #jaskier #geralt #in the scene where everyone turns to looks at them I picture their faces in that scene where jaskier just got djinned and they see the #naked mayor #their expressions are just so funny

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author-morgan · 3 years

Note

I really love your Eivor stories! If you’re thank requests would you be able to do an arranged marriage story - where Eivor and a Anglo Saxon princess have to marry to unite their clans and at first their not happy about but when they meet they get along, especially on the wedding night 😉 - thank you! x

♥ Here you are! I hope you like it (sorry for the wait).

m!Eivor x fem!Reader

EIVOR AND HIS brother, Sigurd, stand before Ceolmund —a powerful Saxon king crowned with the aid of the Norsemen standing before him. Now King Ceolmund of Lothian wishes to secure a lasting alliance with the Raven Clan, one that would not fade at the hands of time. It is marriage the new king speaks of. A marriage between his only beloved daughter and one of the men who laid a crown and kingdom at his feet.

Ceolmund looks to Sigurd to accept, but he shakes his head and dips his shoulders forward in a display of genuflection. “I cannot accept this gracious offer, lord, for I am bound to another already–” Sigurd’s gaze falls upon Eivor “–but my brother…”

He is cut off by Eivor, pulling harshly on the baldric securing his greatsword. “What are you doing?” Eivor hisses under his breath. He had come to secure an alliance and crown another Saxon king who’d look upon the Danes and Norse in favor —not to marry a stranger with no forewarning and on his brother’s whim.

Sigurd turns, his gaze sharp. A curt reminder that he is Jarl of the Raven Clan, not Eivor. “Calm yourself, brother,” he snaps. There’s a pause, heavy with silence, and Sigurd’s smile turns into that of a serpent’s. “It’s past time you wed anyway. Don’t you think?” Eivor glares at his brother, but Sigurd ignores the harsh look and turns back to King Ceolmund. “My brother,” he starts, motioning to the warrior standing to his right, “the honorable Eivor Wolf-kissed, will accept.”

Ceolmund rises from his throne, stepping onto the short dais —arms outstretched toward Eivor. “I should hear it from thine own lips,” he says, meeting Eivor’s uneasy gaze. What he is asking is no small task, but with Sigurd’s hasty acceptance, he has hope Eivor will follow his Jarl’s wishes. In truth, a piece of him is relieved it is Eivor Wolfsmal and not Sigurd. “Will you forge the bonds of an alliance and lasting friendship between our peoples through marriage to my daughter?”

“You honor me, lord,” Eivor tells Ceolmund with a knot forming in his throat, making it hard to speak. He bows his head. “I accept your offer of an alliance through marriage.”

MARRIAGE, THE WORD sits bitterly on your tongue after your father, King Ceolmund of Lothian, comes to visit your chambers in a decaying Roman fortress. “Mother would be ashamed!” You spit, fraught with the sudden news of your impending marriage to a heathen —a matter in which you had no say. “Using me as a bartering piece. A pawn in your games.” You’d trusted your father.

“He’s a good man,” your father refutes. Throughout three moons, he felt he had come to know the man who would marry his daughter —an honest man who wished to do right by his people and protect them even if it meant shedding blood and sweat for quarrels that were not his own. Ceolmund could not ask for a better man —Christian or pagan— to marry his daughter.

You would rather be sworn to the likes of King Aelfred than one of the godless invaders crawling over England. “He’s a heathen!” You cry. “A barbarian!”

Ceolmund pinches the bridge of his nose, drawing in a long breath. There will be a feast tonight to celebrate his coronation, where he will make the announcement and begin wedding preparations. He will not ask you to feign happiness, only civility. “Please,” Ceolmund says, holding your shaking hands, “all I ask is that you do not insult our new position or friends tonight.” But even that seemed to be a hefty request now.

“Princess,” Eivor greets, his clear blue gaze kind and voice softened by a cup of ale. “If I may have a word?” Across the table, your father nods, imploring you to take leave of the feast to speak with the man you’d be marrying in less than a fortnight. You lay your hand in Eivor’s as you rise and follow him from the keep, into the cool air of a spring night to a bench facing a northern vista with snowcapped hills far off in the distance. A frown purses his lips as he sees despair mingled with fear overtake your expression —like a newly caged bird who lost her song. “I know you are not happy with this arrangement,” he starts, gaining your attention. From his tone, you can tell he is not particularly happy either, “but know I will not harm you, and I will protect you until the Valkyries summon me home.”

You trace the sharp features of his face, lingering on the deep scar across his cheek. In your contemplative silence, Eivor reaches for one of your hands —gently holding it within his own, a soft assurance that his words had been sincere. His fingers are rough from long years of work and fighting, and when he folds them around your hand, it makes you feel small —feeble, even. “You are not what I expected, Eivor,” you note, adverting your gaze.

“What did you expect?” Eivor asks, curious to know if he and his people had been the monsters in the bedtime tales your mother used to tell. It seemed a common thing across England for Norse and Danes to be made out as devils, or worse.

“I would spare you from my initial thoughts,” you note, quietly with the color of shame on your cheeks, “for now they feel foolish.” Indeed, you were told stories of the Northmen as a child —that they were bloodthirsty, godless barbarians who raped and pillaged across the countryside. While every story had a grain of truth, Eivor Wolfsmal only desires what is best for his people —strong alliances, good friends, fertile land, and a place to rest his head. You lay your hand atop his, offering a reserved smile. “Know you have eased my mind and heart this night.”

EIVOR STEALS YOU away in the afternoon from your loom and threads, leading you to the edge of the mark and a field of wildflowers. A quiet place compared to the bustling streets of Edinburgh —the seat of Lothian— amid celebrations and preparations. Eivor speaks of his childhood with Sigurd, laughing at the foolish things he’d done as a boy. Eivor’s laugh is charming —a low rumble from deep in his chest— and his smile contagious.

You tell of the time you and a dear friend used boiled wine for an awful prank on your poor mother. Even on her deathbed, you wondered if she ever forgave you for using the wine as fake blood when you stumbled into her solar, holding the hilt of a broken sword against your stomach.

He spins the stem of a yellow wildflower between his thumb and forefinger as he tells you of his gods. Curiosity had won over you after hearing brief stories from people in the markets about Thor, Loki, and Odin. Eivor leans forward, tucking the flower behind your ear, finishing the tale of Odin’s sacrifice for knowledge after consulting with the embalmed head of Mímir. “He gave his eye?” Eivor nods, and you cringe at the thought of having to pluck your own eye out.

From above, a raven swoops down, landing on Eivor’s shoulder. His name is Sýnin, and he has been Eivor’s companion for many years. You reach to stroke his oil-slick feathers and are rewarded with a low, gurgling croak before he takes flight again in the light of the setting sun.

Eivor reclines, arms folded behind his head —looking up at the sky. You lay back too and compelled by a moment of boldness you rest your head on his chest. The fading blue linen tunic he wears in lieu of his leather armor is soft against your cheek. Eivor stiffens at first, then relaxes though a part of him wonders if you can hear his heart beating faster. After a moment of passing silence, he drapes one of his arms across your middle. Above, the sky begins to shift from the soft orange and pinks of sunset to deep indigo. “What do your gods tell you of the stars?”

EIVOR TAKES THE piece of linen from your hands, shaking his head. “You should not have to tend my wounds, princess,” he notes, wiping away the blood running down his arm from a cut near his shoulder. He returned from a hunt with your father, hiding the bloody wound from a skirmish with bandits. It was not grievous, though it bled heavily. Still, even warriors need to have small injuries tended. Even a soured scratch could send the strongest of men to the grave.

You’ve grown up in an age of continuous small wars between petty kingdoms and Danes alike and have seen the aftermath of missing limbs and burning flesh. Shying away from blood is not in your nature after aiding physicians in infirmaries after battle —especially when it is your future husband who bleeds. “We are to be wed, Eivor,” you remind him, taking the piece of linen back from him, “and so long as your wounds are not beyond my skill, I shall tend them.” He does not protest again.

He watches a flush of warmth creep up your neck and into your cheeks as your eyes dart over his bare chest —he is broad of shoulders and chest with thick and strong arms to match. Clearing your throat, you dapple away the last drops of blood and move to mix a paste of yarrow powder and water in a small mortar. Eivor winces at the initial sting of the paste on the cut, but it stems any new blood from welling as quick as a hot iron.

You sit next to him on the straw bed, reaching for one of his hands. Ceolmund had been right. Eivor is a good man. Yet for all the fondness that has grown in your heart, you remain unsure about marriage and what will happen when you must leave the only home you’ve known. The worries gnaw at your mind and heart. Even if you have started to believe you could love Eivor in time —that there is a chance of contentment in this union. His fingers curl around yours, squeezing gently, as though he can sense your trepidations. “Do you think we can be happy with this arrangement?” You ask, voice trembling and gaze focused on your entwined hands.

Eivor cups your cheek, and you meet his clear blue gaze. At first, he’d been uncertain, upset even with his brother for forcing his hand, but now, after the long days you’ve spent with one another, Eivor has no doubts. “I do,” he replies —echoing the vows he will soon take. “I’ve enjoyed our time together,” he says with a fleeting smile. Preparations for the wedding had taken longer than anticipated, giving you and Eivor a full month to become acquainted with one another.

“As have I,” you admit. The days you’ve spent with him have been some of the best in recent memory. His thumb absently strokes your cheek, and you smile, leaning into his touch. “Eivor?” He raises his brow in question, letting his hand fall away from your face. A warmth blossoms in your chest, spurring the same type of boldness you felt that evening in the meadow. “May I kiss you?”

“We are to be wed,” he echoes, smiling —lifting both his hands to cup your cheeks. “You need not ask.” Eivor’s close-cropped golden beard tickles and scratches your cheek when you lean forward, closing what distance remains and placing your lips on his. He leads you, parting your lips with a soft sigh. It takes but a moment for you to fall in rhythm and meld against him. You can feel his lips twitch into a smile when one of your hands slides up his chest, the other resting over the mottled patch of skin on his neck.

THE DOORS SHUT, and you jump, suddenly feeling skittish. The wedding ceremony had come to pass, as had the feast and festivities though now you stand in the center of your bedchambers looking upon your blessed marital bed and knowing what is expected of you. Your husband stands before an open window, barefooted and stripped of the pale embroidered tunic from earlier. He complained during the feast about how scratchy it was. “Eivor?” He turns, stepping toward you —brows furrowed. “It is our wedding night,” you note, voice betraying a veneer of strength.

Eivor grips onto your shoulders, then lets his hands glide up your neck to cup your cheeks, lifting your gaze to his. He does not wish to see fear and doubt in his wife’s eyes. “I promised I would not hurt you–” he kisses your forehead then returns his kindly gaze to you “–I meant that.” You let out a shaky breath, smiling as he runs his thumbs over your cheeks. “My gods can wait,” he tells you, “so can your God and priests.” Eivor moves one of his hands to your waist, resting his forehead on yours. “We are bound by oath, which should be enough.” Before gods and men alike, you took one another as husband and wife in sickness and health.

You catch his wrist, sliding his hand up from your neck —peppering his fingertips with gentle kisses. He watches you, lips parted and heart aching. Eivor did not think he gave his heart away so freely, but the knot in his throat as he catches your fleeting smile tells him he had. Loving you was not a difficult feat.

Closing your eyes, you draw in a slow breath, and the streak of bravado returns. With a final kiss to his palm, you guide his hand to rest on one of your clothed breasts. “Eivor.” You speak his name as though it is a quiet prayer, a soft plead to have you as a husband should have his wife. He pulls on the string at the neck of your shift, loosening it until he can push the thin material off your shoulders. It puddles around your ankles, and though bare, you still hold Eivor’s gaze. He draws in a sharp breath as his eyes dart over the length of your body —it does not escape him that he is the first to see you like this. His eyes darken, though, through the lust, there is a plethora of adoration.

Calloused fingers caress your sides and stomach, tracing random patterns into your flesh, thumbs brushing the underside of your breasts. He kisses a path along your jaw, a strong hand coming to cup the back of your neck, holding you in place when you shy away from the tickle of his beard. His other hand skims across your waist before settling on your hip, securing you in his hold.

“Princess–” Eivor breathes, worried one more kiss will make it nigh impossible for him to stop, but you quieten him with your lips, chasing away any hesitance lingering between the two of you of what lies in store for the night.

You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer till he sweeps your feet out from under you —laughing at your surprised squeak as he carries you to bed. Eivor lays you on the soft pelts of fur, his weight hovering above you, braced on his forearms. Cupping his face in your hands, you ignore the prickly bite of his beard as you kiss him again, your knees bracketing his hips, brushing against the patched linen and leather of his britches. “You’re sweeter than Freyja, wife,” he muses, kissing the soft swell of your breast —the lingering scent of roses and raspberries tickling his nose.

Kissing his way down your chest, he drags his teeth across one of your nipples, giving the other a quick tweak. Chills spread across your flesh as you arch into his mouth —hands slipping into his hair. Hands gripping your thighs, Eivor urges you to part your legs wider for him. Doing as instructed, you watch, breathlessly, as he moves across your stomach, leaving open mouth kisses in his wake. Eivor drags his beard against your hip, nipping at the skin there. The warmth in your belly turns to flames.

Twitching in his hold, you clutch the pelts beneath your hands —heart pounding in anticipation. Eivor in no rush, for there are many hours until the crows sing. He kisses your inner thighs, hot breath fanning against you. The first brush of his tongue has you sighing his name, eyes sliding shut as he laps at your slick folds. Holding your legs open, he makes love to you with his mouth alone. Eivor relishes in the small, obscene noises you make while trembling above him —his cock twitches, but he ignores his desires a moment longer. He leaves no part of you left untouched, his mouth finding every nook and crevice, laving and suckling to his heart's content.

You burn, the fire in your belly demanding more, cunt fluttering around his tongue, aching for relief. “Eivor,” you whimper, chest heaving as your tug at his golden hair, fingers clutching at his unbound strands. He grunts, huffing a ragged chuckle when your hips move of their own accord —thighs fighting his iron grip. Eivor nuzzles at you, spreading you open with his thumbs. You cry out at the first touch of his tongue to your clit, but then he wraps his lips around the swollen bundle, tongue flicking out. Your body bends to his will, as though you are but wet clay in the hands of a skilled potter.

Enraptured, you barely notice when he eases one finger into your warmth and then a second —slowly thrusting and stroking. The flames in your belly flood your veins, and with a wordless moan, you give in to the hedonistic haze —it feels as though nothing matters beyond this with the waves and sparks fizzing through your blood.

Eivor wheedles you down from the high, gradually, murmuring words of praise between your thighs —how beautiful you looked in the throes of passion, how sweet you tasted, finer than sweet honey mead. He eases his fingers from you and crawls back up your body, retracing a similar path with kisses and soft nips. When he kisses you, you can taste your essence of his lips and tongue and feel the hard length pressing against your inner thigh through his pants. It makes you ache with need and want.

Fumbling with the ties of his pants and underpants, Eivor hurriedly pushes them down his legs and tossing them to the side, wedging himself back between your thighs. You feel the blunt head of his cock glide between your folds, his hips rocking back-and-forth as he coats himself in your slick. Heart racing, your body cries out at his languid teasing. Eivor lowers his mouth to your shoulder, worrying the skin between his teeth, his eyes never leaving yours.

One of his hands moves slips between the bed and your back, moving further to cradle the back of your head as he guides himself with his free hand into your warmth. You grip onto his shoulder, nails digging into his back as he presses forward, slowly, giving you time to adjust to his girth until he is fully seated —hips flush against yours. With only a thin line dividing pleasure from pain, you understand why the act could be sacrilege in the eyes of God, nothing should make a man or woman feel so divine.

He braces his weight on bent forearms, one of his hands cupping your cheek as he skims your expression for pain or discomfort. He finds none, only a soft smile and hazy, lust-darkened eyes. You guide him down, kissing him —draping one of your legs across the back of his thigh. “Eivor?” A low hum resounds his acknowledgment, though he busies himself leaving a soft line of kisses from the corner of your lips to your temple. “You can move now,” you tell him —pushing your hips up into his.

Eivor kisses you, his tongue parting your lips as he rocks his hips back and presses forward —swallowing a soft gasp and then another as he draws back further. It’s a slow rhythm of long and deep strokes that lets you feel the slow drag of his cock with each thrust. He hovers above you, punctuating some thrusts with a kiss and others with a raspy curse to the gods. You draw your legs up his sides, spreading them wider —welcoming Eivor to claim you as he desires.

Every push and pull of his hips brings him deeper inside you. Eivor pants at your ear, his breathing ragged and strained as his pace falters —thrusts growing quicker and rougher as he seeks his release. Beneath your palms, the muscles in his back and shoulders ripple, contracting with each thrust.

The hand tangled in your hair disappears —rough fingers sliding between your breasts and across your stomach, down to where your body is joined with his. He presses his thumb against your clit, stroking and rubbing circles, and smiles against your neck at his reward —soft cries of his name mingled with breathy moans and the feel of your walls fluttering around his cock.

A low hiss escapes him when your nails scrap over the skin of his back and shoulders, seeking purchase as you tremble and writhe —tilting your head back into a pillow, back arching from the bed. The flames from earlier return, taking hold of you and spreading through your veins in a hot wave. Eivor’s name topples from your lips like a prayer as you cling to him, body shaking and driving him closer to his end.

You squeeze him with your thighs and grip onto his biceps, thrumming with pleasure as he ruts into you, grunting. With another thrust, his body shudders, and his hips still as his cock twitches deep inside your warmth. Eivor’s lips part as he lets out a string of curses and praises —moaning. You cup his face, smoothing the furrow in his brows and tracing the deep scar on his cheek. Shaking, he rolls his hips into yours thrice more and accepts your kiss when you guide him down to your lips again.

Spent, Eivor lays his head on your breast and memorizes the feel of your sweat slicken bodies flush against one another. You drape an arm around his shoulders, stroking back his golden hair. A good arrangement, he thinks to himself, kissing the soft skin next to his lips. “I am proud and happy to call you my wife,” he breathes, turning his clear blue gaze up to you. He hadn’t a true choice in this marriage, but given the chance, he would still choose you a hundred times over.

His words make your heart swell with warmth and bring tears to your eyes. “I feel the same, husband,” you note —fingers combing through his beard. Only a short time has passed, but it seems as if the two of you were always meant to find one another —heresy be damned. It had not taken long, but you are certain you already love him.

Lying there in each other’s arms, time slows to an eternity. You whine when he slides his softening cock out of you —leaving an empty feeling as his warm seed trickles down your thighs. He chuckles as he moves from the bed and gathers up a linen towel. He thinks you a sight to behold lying atop the furs with wild hair and a debauched smile. Eivor cleans the mess between your legs and soothes the few red marks on your hips and thighs with quick kisses before rejoining you beneath the covers.

He lays on his side, and you pillow your head on his outstretched arm, nuzzling close against his chest and threading one of your legs through his. Eivor presses his cheek to the crown of your head and strokes your hair. “Rest, princess,” he breathes, knowing the gods had been good to lead him to a woman like you.

THE LONGSHIP COMES to dock before a bustling borough in the heart of Mercia. Eivor offers his hand, helping you onto the wharf. After spending the majority of a week on the river, it is good to feel solid ground beneath your feet for more than a hasty meal or uneasy rest on the riverbanks. “Princess-” Eivor smiles, motioning toward the people and the wooden storefronts and homes set before the longhouse rising from a hill “–Ravensthorpe.” Love and pride fill his heart, spilling over into a bright smile and voice. You glance the settlement and back to your husband, placing a quick kiss on his scarred cheek before taking the well-trodden path to the longhouse.

A band of excited children races toward the docks with a white-and-grey wolf cub nipping at their heels, shouting with glee at Eivor’s return. It’s been months since Eivor last helped with their lessons or played with them by the waterfall. They take him by storm and force. At the bottom pile, you can make out his deep laughter among the excited cries. You cannot help but smile. Eivor Wolfsmal is loved, not just by you, but his people.

He rises from the ground, smiling as he brushes off the dirt from his tunic, having whispered something to the rowdy group that sent them running for the longhouse. “Felled by children and a wolf pup. Are you sure you’re a drengr?” You ask, laughing as you pluck a small clot of grass from his hair and wipe away the streak of mud on his unmarred cheek.

Eivor’s eyes narrow, lips kinking into a taunting smirk. “Are you mocking me, wife?” He challenges.

You clutch your heart, feigning offense at his accusation. “The mighty Eivor?” He raises a brow at the moniker. Mighty, it is a title he could get used to, just as he had grown used to hearing you call him husband in a sweet, singsong voice. “Never,” you smile.

Word of his return spreads quickly, and before the merchant’s tent, most of the settlement gathers, smiling as they welcome Eivor home and are equally as quick to embrace you as one of their own. All doubts are chased away when Eivor wraps his arm around your waist and kisses your temple, smiling. “Welcome home,” he breathes —it is good to be back in Ravensthorpe, but even better to have you at his side.

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reinerispretty · 3 years

Text

beneath the moon. (sokka x f!reader) pt16

hiiiii everyone :) i am back! i’ve finished my finals for the semester and i am so so excited to continue these fics! i’ll admit i was experiencing some major burnout and just overall not having fun anymore but i think having my worst semester ever be over will help a lot hehe!!

pt1

pt15

pt17

“We’re coming back for them,” Sokka reassured her. “We just have to get Appa first, and then we’ll all escape.”

(Y/N) looked back toward the palace. It made her uneasy to leave her friends when they might need her, even if it was only for a moment. She looked at Sokka once more, taking his hand in hers and squeezing. “You guys go ahead, I’m going to find them.”

“(Y/N)!” Sokka whisper-shouted after her, but (Y/N) couldn’t just go with them and hope that her friends would be okay, or that they would know what was going on.

The Southern Water Tribe armor that (Y/N) wore on her back weighed a few pounds, slowing her down as she ran over to Aang and Appa. Sokka reached him first and (Y/N) could hear their two voices but not the words they were saying. Sokka turned to look at her, his face contorted in an expression of anger, fear, and sadness, and her stomach dropped. “What’s going on?” She asked once she finally reached them.

Aang looked panicked. “Katara’s in trouble! We have to leave now!”

“Okay,” (Y/N) said with a breath. As scary as the prospect of Katara being in danger was, her own emotions would have to be put aside. “We’ll say goodbye and then we’ll head out.”

“There’s no time!” Aang insisted, and (Y/N) glared at him. Sokka had literally just reunited with his father, his hero, and the moment was being ripped from him. The least they could do was let him say goodbye. Katara was strong, she’d be alright. Or at least, that was what (Y/N) had to keep telling herself.

“Sokka, tell your dad thank you for his hospitality,” (Y/N) said with a slight smile. “We’ll see him again soon.” Sokka ran back to his father and (Y/N) turned back to Aang. “You,” She said, jabbing her finger at him. “Need to calm down.” She grabbed his hand and lifted herself onto Appa’s back, flopping over awkwardly in the saddle from her armor. “I know you’re in love with Katara, but she’ll be okay until we can get there. She’s one of the best fighters I know.”

Aang’s face paled. “W-what are you talking about? I’m just worried about my friend.”

“Yeah, yeah,” (Y/N) muttered. Her eyes caught Sokka as he jogged back over to them. “I’m just worried about my friend, too.”

Once Sokka was on Appa’s back, they flew off back toward Ba Sing Se, the afternoon sun behind them. Aang confessed that he didn’t know the details of what was happening to Katara, only that he had seen a vision of her being in trouble. “Normally I’d call you ridiculous,” Sokka said as he lay in a starfish position on the saddle. “But Avatar powers always prove me wrong so I’ll just shut up.”

“Did you guys manage to convince the Southern Water Tribe to go to the North, at least?” Aang asked. (Y/N) shrugged.

“I’m not sure how many of them were fully convinced.”

“I don’t know if they’ll go now that we’re not there,” Sokka said. “(Y/N) was the only reason they were even starting to consider it.”

“It would have been a nice accomplishment, but they don’t even teach women anything beyond healing. It probably wouldn’t be a good idea to leave the city so exposed.” (Y/N) sighed. “Would have been nice though, so give Hahn another punch in the nose for challenging my claim to the throne.”

“You’re thinking about going back to rule?” Aang asked.

“You never told me that,” Sokka looked at her with furrowed brows.

“The war will be over at some point,” She said quietly. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed movement down below. She leaned over the side of Appa’s saddle to see the earth moving in a rather unnatural way. “What is that?” She asked Aang.

He swooped Appa down toward the movement and there, at the base of it all, was a familiar tiny girl, surfing across the rock. “Hey!” Sokka called out to Toph. “Need a ride?” Toph flailed at the sound, losing her focus and falling to the ground. Aang, Sokka, and (Y/N) winced at her fall.

“Are you okay?” (Y/N) called out, but before she knew it Toph was barreling toward them. She had used her earthbending to launch herself in the air and the three of them all scrambled to catch her safely. Toph crash landed on (Y/N), sending her rolling onto the other side of Appa’s saddle. She sat up quickly, an angered expression on her face.

“Don’t scare me like that!” She said into the empty air where she thought Sokka would be.

“Sorry,” Sokka said from the opposite side of the saddle. (Y/N) coughed as she sat up, trying to gain back the air that had been knocked out of her. The armor had protected her a bit, but although Toph was small, she was as dense as the rock she bended.

“What happened to meeting with your mom?” Aang asked, and Toph frowned.

“It was a trap,” Toph grumbled. “Two idiots captured me. Unluckily for them, I invented metalbending.”

Sokka laughed, but it slowly faded when he realized that no one else was joining him. “You’re not...you’re not joking?”

“Toph!” (Y/N) exclaimed, grasping her friend by the arms. “That’s so exciting! You invented metalbending--that’s supposed to be impossible!” She engulfed Toph in a hug and squeezed tightly.

“Get off of me!” Toph protested, squirming in (Y/N’s) arms. (Y/N) released her, but the smile on her face never faded. “But yeah,” Toph smirked. “It’s pretty cool of me. What about you, Aang? How’d it go with the guru? Did you master the Avatar State?”

(Y/N) had meant to ask Aang about that as well, but had gotten distracted. All three of them turned to look at him, but he stared off into the distance. “Aang?” Sokka asked, and the young boy tensed, turning back to stare at his friends.

“Yep, everything good with the guru! Avatar State, completely mastered,” He said with a slight laugh. (Y/N) and Sokka exchanged a confused look.

They landed at their house in the city and rushed inside. They were immediately greeted by Momo, who had crawled onto Aang’s shoulders as soon as they entered. Toph flattened her feet against the floor of the house. “There’s no one else here.”

“I knew it!” Aang exclaimed. “Katara is in trouble!”

“Oh no,” Sokka breathed. (Y/N) opened her mouth to reassure her friends, but she closed it quickly when she realized it would be no use. She knew it in her heart that Katara was in trouble and the longer they waited the further away they were from saving her.

“Wait! Someone’s at the door,” Toph said, and a second later a knock sounded against the thick wood. “Actually, I know who it is. It’s an old friend.” Before (Y/N) could inquire just exactly who Toph could have become friends with, she opened the door, revealing General Iroh.

Now normally, upon seeing a member of the Fire Nation, (Y/N) would whip out her water from the pack at her hip and immediately start fighting. But although it had been months since she had last seen him, she remembered his face. He was there the night Yue had died. He had fought against a member of his own nation in order to protect the Moon Spirit. He had fought alongside them against Azula just a few weeks prior, when she had been hunting their group through the Earth Kingdom countryside. It was safe to say that she was rather conflicted over her opinion of General Iroh, but she figured no one who had come to attack them would knock first.

“I need your help,” He said, looking gravely at the four of them. At her side, Aang and Sokka took their fighting stances while Toph simply waved. (Y/N) remained rather relaxed.

“You know him?” Aang questioned Toph.

“Yeah! We met in the woods and I knocked him down. Then he gave me tea and some very good advice.”

“Toph, I think the next time you meet our enemies in the woods, you should share it with us.” (Y/N) stared down at her friend, but it had no effect on her.

“I can’t tell someone’s an enemy by their feet,” Toph scoffed.

“May I come in?” Iroh asked, entering the home once Toph gave him permission. “Princess Azula is in Ba Sing Se.”

“She must have Katara.” Aang’s brows furrowed in anger. (Y/N) had only met Azula a handful of times, but one time was too many with the evil Princess of the Fire Nation.

“She has my nephew as well,” Iroh said.

“Then we’ll work together to save Katara and Zuko,” Aang said very decidedly, resulting in Sokka blinking his eyes in confusion.

“I’m sorry, you lost me at ‘Zuko,’” He said. Iroh placed a hand on Sokka’s shoulder.

“I know you do not like my nephew, but I promise that there is good inside of him.” Sokka shook Iroh’s hand off of him.

“Good inside of him isn’t enough! Come back when the good’s outside of him, too.”

“Katara’s in trouble!” Aang said, perhaps the most serious that (Y/N) had ever seen him. “All of Ba Sing Se’s in trouble. We have to work together.”

Sokka’s blue eyes flickered to meet (Y/N’s), the edge of his eyebrow raising as he silently asked her opinion. She spread out her hands and shrugged. “We’re supposed to help people, Sokka.” He inhaled a deep breath before nodding.

“I brought someone along who might be able to help.” Iroh led them outside, where a Dai Li agent was tied up and gagged on their front steps.

“Oh dear,” (Y/N) said, surprised at the sight. Iroh removed the gag from his mouth. It took very little to get him to talk.

“Azula and Long Feng are plotting a coup! They’re going to overthrow the Earth King!”

“Where’s my sister?” Sokka demanded, gathering the Dai Li’s shirt in his fist.

“In the crystal catacombs of Old Ba Sing Se, deep beneath the palace!”

Their group traveled to just outside the palace, where Toph confirmed that there was indeed an ancient city beneath the present one. They decided to split up, Aang and Iroh would rescue Zuko and Katara, while Toph, Sokka, and (Y/N) would warn the Earth King about the coup.

The group of three ran up the stairs to the palace when they noticed General How making his way toward them. Sokka pulled both girls behind a pillar and they watched as the General was arrested by Dai Li agents. “The coup is happening right now,” Sokka whispered. “We’ve got to get to the Earth King.”

As silently and as carefully as possible, they ran to the throne room. Earth King Kuei sat pleasantly in his seat, his beloved bear Bosco at his side. They had made it, with only a few moments to spare.

The traditional green and gold colors of the Kyoshi Warriors flashed in front of (Y/N), landing just a few inches from Sokka’s face. “Hey there, cutie,” The warrior said, and both Sokka and (Y/N’s) faces reddened, albeit for different reasons.

“I’m uh,” Sokka stuttered, but Toph used her earthbending to fling the girl out of the way.

“They’re not the real Kyoshi Warriors!”

“Sorry to disappoint you,” said the familiar voice of the Fire Nation girl, Mai. She flung her daggers at (Y/N), but she waterbended a stream of water in front of her and froze it, catching the daggers within it. She melted the ice and the sharp pieces of metal clattered to the floor.

“I don’t really have any training in throwing daggers,” (Y/N) said as she picked them up. “But back home I used to throw spears to catch dinner. It’s kind of the same, right?” She used all of her force to throw a dagger back at Mai, missing her by only a few inches. The girl quickly darted for her, so (Y/N) had to think on her feet. She encased the daggers in a water bubble, freezing it as hard as she could and pelting it at Mai.

“This fight is over,” Azula said, drawing everyone’s attention to the center of the room, where she held a flame dagger against Kuei’s throat. (Y/N) looked to Sokka, who dropped his weapon and sank to the ground. She and Toph followed suit. Ty Lee fiercely jabbed at their backs and sides, effectively chi blocking all of them.

Dai Li agents lifted them to their wobbly legs, taking the friends, King Kuei, and Bosco to the lower levels of the palace, where the prisons were. They were tossed unceremoniously into their cell and had the door shut behind them, allowing for only a sliver of light to enter the room.

(Y/N) had been thrown in last, resulting in her being closest to the exit. Blinking her eyes to help them adjust to the darkness, she stared at the door, which was fashioned from thick metal to keep earthbenders in. “Toph,” (Y/N) called out. It would take a bit for them to regain their ability to use their limbs and bend, but there was still hope. Toph grunted in response, her face smushes against the floor of the cell. “The door is metal.”

Toph grinned into the darkness.

Once each member of their party had gained their mobility, they made sure the outside of the cell was completely free of Dai Lee agents before making their escape. The door loudly crunched beneath Toph’s hands and clattered even more loudly as she tossed it into the hallway. “I hope no one heard that,” King Kuei said.

“Let’s go,” Sokka ordered, and the four of them plus Bosco ran back up to the surface. Night had fallen while they had been imprisoned, allowing them to sneak around the palace grounds with little difficulty.

“We have to find Katara and Aang,” (Y/N) whispered, stopping in her tracks just before they were about to pass through the gates.

“We’re coming back for them,” Sokka reassured her. “We just have to get Appa first, and then we’ll all escape.”

“(Y/N)!” Sokka whisper-shouted after her, but (Y/N) couldn’t just go with them and hope that her friends would be okay, or that they would know what was going on. She first went to the spot where Iroh and Aang had disappeared into the ground. The hole they had created to travel to the catacombs had been covered up by Toph, so as to not draw unwanted attention to them. When (Y/N) didn’t see Aang or Katara there, she made quick laps around the palace, evading the sight of the Dai Lee.

Oddly enough, sneaking around the palace felt comforting to her. It reminded her of being back home and sneaking past her own guards, so that she could practice her waterbending through the night. Yue would be waiting up when she returned, a disappointed yet humored look on her face.

(Y/N) was nearly finished with her second lap around the palace when she spotted them. Encased in a beam of moonlight, Katara had Aang’s arm strung around her shoulders as she attempted to carry him to safety. (Y/N) ran forward, quietly calling out Katara’s name. The girl turned around, her eyes welling with tears. (Y/N) noticed immediately how limp Aang was in her arms. The edges of his clothes were singed and at the very base of his back was a raw and angry burn mark.

(Y/N’s) ears were ringing as she stared at Aang. This couldn’t be happening. There was no way that she could be losing yet another person she loved too soon. But here Aang was, his head slumped forward and all of his weight leaning into Katara’s body. She couldn’t see his body rising or falling with his breaths. Tears fell against her cheeks one by one, the shock settling in her bones.

Numbly, (Y/N) took Aang’s other arm and slung it around her own shoulder. She led Katara to the spot where she had left Sokka, and he, Toph, Kuei, and Bosco were all waiting atop Appa’s back. Sokka hopped down to help them. “I’m so glad you’re okay!” He said quietly, looking from Katara to (Y/N). It only took a few more seconds for his own realization to set in. “Let’s get him on Appa.”

They lifted him onto the air bison and took off, fleeing Ba Sing Se. Katara pulled out the small vial of water from the Spirit World Oasis. Master Pakku had given it to her before they left the North Pole. Carefully, she moved Aang onto his side and applied the water to his back. It glowed bright blue, as it water usually did when it was used for healing, but then the color suddenly faded. From all of her years of healing training, (Y/N) knew that could only mean one thing. A sob collected in her throat and her eyes welled with tears once more, her fingers curling tightly into the fabric of her clothes.

Then, as Katara held onto Aang, his tattoos began glowing the same bright blue as the Spirity World Water. He groaned lowly, just barely enough for anyone to hear, but all of his friends were listening so intently. His eyes opened just enough to look up at Katara. He gave her a small smile before slipping back into unconsciousness, his chest rising and falling with breath. (Y/N) let out a deep sigh of relief, wiping the tears from her face.

Toph remained toward the back of Appa with Katara and Aang, while (Y/N), Sokka, and King Kuei devised a plan about where they should head next. It was mostly just Sokka and (Y/N) coming up with a plan while King Kuei listened intently. “We should head back to Chameleon Bay,” Sokka said. “My dad might still be there.”

“And if he isn’t, we have a good enough view from Appa to see them if they’re anywhere else.”

They flew back to where they had been just a few hours prior and luckily, the men of the Southern Water Tribe remained where they had left them. Hakoda walked out to greet them, his face becoming grave once he saw the condition Aang was in.

“Katara,” He opened his arms to hug his daughter, but she ignored him, instead giving orders to the Water Tribe men about where exactly to place Aang and what she would need. Awkwardly, Hakoda turned to (Y/N) and Sokka. “I didn’t expect to see you so soon after you left.”

“Ba Sing Se has been taken by the Fire Nation,” Sokka said, very seriously for a boy of fifteen.

“Princess Azula has the Dai Li under her control,” (Y/N) said. “If we don’t act carefully, the rest of the Earth Kingdom might fall.”

“Sounds like we need a plan,” Hakoda said. He smiled down at his send. “Care to lead a war meeting?” Sokka met his father’s smile with one of his own. He nodded eagerly. “Meet me in my tent in a few minutes. I’m going to get some tents set up for you and your friends.”

(Y/N) grinned at Sokka, hitting his arm playfully with his fist. “Look at you! Soon you’ll be Commander Sokka or something like that.” He turned to look at her.

“What you did back in Ba Sing Se was risky, (Y/N). You could’ve been hurt.” (Y/N) scrunched her nose.

“I said you’ll be Commander Sokka soon, not right now.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “I couldn’t leave them behind. It might not have been the move you would’ve done--”

“You’re right, I wouldn’t have. You can’t jeopardize your own life to try to save people.”

“If I hadn’t tried, there might not have been any lives to save!” (Y/N) snapped. “Katara was weak and Aang...Aang was dead, Sokka. I don’t care what you say. I know I did the right thing.”

Sokka opened his mouth to fire back, but stopped himself. He inhaled a deep breath. “You’re right. But you have to be more careful. Don’t think I didn’t notice your empty water pack.” For good measure, he squeezed the pack at her hip and nothing came out. She had used it all when fighting Mai. (Y/N) hadn’t even noticed that she was out of water.

“Sorry,” (Y/N) muttered, avoiding his gaze. She felt like she was in trouble. Sokka took her hand in his and gave it a squeeze.

“Come lead the meeting with me?” He was smiling down at her and (Y/N) rolled her eyes, her own smile appearing on her lips. Sometimes, being with Sokka felt so natural that it was so easy to get back to normal.

They remained with the men of the Southern Water Tribe. King Kuei would show off Bosco to anyone who would listen and eventually, the two set off to see the world. When Katara wasn’t healing Aang, she slept on a cot at his side, to make sure that he wouldn’t need anything throughout the night. She had all of her meals delivered to the tent. The only time anyone could talk to her was if they entered with her express permission.

Sokka and (Y/N) spent the majority of their time together. They attended war meeting after war meeting. They took their meals together so they could continue their discussions of how to best attack the Fire Nation during the eclipse. Some nights, they would fall asleep among their work.

Toph spent the majority of the time bouncing between Sokka, (Y/N), and Katara, or resting against Appa’s comfy fur. Toph was perhaps the only person who was getting an actual break from anything, but during the nights where (Y/N) and Sokka would present their plans to the rest of the tribe, she would be listening intently to uncover anything that needed to be adjusted.

After about a week of remaining in the same spot, the tribe loaded onto their ships to find a new area to camp. Only a few days after they had set sail, they encountered a Fire Naiton ship. Part of Sokka and (Y/N’s) plan was that Aang could not be discovered, so they all attacked with full force and commandeered the ship. The men changed into Fire Nation uniforms while Toph, Katara, and (Y/N) used cloaks to cover the clothes that would be a dead giveaway. Having a Fire Nation ship under their control allowed them to pass through the seas without any fear of danger.

Perhaps the nicest thing about staying on the Fire Nation ship was that (Y/N) had her own room and a nice bed to sleep in. It had been ages since she had slept on anything other than a mat on the floor, so as soon as she claimed the room for her own she slept for hours, only being woken to a heavy banging at her door.

Sleepily, she stood, rubbing the sleep from her eyes as she opened the door. Sokka was in front of her, a plate of food in his hand. “I thought you had died,” He said, pushing past her to enter her room. “You slept for thirteen hours!”

“‘S that a lot?” (Y/N) asked through a yawn. Her brain was taking longer to wake up than her body. “I don’t think it’s enough.”

“I brought you dinner. I tried to wake you up for it but you wouldn’t answer. You scared me,” Sokka grumbled. (Y/N) couldn’t help but laugh. “What’s so funny?”

“You’re so dramatic. I was just sleeping.” She took the plate from Sokka’s hands and began picking at the food. “Thank you, I appreciate you.” She sat on the edge of her bed and Sokka joined her.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something,” He said, and she yawned.

“If anyone tries talking to you after you’ve woken up, you’re such a monster, but you want to have full on conversations with me four minutes after I’ve woken up.”

“It’s been more like three minutes, I think,” And they both smiled. “Do you remember when you said you were going back to the Northern Water Tribe after the war?”

“I don’t think that’s what I said, but I’ve thought about it.” She rubbed her eye once more. “People are trying to challenge my throne, so I’d like to put a stop to that.”

“So you want to rule the Northern Tribe? I thought you hated it there.”

“I do,” (Y/N) said immediately. “Or, I did. But I don’t know what I’m going to want in the future and we definitely don’t know what’s going to happen once Aang defeats the Fire Lord.” She shrugged. “It’s not like I’m going to become the chief of my tribe tomorrow.”

Sokka nodded, rubbing the palms of his hands against his pants. “Okay, cool. You had me worried for a second.”

“Worried about what?”

“You leaving.” (Y/N) smiled, offering him a grape, and he popped it into his mouth.

“I’m not leaving anytime soon. Someone has to shut down your ideas about convincing animals to fight against the Fire Nation.”

“Appa and Momo do it, I can’t see why other animals won’t!” (Y/N) giggled.

“As much as I’d love to see a platybus bear absolutely wreck Prince Zuko, I don’t think it’s going to happen.” Sokka threw his head back at the mental imagery, his laugh sounding throughout the room. (Y/N) smiled at him as he laughed and realized just how unlucky she was. (Y/N), last remaining princess of the Northern Water Tribe was head-over-heels, wholeheartedly in love with Sokka.

---

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theresnosafeharbor4myships · 3 years

Text

TITLE: Out of the Grave - Chapter 1: The Void

A/N: An alt ending/fix-it fic. Because we and they deserved better--so I made it happen.

83 hours and 37 minutes. Not that he'd kept a count exactly. Just that his eidetic mind knew the exact moment Abbie had left this world, taking his heart with her and leaving him hollow, and his quick thoughts often calculated the duration he'd kept breathing without her. He'd spent the first 6 hours and 24 minutes working with Miss Jenny and Master Mills—and ultimately, ironically, his old pal the Horseman—to try to defeat Pandora and force her to release his Lieutenant, only to learn she'd actually expired. The dreams he'd had, sweet and aching moments with Abbie reflecting on their meet cute, time in the Archives, relaxing on their front porch where she'd tried to explain why he should let her go, would never suffice. He hadn't said the things he'd wanted—needed—to, hadn't explained how she'd helped save him: from roaming lost in this world, from imprisonment and institutionalization, from his son and the myriad monsters they'd encountered, from a wife who'd never truly been honest with him. And yes more important matters: from going mad, drowning in loneliness, feeling isolated, floating adrift in a world that still confounded him sometimes. And at times even saving him from himself. No, he hadn't said any of those things. And now he never could. Which is why he'd spent the next 49 hours and 52 minutes drowning his sorrows, his hollowed out chest, and his overactive mind in rivers of alcohol. He hadn't gotten smashed or wallowed in oblivion. No, he'd needed it to last, so he'd drunk just enough as the hours passed to keep the clawing ache in his empty ribcage from swallowing him whole. Miss Jenny had come by sometime around hour 32, banging on the door so hard he thought the roof would cave in. If he'd cared at all, he might feel concerned about her waking the neighbors in the dead of night, but he couldn't muster enough decency to. He'd ignored her at first, thinking she'd take a hint, or at least think him not home, but her insistent knocking continued. "I know you're in there, Crane." More banging. "Let me in there, or get out of my sister's house." It was a low blow, but one he deserved, for Miss Jenny had lost just as much as he had. If anyone had earned the right to drown her demons with liquor right next to him, it was her.

He'd stumbled to the door—okay, maybe he had gotten smashed, for he felt her knocking vibrate through his brain—bottle in hand, and unlocked it, turning the knob and walking away before he'd even seen her face. The slam of the door rattled the house but not him, and he shuffled back to his couch cushion, dropping down onto it, sipping from the bottle, and staring into the fireplace embers. Jenny said not a word, simply restarted the fire and plopped down on the other end of the couch, gazing at the vibrant blaze as it danced shadows around the room. After a few minutes, he threw out his arm towards her, bottle in hand, and she took it from him, downing a few gulps to try to silence the ache. She tried to return it to him, but he waved her off, waiting another 30 minutes before slowly rising—why did simply existing hurt so much?—and retrieving a few more bottles, which he'd purchased on his way home from that graveyard, from the stash in the kitchen. He placed them on the cushion between them, an open bar for them to sink into. Another few hours dragged by, and he felt more than heard Jenny crying at some point, the room changing from desperation, anger, and pain to grief and mourning, and he joined her, tears cascading down his face unabashedly. Their silence made their shared sorrow all the more palpable, exchanging emotions they couldn't speak aloud, the shroud around them sucking the whimpering breaths out of them as easily as it'd done to their partners. How could he have kept silent all this time, holding in and swallowing down the words that'd desperately begged for release? He'd tried to ignore them, the burgeoning affection, passion—now that it mattered no longer, he could admit it, cowardly fiend that he was—and love he'd harbored for Abbie since long before proprietary permitted it. He'd killed his wife for her, for Heaven's sake! And while he pretended mere friendship, ignored everything that screamed at him to make his feelings known, he hadn't hidden a damn thing. Miss Corinth, Betsy, even Pandora had seen his love for her. What an abominable fool he'd been. And now the one person who needed to know, who should've heard it from his own lips a thousand times over, never would. He let the tears burn down his face, though they washed none of his self-recriminations away. He deserved every horrid thought he had about himself. They ripped through his mind, scathing him, leaving him more raw and aching than he could ever remember feeling before. His entire body ached, joints, marrow, muscles, head, chest. And still he sipped on, needing the numb, refusing the full onslaught of trauma a clear mind would force him to face. He'd lost before, lost battles and comrades and his dignity. Lost loves and his homeland and best friend and life. His world and his wife and his son and the dreams he'd had and held and hoped for. Hell, he'd even lost Abbie a few times. But never where he couldn't get her back. Never where he couldn't find a way to follow, to find, to free her. And Master Corbin too. To lose both within hours of each other...they could shrivel into oblivion right now and it'd feel better than this. Master Joe had become his compatriot, his comrade in arms against the monsters and the daily dose of estrogen floating around the Archives—not that he'd trade the Mills sister or Agent Foster for ten regiments of men—not to mention a brother and friend. And Abbie...the ache in his chest seized him anew, and his shoulders hunched in against the black hole of despair threatening his breath. He couldn't begin to enumerate all the things she'd become to him. Partner, secret-keeper, fellow Witness, best friend, confidant, companion, roommate, voice of reason, inspiration, keeper of his heart. He thought he'd been in love once, had been in fact, but losing her had felt nothing like this. He'd sat in pain, suffered with the guilt that he'd not devoted enough to her, hadn't held tightly enough to a union that hadn't been what he'd agreed to, despaired that she'd died by his own hand in an effort to save Abbie. He'd had to—it hadn't even been a choice by then. Now, though, without Abbie...he didn't know how to keep breathing, wasn't sure he wanted to. Couldn't see beyond the bottom of the bottle. How could he walk through the world, the Archives, the town, this house, with memories of her around every corner, breathing down his neck, invading his mind, shredding the broken pieces of his heart into shavings? How could he solve the mysteries of the supernatural without her intellect, expertise, and help? What was one Witness to do without his other half, the best part of him, his anchor to this era? He couldn't sit still with himself and his maudlin ruminations another second. Without thinking, Ichabod hefted himself off the couch and shuffled down the hallway, making a pit stop before grabbing a box of tissues from the hall closet. He set them down on the cushion between them and took his seat again. Jenny had stayed until the sun was well into the sky, barely any words spoken but sharing the pain of their losses just the same. She'd stretched her hand out towards him, bridging the empty spaces around them with a simple reach of her arm across the cushion. He looked at her hand, open and alone in the expanse between them, and he slid his hand into hers, both of them holding on and squeezing tightly, attempting to convey all the things they couldn't speak with words. A moment later, she slipped quietly out of the house, the finality of the door clicking closed somehow louder than the slam she'd entered it with, sealing him into a solitude he'd never comprehend. More hours passed as he'd slept off the nasty hangover he wouldn't admit he had, as he sat in the bathtub letting the hot water steam over him until it cooled off and had him shivering, as he roamed aimlessly from room to room, gazing longingly at all the remnants of Agent Lieutenant Grace Abigail Mills: her hairbrush, those heeled boots that still left her a foot shorter than him, the cappuccino she'd just started drinking again at his behest, her pea coat with the faux-fur hood that made her look adoringly like a diminutive Eskimo. Now, just over 84 hours had passed, and he still didn't have a sweet clue as to how to get through the next one, still sat in this one corner of the couch, only this time without a drink in his hand. Without so many things... Without a case to work, without his partner in crime and, he'd begun to hope, in life from here until the end, without a purpose, he might as well lay back down in that cave he'd emerged from and sleep for a few more centuries. "Crane." Her voice, soft and lilting and perfect, floated to him, a haunting sound he both craved and feared. He'd thought he might have imagined her during his indulgent consumption of alcohol, but no...it was here in his lucid moments that he'd conjured the sound of her, the voice he'd long to hear until the day he drew his last breath. "Crane." She sounded hesitantly happy, guardedly optimistic, a smile coming through her tone. Exactly how he heard her in his mind, same as he'd done when she'd been lost in the catacombs. He shook his head slightly to escape from her, not ready for conversations with her yet, everything about him still too raw to face all of the things he needed to apologize for, all of the things he'd never had the audacity to tell her when she'd stood by him, encouraged him, spurred him on. "Ichabod." She accompanied her insistent tone and the rare use of his first name with a hand on his shoulder, and he nearly jumped out of his skin, scrambling up from the couch to face whatever ghoul had come to destroy his feeble, battered mind. And his jaw dropped. There she stood...Abbie. In one piece, small in stature but large in presence, beautiful and strong and...breathing. How could this be? "Abbie...?" His whispered question sounded more like a squeak, but he didn't dare try again, wasn't sure what devilry was at work here, arriving to destroy him when he was at his lowest, his most vulnerable. She looked at him, her expression a mixture of sadness and apology, a small smile of hesitation and hope playing on her face. "Hi."

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dovakhiindrabbles · 3 years

Note

For the prompt 43 with Brynjolf please?

Of course! I’d be more than happy to write the prompt for you! I only hope you have an amazing day and enjoy! <3

43. “Come with me.”

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Nocturnal was a god among mortals -- a daedric prince who oversaw the murky shadows and all who hid among them. Whispers heard throughout the world told of how she could even be found lingering in those shadows, an inky blackness clinging to her as if the very sun itself couldn’t reveal her.

She was above the follies of mortals and yet couldn’t help herself from meddling. Especially those of her most loyal followers -- the Nightingales.

She’d noticed from her times looming within the darkness how you and Brynjolf interacted. How hands briefly brushed and fingers just barely interlocked. How passing glances held just a second too long to be unimportant. How no matter where you went, you went together.

Your feelings for one another were so painfully obvious an infant could see it -- so apparently the two of you had even less awareness.

It was an opportunity Nocturnal couldn’t pass up.

Between the two of you, she first sought out Brynjolf. The man fancied himself as clever, often to such a degree that a snippy remark had slipped out in some of their conversations.

It was during the night when she caught him, just outside the Blue Palace where he’d managed to escape from. Guards spilled out and yells could be heard from each and every corner -- even those caught in shadow. Brynjolf had slipped between two manors where the moonlight missed just so. An ornate, extravagant jewelry box clamped between his grip with more gemstones and gold decorating it than most would see in their entire life.

From there, Nocturnal revealed herself in the darkest crevice space could offer. The darkness extended her outwards and still clung to her despite her physical form. She was a void, and the shape she created only split itself apart in the pure absence of light -- not even the brightest lantern would be able to paint her figure.

“My Nightingale.”

Brynjolf nearly jumped into the open road in shock, smacking his back up against the wall in frustration upon realizing. “Fucking fuck are you-”

He looked up at Nocturnal’s imposing figure and thought better of himself. He spoke softly, his gaze alternating between her and the streets cluttering further and further of curious onlookers and furious guards. “My lady, what can I do for you?”

She made a motion with her hand that brought strings of the void trailing after her fingertips. “On the contrary, I am here to offer you my assistance.”

Brynjolf gave a cheeky grin. “Could you get me out of this mess?”

“You are one of my most trusted followers with an agent of my own creation. There should be no situation beyond your skills.”

“I know.” Brynjolf groaned. “Worth a shot. Meet me outside the gates, my lady?”

She vanished without a word and Brynjolf proceeded to lift himself up onto the rim of one of the manor’s roof. He hoisted himself up and pressed his body close to the tiles, only lifting himself up to leap from home to home. In that time he truly was a shadow, beyond any light and any eyes that would make the foolish attempt to seek him out.

Minutes later he was beyond Solitude’s walls and any outrage that still remained was drowned out by the falling and crashing of the waves below. Still hidden away safely in his coat was the jewelry box -- not so much as a scuff on it. Brynjolf impressed himself every time.

As he began walking along the carved out path, Nocturnal reemerged. Her form freer beyond Solitude’s constant desire for warmth. She carried herself freely, and she took on a shape almost human, but not quite. There was always an unknowable aspect to Nocturnal that could never be described. Many daedra carried themselves in such a way, so that they could nearly blend in, but never be forgotten by anything lesser than a fool.

“That was commendable.” Nocturnal hummed. Both a lightness and a deepness coexisted in her voice.

Brynjolf interlocked his fingers and stretched them out; a popping could be heard. He sighed dramatically. “All in a day’s work.”

“I hope you are able to hide that treasure as well as you hide your feelings.”

Brynjolf knew Daedric princes were meant to be incapable of understanding; downright incomprehensible sometimes. But this? It bewildered him.

“I’m sorry?”

“You and the other Nightingale?”

Brynjolf cracked a grin. “Karliah?” He tested Nocturnal’s kindness.

“The other one.” She swatted a bit of darkness at him and like a tight band flung outward, it stung him.

“Ah, that one.” Brynjolf rubbed at his little red mark where Nocturnal smacked him like a petulant child. “What of them?”

Nocturnal stepped in front of him, a swirling blackness keeping her from ever truly touching the ground. “You both have feelings for one another?”

Brynjolf did what he knew best, and dodged the question. “What like hate? Friendliness? Perhaps a bit of irritation?”

“Do not attempt to evade me, Nightingale.” Nocturnal raised her voice and the night became that much more invasive. She settled herself quickly. “You are my servant, there is nothing I do not know. The darkest, most secretive parts of yourself are the ones I know best. Fortunately for you, I only wish to help.”

Brynjolf wrinkled his nose and cracked beneath the pressure. It was a touchy subject, apparently. “Oh yeah? And how’s that?”

“I need only open your eyes,” Nocturnal answered. “I think you’ll find it’s clear the feelings are mutual.”

“I don’t want to be disrespectful my lady but-”

Nocturnal cut him off. “Then don’t be.”

Brynjolf scoffed. “But I don’t see how that’s possible.”

She tipped her head to the side curiously. “How is that?”

“Because there are a million other better people knocking on their door!” Brynjolf exclaimed it like it were obvious. “I mean why would someone like that choose someone like me?”

“Someone like you? Their equal?”

Brynjolf scowled and huffed. “Like a thief could ever be on par with the Dragonborn.”

Nocturnal simpered. “The Dragonborn themself also is a thief. Last I recall you two work closely together.”

“Even still-”

“The only one creating rifts in this relationship is you, my Nightingale. What are you afraid of?”

He hesitated and in an instant Nocturnal knew.

“Rejection.”

Brynjolf’s hands tightened into tight, uneasy fists at the revelation. Nocturnal raised those hands and unfurled them, tracing lines of shadow along his palm. In the most peculiar way, it was soothing, and Brynjolf supposed it was her own... unique way of comforting him.

“If I believed there was a chance the Dragonborn wouldn’t share those feelings I would not be here, speaking to you. I only want what is best for my followers.”

“Besides,” Nocturnal mused. “if it goes poorly, you can simply submerge yourself within the shadows for eternity.”

Brynjolf chuckled. “I might take you up on that offer.”

“You won’t.” Nocturnal looked up at him with an emptiness one could consider her eyes. Her ‘windows to the soul’ only unveiled further darkness, but only in the way one shrouds themself beneath the shade of a blanket to escape what frightens them -- it was a relief, protection. “Because you won’t have to.”

A moment later, Nocturnal disappeared within the void beneath her. She sank into the night that had soaked into the very deepest layers of the earth, leaving Brynjolf to himself and her words.

By the time he’d made it to the Nightingale Hall, he’d made up his mind.

You were sitting in the living quarters with Karliah, seated across one another and leaned both in the old, weary chairs. You’d been laughing, and Brynjolf could tell by the edges of your lips lifted up. The moment you saw him, you lit up.

“Bryn! There you are! Karliah was starting to think you got lost along the way!”

He snorted. “I could’ve. What a bitch of a walk.”

Karliah furrowed her brow, amused. “You could’ve stolen a horse like a sane person.”

“Maybe I like the quiet. You can hardly get any of it here.”

She rolled her eyes at the very idea. “You wouldn’t know what to do without us.”

Brynjolf laughed. “Absolutely lass.”

He turned to you and his heart began to thump heavy and hard against his chest. Of all the things to bring him nerves in life, it was you bringing knots and tangles in his stomach. He took a deep breath and grasped your shoulder, gesturing. “Come with me.”

Your eyes widened like saucers, but you stood up. To say the least, your curiosity was piqued. “Alright... what is it?”

“I just wanted to talk to you, in private.”

You ducked your head away to hide the red that burst onto your face. You folded your lips to hide a growing smile, but you were still clearly nervous, shuffling your feet and fidgeting with your hands. “Okay.”

He led you outside where the evening had overtaken the sky overhead in a mix of blues, pinks, and the slightest tinge of purple. It was a beautiful sight, and one of the rare gifts that came with living in Skyrim.

Brynjolf leaned against the stone cavern of the hall and ran his fingers through his hair. This felt so much easier in his head. “I ah -- I don’t know how to say this without sounding like an idiot.”

“Bryn-”

“No! I just -- I want to say this, but be patient with me, please. I’m not good with... emotions.” Brynjolf laughed. “You don’t get to be a man like me by being open.”

You nodded and stayed, you were far too patient than he deserved.

“I-” Brynjolf swallowed hard and took a few steps forward. A part of him wanted to reach for your hand but that’d be too much, too soon. If he -- if Nocturnal was wrong he didn’t want to dig his grave any further than necessary.

“I love you.”

There was a period of silence where Brynjolf considered Nocturnal’s offer to hide in the shadows forever. It was a horrible few seconds where Brynjolf’s vision was stagnant and the entire world was frozen in time.

He only came back to reality when you took his hand. You enveloped it in your own and squeezed his palm fondly. You were warm, and your grip was steadfast.

“I love you too.”

Brynjolf rarely smiled from ear to ear, but he did then. He took you in his arms and spun you like one only saw in fairy tales. It was something he only just now realized he’d wanted to do for the longest time. There were so many things he wanted to do -- with you -- and now, he could.

He would have to thank Nocturnal the next time they crossed paths.

#Brynjolf #Skyrim #tes #Skyrim tes #brynjolf skyrim #Brynjolf x Reader #Brynjolf x You #You x Brynjolf #Skyrim Fanfic #Skyrim Fanfiction #x Reader #brynjolf fanfiction #Brynjolf Fanfic #Forgot how much I LOVE nocturnal #also thieves guild might be my favorite questline

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pearlsephoni · 3 years

Text

Shinkane Week Day 7: Of Bourbon and Wine (Free Day)

Can also be read on AO3!

Rating: T

Fandom: Psycho-Pass

Pairing: Shinkane (Kogami/Akane)

Characters: Akane Tsunemori, Shinya Kogami, Shion Karanomori

Summary: A rare night off finds Akane and Kogami at the same bar, where stories shared between old friends give way to dormant desires.

A/N: Author’s notes can be read on AO3.

Akane wished she were at home.

It was Shion’s fault she was at this bar. Her friend had told her, in very kind words, that she had a moral obligation to take herself out on the town. “If I hear you spent another weekend here or in your apartment, I might die of vicarious boredom.”

“Shion-san-”

“Don’t ‘san’ me,” Shion had tutted with a triumphant smile. “You only ever do that when you’re trying to put me off, and that means I’m right. Let me doll you up a little, lend you a dress, and then you can go out, have some fun, and tell me all about it.” When Akane still didn’t agree, Shion went so far as to pout. “Please, Akane-chan, I can only have fun like that vicariously through you.”

Shion was stubborn, but she wasn’t unreasonable. Her adjustments to Akane’s makeup didn’t go beyond a bit of added shadow to her eyelids and a darker red to her lips, and her hair was only waved just a bit. What Shion did put her foot down for was the outfit.

Which was how Akane now found herself sitting at the bar in a tight, sparkly, long-sleeved red dress that only reached to her midthigh, paired with black heels she’d had to dig out from the back of her closet. Shion wasn’t that much taller than her, but if the borrowed dress only reached the middle of Akane’s thighs...well, no wonder Shion had insisted she wear it. Tonight was probably the first time it had been worn in a while.

“Ma’am?” The voice broke through her thoughts, and her gaze jerked up to meet the bartender’s. “The gentleman over there had this sent to you.” A frosty glass of red wine was gently set in front of her, and she followed the bartender’s finger to a man on the opposite end of the bar.

He had dark, lightly tousled hair, and was wearing a snug grey henley. He was handsome, there was no denying that, and Akane’s lips automatically quirked to match the small smile on his face, but she didn’t make any moves to reach for the wine glass. She could practically hear Shion sighing in disappointment - all that work to dress her up for a night out, only for her to turn down the first man to express interest in her.

Though...she hadn’t turned him down, not really. If she just sipped at the drink and flashed another smile, that would be enough to express her interest. It was easy. It was simple. It was-

“Fancy seeing you here.”

And just like that, the drink and the man across the bar were forgotten. “...Kogami-san?”

“Yo.” He slid into the stool next to her with an easy smile, his white button-down and dark jeans making him look more at home in the social space than Akane would’ve ever expected to see from him. “I never thought I’d find you in a place like this.”

“I could say the same to you,” Akane retorted, though her smile robbed her words of any bite. “What brings you here?”

“Thought I’d visit some old haunts, see what’s changed since I could last go out on the town. Shion mentioned this place was still standing, and I wanted to see it for myself. What about you?”

Realization dawned on Akane, her mind flipping through Shion’s insistent pleas. She had been strangely determined to get Akane out, almost to the point of desperation. Of course...of course she knew he would be here. “Shion...was very insistent that I come out tonight. She did my makeup, let me borrow a dress, the works.”

Understanding fell over Kogami’s face, followed very quickly by amusement. “And here I was wondering what the special occasion was. I have Shion to thank for this?”

“‘Thank’?”

“Sure. You look nice...really nice.” There was an air of nonchalance in the way Kogami shrugged, but it didn’t stop Akane from feeling flustered when he glanced away to sip at his bourbon.

“I...thank you. So do you.”

“Thanks.” The small smile he flashed was warm, and Akane felt suddenly restless, her fingers automatically seeking out the stem of the wine glass that was now beading up with condensation. Kogami’s eyes followed her movements, and his smile turned a little bitter. “I’d offer to buy you a drink, but it looks like someone beat me to it.”

“What? Oh, I-” Her hand jerked back from the glass, panic suddenly clashing with the strange giddiness that was bubbling up in her. The bartender had long since moved on to serve other patrons, and when she looked down the bar, the man in the henley was nowhere to be seen. “I didn’t- I don’t want- wait.” She turned back to Kogami with a frown tinged with playfulness, her nerves immediately calmed with the chance to change the subject. “How did you know someone else bought it for me?”

“It doesn’t look like you’ve even sipped at it...and you don’t really strike me as someone who likes red wine enough to order it.”

“Oh? What do you think I would order for myself?”

It didn’t make sense to her that eyes the color of rain clouds and ocean waves could emanate warmth. But whenever Kogami looked at her, really looked at her, like he did now, she could feel something like a flickering flame licking through her and making her blood rise into a flush on her cheeks and the tips of her ears.

“You would order plum wine.” His smile broadened at her wide eyes. “Am I right?”

“I’m glad your detective skills haven’t gotten rusty,” she muttered, pulling a soft laugh from Kogami.

“Well, Inspector, can I buy you a drink?”

“Only if you promise not to call me Inspector for the rest of the night.”

His smile was enigmatic as he waved down the bartender, placing an order for a glass of sweet plum wine.

Conversation flowed as easily as the wine and bourbon over the next few hours. They couldn’t share information about the cases their departments were working on, but Kogami could share stories of his trips to Masaoka’s grave with Ginoza, and the way Sugo couldn’t stop sneezing whenever Dime joined the team for outdoor training. In turn, Akane offered stories of Sho’s rare moments of quiet confidence when he noticed something the rest of Division One missed, and the few times Yayoi got visibly annoyed with Shimotsuki.

“I shouldn’t say it, but it is a little cathartic when she frowns at Mika,” Akane laughed with a guilty smile. “Yayoi’s the only one who can get away with it without getting a whole lecture on ‘respect.’”

“Shimotsuki’s scolded even you?”

“She used to. Nowadays she’s settled for a general sense of annoyance towards me.”

“I’ve heard stories about her from Sugo,” Kogami chuckled, “but I didn’t think they got so bad.” His eye caught Akane’s as he sipped at his drink, and she didn’t bother trying to hide the fond smile that pulled at her lips as she watched him. “What?”

“It’s just...nice, seeing you like this. You look relaxed, almost at home.”

“Mm...it helps, not being directly under Sibyl’s thumb. And my apartment is a lot nicer than the Enforcers quarters.”

Akane rolled her eyes at his smirk, though she couldn’t stop smiling. “Is that so?”

“Oh yes, the height of luxury. I have windows and everything.” A thoughtfulness fell over his face as he watched her fiddle with her empty glass. “I’ve never seen where you live, have I?”

Akane’s smile slid off her face with the realization that he was right. There was no way an Enforcer would have been able to visit an Inspector’s apartment, and since his return, the few times they had been able to meet had always taken place in small cafes or by food stands. “It’s strange, but...I always wished you could’ve seen it, especially since I got to see your space. I think you’d like it...it has windows, too.”

Kogami smirk returned, an almost-perfect match for the playfulness lining her face. “Are you inviting me over?”

“You’re always welcome, Ko. Though...maybe not tonight?

“How come?”

“Well...we’ve both been drinking.”

“Does that change anything?”

“For me, it does.” She didn’t mean to pin him under her hooded gaze, she really didn’t. But any guilt or embarrassment she would’ve felt vanished under the weight of those grey eyes. Oh.

She had seen those eyes glint with triumph, become shadowed with grief, and even soften with affection, but this...the heat in his gaze now made her suddenly aware of all the ways they were in each other’s space: their fingers touching on the bar, their knees just barely brushing together, their shoulders bumping whenever either of them turned on their stools.

Silence settled over them as they both suddenly found their own desires mirrored in the other, and then, finally, Kogami murmured, “Akane...are you sure?”

“Yes. I have been for a while.”

“...Me too. But tonight…”

“We’ve been drinking.”

“We’ve been drinking,” he repeated. As they had been speaking, his fingers wove between hers on the bar, and she gave them a little squeeze of reassurance that made a small smile quirk at his lips. “...Can I still walk you back?”

“How will you get home? Isn’t your place in the opposite direction?”

“It’s fine, I’ll get a taxi. I can do that now, y’know.”

A snort of laughter escaped Akane at that, and the weight of their unspoken confessions lifted between them as they got ready to leave. Kogami paid for their drinks despite Akane’s protestations, and he held her coat for her to shrug into, earning himself a bemused smile from her. “Such a gentleman.”

“I have my moments,” he laughed. There was almost a shyness to his smile when he held out his hand, and a small thrill rushed through Akane when she realized he wanted her to hold it. “Shall we?”

“We shall.” She took his hand, pressing close to his warmth as they headed out into the late winter chill. Her fingers fit perfectly between his, and she had the tipsy thought that perhaps their hands were made to hold each other and keep each other warm. For the first time, she wished her apartment wasn’t so easy to walk to - she could have walked miles in the cold with Kogami at her side.

He seemed to have the same thought when they reached her building - he didn’t immediately reach to open the door, nor did he untangle their fingers. He just stood there and watched her, seemingly waiting for her to head inside.

“Well...I, um...thank you, for tonight,” she murmured, cringing at her own stammering. “I...I enjoyed myself a lot more than I thought I would.”

“Me too.” His smile was fond, his eyes gentle in a way she’d only seen in flashes throughout the night. “I’d like to do it again, maybe at a park or somewhere we’re both more comfortable.”

“Are you asking me on a date, Kogami-san?”

A dusting of pink appeared on his cheeks, but as always, he was impossible to fluster. “Only if you promise not to call me ‘Kogami-san.’”

“Oh? And what would you prefer?”

“Just...my name. ‘Kogami-san’ feels so formal, after...everything.”

“Alright, then...let’s make a date of it...Shinya.”

Oh, that smile. He so rarely smiled like that, so wide and bright and filled with real happiness. Seeing it now made Akane feel like she forgot how to breathe, and two warring desires clashed in her: the desire to look at that smile forever, and the desire to kiss him senseless.

She didn’t realize that one desire had beaten the other. All she knew was that, suddenly, her free hand was coming up to cradle his cheek, and she was rising to her toes, and he was bending down to her.

The first brush of their lips felt electric, as if they had been filled with static that was finally escaping. Akane heard Kogami’s breath catch a split-second before their lips met again, and this time, all she felt was warmth. It was blossoming under her lips and flickering through to her fingertips and glowing like an ember in her chest. The kiss was slow and gentle, even as she licked into his mouth and his hand carded through her hair.

She didn’t know how much time had passed when Kogami pulled away - all she knew was that he had a flush that matched the heat in her cheeks, and that she felt a bit lightheaded, though she wasn’t sure whether that was from her euphoria or the plum wine. Steadiness came when Kogami gently rested his forehead against her, and his fingers moved from her hair to stroke her cheek.

They stood like that for a silent moment, content to simply breathe in each other’s space. When Kogami spoke, reluctance seemed to thread each word. “It’s late...you should head in.”

“When can I see you again?” Her voice sounded whiny to her own ears, but she didn’t have it in her to be embarrassed when Kogami’s response was to press his lips to her forehead.

“I’ll call you. I don’t think I’ll be able to stay away for very long.”

Those words pulled a smile across Akane’s lips, even as she slowly forced herself to step away from his warm arms. “I’ll see you soon, then. Good night, Shinya.”

“Good night, Akane.”

#shinkaneweek #shinkane week 2021 #shinkane #kouaka #psycho pass #psycho-pass #shinya kogami #kougami shinya #akane tsunemori #shion karanomori #mine #my stuff #my fics #psycho-pass fics #shinkane fics #final day of shinkane week means we can have a little yearning #as a treat #pearl writes #pearl's stuff

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svmbucky · 3 years

Text

Steve jumps out of an eleventh-story window and, because he has wings, Sam jumps after him.

The men chasing them have only knives and the sky, at the time, seemed safer.

But, because he doesn’t have wings, Steve falls. Sam is ashamed to admit that all coherent though leaves his brain right around that time, and he nosedives straight down after him.

Steve jumped precious seconds before and there’s so much space between them, but Steve is reaching, not curled up behind his shield, not protecting himself. Never intending to make impact. The free fall rips the air out of Sam’s lungs, fear and speed rendering him breathless.

Steve is falling. And reaching. And all the while his wild eyes and parted lips are saying come on, Sammy, come catch me. Catch me like you do during practice together, like you do when I step off of planes without parachutes and when Nazis push me off of rooftops, by the tips of my fingers, or under my knees and shoulders like a bride. Catch me like you always do.

Not this time.

Steve hits the ground, and pain rips across his face. The shield skids off his arm, across pavement, and he twists into himself, breathes heavily.

Sam wanted so horribly catch him, kept after him even when he knew he couldn’t. He didn’t pull up in time. It’s only Steve, still looking agonized, throwing his strong arms up to catch Sam’s chest that keeps his knees from breaking. The padding still tears when he crashes. The road still scrapes him open, and he feels like a little boy falling off his bike again.

Sam is also ashamed to admit that he gasps, “please, no,” into Steve’s shoulder, and doesn’t realize he’s still moving until he squirms out from under Sam and pulls him to his feet. They’re being chased again by then, though Sam isn’t even sure he grasps that he isn’t being led by a dead man until they leap into Natasha’s car.

“Close one. Nasty fall,” she tosses into the backseat as she steps on the gas until the car squeals. She probably doesn’t see Sam wince, or the hand Steve lays on his thigh without looking up. And yet, she still has the good grace to leave them alone in the kitchen that evening, saying something about getting packed up and ready to find the next safe house.

Steve sips coffee because he’ll be driving. Sam sips coffee because he’s always felt rude dozing off in the passenger seat. “Are you okay?” Steve murmurs, covering Sam’s hand with his own and rubbing his thumb through the curve of Sam’s palm.

“I...” Sam starts, feeling helpless to answer. “I don’t know. No.”

“I’m okay, you know? There’s a bruise. It’ll be gone by morning.”

“I thought you didn’t bruise,” Sam replies, even though that’s not really true. He’s seen Steve bruise; it had happened once after he got punched in the face by a man with a vibranium arm.

Steve cracks a smile. “I’m flattered.”

It’s too harsh, but Sam snaps, “Wasn’t a compliment.” Steve’s smile dies.

“There was nothing you could have done. It was too far; I shouldn’t have reached for you. You never would have made it,” he reassures, even though he doesn’t have to because Sam knows. He’d never let anyone fall if he could help it. “So, there’s no reason to beat yourself up.”

“Can we stop talking about it?” Sam asks. He means it, too. There’s nothing else to say.

Steve is Steve though, and Steve is sweet, so he squeezes Sam’s hand and hooks their ankles together under the table. “I’m not gonna make you,” he says, “but I wish you would.”

“I love you. That’s all. I love you and I don’t want to see you dead.”

“I’m not going to die. I’ve fallen much further than that.”

Sam bites his lip. “Yeah. Don’t remind me.” Now Steve is actually scooting his chair closer, and it’s making Sam roll his eyes. “There are better places to cuddle than at the dinner table.”

That gets him the baby-blue puppy eyes, and Steve says, “Okay. Bed?”

“Couch,” he says, because he doesn’t want to explain to Natasha why he’s crying.

He lets Steve haul him to his feet and lead him over to the couch, where they collapse together. Steve wriggles out of his jacket and throws it over their shoulders, oblivious as ever to the fact that he’s a human space heater. Really, this shouldn’t be comfortable at all; they’re in jeans and still wearing shoes, but Steve is a notoriously excellent snuggler.

Sam still feels like an idiot or an asshole, laying there and sniffling into Steve’s t-shirt like he can’t stop, but the thing is he really can’t stop, and Steve’s never judged him before. That’s a really addictive feeling, not being judged. What’s also addictive is the warm grip Steve has on his arm, and the way his fingers are slowly caressing the crown of Sam’s head.

“I like your hair when it’s longer,” Steve mumbles. “You’re pretty, Sammy.”

Sam only sighs. Steve’s trying. He’s being as loving as ever, really, but Sam doesn’t want to be told he’s pretty right now. He’s honestly not sure he ever wants to be told he’s pretty again, because he feels horrible, and the incongruence is making it worse. His hands feel dirty, and his stomach feels upside-down, and he wants Steve to either be quiet or get upset about the near-death experience. Or, well, it wasn’t really a near-death experience at all. Because Steve is fine. So, then Sam is irrational, and also maybe having a slow-motion panic attack.

It very nearly becomes a real-time panic attack every one of the four times he wakes up on that couch, not realizing he’d nodded off, grabbing Steve’s waist, sure that Steve is falling. Or that Riley is falling, but sometimes he can’t tell the difference between his nightmares. The ripped-open feeling in his gut the whole way down is always the same, anyway.

Steve must not sleep much that night either because he’s awake and ready to dote on Sam every time he spasms back into consciousness. It’s pleasant and it’s comforting, and days probably could have passed by the time Steve whispers, “Let’s get up, honey, we have to drive.”

Sam doesn’t remember where they’re going and doesn’t really want to know. He wishes Steve would get on the road and drive them back home, so he could let his big sister crush him in a hug and watch her shake hands with Natasha. He’d play soccer in the backyard with his nephews and Steve. He’d probably call Rhodey, too, and visit his parents’ grave, and everyone would forgive him for everything.

But by the time he’s snapped out of that daydream he’s sitting in the front seat of Natasha’s car, beside Steve and with no memory of how he got there. Impossibly, he thinks he must have been asleep on his feet.

“Good morning,” Steve whispers with a tiny smile, like he can somehow tell Sam has just come alive.

“Oh, God. Good morning,” Sam says back and takes Steve’s hand off the wheel, folding it in his own. That widens Steve’s smile, and Sam feels himself relax with a shiver, the warm touch spreading heat into his cold hands and his body through them. Steve actually looks alright, Sam thinks, and it’s a relieving thought.

“How about McDonald’s for breakfast?” Natasha asks from behind them.

Sam arches a brow. “Is that safe?” he asks, knowing it can’t be.

“Close enough. It’s a pick-me-up,” Steve justifies with a shrug, and Sam actually laughs, because sometimes Steve is actually unbearably chivalrous.

“I— you don’t have to. It’s going to suck if they bring us in over some hash browns,” Sam protests.

“Hash browns it is,” is the only reply Steve gives him, squeezing Sam’s hand like he did the night before. Lovingly.

The sun is coming up on the horizon, and they’re driving straight into it, the light turning their faces golden and soft. Natasha is laughing behind them, the radio is playing quietly, and it’s funny how alive Steve looks right now with mischief in his blue eyes and that flashing white smile. Suddenly, how Sam could have possibly mistaken him for a dead man mere hours earlier is entirely beyond him.

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mermaidxatxheart · 4 years

Text

A Beautiful Lie

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 12k

Warnings: This one is rough, guys. Trauma, torture, blackmail, Bucky being dangerously charming. If torture isn’t for you, please don’t read.

Prompt: The truth is, I was only using you. (will be in bold)

Summary: You’re forced to do something terrible, something you would give your soul not to have to do.

A/N: Y’all, it’s been a hot minute since I posted anything, almost all year. I’ve really been struggling to find the inspiration to write and I really appreciate everyone who has stuck with me and followed me through this dry spell. Hopefully, I’m reaching the end of it. This is for @coffee-with-bucky‘s 2k writing challenge. I am beyond late, and I am so very sorry. Congratulations on your milestone, and I hope you reach many more.

“You didn’t have to walk me home, Bucky. It’s in the complete opposite direction of where you need to be.” You tell him as he dutifully walks you up the steps to your apartment building.

“Are you kidding? My mother would be rolling in her grave if I let my date walk home by herself. She raised me better than that.” He defends, raising a big hand to his chest. “And I’m right where I need to be, making sure my girl gets home safe.” He nudges your arm playfully. “Besides, I get to spend more time with you this way.”

“Those are all very good points.”

He pulls open the heavy door for you and you step inside. You’ve only been dating Bucky a couple of months, but so far, he’s the most amazing person you’ve ever met. Old world charm without being a creepy serial killer; a gentleman without assuming you need to give him something in return.

It’s nice to be doted on just because.

He pushes the button for your floor and watches the numbers. You watch him. His long eyelashes, his perfectly sculpted profile, strong jaw, pouty lips. They twitch at the corners, but he doesn’t take his eyes off the numbers. The creaking of the elevator stretches out the silence as it descends.

“You’re staring.” He points out.

“Am I? Oops.” You shrug, still looking at him.

“Do I have something on my face?” He sighs.

“Why does there have to be anything wrong? Maybe I’m just watching so you don’t disappear.” You turn to face him.

Slowly, he twists his head to look at you, a frown tugging at his mouth now. “Disappear? And where exactly would I go?”

“Wherever it is that perfect men go when the dream ends.” You lean against him with a smile.

“Y/N, I’m far from perfect.” He shakes his head and you capture his face in your hands, having to rise up on your tiptoes.

“You have been everything I could have ever wished for. You’re perfect for me.”

He dips forward to kiss you softly and the doors ding open. He wraps his big arms around you and lifts you up, carrying you into the small box. You yelp in surprise and cling to his shoulders. He grins and sets you back against the wall, leaning down to kiss you again.

He’s soft. So very soft and gentle with you. The cool metal of his left hand brushes down your cheek and his eyes search yours, the smile on his face growing with each passing second.

“What?” You ask quietly. “Do I have something on my face?”

He laughs quietly. “You’re beautiful.” He shakes his head. “No, I was just thinking about something.” He says so casually.

“Care to share with the class, Barnes?” You tease.

“Well, I was just thinking that I love you.” He says, turning around to face the doors.

Your heart tumbles in your chest as you look at his shit eating grin. “You do?”

“Why wouldn’t I? You’re perfect for me.” He shrugs and you smack his arm. He laughs, capturing your hand and bringing it to his lips.

“I love you, too.”

He pulls you against him and picks you up, kissing you hungrily. You rake your fingers through his hair, moving with him in perfect harmony.

The doors open on your floor and he carries you out and down the hallway, stopping just outside your door. He kisses down your neck and you tip your head back, breathing heavily. He presses you against the wall, finding all your sensitive spots. You let out a breathy moan and he pulls away with a small chuckle.

“Do you want to come in?” You ask as he sets you back down on wobbly legs.

“I think one milestone is enough for tonight.” He smiles, brushing your hair back behind your ears.

“Nope, not enough.” You shake your head. He has you in a state of frenzy now.

He grins. “Another time.” He promises. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

He waits until you’re inside your apartment to leave. But that’s when you could have used him the most.

Hands grab you from behind, a strong arm curling around your waist and the other covering your mouth. You still scream, try to wriggle out of the strong hold they have on you. But it’s no good. A large figure clad in all black appears in front of you, arm raised and then everything goes black.

***

The aroma of delicious smelling food wafts through the entire building. It permeates into every room and causes several heads to poke out their doors. You smile sheepishly, knocking on Bucky’s door.

He pulls it open, sweat pants low on his hips as he towels his hair dry. “Y/N.” He says in surprise.

“I thought you might be hungry.” You hold up the bags of takeout. “But I didn’t know what you liked, so I got some of everything.”

“Did I hear there was extra food?” A voice says behind you and Bucky groans with a roll of his eyes.

“No one invited you, Wilson. Go away.”

“No, it’s okay, Bucky. Honestly, there’s so much-we can share.” You smile back at his friend.

Inside, your stomach is roiling with nerves.

It takes you a long time to wake up, your pulse pounds in your ears, giving you a headache. Or maybe it was the chemical they used to knock you out.

“Finally. We don’t have a lot of time, so we’ll get right to the point.” A man’s voice says roughly, grabbing your chin.

Your eyes flutter closed as you fight the effects of whatever they gave you.

“I hope you’re paying attention because I definitely don’t like to repeat myself.” He warns.

“But I don’t like to share.” Bucky protests.

“Great, it’s settled.” His friend grins, taking the bags from you and leading you away from Bucky. “I’m Sam. I’m sure he doesn’t mention me much. He wouldn’t want you to come to your senses and leave him for someone smarter, handsomer, superior in every way-really.” Sam smirks and you give a chuckle.

“You’ll have to let me know when someone like that arrives.” You return and he groans. Bucky laughs, kissing the top of your head.

“That’s my girl.”

More of the Avengers file into the kitchen and you back up out of the way. Unfortunately, you bump right into Tony Stark. He squints down at you suspiciously.

“And where do you think you’re going?” He asks, draping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you back into the crowd.

“Oh, I was just moving out of the way.” You say awkwardly.

“Relax, kid. I’m messing with you.” He says easily. He opens a cabinet and turns to you. “Hands up.” He says and you hold your hands out automatically. He gets down a bunch of plates and sets them in your grasp. “Table. Go.” He turns you around and points to the large dining table.

You set out the plates while everyone brings the food over and it feels so surreal, sitting at a table surrounded by the most powerful humans on the planet and they’re just talking and laughing like one big family.

Bucky squeezes your hand as everyone starts helping themselves to food. Bowls get passed around and you only take small amounts of food, your nerves ratcheting high with every passing second.

“Not hungry?” Sam asks, looking at you.

“No, we had a big catering thing at work and I overate. I really just brought food as an excuse to see Bucky.” You shrug with a glance at the man next to you. He gives you a cheeky smile in reply, his perfect eyes crinkling in the corner, a genuine smile full of affection that you wish you could return.

“Well, you can use that excuse any time. Natasha grins, biting into an egg roll.

You chuckle, taking a sip of your water. They start asking you questions, what you do, where you’re from, how’d you meet Bucky.

They’re easy enough to answer and for a moment, you’re distracted. But then you remember your situation and you sit back from your plate. Bucky takes your hand under the table, his thumb rubbing gentle circles on the back.

Everyone eats until the food is gone, even tiny little Natasha Romanoff packs away the lo mein.

“You can stay for a movie, right?” Sam narrows his eyes at you.

“Depends. What movie is it?” You ask.

“Bucky’s never seen James Bond, so we’re starting with the first one.” Wanda says, pushing herself up and carrying her plate to the sink.

“I’ll stay.” You nod, standing and grabbing yours and Bucky’s plates.

“Just pile them in the sink, Y/N. They can wait.” Tony calls and everyone files into the living room, settling on the comfortable couches.

You slide down next to Bucky and he shifts you against his side comfortably. “I missed you.” He whispers, pressing a kiss to your hairline.

“I missed you, too.” You mumble.

“Long day?” He asks, his hand rubbing your arm gently.

You nod, faking a yawn. “And I have to be up early tomorrow. Stupid budget meeting.” You roll your eyes as Tony starts the movie.

“You don’t have to stay long. I’m just glad you came.” He smiles.

Instead of replying, you rest your head on his shoulder. Wanda starts the movie and you don’t have to wait long. About ten minutes into the movie, Sam starts to snore, his head tilted back awkwardly against the headrest. They all fall like dominoes shortly after that.

Bucky’s fighting it, his eyes drop closed before flying open again. You look up at him, feeling each time he jerks himself awake.

“Bucky? You okay?” You whisper, heart breaking in your chest for him.

“Mhm.” He hums, rubbing his eyes.

“If you’re tired, it’s okay. You guys had a long mission.” You mumble, brushing his hair back gently.

“Feel like a jerk.” He manages and you kiss his shoulder.

“Don’t worry about it.”

His eyes drift close and his head drops back onto the love seat cushion. You grab a pillow and carefully lift his head to support it better. His eyes flutter again and you pause, watching him carefully. But they stay closed and you sigh in relief.

Easing yourself up and away from him, you grab another pillow and prop it under Sam’s head so that he doesn’t get a neck ache in the morning. Natasha and Wanda have shared the couch, laying at opposite ends, both soundly asleep. You pull the blanket off the back and drape it over them, tucking them in.

Tony is in an armchair, not much you can do for him there, but you cover him with a soft blanket, your stomach twisting into knots.

You wash the dishes quickly, getting rid of any evidence, placing them back in the cabinet. You gather up all the trash back into the delivery bag and set it on the counter.

Turning to Bucky, you wipe away at the tears that are collecting in your eyes. You really love this man. It hasn’t been long, but he’s treated you better than anyone else in your life. And if something could be both the hardest, and the easiest-it would be this.

You make your way back over, carefully sliding your hand into his pocket for his wallet. You find Tony’s lab card and make your way to the hallway.

“Your boyfriend is going on a mission tomorrow with the rest of the freaks. When he gets back, you’re going to show up, the loving girlfriend, with enough food for all of them.” The man in black instructs. He grips your chin roughly, forcing you to look at him. “This goes in the food. It’ll knock them all out so you won’t be disturbed. Even your super freak boyfriend can’t fight it.” He grins, holding up a vial of liquid.

“You’re crazy.” You snap, twisting your chin out of his tight grasp.

He sighs loudly. “I can see we’re gonna have to do this the hard way, then.” He shakes his head and opens a laptop screen. “I was hoping we wouldn’t have to use this option.” He turns the screen around and your eyes widen.

“No.” You gasp.

The building is so quiet, eerily silent with everyone being passed out in the living room. You’ve memorized the layout, you know which way you’re supposed to go. But your feet drag. You don’t want to do this. Every cell in your body is fighting against it, against betraying him.

The glass doors slide open noiselessly and you step inside. You almost wish one of them would catch you. It would be a relief to not be able to finish, but you know they won’t.

You find the right terminal and plug in the external hard drive. Tapping away at the keyboard, it doesn’t take you long to find the right file. You make a copy of it, doing what you can to ease your conscience before leaving.

You’re tempted to stop in and see Bucky, just to look at him one last time, as though that would stop your heart from breaking. But you don’t.

You can’t.

You leave the building in a hurry, anxious to be done with this whole thing. A part of you believes that you won’t be seeing the sunrise. But they aren’t kind enough for that. As you pass one, you toss the trash in a dumpster, further obliterating the evidence.

The coffee shop is unfamiliar to you. It’s far from your apartment, so the anonymity is a bonus.

You slide into a booth, tipping your cup right side up. The waitress comes over, filling the cup. “Can I get you anything?” She asks in a bored tone.

“Not yet. I’m waiting for someone.” You answer automatically. You tongue is like cotton, your stomach churning with guilt and anxiety. There’s no way you could eat, even if you wanted to.

You don’t have to wait long, your hands have barely started to warm from the cup when a big man eases into the seat across from you.

“You’ve done well.” He praises.

You can feel your face twist in disgust. A compliment from him is about to make you sick. “I’ve got your stupid thing. I’m free to go now?” You ask hotly.

“Sure. Not like we don’t know where to find you if we need you again.” He grins wickedly at you. A wolf looking at a sheep.

You set the flash drive on the table and launch yourself out of your seat, rushing for the door. You need to escape, get out of the city.

A stop at the ATM empties your bank account, and then you’re a whirlwind, throwing clothes into your suitcases. There’s only one thought in your head: escape.

Escape those awful men. Escape your betrayal. Escape the hurt you’ve just caused to Bucky, his wrath when he finds out. But you deserve those things, his hatred and anger. You could take that because you deserve it.

But those men, they’re only out to cause more pain, to make you cause pain. And you can’t put up with that.

You hail a cab, planning on never returning to your apartment again. You’ll become a shadow if you have to. Somehow.

Your chest aches, but you have to do it. You have to say goodbye.

Bucky

He paces the length of his quarters, listening to the ringing phone on the other end. You must be at work or something. He hangs up with a sigh.

He can’t believe they all passed out on you last night. What you must think of them.

“Sergeant Barnes, Mr. Stark would like to see you in his lab.” FRIDAY comes on the overhead.

“Sure. I’ll be right down.” He leaves his room and heads for the third floor entrance.

Stark is pacing, sharp pivots and staccato heel to toe steps. His face is turning various shades of red. He’s pissed.

“Tony?” Bucky starts.

“What do you think you were doing?” He asks instantly.

“I’m lost. What are you talking about?” Bucky frowns.

“Last night, you came into my lab and accessed the Dresden File.” He snaps.

“Last night? We were all together last night. I don’t even know what that file is.”

“Oh right. And I’m just supposed to believe that you also didn’t make a copy of it and take it out of this building?” He crosses his arms defensively.

“Tony, I haven’t left the grounds since we got home yesterday afternoon. And why would I take one of your stupid files anywhere?” Bucky fires back.

“Well, explain how your access card was used to get in here, then. Hmm?” He demands.

“I dunno, genius. Have you tried pulling up the surveillance cameras?”

“I... I was just waiting for them to download.” He huffs, turning his back on the former soldier.

Bucky rolls his eyes. He might not be caught up on everything modern, but he sure as shit knows that you don’t have to download security footage.

They both peer at the screen as you enter the lab. Bucky’s blood freezes in his veins as he watches you steal from Stark.

“What’s in the file that she took?” Bucky asks through clenched teeth.

“A weapon. Or at the very least, it can be used as a weapon if modified correctly.” Tony looks up at him. “If she sells it,” he trails off unnecessarily.

Bucky knows exactly what will happen. You better hope he can’t find you.

Bucky marches out of the lab and straight for the front door. He heads straight for you apartment, which isn’t smart; if you had any brains at all you wouldn’t be there. How can you do this to him? There has to be some kind of mistake, or misunderstanding.

You love him, you wouldn’t do this to him. Or maybe after 80 years in captivity, he’s forgotten how to read people. You were just a lie, a beautiful lie.

He pounds on your front door, nearly kicking it down but you don’t answer. He easily picks the lock, his anger and desperation warring inside him. He needs there to be some logic reason that you’ve done this.

Maybe it wasn’t really you. Maybe it’s like what Wanda does, an illusion. Someone making them think that it’s you.

The door swings open as his phone rings. He steps inside, answering it. “What, Stark?”

Your apartment is a mess. Chairs tipped over, dishes broken on the floor. The cushions on the couch have been tossed.

“She emptied her bank account late last night. She’s gone.”

“See if you can follow her on security cameras when she leaves the building. Find out where she went.” He says with a sigh.

How can a guy be so wrong?

***

The knock on your motel room door nearly sends you into a heart attack. You rise silently from the chair and creep to the door. If it’s those guys again, you don’t know how you’re going to get away. You’ve already refused maid service, no one knows you’re here.

You look out the peep hole and your heart somersaults in your chest. You should have been expecting this, you should have known he wouldn’t let it go. Doesn’t make what you’re about to do any easier.

You square your shoulders, take a deep breath. Its for his own good. You swing open the door, your face cold and detached. “What do you want?” You mutter.

“Are you kidding me?” He pushes his way into your room, taking in the dingy walls and ugly carpet. “Where is it?” He rounds on you, his handsome face contorted in pain. Maybe rage?

“Where is what?” You sigh.

He surges forward, grabbing your arms and shaking you. “Don’t play stupid. The flash drive, Y/N. I want it back.” He snaps.

“I don’t have it anymore.” You reply dully.

“Bullshit.”

“You think I’m gonna hold onto that? Got rid of it the first chance I got.” You snap back.

“And now you’re just hiding in a shit motel in Jersey? Of all places-fucking Jersey.” He rolls his eyes.

“First stop on my farewell tour.” You mutter. “If that’s all, I’d like my arms back now.”

He shoves you away from him and you bump into the wall with more force than you were expecting. “Just... tell me why. I thought...” he trails off and your resolve nearly breaks.

“I know what you thought. That’s what made it so easy. But the truth is, I was only using you.” You say, the words managing not to break.

His face crumples and he steps away from you. “None of it was real?”

“Sorry.” You say flatly, but inside you’re shredded.

He leaves mutely, climbing onto his motorcycle and you worry about him driving home. But you can’t break now. You shut the door, cutting off your view of him and you sink to the floor.

Tony

“Boss. Sergeant Barnes has returned.” FRIDAY announces over the lab speaker. “He’s headed for his quarters.”

“Is he alone?” Tony asks, his eyes drifting to the computer screen.

“Yes.”

“When he gets there, put me through.” Tony says, spinning in his chair. Barnes had one direction. Bring back the girl, or at the very least, the stolen property.

Should’ve known he’d let his emotions get in the way. He’s just like Rogers.

The screen to his left lights up and he can see Barnes tense in the entry way. He doesn’t wanna talk.

“Where is she, Barnes?” Tony asks, digging through the computer.

“I let her go.” He mutters blankly.

“I’m sorry? You let my thief go? You better have the files, then.” He retorts.

“She didn’t have them.” He sounds sick.

“So, now both are gone in the wind. That’s perfect. I suppose it’s too much to hope that you pulled your head out of your ass long enough to get the name of the terrorist group she sold it to!”

“Nope. Maybe this will teach you to stop making weapons.” The video clicks off and Tony shakes his fists, strangling the air, pretending unsatisfactorily that it was Bucky Barnes in his grasp.

“Dick. Prince Douche.” Tony mutters under his breath. “King Asshat.” He turns his favorite playlist on high, hoping to crush out his frustrations. The soothing tones of Black Sabbath pulses through the sound system and he gets to work, searching for whatever else Bucky’s girlfriend did to his system.

While he works, his thoughts wander.

You’re good. For someone who has never even been in this building before, you knew exactly where the lab was and what terminal to go to. You knew what you were looking for, almost like...

His Twizzler falls out of his mouth as a thought occurs to him.

Shit. He almost hopes he’s wrong.

He scrubs the rest of the files, finding just one anomaly. He backtracks the keystrokes and recreates it.

Finished, he sits back with a slump.

Oh. You’re very, very good. He bolts out of the lab and practically sprints to Bucky’s quarters, pounding on the door. Doubled over, gasping for breath-he pounds again.

“What?” Bucky snaps, yanking open his door, looking all kinds of disheveled. “Stark, do you even know what time it is?” He rubs his eyes.

“It doesn’t matter. We have a problem.” Tony gasps, trying to catch his breath. He’s getting too old for this shit.

“Yeah, you need to cut back on the caffeine.” Barnes sighs.

“No. I think your super secret spy girlfriend was put up to this.”

“Tony, I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“Even if she’s in danger? Even if the people who did this to her come after her again?” Tony challenges.

“Stark, if she really was being put on, or blackmailed, or coerced-why wouldn’t she come to us? We’re a bunch of super freaks. We could have protected her. Think about it. She did this on her own.”

“Not necessarily. We don’t know what they blackmailed her with. Maybe she thought the threat was too much of a risk. Where is she?”

“Some piece of shit motel in Jersey. But she made it clear that she was only... that she did it on her own.” He clears his throat.

“Let me guess, while you were looking at her with those big puppy dog eyes? Yeah, no wonder she made you leave.” Tony changes direction. “Get dressed. We’re taking a trip.” He heads for Wilson’s quarters, knowing he’ll need the big bird brain as backup.

An hour later they pull up outside the motel just as you leave your room. It’s still dark outside, you should be sleeping, not leaving in the middle of the night. But here you are, bags in hand as you load them into a rental. You glance around nervously as you climb in.

“What’s she doing?” Sam leans forward, squinting.

“Looks like Barnes spooked her. If this pea brain can find her here, anyone can.” Tony reasons.

Bucky punches him in the arm, but doesn’t disagree. Tony tries not to let it show just how much it hurts.

“What do we do when we actually get her?” Sam asks.

“Get her to tell us who she gave it to. Then take them out.” Tony says simply.

“You never really said what makes you think she was blackmailed.” Bucky sighs, shifting in his seat.

“I found the file she copied. She made a copy of it on the computer first, then she removed key components. Things you have to have to make it work. Without them, these guys have scraps of paper-not enough to complete one for themselves. She transferred that second copy and that alone to the flash drive. She did everything she could to make sure they didn’t get what they wanted.” Tony half smiles. He should hire you.

“How do you know she didn’t write it down? Just to throw us off.” Barnes huffs as Tony follows you out of the parking lot.

“Cameras, Barnes. She didn’t. She deleted key sections. If she had just deleted a line or a random number, they could have figured it out with a mild genius. But she deleted pages. They have no way of knowing what was on those pages. She deleted half the design, code instructions, equations-huge chunks of vitally important information. It’s useless to them now. But I’d certainly feel better knowing who they are in case they try again.”

They follow you from a distance, confused as you leave New Jersey going south. You should have been going back to the city, not away from it.

***

It’s hard. Hard to remember that you need to drive the speed limit, hard to forget Bucky’s face as you lied to him. That look will haunt you until you die. Maybe one day you’ll have a chance to tell him the truth.

Maybe it won’t matter if you do.

Your eyes itch. It’s been a long three days. But you can’t close them yet. No rest for the wicked.

You pull into another gas station, heading inside. Cash only, and you could use about five more Red Bull’s. You grab a variety of energy drinks; Monsters, Red Bull’s, Jolts, Nos. The guy behind the counter stares at you as he rings you up.

“Too much of these ain’t good for ya, sweetheart. Make your heart give out.” He says conversationally.

“That’s the plan. Gimme thirty on pump four.” You add, sliding the cash over.

He hands you your bag and you pop the top on one of the heart attacks in a can as you start the pump. You chug half the drink while your tank fills. You climb back in the safety of your car, slapping your face roughly.

Flipping the visor down, you glare at your haggard reflection. “Wake up. You have a fucking job to do.” You point your finger.

You turn your music back on, blasting it loud enough to rattle the windows and you pull out of the lot, heading back for the highway.

Christ, your eyes itch. They feel like sand is in them every time you blink. You can’t stop, can’t slow down. You might already be too late-no. You can’t think like that. Bucky can’t lose anyone else.

It’s dark by the time you finally pull into the nursing home lot. You pull into a spot near the door, taking a moment to check your appearance.

Death warmed up. Perfect. You smooth out your hair before giving up. After two days of solid travel, there was no fixing this. You twist slowly in your seat, looking at every car in the lot, searching for people in them, something to hint at being watched.

Nothing, empty. You climb out and head inside the quiet lobby.

It’s almost empty, the desk clerk and one other person, sitting nervously off to the side.

“Chuck?” You ask, turning toward him.

He looks up and nods. “Y/N?”

You take a brief second to think about all the faces you’ve seen, but he wasn’t one. And looking closer, you can see Bucky’s eyes, the statuesque angle of his nose.

Yes, this is who you’re looking for.

“Thanks for agreeing to meet me. I know this is strange.” You sigh, stepping forward.

“You said something about danger.”

“I would feel better if we could speak in your grandmother’s room. It’s a little more private.” You say pointedly.

“Right.”

He leads you to the elevator and presses the button. “Are you okay, Y/N? You look exhausted.” Chuck comments.

“I’ll be alright.” You wave him off as the doors open.

“I’m surprised you know who this is.” The man chuckles. “Barnes’ sister. She lives in a home in Savannah. Abandoned by her family, left unprotected. So easily eliminated. She sits in front of this window day and night, reading. One well placed bullet if you don’t do what we say, well, it’s goodnight, Vienna.” He grins wickedly. “You don’t want this old lady’s death on your conscience, do you?”

“You’re a monster.” You curse, spitting at his feet. The men around him laugh.

“Maybe you have no feelings about dear old Becky. That’s alright, there’s always plan B, or is it part 2? Who’s to say we won’t kill both of them?” He changes the picture and your eyes fill with tears.

No.

“I can see we have a deal.” He smirks, caressing your cheek.

Chuck pushes open the door and enters comfortably. You slide against the wall, keeping clear of the windows.

“Charles?” Rebecca looks up, a beautiful smile crossing her face for her grandson.

“Hey, nana. How are you feeling?” He asks, bending down to kiss her cheek.

“Ready to run a marathon.” She grins. “Visiting hours are over, sweetheart. What are you doing here so late?”

“Nana, this is Y/N. She’s a friend of Uncle James’. She thinks you might be in danger.” He says, gesturing to you.

“Danger? From who? Surely you don’t think my brother-“

“No, ma’am. Your brother doesn’t know I’m here.” You say. “He’s, well, he doesn’t really know about this. I couldn’t tell him before I left.” You wrinkle your forehead in hopeless frustration.

How to explain this?

“Charles, give me a minute with her.” Rebecca says, shooing him out the door.

“Alright, I’ll be outside.” He smiles fondly at her before leaving.

“Have a seat, dear.” She gestures to the bed, but you avoid crossing the window, instead sitting at the small table. “Tell me what happened, from the beginning.” She urges, taking your hand.

“I’ve done something terrible. Your brother trusted me and I had to betray it. There were these men, they wanted something from your brother’s job and they forced me to get it. If I didn’t, they would have killed you, and someone else. I couldn’t do that to Bucky, not when he just got you back.”

“And why are you here now?” She asks.

“To warn you. To make sure you’re protected. I don’t want anything bad to happen to you. He loves you too much and he has so little good in his life. And after what I did... he’s going to need you.” You say, a thick lump of emotions choking your throat.

You know Bucky is lost to you. But she doesn’t have to be lost to him. “If I can give him this, it will make it a little easier to bear.”

She studies your face for a long minute in silence. “You love him.” She states finally.

“Yes. But it doesn’t matter anymore. I had to ruin it, to make him hate me. For his own protection. Now they can’t use me again.”

She’s quiet again, thoughtful. “Alright. What do you need me to do?” She asks, leaning forward in her chair.

“Go with your family. Stay safe. Call Bucky and tell him you think people have been watching you, you’ve seen suspicious men around the building. He’ll come keep you safe.” Your voice cracks and a tear slips down your cheek.

“And if he doesn’t? I’m an old woman. I’ve lived my life.” She raises her chin a fraction of an inch.

“A life without your brother. Now you have a chance to share memories with him. To help him heal from all that time and trauma. You’re his family Rebecca. He talks about you all the time, shares stories about your family-his family. He’s so happy knowing he can just talk to you whenever. He thought that would never be possible. His whole face lights up when he mentions you. He’ll be there. He’ll protect you, I know it like I know my own name.” You promise. “Please? Stay safe for him?”

She squeezes your hand, surprisingly strong for a woman in her nineties. “I promise, darling. What about this other person you mentioned?”

“I’m going to him next. But I had to make sure you were safe first.”

“I hope you can fix things with my brother. He’s lucky to have someone so strong.”

“Hardly. I don’t think it’s possible to fix this. Thank you for listening. It’s an honor to meet you.” You stand up and press a soft kiss to her weathered cheek. “I’ll send Charles back in.” You head for the door, opening it gently.

“She agree?” He asks.

You nod with a sigh. “Thanks for listening and not thinking I’m crazy.”

“Good luck. There’s a motel down the road if you wanna catch some sleep.” He says and you shake your head.

“Thanks. But I gotta keep moving. I have another appointment to keep.”

He bends down and kisses your cheek, surprising you. “Be safe. Thanks for looking out for us.”

You squeeze his hand and turn away. At least they can be safe.

The window is rolled down as you pull back onto the highway. It feels good on your face and you crank the music to help you stay awake.

Savannah isn’t that far from FSU, your next destination. Just a couple more hours. You can do it.

You pop the top on your last Red Bull and chug half of it, hoping it’s enough.

The sunlight creeps over the horizon just as you reach the outer most limits of Tallahassee. You’ll reach campus just in time for classes.

You feel a sense of calm, despite your new energy drink addiction-the light at the end of the tunnel is in sight, so to speak.

You find the campus easily, pulling through to the main building. Christ, you hope you can catch him in time. As you reach to unbuckle your seatbelt, you spot him.

That beautiful, annoying boy that you’ll never complain about again.

“Your brother, he’s in his final year at Florida State University, isn’t he? Captain of the football team, maintaining a perfect 4.0 gpa. I believe his favorite teacher is Mrs. Yaira Morrison. She teaches his history class at one o’clock on Tuesday and Thursday.” The man says with a twisted smile.

Your chest heaves, watching your baby brother on the screen. They have you and they know it.

“What do you want me to do?” You mutter, wishing Death by a Thousand Cuts on him and his party of villains.

“See? I knew we could count on her!” He claps his hands enthusiastically.

You lurch out of your car, legs wobbly from lack of sleep, proper food, and being immobile for too long. You rush towards him, shouting his name. He’s too far away to hear you, but you know you can catch him, you have to warn him.

A body steps in front of you, blocking your way between the cars. You move to step around them, thinking for half a second that it’s just a student getting out of their vehicle. They block you again and you take a second look, recognizing his face in horror.

“Don’t make me chase you.” He warns, but you’re already taking off between the cars, trying to find a way back to yours.

But no, that wouldn’t be safe either. They had to have followed you here. Before you can think further on it, arms grab you from behind and your head is bashed against the hood of a truck, everything going black.

Bucky

There is absolutely nothing worse than listening to two grown men bicker like school boys.

“I can’t believe you lost her.” Sam snaps at Tony.

“Me? You were supposed to be watching her car! I was focusing on not dying in Florida traffic. How do people live this way?”

“I told you not to take 75.” Sam retorts. Bucky can almost recite this argument word for word now.

“Don’t take 75? She took 75! What was I supposed to do? Take a different highway and hope we end up in the same place?”

“Or don’t drive like a damn grandma! I see why Happy drives you everywhere.” Sam shoots back and Tony’s face gets beet red.

“Take it back.” He demands.

“No.” Sam crosses his arms.

“Take. It. Back.”

“Make me, grandma.”

“Take this exit, Stark.” Bucky mutters. That puts a brief pause to their squabbling. You’ve had them driving for days on end and they’re all exhausted. How you haven’t passed out yet is a miracle.

“Why?”

“Because I know where she’s going and if you drive the actual speed limit, we can make it there before tomorrow.” Bucky fires and Tony glares at him.

“Where’s she going?” Sam asks, leaning back in his seat, thrilled that someone else was taking shots at Tony, too.

“FSU. Her brother goes there. If she’s being blackmailed, chances are it’s with his life.” He sighs. He wishes, not for the first time, that you had just confided in him. He would have found a way to make your brother safe, to make you safe.

His phone rings in his pocket and he pulls it out to see his sister’s picture smiling up at him. His heart tugs fondly at the photo. “Becky?” He starts. Something’s wrong. He sensed it when he realized you drove directly past his sister’s assisted living building. That was no coincidence.

“Bucky, I met a friend of yours last night. Lovely girl.” She starts off casually, no sense of concern in her weathered voice.

“Y/N? You met her?” He asks with a frown. Why would you have gone to see his sister?

“I did. She came to warn me about this danger that I seem to be in.” He’s alert in his seat now, all sense of weariness gone.

“Danger? Rebecca! Why didn’t you call me immediately?” He demands.

“Well, because I’ve thought about it, and I’ll do what she says-go on a trip with my kids. But I won’t do the second bit.” She says stubbornly and he presses his metal fingers to his forehead.

“What second bit?” He sighs.

“She said that I should tell you I’m being followed, that I’m in danger so that you’ll come here. But,”

“I will!” He insists.

“But I think she’s in more danger than I am. She mentioned someone else was being threatened, someone she cares about.”

“Her brother. We’re already aware.”

“Oh, good. Then, you’re also aware that she loves you?” Rebecca says and he can just picture her squinting at him suspiciously, like she might hit him with her slipper if he gets the answer wrong. Just like his ma used to.

“Not according to her.”

“Ah, my brother, the idiot.” She sighs wistfully and he cracks a small smile.

“What else did she tell you?” He asks.

“That she wanted to keep me safe and protected for you. She didn’t want you to lose anyone else. That she had to make you hate her for your own protection. And she doesn’t think she’ll be able to fix things with you.” She’s quiet for a minute. “But if the circumstances were different, Bucky. If she did what she did out of fear, out of loyalty and wanting to protect a complete stranger just to make one man happy-doesn’t that change things, big brother? She’s not entirely lost to you.” She finishes and he can’t force the lump in his throat to move enough to choke out words. “Just, just think about it, alright? I promised her I would keep myself safe for you. Now I need you to promise to keep her safe.”

He clears his throat roughly. “Promise.”

“Call me when it’s done.” She says. “I love you.” She hangs up and Bucky drops the phone into his lap, rubbing his face.

“What’s wrong?” Sam asks from the back seat.

“They threatened my sister, too. That’s why we were right there last night. Y/N went to go see Rebecca, to warn her. You were right, Stark.” He sighs dejectedly.

He thought he was better at reading people. But you lied so easily to him and he fell for it. How had he missed every micro expression telling him that something wasn’t right?

“So, we really need to find her, then.” Tony says, stepping on the gas.

“Finally.” Sam mutters under his breath.

The campus is huge. They circle and circle and circle, looking for your car. Twice, they think they spot it, but checking it out further reveals no luggage in the back.

“Maybe we missed her? Maybe she got to him and left already?” Sam suggests.

“Wait, is that it?” Tony points to one of the back rows of cars.

“Didn’t we pass that one already?” Sam asks, confused.

“Only one way to find out.” Bucky grumbles, already launching himself out of the car. His heart thuds to a stop when he sees your luggage in the back seat, empty energy drink cans littering the floor. He waves them over.

“This it?” Tony asks.

“Yeah, pull up that fancy camera hacking thing and follow her. See if she’s inside the school so we don’t have to spend hours walking around looking for her.” Bucky says.

Tony pulls out his tablet, sets it on the dark hood of the car and types a few command strokes. Bucky hovers over his shoulder, breathing down his neck, really irritating the older man.

“Back off, man.” Tony elbows his ribs uselessly as the cameras rewind. He might as well have hit a brick for all the pain it causes him. There are several different angles across the massive parking lots and the interior courtyards. Plus the interior hallways and classrooms. There’s almost too much to watch, but they have to.

Tony finds your car pulling in and he slows down to watch where you park. It’s a tense silence as they watch you get out, heading across the lot before someone cuts you off. He blocks out the rest of the screens, making this one camera the focus.

Bucky’s stomach seems to fill with lead as you take off running, despite how exhausted you must feel. The man chases you, but Bucky can see what you can’t. You’re not running away, you’re being herded. Another man, massive compared to you, grabs you from behind-a blitz attack-and he smashes your head into the hood of another car. It’s hard enough of a hit to leave a dent in the car.

It’s an extremely good thing that Bucky isn’t holding onto anything, or he would have broken it.

Before he can even speak, Tony is already working. A car pulls up and you’re loaded inside. Tony captures the license plate and dismisses the camera, opting for another program.

Bucky paces behind his friends, knowing anything he would say isn’t going to be helpful. His mind is racing, faster than he can even process what exactly he’s thinking.

You should have come to him. You should have trusted him. How can you love him and not trust him? Of all the things he wants to say to you, this thought burns hardest in his throat.

What were you thinking?

“What do you think they want with her?” Sam frowns, glancing at both of them.

“Revenge.” Bucky mutters, his skin turning cold at the thought of you being hurt by their hands.

“The file.” Tony offers as an alternative. “Maybe they think she has another copy of it, or access to it again. Might buy her some time.” He glanced at Bucky, but he hardly hears him.

“Where is she, Stark?” Bucky asks tersely.

“Cameras are following their car, and I’m running facial recognition.” Tony says, but it doesn’t really soothe Bucky.

“Here. Get in. We can follow the map they’re making and maybe meet them there.” Sam suggests, taking the keys.

Tony climbs in the front seat where Bucky had been, Sam drives and Bucky sits in the back, his nerves ratcheting higher with every passing second that he’s not smashing their faces in.

“Got them.” Tony comments, typing furiously on his keyboard. The constant clicking is begging to grate on Bucky’s last nerve.

Sam follows the route highlighted on the dash screen, and at least he’s driving like a human. You’ve been in their grasp too long and it’s making Bucky irrationally anxious to not be able to see you. It’s strange that just ten hours ago, he never wanted to see you again. Now he can’t wait to get you back in his hands.

“There’s an old camera system in the building that they took her to. It’s half an hour away and they have a bit of a head start. I’m back hacking it now.” Tony says.

“You know no one says that anymore, right? No one calls it hacking. And back hacking is hacking someone that already hacked you.” Sam squints at him suspiciously. “Do you even know what a computer is?” He asks, swerving around a car going much too slow in the zoom-zoom lane.

“Better than you do, Bird Brain.” Tony snaps. “Got it.” The display changes and Bucky stares in horror. Sam inches the needle towards 100.

***

The thud pulses in your ears as the buzzing sting spreads slowly across your cheek. Another thud, more stinging as the blood surges to the surface of your face. The restraints around your wrists pull roughly as you’re shifted in the metal chair.

You don’t make a sound, happy to take this punishment. You deserve this for hurting Bucky, and if they’re this mad-they couldn’t recover the missing parts of the file. Even better.

“Where’s the rest of it?” The leader sighs, pacing behind his man. His fingers are steepled against the bridge of his nose as he sighs loudly. “I was told that Stark had a fully functional, working blueprint. What you gave me is useless.”

His brute swings his open hand again, the force of his slap twisting your head to the side. Your eyes water and your cheek heats up to the point of burning. The man grabs a fistful of your hair and turns your head back to face forward with a low chuckle. Your face feels heavy, sluggish as the excess blood rushes there.

“Where’s the rest of it?” The leader demands. You remain silent, willing to take the pain. Nothing can be worse than the feeling of being forced to betray Bucky. He sighs loudly, nodding to someone off to your left. “Here’s what you’re gonna do. You’re gonna go back to Stark’s lab. You’re gonna get the full file. You’re gonna promptly deliver it back to me.”

“No.” You say simply.

“No? That’s funny. It sounds like you think you have a choice.” He tilts his head and another man steps forward. This new man, half hidden in shadows, takes a drag off a cigarette, the burning end flaring bright burnt orange in the darkness. With an exhale of smoke, the shadow man presses the cigarette to the fleshy underside of your forearm.

You grit back a scream, but as he twists it in the raw wound, it’s too much and the sound rips from your throat.

“We’ll give you some time to reconsider your choice.” The leader sneers, nodded to the others. They exit, leaving you alone with the shadow man.

He lights the cigarette again, the smell of your flesh burning floats around you, making you sick. He doesn’t ask you any questions, doesn’t talk to you. He just puts out the cigarette on your skin, any exposed spot he can find.

He braces his hands on your burned forearms, squeezing tightly. You scream again, the tears falling freely. You can admit it hurts, but you still won’t give them what they want.

You can’t.

He chuckles, blowing the smoke in your face as the bright ember flares just inches from your face. Slowly, he removes the cigarette trapped between his lips and floats his hand around, trying to decide where to burn you next.

“Ah.” He smiles softly, brushing hair back from your neck carefully, almost tenderly. You try to contain the whimper, but fail miserably. He pulls down the neck of your shirt, exposing your collarbone before pushing the burning point to the flesh just below.

You scream, thrashing against your restraints. You sob, trying to breathe against it. Doesn’t matter what they do to you, you won’t do what they want.

The door opens behind him and another man steps through. He wrinkles his nose in disgust. “I don’t know how people can be cannibals. The smell is awful.” He laughs, clapping your torturer on the shoulder. “Brought you some more tools.” He places more cigarette cartons in the man’s hand. You whimper involuntarily and he grins, looking down at you.

“Ready to make a deal, sweetheart?” He asks lightly. You spit your answer at his feet. “Perfect. I love when they scream.” He shifts your shirt, his eyes turning thoughtful. “Well, she needs to be symmetrical. Every work of art is symmetrical, and you, my friend, are nothing if not an artist.” He smirks, stepping back.

The shadow man lights up again, taking a couple puffs before pressing it to your skin again, this time under your opposite collarbone.

Another scream tears through your lips as you fight against him with his rough hands and disgusting pleasure at your pain.

“Oh, one last one before we call the boss in, huh?” The newcomer suggests, pulling a cigar case out of his pocket. “It’s Cuban.” He teases, holding it out like an offering.

The shadow man takes it with a crooked grin and snips the end, smelling it appreciatively. He lights the end and takes a big drag off it. Your heart pounds erratically in your chest. This one is so much bigger than the others, a nickel compared to a pencil eraser.

He bites the end between his teeth and motions to his friend for a pair of scissors. His friend pulls out a pocket knife and the fear spikes through you for real this time. You thought they just wanted to torture you into compliance, but if they were planning something worse, you couldn’t fight against them killing you.

He bends over in front of you, ashes falling on your thighs. He taps the sharp blade against your right thigh, and then your left, as though unable to decide. He taps your right palm, his eyes widening in mock fear. Then he taps your left palm, nicking the heel of your hand. Then he drags the tip lightly up your arm, inside your elbow, up to your shoulder.

The blade is next to your thudding pulse and all it would take it just one quick flick and you’d be dead.

But instead, he drags the tip along your collarbone and down along your sternum. One thrust and it would puncture your heart. Lights out. No more Y/N. You would never be able to tell Bucky how sorry you are, or how much you love him.

But you saved his sister. You can rest in peace with that knowledge.

You close your eyes, fixing Bucky’s beautiful face in front of you so he’s the last thing you see.

The tip of the blade presses into your sternum, breaking through the fabric of your shirt. But instead of going further, he holds that delicate balance.

And then he slides the blade up, slicing through your shirt like a hot knife through butter. He yanks when it gets to the seam at the collar, clipping your chin with the end of it.

You yelp in surprise at not being dead and blood drips from your chin. He puffs a few more times on the cigar before spreading your ripped shirt and pressing between the valley of your breasts.

You scream through a sob as he burns you, holding the extinguished cigar in your wound. The door opens and the leader steps through, wiping his hands dry.

“How’s our guest? Ready to reconsider?” He asks pleasantly.

Rage makes you spiteful. You can’t wait to throw anything you can in his face.

“Doesn’t matter what I say. You blew your shot.” You laugh, slightly hysterical. “Barnes knows what I did. I’m never getting near that building again. And even if I could, I wouldn’t. Not for you, not for the next scumbag, or the next one. You might as well just kill me. I should have told you that from the beginning.” You slump back in your seat, shivering slightly at the clammy sweat that’s broken out across your skin from the torture.

Oh, how you wish you’d been strong enough to tell him to fuck off from the start. You might be a day late and a dollar short, but you’ll be damned if you don’t do the right thing this time.

Bucky will know about his sister by now, she’ll be safe and protected, him by her side where he should be.

Your brother... your eyes fill reluctantly with tears as you think about your younger brother, just starting his life. He’s smart, hopefully smart enough to stay away from this mess, no matter what happens to you now.

“There are plenty of other people to do your job.” He snarls, reaching into his jacket. He pulls out a large silver gun, a revolver as far as you can tell. “See this?” He asks, pointing the barrel right between your eyes. You can feel the cold from the metal, just centimeters from your skin.

“Hard not to.” You manage.

“It’s my favorite. Smith and Wesson’s 460XVR 45 Colt. Gonna leave a hole the size of a potato in the back of your head from this distance.” He hefts the gun experimentally and you try not to flinch, his finger too close to the trigger for comfort. He turns to look at his men. “Feels a little unsportsmanlike to shoot a girl like this, doesn’t it?”

“A bit, boss.”

He turns back to me. “So, let’s play a game. I’m sure you’re familiar.” He releases the cylinder and dumps out the bullets. Your stomach flip flops uncomfortably.

He’s gonna drag this out as long as possible. It’s still part of the torture. He holds up one bullet and slides it in, snapping the cylinder shut as he spins it.

“How about it? Feel like getting my file now?” He asks, leveling the gun back at your forehead.

You close your eyes, picturing Bucky’s face. The way he kissed you before everything went to shit, the smile he’d save just for you.

The hammer clicks, but nothing happens. Empty. Tears slip out, stinging the cuts on your cheek, and you have another moment to remember how much you love Bucky Barnes. His beautiful blue eyes, his perfect lopsided smile, his laugh.

“How about now?” The cruel voice demands.

You murmur Bucky’s name. A quiet prayer, something beautiful and bright among the darkness surrounding you. You can almost feel his soft hair under your fingertips as he kissed you against your front door that last night. The night he told you he loved you.

Click.

Another moment spared. The man chuckles, gripping your chin tightly and your entire face throbs in pain. “Your luck is running out, little girl. Make your choice.” He snarls.

“I have. You lose.” You sigh, eyes still closed. “Bucky, I love you.” You barely whisper, lips moving just a fraction. You don’t say it for anyone else, just yourself.

Bucky will never know. You’ll die here, with him thinking you were a cold hearted bitch. And that’s okay, because you were able to give him his family back. And you can live with that. So to speak. He might never even know you’re dead. Just that you left.

And that’s okay, too. Better really for him to move on.

The cold muzzle and front sight press roughly against your forehead, tearing at the skin there.

“I don’t lose.” He growls.

There’s a loud banging noise, making you jump. The gun disappears from your face and it takes you a long second to realize you’re not dead. And then to realize there’s a violent fight progressing in front of you.

Slowly you open your eyes to see three familiar men fighting your three torturers. Sam is fighting the shadow man, Tony-his companion. Bucky is fighting the leader, with the gun.

Bucky’s metal hand is holding onto the wrist with the gun while his right hand is trying to strike at the man with a long, silver knife. The man backs up quickly, trying to stay out of the reach of the wicked knife, but he trips, falling backward and taking Bucky with him, the gun between them.

There’s a muffled boom, like a cannon and both men freeze on the floor. You scream for Bucky, fighting against your restraints, unable to move, unable to check on him, sobbing with fear and frustration.

Slowly, unsure, he lifts himself up, glancing down at his chest, hole-free. Carefully, he walks over to you, kneeling in front of you as both Sam and Tony subdue their adversaries.

He’s okay. He’s alive.

He cups your face gently, like he’s cradling a delicate bubble. Carefully, softly, he brushes away your tears before cutting your wrists free. His eyes linger on the burns, a dozen on each arm and you pull them back from his inspection. The movement hurts, but no worse than seeing his face, knowing what he must think of you.

“Why are you here?” You ask quietly.

“I thought I made myself pretty clear.” He frowns. “I distinctly remember saying I love you.” He smiles gently.

“You’re supposed to be with your sister. She needs you.” You protest. “You’re not... you shouldn’t... not after what I did. I’m not...” you trail off, your throat tight as a tidal wave of emotions crash over you.

“Sh, sh, sh. It’s okay. We can talk about this later. We need to get you looked at.” He shakes his head. He holds out his hand for me to take, but you can’t bear it, so you use the arms of the chair to push yourself up. You sway on the spot, your body aching, dizzy with pain.

Bucky catches you before you can fall, lifting you gently, holding you against his broad chest. You close your eyes, trying to fight the tears as he carries you out of the building behind his two friends. Sam and Tony are leading our their prisoners, taking a certain amount of pleasure each time they trip.

“You needed me more.” He whispers after a minute.

“What?” You frown.

“You said Becky needed me. But you needed me more.” His eyes drop to your neck, the burns there and your split shirt. A growl rumbles low in his chest and he shifts you closer.

He sets you carefully in the back seat, climbing in next to you. He pulls you against his side and you resist slightly, feeling guilty. You were cruel to him. He shouldn’t just forgive you, not like that. You betrayed his trust, took his heart and threw it back in his face. You don’t deserve him, his love, his comfort, or his forgiveness.

“Y/N?” He starts quietly as Sam and Tony cram the two men into the trunk, lingering behind the car. Probably to give you some privacy.

“How can you stand to be near me? After what I said to you... you should’ve just let me...” you squeeze your eyes shut, so you miss him flinch.

“At first, I was just gonna pretend you did. But then Tony found out what you did to the file. He’s the one who figured it out, what was really going on. And then Becky called. She really likes you.” He says with a fond smile. “We were already on our way to Florida to get you. I’m sorry we were almost too late.” He whispers, his thumb brushing your cheek again.

“How did you find me?” You ask, anything to keep him talking.

“Tony found out where they had taken you and got into the camera system. We tuned in just in time to see the cigarettes...” his jaw locks shut for a moment and you can feel him struggling. “I nearly lost my mind when he pulled out the gun.”

Sam and Tony climb back in, effectively cutting off your conversation. Bucky tries one more time to hold you, but you can’t let him. The image of his face as he left your motel room haunts you.

You don’t deserve him, no matter your reasons for doing what you did. There’s a special place in hell for hurting someone as good as Bucky.

“Samuel, to the airport, please.” Tony says pompously. He flips down his visor and catches your eye, smiling. “Do you drive in Florida a lot?” He asks randomly.

“I grew up here.”

“How did you survive? The roads down here are insane.”

“Says the guy who lives in the city with some of the worst drivers in the world.” You return, your heart not really into the banter.

“Your brother’s safe.” Bucky mumbles, his hand twitching towards you. “We alerted the police.”

You glance back at him and nod before turning to look out the window. You just need a minute alone, to think, to process, to cry. You need to figure out what to say to Bucky so he can see that he needs to leave.

***

The jet isn’t spacious enough to give you space, and they never leave your side at the airport.

Bucky sits next to you on the plane, keeping you far from the two men. That’s easy, you want to be around them just as much as he wants you around them.

You can feel him staring at you, the words bubbling up to your memory easily, but you don’t want to say them.

The plane lands at JFK and he sighs softly, helping you stand. He leads you out to one of the two waiting cars. You glance back at Tony and Sam, but they’re already getting into the other car with their prisoners.

“Guess you’re stuck with me.” Bucky says off-handedly.

“Other way around.” You say, climbing in. You start to pull the door closed but he catches it easily.

“Y/N. I know why you did what you did. I know it wasn’t your fault, or your choice. I can’t imagine what you went through, being forced to do all that. Because I know how you really feel. And right now, yeah, you feel like shit. It’s understandable. And that’s okay. Because I’m gonna be here to help you through it. When the nightmares start, and the panic attacks, and when you feel like you can’t stand under the weight of it all. I’m gonna be here. Because I do love you. And you might not be ready to forgive yourself yet. But I am.” He cups your face, swiping away your tears.

“You can’t.” You manage, trying to catch your breath. “Don’t you understand? If it happened once, it can happen again. I’m a liability to you, to Tony, to what you do.”

“Bullshit. Because next time, you’re just gonna come to me and trust me to keep everyone safe. Do you even understand the amount of people at my disposal? I can call on fifty men right now to go sit on my sister’s place. And another hundred to protect your brother. And still have plenty to protect you.” His hands trail down your neck and his shoulders visibly tense. “I need to get you checked out. Then I can breathe.” He mutters, backing away and shutting your door. He walks around and climbs in next to you, taking your hand. The car starts moving and you stare at him, feeling a bit of wonder at this man.

“What?” He asks, a small smile on his face.

“You know it’s not because I didn’t trust you, right? There’s nobody I’d trust more.”

“So, why not come to me?” He frowns.

“I was afraid. I was afraid for my brother, for your sister, for you. Bucky, you’ve tried to hard to shed your past, to stop all the hurt and nightmares that Hydra caused. I didn’t want to start that cycle again. You’re so good, you deserve so much. And I hate myself for what I said to you, I truly do. But I couldn’t put you in that position to be used again.”

“Sweetheart, I would go through all of that just to have you by me again.”

“You’re certifiable.” You mutter, turning to lean back against him. He wraps his arm around you, under your arms so he doesn’t hurt you, but otherwise remains silent.

***

There’s a knock on the med room door, and you look up from your crossword puzzle to see Bucky poke his head in.

“Aren’t you sick of me yet?” You sigh, setting your book and pen on the side table.

“Nope. So, it looks like you’re free to go.” He says happily, rocking back on his heels.

“I am?” You ask, surprised.

“Yup, they said there’s no infections in your burns, and the hairline fracture in your cheekbone healed just fine.” He smiles, crossing the room.

You frown as reality settles over you. “Um,” you drop your gaze to your lap.

“What is it?” He takes your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours.

It’ll be fine. Tony has given you the best security around. Your apartment is safe. “Nothing. Just dawned on me that you won’t be right down the hall anymore.” You shrug.

He grins. “You love me.”

“You’re an idiot.” You roll your eyes.

“True.” He lifts your hand to his mouth, kissing it and inhaling deeply. “Whenever you’re ready, I can take you home.” He promises.

“Right.” You let his play with your fingers for a little longer, procrastinating to the fullest extent. “How’s your sister?” You ask and he smiles.

“She’s good. Demanding that I bring you to dinner.” His grin widens, as his nose skims along the soft flesh of your wrist. “Threatened to disown me if I didn’t. Apparently, you made quite the impression.”

“I’m happy to go, with or without you.” You tease and he laughs.

“I’m not surprised.” He kisses the back of your hand one more time before setting it on your leg. “Go get dressed, doll. I’ll be right here.” He says.

You sigh dramatically and swing your feet over the edge of the bed. You can do this. It’ll be okay.

***

The creaking of the elevator sets your nerves on fire. You clench your jaw as the numbers climb. Only Bucky’s hand in yours keeps you from hyperventilating all together.

You can do this. You’re an adult.

Bucky unlocks your door for you, holding it open for you to step inside. You hesitate for a moment and his smile tightens. He steps inside first, walking through and opening doors. He makes quick work of checking your whole apartment before coming back to you.

“Clear.” He promises.

Your vision gets blurry, but you fight the tears, forcing yourself to step across the threshold. How can you trust this place? How can this be home ever again?

“Let me show you the security system. I know Tony explained it, but it’s a lot to take in.” He says, wrapping you in his big arms.

“I’ll say.” Your forehead furrows together.

“He wanted you to be safe.” He turns you to the front door. “This camera allows you to see who’s outside. But, it has a camera facing inside, too. You can control that from your phone, so you can see if anyone has broken in.” He explains quietly, burying his nose in your hair. “There’s a panic button in each room. You hit that button and help is on the way.”

Bucky takes you through the apartment, showing you exactly how safe Tony has made it for you. And it helps... a bit.

But really, what you see is the kitchen chair you were tied to while people you care about were threatened.

However, Stark went to a lot of effort. And you know if you don’t at least give it a go, he’s going to whine and complain.

Bucky finished his tour back at the front door. This doesn’t feel right. You frown.

“Did you wanna stay? I can make dinner.” You offer hopefully.

“Sorry, doll. We have a mission.” He says, pulling you close. “I’ll come see you when I get back, okay?”

You nod, heart sinking. “Stay safe.” You mumble and he gently puts his finger under your chin, tilting your face up.

“Can I please, pretty please, have a smile? I need to see it.” He begs and despite how hard you want to resist, you can’t.

The corners of your mouth tug up and ride even further in response to his own teasing smile.

“There she is.” He sighs happily. “I love you so much. I’ll call you later.” He kisses you slowly, pulling you closer until he breaks away, his eyes slightly unfocused.

“Sure you can’t stay?” You sigh.

He chuckles. “Positive. I can’t miss this one.” He backs up to the door, holding your hand, unwilling to let go.

“You’re not leaving.” You remind him, secretly happy that it’s as hard for him as it is for you.

“I’m not? Feels like I have already.” He grins.

“I love you.” You mumble softly, trying to force the tears to stay in the back where they belong, at least until he leaves.

“Just what I needed to hear.” He smiles.

You roll your watery eyes and push him out into the hallway. “I don’t need Tony any angrier at me than he already is.” You stick your tongue out and shut the door in his face. Otherwise you’d never be able to let him go.

He knocks on the door and you press the speaker. “Go away.”

“I miss you already.” He says.

“Don’t make me call Sam.”

You can hear his answering laugh and then his footsteps retreating down the hallway.

You can do this. You have Bucky. Everything else will get better with time, and help, and support.

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alfredosauce50 · 3 years

Text

What makes me human [Cyberpunk! America x reader] 17

Wordcount: 3, 927 Rating: T for strong language and mature themes Chapter synopsis: Alfred woke up wanting to take things slow, all so he can enjoy the morning with you. You, however, were in a rush to regroup in the wake of a sinister conspiracy. He's too stubborn to hear the truth, so you bribe him to listen with an amorous gesture. When he does find out, he gives you an earful. Allen snaps back and rediscovers his motivation to keep him away from you. Meanwhile, Alfred's clone survived. The only person who knows isn't even meant to be on the planet, and he's helping Alfred 2.0 find his place in the world. Everyone's struggle to free themselves from the tyranny of your father continues. The war rages on. The reader is referred to as she/her.

17 - Rebirth of the old

Alfred was never keen on staying in a motel. But the appeal of it hit him like a tidal wave first thing in the morning. You were here, half-dressed and curled up next to him in a proper bed. To think this was how things used to be—he couldn’t take it. He lost something more valuable than gold! Not giving a shit about anything else? He was living in luxury.

To hell with Arthur and Zao. He couldn’t relate to their long-distance struggles and he didn’t have to. But more importantly, to hell with Allen.

The bed creaked as he leaned to you. Reaching out to your cheek, he patted it continuously. "Hey. Get up. It's past noon, lazy." Alfred kept at it until your peaceful expression scrunched up, indicating the return of your consciousness. He grinned. This marked the beginning of another good day. Snaking two arms around your waist from behind, he pulled you onto his lap as he sat cross-legged. "Up we go. Sleep well?" You lolled your head on his shoulder. "I know I did." He snorted.

You inhaled a deep breath to wake yourself up. Fluttering your eyes open to look at him groggily, he tilted his face down fondly. That, you could never get enough of. It showed in the floaty smile across your face. He chuckled, "What, you're not gonna talk to me? Don't leave me alone with my thoughts here."

He heard a scoff, the sound prompting him to pin your head with his chin. "I thought you would've gotten used to it by now. Your brain works fast." You sighed that out jokingly. Alfred hummed as if to say, touché. "Morning." You murmured raspily. However, your exhaustion was short-lived—did he say it was past noon? You tensed up in his hold and sat forward, twisting your form to him, panic-stricken.

"Dude, why didn't you wake me up earlier?"

You slid off his thighs, much to his displeasure. The quiet morning he wanted was no more. "Oh, God. What time is it?" Planting your feet on the brown carpet, you spun to him briefly for his answer. Alfred merely hung his head. Quietly. He stayed put where he was while you walked off to get dressed. So much for walking on the same wavelength.

"Well? Don't leave me hanging, Astroboy." Glancing at him over your shoulder, your expectant gaze welcomed a dash of frustration as he made no effort to get off the bed.

He looked up with a shake of the head. "I was just kidding, toots." The man then grinned mirthlessly as he slid off the mattress. "It's only nine. Don't fuss."

Breathing out a sharp sigh of relief, you placed your hands on your hips. But nine was barely sufficient for what you promised. Seeing that he never bothered getting dressed, you looked from side to side to find his clothes. It was in a heap on the desk.

"I'm not fussing. I just said we'd be back by morning. Now, work with me." You picked up his shirt, pants, and jacket, then tossed it to him one after the other. "You're making me nervous."

Alfred caught them with ease. "Don't fuss. You're fussing." Why you were so hell-bent on getting out of here was beyond him. Sparing him a brief glance of displeasure, you walked off to the bathroom without another word. His point exactly.

Sleep wasn't something he needed. But judging from where this conversation was going, his energy was about to be sapped away faster than he could deal. He appeared in the doorway while you washed your face. As you scrubbed away furiously, he folded his arms with a brief shake of the head. "You know, no matter what, we still gotta grab something to eat." He began. "So you can slow down."

You patted yourself dry before turning to him. Catching him in a hard stare, the silence became a sure-fire sign of your unwillingness. You never actually planned on eating anything before going back. But now that he mentioned it, it wasn't such a bad idea. "... Yeah, of course." You smiled. "We'll just go to FamilyMart. There's one down the street, and we can pick some stuff up for the gang... Just in case."

Just in case they wanted to chew you out for disappearing in the middle of the night. By they, you really only meant Allen. He was the only one who knew, after all. "They're probably worried, so we should give them an offering to appease them." You chuckled light-heartedly.

Alfred knitted his brows together until creases formed between them. What the hell? This was exactly what he didn't want to hear. Since when did everyone else have such a significant place in day-to-day life? "Worried? Then why did you leave in the first place?" He asked, reaching out to grab your hand. "Just hear me out. Hear me out." He squeezed you hard. His iron vice and low tone were all you needed to predict what he was about to say.

"You said you wanted to be alone with me. How come now that you are you're racing to get back? Slow down a little, won't you?"

For a night, everything could be swept under the rug. But it couldn't stay hidden forever. You forced yourself to look at him anxiously. "We have to get back to the group. We have to stick together." He shook his head with a hand over his mouth. Seeing how unhappy he was about that demand prompted you to add this. "Alfred. Just get to the car. I'll tell you everything. You'll understand, I promise."

He licked his bottom lip, disgruntled. What was there to tell? He took your other hand to hold you in place. "No. Let's not do that." Alfred asserted through a glower. "And it's Al. Al. Either you call me that or some stupid pet name. Whatever you want. Just not Alfred." You narrowed your eyes, confused by the growing temper in his voice. He never had a problem with what you called him, so why now?

"Okay, fine. Al. Will you go to the car, now?"

The man rose his brows. Did you seriously think he could be convinced? "Make me, baby. You can try dragging me out, but I'm fine right here." He took a seat on the toilet and gleamed at you sarcastically. You folded your arms and shot him a look of irritation. A few moments of tense silence passed before he continued. "Last night was nothing, you know that. So why can't we have the morning to ourselves? Just an hour? You can't say no."

You swayed from side to side. It was endlessly frustrating that he was misunderstanding everything so terribly. It was never about not wanting to be here. "Would you stop being so difficult?" You huffed angrily. He shrugged dismissively, then reached out to pull you in against your will. "I'm serious, Al. I'm not playing games with you. Something's wrong. It's about him." Hissing out the last word, you saw something change in his expression within seconds.

Christ on a bike. Alfred stared at you through his eyebrows sternly. But he decided to save the questions for the car. "... Fine." He relented, much to your relief. But something was glinting in his electric blue eyes. Was it mischief or something else?

"But I'm not moving til' you kiss me."

Blood rushed up to your face as you heat up with mortification. Was he serious? He looked serious. "What the fuck, Al. Didn't I just impress on you the importance that you get off your ass?" He remained quiet. His gaze on you was unwavering and expectant. He honestly couldn't mind if you tore him a new one for this. If shit was going to hit the fan again, he needed to set one thing straight.

Seeing that he was deciding to be stubborn, you gave in, but not without a frustrated huff. And so, you kissed him on the lips.

You gave him what he wanted. When your mouth connected to his, the force was enough to move his head back. You'd give him his money's worth—a hard, angry kiss—though he barely paid anything with boldness. But boldness was exactly what you needed. It coaxed you to be somewhat honest with yourself, as you'd be lying if you said you didn't want this too.

Alfred's eyes were as wide as dinner plates during the exchange. He didn't actually think you'd do it. In fact, the pleasant surprise caught him so off guard, he never even got the chance to return it before you pulled away. When you leaned back with a deep inhale, which was hotter than he cared to admit, he gawked at you like you just shot him. "Woah." He spluttered. His chest was whirring so crazy you could probably hear it. "I was only joking."

"No, you weren't." You muttered as a matter-of-factly. He laughed nervously at you, then fell silent. Way to go, Alfred. He thought. The second-hand embarrassment made you light up like a Christmas tree. Fortunately, it was staved off by urgency. "Car. Now." You ordered. The man watched you leave through the door while he was left reeling.

Bewilderment, giddiness, it was all there. He didn't waste any more time to scramble onto his feet and run after you. "Hey, wait! You didn't even let me kiss you back!" Alfred exclaimed, picking up his pace. The metal door slid downwards behind him to a close. "Can we kiss in the car? I'll be good after that, I swear."

"I swear to God, Alfred. Now is not the time!" Your shouts trailed off into the hallway. It was never something you could say out loud, but this—his inability to let things go—was his best attribute. It saved what needed saving.

Himself, you, and what you both were together.

Shooting up with a start, he twisted around a white bed in his bout of grave disorientation. He stopped when a sharp pain shot through his abdomen. "Ah, crap." While he hunched forward to wince, his heart pounded alarmingly hard in his chest. As loud as it was, it couldn't beat the monitor beside him that beeped away. "... Still alive, huh?" He murmured. This had to be the most sterile environment he'd been in for a while.

Perfectly polished metal walls, and not a spec of dirt in sight. There was nothing in the room except everything he was currently using. He ripped off the electrodes on his chest, then the IV drip from his arm. The heart monitor flatlined as abruptly as his movements. While he slid off the mattress, a voice interrupted his silent haven.

"If you wanna stay alive, you'd wanna take it easy."

He whipped his head to the source. "Jesus, Zao." He took a deep inhale before continuing, watching the said man tilt his head up as a greeting. Why the guy even saved him after kicking him around like a football was beyond him. But more importantly—"And would you stop doing that?" He shook his head with disapproval. "You're turning into an omen of death, always showing up when I'm fucked up."

The other unfolded their arms and walked towards him. Slowly, grudgingly. "Invulnerable or not, you're one hard guy to kill. You're just like him." The brunette remarked, causing his companion to narrow their eyes fiercely. Zao scoffed with a growing smile. So he hit the mark. "But you are him. Aren't you?"

"Don't fuck with me, man." He glowered, picking up a vacuum-sealed packet of clothes on a trolley. Alfred tore open the packaging with next to no grace. "You can start by telling me what the hell you want from me. And I'm not planning to be your guinea pig for a sick little experiment." While he spoke furiously, he hopped on one foot to put on a pair of pants. It was endlessly vexing how he seemed to find himself in the same place over and over again.

Somebody was always playing with his genetics, one way or another. This somebody being his oldest nemesis.

"I've had enough of crazy science freaks treating me like some... Extinct animal. This isn't Jurassic Park."

Zao threw his hands up defensively. "Listen, I may be a scientist, but not that kinda scientist. I don't clone people." Alfred threw on a jacket and glared at him. He was beginning to wonder if he was developing some prejudice for biology majors. And this guy, well, they were never particularly chummy in the first place. "I clone plants. Big difference there."

The blonde rose his brows and laughed mirthlessly. That certainly made him feel better. "Right, right, sorry, a farmer. My bad." He muttered sarcastically. "And what does a farmer have to do with my sorry ass? You want something from me, don’t you?"

The answer was in the question. This guy’s story was so disturbing it fazed the unfazed. "What do you have that I’d want? I already have enough shit on my plate." Zao snorted, popping a few gummies he dug up from his pockets. His scarlet eyes darkened. Catching the other in a look so foreboding, they were shocked this was the same person. "Not everybody is out to get you. I wouldn’t have gone through the trouble of saving your life just to fuck it more than how fucked up it already is. You can do that yourself."

Alfred’s eye twitched, but his mouth never opened. This guy did look like the type to have a silver tongue. The assumption only manifested into reality as they continued. And without mercy, at that. "Allen told me about you, you know?" He tensed up. His ears were ringing, almost as if his body knew to reject what he was about to get into. "You’re not from around here. You make enemies with the yakuza, and somehow, you skip half a century and end up here so they can take you on in their prime."

Zao circled him tantalizingly while he stood frozen still. It was like being tied down and scrutinized against his will. He didn’t like it. No, he hated it. But something about his lack of filter was relieving—he was forced to confront his demons in the worst way. "You’re something. Not just anybody makes it to Matsumoto’s kill list. What you did, what happened to you, even gives me the goosebumps."

His anger was too hot for him to think. But he knew better than to lash out. Not after some clarification first. While he clenched his fists until the veins began to pop, he kept his eyes on the ground. "I’ve spent the last twelve hours being well and truly fucked with, so if you don’t tell me what the hell is going on—" Alfred lifted his head for a heated stare burning with conviction. "I may as well lose my temper."

"Of course." The brunette mused, turning his feet towards the door. Once again, he was barely impacted by the threat that loomed over him. All his life, he had much bigger fish to fry.

"If you couldn’t tell, I was about to get to that part."

The Alfred everybody knew was never the first to walk this Godforsaken Earth. His mind was the same, but his body wasn’t. He was the second version of himself, having become a creation of metal parts, silicon, and everything flesh and blood couldn’t handle. What about the Alfred that stood before him? How was he any different? He never asked to be made, and now that he was, Zao thought he deserved just as much of a fighting chance.

"You didn’t have to do this." He muttered raspily with his head down. If it weren't for his ravenous hunger, he would've stayed in that hospital room. But it was too much to handle. And so, they changed locations to a ramen stand smack-bang in a commercial district. Picking up a cup of steaming miso soup, he took a small sip from the rim. "You shoulda’ just left me on the ground to bleed out."

"And let you die in one of the VIP rooms? Dead bodies aren't great for business." The other remarked, fully expecting a glare from him. But it looked like his spunk was gone. He never responded, not even with the least of a glance. Zao had to wonder if he was aggravated from his empty stomach back there. Little did he know, his anger was quelled by something else entirely. "... Want some painkillers?"

Alfred shook his head and covered his eyes with his palms. Everything still hurt like hell, but it balanced out everything on the inside. No matter how much food he consumed, he couldn’t swallow down the bile in his throat. It was only a matter of seconds before the waterworks started. Boy, he'd forgotten how good it felt to cry. "What the fuck..." He laughed dryly. To think you were responsible for this—he couldn't handle it.

The brunette rested his cheek on his hand, which he propped up with an elbow. Darting his discerning red eyes to Alfred's mouth, his brows came together. It was twitching as he forced a smile.

"Do you hate her?" Zao asked.

He swallowed thickly. "No."

"Of course you don't." He continued. The certainty in his tone caused the blonde to look up. There in all its ugly glory was his face blotched with patches of red. Zao was no sentimental person. But seeing him like this could shake anyone to their core. "I was there. She was hesitating because she wanted to give you a chance." Alfred wasn't sure how much he agreed with that statement. But there was one thing he could put his faith in.

"Doesn't change the fact that she did this for you."

Alfred fell quiet for a few moments. "What are you trying to say?"

"What do you think, Einstein?" Zao raised a dish of sake at him, almost on a celebratory note. If he was right about his assumptions, you've never shot a gun before, let alone offed someone with one. There could only be one reason for your eagerness to kill. "She's high-strung about you, dumbass." At first, he had to shake his head at how clueless Alfred was. Once it finally began to click, as evident in the blood rushing up to his face, Zao slapped a hand down on his shoulder with an amused look. High-strung, huh.

"Give it a few days. Once you're not so crippled, we can rock up to Arthur's place. She won't push you away, trust me."

The redness flushing Alfred's cheeks disappeared just like that.

"Are you crazy? They'll fucking kill me!" He whisper-shouted, slamming his fists down on the counter. "Not just the other me, but Allen too. And maybe she'll wanna do the same cuz' everyone else is."

Zao clicked his tongue. "Will they? You're stupider than I thought."

"Have you forgotten how you even came into this world? The man in the sky! Matsumoto. If they're gonna get rid of him, they need all the help they need. They're gonna have to take you in."

Allen had been up since five. He was half-awake and sprawled across the couch, struggling to keep himself conscious. He barely managed any sleep last night. Rolling his tired eyes to the digital clock on the kitchen island, he squinted at the neon figures. 10:26. You said you both would be back by morning, and it was nearly eleven. And eleven was pretty much twelve. Clearly, you were up to something. Something you were too kind to let him know what.

But he was something of an over-thinker himself.

He slid further down the couch until his head was the only thing against the backrest. Currently, he was in the bargaining stage. If you really chose Alfred over him, your best friend, big brother, and everything Alfred wasn't, that didn't mean he couldn't be in your life, right? Yeah! If you both moved out somewhere, he could be the live-in housekeeper. That sounded pretty swell.

The door slammed open. In stormed the subjects of his thoughts.

"Your dad made a clone of me, and you didn't tell me?!" Alfred exclaimed with the utmost terror. His shouting was the perfect splash of cold water to wake him up. So Allen stood up, concerned at the scene that was about to unfold before him. "And you... You shot him. How did that feel like? You said he was dead?" You marched into the living room and spun to him, eyes-wide and heavy-hearted.

Your mouth was wide open, but the words were caught in your throat.

"I..."

Alfred's nostrils flared. This was what you had to tell him? He couldn't comprehend why you put it off. How could you withhold something so important from him? He whipped his head to Allen, who didn't seem all too shocked at what he was witnessing. No way. "You told him, (F/N)? Is he in on this too?" He pointed to the man accusingly, all while keeping his hard stare on you.

"Or is this why you both were gone for so long? Why didn't you tell me?" He sucked in a sharp breath before raising his voice.

"Why didn't you fucking tell me?"

"Because I was in shock!" You snapped fiercely. Alfred froze while Allen's expression darkened. "It was just one day later. I told you in the morning, didn't I? Why are you so angry?" Allen could admit he felt pity for the poor bastard, but he was finally seeing him for what he was. A setback on your life. On his. Alfred didn't deserve half the attention you gave him. He couldn’t let Alfred have his way with you anymore. Even now, a light tremble had seized your body because of his selfishness.

You were forced to relive those memories, and the brutality of it was enough to blur your vision. But you had enough of crying. Crying over Alfred and crying in front of him. So you blinked the tears away before taking off. Alfred reached out to grab your hand, but you slipped away too seamlessly. "(F/N), wait—I'm sorry—" He begged, "—come back!"

Fuck, why did he have to be so goddamn explosive all the time? He’d been so caught up with himself, he never stopped to think how it could impact everyone else. He was never good at listening. Hell, he couldn't do it to save his life. That statement rang particularly true when he felt like he just lost something—broke something. What he had with you. In the end, his inability to let things go didn’t just save it. It ruined it.

Before he could follow you back into the guest room, Allen grabbed him by the collar and throttled him. Alfred stumbled back a few steps out of shock. He’d never seen him this furious. "Just face it, skin-job. You’re a fucking drag on her life." He seethed, shoving him back roughly. "She should’ve walked out on you ages ago. But she’s too good for you."

With one last bitter glare, he added this to rub more salt into the wound. "Once we kill that old fuck, I’m not letting you do what you please. I’ll be haunting you like your demons. One wrong move and you’re dead." Allen growled. "I even wish she never killed your clone. That way, I can kill you twice."

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