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tilltheendwilliwrite · 3 years

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Star-Crossed: Bound by Blood

Chapter One

Master List

Pairing: Mando/Din Djarin x OFC Baast’Mal

Warnings: I'm making this up as a go, Canon divergent from the series during chapter 13, mild violence

A/N: I make this stuff up as I go along, if I screw something Star Wars-y up, apologies in advance, I didn't do it on purpose, but I'm new to this Fandom. I will be cross posting this story between AO3 and Tumblr except the smutty bits. Those chapters will only be available to registered users on AO3. (I'm trying something new for people who want to read here on Tumblr, but to also avoid the smut for minors controversy. We'll see how it goes.)

*I do not have a tag list* Please follow the story on AO3 if you want email updates, or follow @tilltheendwilliwrite-library where I post the new/latest chapters of all my stories.

***

In the sweltering heat of the jungle, Din Djarin crouched to better scan for tracks in the rotting foliage at the base of the tall trees. Pools of light made it difficult to adjust correctly for the shadowy depths; add in the thermal activity of the plants and animals in this stinking sewer of a planet, and he was having a hard time tracking his quarry.

When he'd accepted the puck, he hadn't known what he was getting into as her chain code was surprisingly sparse. The only additional information he had was her name - Taa Marel - her last known location and face.

And what a face. Even on a holo, she was stunning, not that the Mandalorian would let that sway him one way or the other.

He'd tracked the stolen ship from Bogano, where she'd initially been hiding out to this skug hole of a world that was made to torment men in beskar, causing them to swelter in their helmet.

The kid, however, loved the place.

Constantly cooing, riding in his pouch, he touched everything he could get his chubby green fingers on. Leaves, flowers, bugs; those, of course, went straight in his mouth. By this point, Mando accepted the womp rat could and would eat just about anything.

Upon arrival, they'd found the ship nose down, destroyed, and abandoned, but the crash landing had created just enough space for Mando to set the Razor Crest down. Then the hunt began.

After three hours of slogging through the heat, he was ready to kill her. After four, he decided death was too good for someone who made him sweat this hard. After five, he was determined to make her suffer. But they were closing in. He could feel it like an ache in his bones.

Tracks led forward, but something didn't sit right with that. They were too obvious. After hours of following such a well-covered trail, this was an insult to his skills. Footprints led straight down a game trail like a beacon meant to lure him astray.

It wasn't right, too easy by far, and the skin on his nape crawled.

He looked up, straight into the eyes of the woman he was hunting. Even through the distorted colour of heat vision, he could see they were a vibrant green.

He moved on instinct, whipcord shooting out, wrapping around her shoulders, and dragging her out of the tree.

She screamed the battle cry of a hunting cat, an inhuman sound before she twisted mid-air and landed lightly, crouched but on her feet.

"Taa Marel, I can bring you in warm, or I can bring you in cold," he warned her, hand hovering over his blaster.

"That is not my name. And I choose option three."

Her voice kicked him in the groin and made his dick twitch. Stunned, he could only watch as her hands came up and nails like talons shredded his whipcord.

Someone had left a few things out of her chain code.

"Put the child down."

Mando blinked. "Why would I do that?"

What did she want with his foundling? Had she heard about him? Would she attempt to take him?

"I intend to kick your ass, Mandalorian, but I do not hurt children. Put him down."

Surprised, Mando reached for the strap across his chest instead of his blaster. "You're not going to run?"

She lifted a proud chin. "You will continue to hunt me. I would rather die than return to that hell hole, but I will not go easy. I will fight."

She was beginning to impress him with more than just her face.

Din lifted the strap over his head, his eyes fixed on the target, studying her outside of the holo he'd memorized.

She stood with her chin raised, body slightly turned in a stance that bespoke proper training. If one could call it that, her green tunic had no sleeves, crossed over her breasts, tied just beneath them, and ended a few inches thereafter, baring the wealth of sun-darkened skin over tightly packed muscles. Pants hugged slim hips, billowed at her thighs, and tied tight to her calves thanks to the soft, short boots that went to her knee.

Sweat gave her a sheen that made her glow, her vibrant eyes shadowed behind thick, long lashes. Her face was a treasure trove of sculpted brows, sharp nose, and high cheekbones over lips that looked like ripe fruit, begging for teeth.

A mass of hair, the colour of sand, fell in heavy waves to her hips. It began to darken toward the tips until it was as black as the deepest corner of space.

As he moved the kid, she untied a thin cord from her wrist and slowly began to bind her hair in a low tail.

He'd never met a woman like her, a bounty like her, ever. This one - fugitive or not - had honour in her.

The kid cooed and waved. Her lips twitched into a smile as she winked and waved back.

"Fear not, Mandalorian. Should I kill you today, I will raise your foundling as my own."

Din's blood ran cold. "You won't get the chance."

He hung the child's satchel on a low tree knot and drew the beskar spear from his back in the same motion. Though he'd won the spear from magistrate Morgan Elsbeth on Corvus and helped the Jedi Ahsoka Tano defeat her forces, the Jedi held no answers when it came to the kid. Though, Din wondered if that had more to do with him than the little green monster. She'd told him to seek another Jedi, someone with more training than she, but had given him no direction in which to search.

"He is rather cute," she smirked. "But his kind age so slowly. You will be long dead before he is grown."

Mando paused. "You know of his kind?"

She arched a brow. "You do not?"

He lowered the spear and held up his off-hand. "I am tasked with returning him to his people."

Her posture never changed, but her eyes filled with sorrow. "He has no more people. The last of his kind, or what was thought to be the last, died some years ago. Master Yoda was his name."

"I'm to help him find the Jedi," Mando murmured.

Her eyes lost their sadness. "I cannot help you."

"Will not."

"They are one and the same," she whispered.

Lightning fast, she rushed him. Mando barely blocked the first swipe of her claws before the second clanged off his pauldron. He used the spear's shaft to knock her back, even as she kicked him in the ribs, bypassing the beskar.

"Do you know the life you condemn me to, Mandalorian, if you return me to that horrible place?" she asked, crouched once again, a few feet away.

"You're a bounty. I don't make deals," he stated, watching his quarry while keeping his body between her and the kid. His ribs smarted, but he'd had worse.

"No. You just work for the people who Purged your planet!" she spat, leaping and clawing.

She was fast, damn fast. Barely able to keep up, it was all Mando could do not to lose ground until he saw an opening and swept the butt of the spear at her leg.

She jumped back, breath coming hard.

"I didn't ask who the bounty was for." Greef Karga offered him the chance for a big payday, and right now, they could use it.

"You work for the Empire," she sneered. "Returning me to torture and experimentation. Do you think I was always like this!?" She stood and held out her arms, flexing fingers tipped in dark claws. She bared her teeth, revealing wicked-looking canines, then lifted a portion of hair to reveal a sharply pointed ear.

Again he paused, a thing unheard of, to ask, "What are you?" Her chain code said human, but she was certainly not that.

Her proud chin lifted in defiance. "Do you know what a Zentari is, Mandalorian?"

Din inhaled sharply. "That's not possible. They were wiped out."

"All but one. I am Baast'mal, last of the Zentari. The Empire took me as a child and used my gift to ruin me. They bound my blood to the Corellian Sand Panther and Manka Cat. They have so thoroughly defiled my biorhythms that if the constellations were kind enough to cross my path with that of my mate, I do not know if I could bond with him." Pain flickered across her features. "I am sullied, broken. I am a monster," she whispered before shaking herself free of the melancholia and raising that proud chin once more. "So kill me if you can, Mandalorian, for I will not go willingly."

The beskar spear fell from his fingers as Din dropped to a knee and bowed his head. "I am a Child of the Watch. I must offer aid, Zentari. This is the Way."

"The Way?" She took a step back. "The Mandalorians no longer follow the Old Ways. They no longer conceal their face from all but their riduur and ad. The creed is long dead."

He shook his head. "My Tribe is one of zealots. We hold to the old ways of Mandalore. I only recently learned of this as I was raised with them in hiding. The Purge took much, but the ways of the Zentari are remembered in the covert."

She hesitated, eyes wary. "I have faced Mandalorians before. They knew not the Way."

Din stripped his gloves from his hands and held them out, palms up as if catching water. He raised them above his head and brought them down over his helmet, appearing to another as if he washed with air. "Zentari of the Bright Star, may the constellations bless this warrior with a treasure greater than beskar that they would be mine. Cyar'ika. Ka'rta. Riduur."

She inhaled sharply. He watched her fight tears, lip trembling before she closed the distance between them and knelt. She dipped her fingers into his cupped palms as if they held water, brought them to her brow and stroked them down over her eyes and out along her cheeks.

Her hands shook as she lifted them toward his helmet and laid her palms lightly on the sides of the beskar.

His hands gently grasped her wrists, her skin warm and soft beneath his fingers. She wouldn't remove it, that he was sure of, but it was an instinct he couldn't deny when someone touched his helmet.

Her voice was whisper soft when she spoke. "Mandalorian, Holder of the Creed, blessed of the constellations. May you raise warriors strong in the Way and find your riduur. Your cyar'ika. Your ka'rta."

"This is the Way," he murmured, shaken by the encounter.

"This is the Way," she agreed as she drew him forward until his helmet lightly kissed her brow.

The shudder that raced through her raced through him with equal intensity. The Zentari race was a myth, a legend, a beautiful dream. They were so lost to time Din felt like his heart would burst with joy.

"Have you ever removed your helmet, Mando?" she asked softly.

The shortened form of address made his heart skip. "Not before any living thing." The Droid on Nevarro didn't count, and no matter what Bo'Katan said, the creed was his way. He would never show his face to any besides his wife or children.

Let Koska scoff as she liked at his traditions. She had not found a Zentari. She likely wouldn't know what to do with the Zentari if she did.

Din rocked back on his toes and pushed to his feet, surprised when she followed him with equal grace. "Zentari, we should return to my ship. The Alor will want to meet you. The covert will rejoice."

"Baast."

He froze as her hands landed lightly on his beskar covered chest. "What?"

"To you, I am Baast." She stared into his visor as if able to see his eyes.

"Baast," he murmured, wishing he could speak her name without the modulator.

"Yes, Din Djarin," she smiled.

He still held her wrists, and his hands became her shackles. "How do you know that name?" he demanded.

Long lashes swept her cheeks, a coy smile curling her lips. "Grogu told me."

His grip tightened more. "Who is Grogu?"

She tilted her head to look past him at the kid cooing at them. "He is Grogu."

"You can understand him?" Din asked, his shock registering even through the modulator.

"Not in words, but he speaks to those who can listen. Images. Impressions. The Force is strong in him," she smiled at Grogu. "He loves you."

"He's okay." Mando was grateful for the helmet that hid his foolish grin.

"You fool no one," Baast chuckled. She gently twisted her wrists, reminding him of her bondage.

He let her go and stepped back to pick up the spear.

"You are a man blessed of beskar," she murmured. "You must be a great hunter."

"Something like that," he murmured. It still shamed him how he'd acquired his armour, but if he hadn't turned in the kid - Grogu - he wouldn't have been as well-equipped to get him back and keep him safe as they ran from the Empire.

Baast headed for Grogu, her smile growing as she lifted down his carrier and situated the baby against her chest. Grogu giggled and babbled something Mando didn't understand.

"Oh, I see," Baast chuckled, casting a side-eye his direction.

"What?" Mando muttered.

"Clan of the Mudhorn. A clan of two." She flicked her claws over his sigil. "I wondered. Grogu explained."

Mando glared at the kid- Grogu. "Don't tell her all my secrets."

Grogu cooed. Baast cuddled him and smiled slyly. By that look, he was pretty sure it was too late for his secrets.

He turned to go, heading back the way he'd come. It would take hours to return to the Razor Crest, and it was already getting dark.

***

They didn't make it back to the ship before nightfall, but he found a hollow tree in which to spend the dark hours. Creeper vines had choked the life out of the behemoth, leaving them in a cage of vines and dry, dead bark with a wealth of firewood to choose from.

The fire burned brightly, drafting well, casting shadows across Baast's face and keeping the larger predators at bay. She slept curled around Grogu, lips gently parted. The air had finally cooled at sundown, but now he could see the shivers and goosebumps developing on her flesh.

Slowly, he leaned forward to remove the cape from his back. Then, just as quietly, he rose, rounded the fire, and draped it over her and Grogu. She stirred but didn't wake, and Din returned to his watch on the far side of the fire.

A Zentari. He could scarce believe it.

She was a myth made flesh—a beautiful dream. Once, when Mandalore still followed the old ways, Zentarus was where many warriors sought their mates, their most cherished riduur.

A Zentari was always fast and strong and incredibly rare. They grew quickly but aged slowly, their years stretching out into eternity, some said. Fine in face and form, when they met their match, they bonded, taking on traits of the other and giving a few as well.

A Mandalorian could live a very long time with a Zentari mate.

But most Mandalorians came home empty-handed as a bond with a Zentari could not be forced, but those who the stars smiled upon, those most blessed with a cherished mate, bonded in ways that grew legends. It was said their children were the most incredible of warriors.

Baast'mal was everything he imagined when told stories of Zentari as a child new to the Tribe. It didn't hurt that she was the most mesh'la female he'd ever seen. Fast. Strong. Deadly. He wondered at what the Empire had done to her, how they could force the blood bonds on Sand Panthers and Manka cats, and just what other mutations they'd caused.

He also wondered at her Force sensitivity. What she felt or even what she could do had not been discussed, but Mando knew there was more to her than he had yet discovered.

But it was the ache in him, the growing need to once again touch her skin that concerned him.

It was primal. Feral. It clawed at him. It had him itching to be closer - much closer - to her. He wanted to show her his face and hope she found him as pleasing as he did her.

Din had nothing to go by in comparison. He'd seen his reflection before, of course, but he had no way of knowing if a woman would think him handsome. He'd had encounters before, ones in which everyone walked away satisfied, some paid for, others freely offered, but the helmet and the beskar never came off.

With her, he wanted to be bare, stripped off all trappings. Din wanted to feel his naked skin against hers. He wanted to taste it.

"You are a very loud thinker," she mumbled, bright eyes glowing softly beyond the fire.

Mortification filled him. "I'm sorry, I-"

"I do not know your thoughts, Mando," she clarified, "just feel a gentle buzzing from the beskar. It restricts what I pick up from you."

Relief almost had him sagging. Baast closed her eyes, but he was loath to let the conversation end.

"How old are you?" She looked young, maybe twenty-five.

Her brow twitched, amusement in her smile. "It is rude to ask."

"I wondered how long the Empire had you," he explained.

Shadows darkened her eyes. "Forty years."

"But they've only been around for thirty," he frowned.

She gave a hollow laugh and sat up. "They have been around much, much longer. I remember the day they came for us. They slaughtered all who fought, men and women. Every child they could catch was rounded up and taken away." She looked away, down at dark claws. "I was the only Zentari to survive the experiments."

"I'm sorry." He was. "I know what it's like to lose everything."

She tilted her head. "You were a foundling."

It wasn't a question, and Din didn't answer her.

"They began experimenting with my blood almost immediately. I was ten when they bound traits of the Manka to me. I was fifteen when they brought in the Panther."

"How? Why?"

Her eyes burned into his. "Because they could." She flexed her fingers. "Because they are depraved. Because they are monsters, who turn others into abominations."

"You're not."

She looked at him in surprise.

Din shifted until he stood and made his way around to her side, where he offered his hand. Baast took it and joined him in the shadows as he led her a few steps away from Grogu. He stripped his gloves from his hands, the need to touch her no longer under his control.

Slowly, he reached up to caress her cheek. He pushed her hair back, revealing the pointed tip of her ear. Her eyes gleamed from behind heavy lids when he stroked his fingers down her tricep and finally cupped her elbow.

He closed his opposite hand around her nape; his thumb pressed to her spiking pulse. "You are no monster."

"My blood is sullied."

"Perhaps. But you remain unbroken," he murmured. "You lived. You escaped. Mesh'la, you are a beacon of shining hope to my Tribe. If there is one Zentari, perhaps there are others."

She closed her eyes. "There is not."

"How do you know?"

A tear trickled down her cheek. "I felt the last die three years ago. It was what gave me the strength to escape."

"Mishuk gotal'u meshuroke, pako kyore," he murmured, rubbing his thumb on her pulse.

"Pressure makes gems; ease makes decay?" A small smile twitched her lips. "Am I a gem, Mando?"

"No."

She arched an amused brow.

"You are something more precious than any gem," he murmured.

Colour dusted her cheeks. "A Mandalorian who has a way with words? I truly have seen it all," she teased.

He sighed and made sure it echoed through the modulator. "Get some rest." He attempted to move away, but she grabbed him by the belt.

"Stay."

"Baast?"

"Stay." She took his hand, led him closer to Grogu, encouraged him to sit against a fallen chunk of tree, and then curled up beside him, tucking herself under his arm.

"The beskar is too hard," he worried.

"No harder than a prison cell, and you are much warmer. I have not known the comfort of another since I was seven," she admitted.

He sighed again but gave in, curling his arm around her.

"Thank you for your cape."

"Hm."

Her chuckle was more of a low purr. When it rippled through him, Din swore he felt something inside him purr back.

Next Chapter

#Star-Crossed #mandalorian #Mandalorian fanfiction

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oddone95 · 3 years

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The Cycle of Hatred in Naruto fandom.

Ok, so I just wanted to write a little post on why this fandom (Naruto fandom that is) needs to chill and stop hating on each other so much. But first, let’s get clear in our minds that “Naruto” is a business franchise, and the goal of any business venture is to earn 💰. Earn money by evoking emotions in you. Now that this is clear, let’s move on. This will be a short (not rant) but rather advise to the various “camps” in this community.

1. To the remaining NaruSaku bunch:

Yes, I get it, you’re disappointed with the ending. Yes, you wanted Naruto with Sakura and apparently you cannot see how in the world NaruHina even happened. But if you took your bias out for a bit, you would see that pairing Naruto with Hinata was THE ONLY positive outcome for Naruto romance-wise. Or did you really want Naruto to end up with a “prize” that never even ONCE expressed her desire to be with him romantically in any way, shape or form. And don’t bring up the fake confession because this is all that is. FAKE. To save the love of her life from sinking into darkness. And how can you go around Hinata’s heartfelt confession during the Pein arc? So, please STOP insulting Hinata and her fans - let people enjoy the canon pairings that were planned from the beginning of serialisation of the project.

2. To the very vocal SNS community:

I’ll just keep it simple. If Masashi Kishimoto wanted this manga to be shonen-ai or yaoi, he would’ve acted on it. Editor or not, Kishi stands behind his story. He always has. And please don’t bring the supposed “homophobia” into this. Homophobia is a very serious rl issue that affects millions of people worldwide and you’re NOT helping the cause by insulting and hating on people enjoying the het canon pairings of Narutoverse. You do realize that your rants about it only trigger more hate towards yourselves and the cycle of hatred goes on. So we all end up bashing real living breathing humans “for the sake” of inked characters.. Let it sink in.

3. To the die hard SasuKarin minority:

Bruh.. There’s so much I’d like to bring up here but I’ll stick to basics. Firstly, your claim to be Sasuke fans is ridiculous because you seem to view him as a mindless, powerless beta male that was harassed by a woman SO HARD that he decided to give it to her.. really?! Is that who you think he is? Because that’s what you all seem to claim by saying that “Sakura chased after him”. You take that line from Gaiden and take it completely out of context. Do you know ANYTHING about Sasuke? Anything at all? If there’s anything manga taught us about his character is that Sasuke Uchiha acts as he pleases. He did so when he first left the village, he did so when he killed Orochimaru, he did so when he fought with Naruto, he did so when he willingly gave up his old worldview, and he did so when he married his wife. And you bring up “rape” into the matter. Seriously?! Do I need to bring up the sweaty t-shirts, licking somebody all over and ravaging them in their sleep? Do I? Thankfully, Karin redeemed herself by worrying about Sasuke’s wife well-being enough to deliver her baby and by thinking about HER happiness in Sasuke Shinden. She clearly cares about the Uchiha family wellbeing more than you do. She moved on!! So should you.

4. To NaruHina and SasuSaku respectively:

There is NO popularity contest. Man, I can’t believe we’ve got to this. There is absolutely NO popularity contest between Sakura and Hinata, neither there is for their romances. They’re different, just as the girls are different, and the boys are different. There is no such thing as a cookies cutter perfect romance. They’re written differently and I’m thankful to Kishimoto for that. I wouldn’t want every couples way to the altar copy-pasted. SS is angstier and more complicated. Their history is different. Yes. NH has been more subtle during the Shippuden but both pairings came together as was planned and we should feel proud and victorious that our ships made it to canon. But that’s too boring I guess. I guess tearing each other down is the new sport. So please tell me: what has Sakura ever done to Hinata except for being a good friend?! Same goes for Hinata. Can you put away your hate for Sakura/Hinata for one minute to appreciate the fact that the girls are ACTUALLY HAPPY! The way it was planned from the beginning. They’ve both suffered, ached and spilled tears for the men they love SO MUCH. And now they’re happy! Can’t we celebrate that?! This brings me to my next and final point.

5. To Sakura haters:

I’ll keep it brief. I honestly really truthfully DO NOT get WHY you hate on her so much.I REALLY DON’T.

5.1. For those of you who hate her for getting in the way of your ship, please see above. You really must either not have read the manga, or fanfiction.net is your source of truth. Hating her for being paired with Sasuke is same as hating Kishimoto for making Naruto a jinchuuriki because both canon facts were pre-planned by the author.

5.2. If you hate her for being mean to Naruto, then I suggest reading the manga past chapter 3 because this misconception gets debunked really quickly. You should stop refusing to accept the fact that Sakura really cares about Naruto as a friend and a precious teammate.

5.3. If you hate her for being “useless”, I don’t even know what to tell you because.. you know.. you don’t know the content of the manga called “Naruto” so why don’t you put away your bias for a minute and try to see what I see? All you have to do is clear your mind of all misconceptions and just read the manga with, you know, open mind?! To see how many lives she saved, how much of strength she has considering her humble beginnings, and how much valued she is in the village.

To the rest of Naruto fandom that gets swayed in every direction influenced by reviewers on social media, extremist shippers or even have trouble realizing that characters are fictional and nothing really happens to them unless it’s written into the canon verse by the author, I have one advice to you: please don’t let anyone’s opinions affect your judgement. YouTube reviewers are PAID to provoke and trigger you. They earn money by imposing THEIR ideas and theories onto YOU. Some of them bring their own life experiences into the discussion which only causes you to self-insert.

Naruto is an awesome manga! It deals with such important issues and carries such a positive message! Please, STOP ruining it by pointless wars that only fuel more hate!

Now. Going back to my first point about the money. Anime production studios have a huuuge interest in you staying glued to the screens. They’ll do anything to provoke you to talk about whatever happens on screen. They will bring their own bias into the mix, and fuel this madness even more. For the anime only fans I will say that you’re doing a huge disservice to yourself and to the work of art that “Naruto” is by only watching anime. It adds another layer of interpretation thus confusing you even more. Please, read the manga! It’s so worth it!

#Naruto #rant #cycle of hatred #stop #spread the word

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minalous · 4 years

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fallen candy | 1

⇁ yoongi x female reader x taehyung ft Jimin x female reader

⇁ romance,humour,angst,smut || supernatural!au

⇁ yoongi!angel, taehyung!angel, reader!hybrid, mentions of death, oral (female receiving), fingering, loss of virginity, love triangle, future poly

The gates of the underworld are now open, unleashing evil and death on earth. Namjoon cannot stand to see his beloved humans suffering so he asks his most trusted friend Yoongi to help him save them. With the help of Taehyung, Yoongi is searching for the hybrid that will help them save humanity. They are searching for you.

⇁5.1k

...

Eras come and go, thousands of years full of knowledge and history are intertwined with the humans on this earth, the world created for them. As humanity started growing into something magnificent, evil and hatred came to disturb it. The wondrous world of humans is about to cease to exist, no miracle would be able to recover the atrocities the demons had done over the past few years; Humans stopped believing in the old gods, in the new gods, in any gods for that matter. They gave up every power they were holding, they offered that power to monsters whose only desire was to destroy whichever privilege their gods openly offered them.

The true Gods gave them free will, courage, intelligence, a beautiful world to live in. And what did they do in return? They destroyed their world, they worshipped gold and silver, they fell on their knees and worshipped false gods which never existed. The true Gods wished nothing but happiness and love for their creation. Can they help them now? Yes they can. It is not too late.

Their headquarters are filled with smart beings, some not so smart but heavenly beautiful.

Yoongi, Taehyung, Jungkook and Namjoon are four of the Gods, half daemons, half angels. Daemons were creatures of wisdom, creatures equal to Gods so they were treated as such. Their angel blood gave them power which was much needed for the wonders they did upon the earth. Day and night they would guard humans from evil, keeping demons and monsters under their control. When humans began their secret worshipping of demons, when they started having evil thoughts and feelings which had to be restrained, they lost their connection to the heavenly creatures. Their free will was in their nature, nobody would take it away from them; but that was what led them to hell upon earth.

The gates of the underworld were now open, unleashing evil and death on earth. Namjoon could not see their creation dying, suffering until they would beg to be put out of their misery. They created them because they needed to love and be loved. He had to act and he had to act now.

Namjoon gathers his most trusted friends to ensure the immediate resolution of their biggest problem. He knows the only remedy to the situation is to create a new hybrid, a creature powerful enough to have their enemies tremble in fear. The hybrid would be their new leader, the leader they’re in need of and who will shed light on the darkness the demons have brought upon humanity.

The details about the recent events in the underworld and on earth have the Gods agree upon taking great measures to ensure an immediate expedition, to acknowledge the danger, the considerable pressure growing bigger. Namjoon further explains how humans are no longer free, their will is manipulated by the demons, vampires and other hideous monsters who are in need of puppets to do their deeds. And that is when Namjoon drops the bomb out of nowhere; the need to create a hybrid.

“You want us to do what?”

Yoongi has become so furious with their leader’s announcement, the weight of the task given to them is something more than what he has anticipated for.

“If you do not do it, Jungkook will. And you know what that means”

Namjoon’s voice is loud and clear, determination lacing his soothing tone. He is confident enough to entrust an important task to his best friend, a task that could ensure a win against the evil powers controlling humans. He would not want to have Jungkook handle a strategy in need of meticulous research, a plan to reveal weaknesses about their enemies. Jungkook may have the muscles but Yoongi has the brains. However weird it may seem, Taehyung is a better shot to the unknown than Jungkook on this occasion.

“Hey! I am a real asset to this team”

Jungkook pleads to be chosen for this mission, muttering under his breath he’s better than anyone else in this room.

“You are only off by two letters”

Jungkook stares at Yoongi’s direction, furrowing his brows in deep confusion due to the daze Yoongi’s words caused him.

“Stop speaking with fancy riddles, hyung” Jungkook says in an almost begging voice

"And you call me stupid"

Taehyung mocks Jungkook in a childish way, making both Yoongi and Namjoon hold their temples in an attempt to calm their frustration. They are in great need of cunning beings that can accomplish tasks in this time of need, but who knows what must be going on inside their brains.

"You make a good rival" Jungkook tells him proudly

"Stupidity is not something you should be proud to compete but between the two of you, I would not expect anything better"

Yoongi’s voice now mirrors Namjoon's feelings, his words confusing the two younger Gods even more but making Namjoon laugh.

"Please just accept the research. You cannot leave me with Jungkook as my last resort" Namjoon now pleads for Yoongi’s acceptance, pointing at Jungkook who is trying to fight off a small bug with his fists, throwing tiny punches in the air.

"Hey! I am right here guys" Jungkook says once more, scaring away the two older Gods

...

In the end, Yoongi ends up accepting Namjoon’s offer to become the leader of the research, a team working under his command who is seeking for clues about the existence of a hybrid. Taehyung is the one to seek answers hidden in the history of their ancestors, as Yoongi tries to discover new information about the demons on earth. Yoongi hasn’t seen humans from up close for a very long time, his eyes wandering to find any clue that could lead him to the main source of their problem.

It has been two months now and he had almost given up. There were no signs of change, the same old things kept happening; vampires feeding off humans, humans willingly offering their souls to demons for a better life, people worshipping false gods which in reality were reapers that would later torment their souls for eternity. It breaks Yoongi’s heart to see those low life demons disturbing the peace of his beloved humans.

When Yoongi could no longer bear the thought of seeing those atrocities and was about to leave, he sensed an immense power. There must have been a powerful creature on earth. He could sense it was evil; the powerful aura radiating from within its heart was pure evil. Since nobody could ever see him, living or dead, good or evil, he walked towards the direction of where the being should be. But he would have never expected to see what he saw.

A fallen God. One of the monstrous Gods that killed hybrids with their bare hands.

In the older days, Gods had the freedom to be with whoever they desired to be; angels, daemons, humans, witches. Everyone was living freely all across the lands. Hybrids were created, beings much more powerful than most of the Gods. Soon enough some the Gods envied the power the hybrids held, fuelled with jealousy and anger they achieved to turn every powerful God and magical creatures against them. Families were destroyed, young kids dragged away from their mothers’ embrace and in a matter of days, the young hybrids were either exiled or dead. But for the jealous gods, the massacre wasn't enough, and they started hunting down the surviving children; had those poor souls tremble in fear before tearing their hearts from their chest, killing mothers with their unborn babies inside them. This complete genocide of innoncent hybrids couldn’t be ignored by the other Gods, who stepped in to bring the perpetrators to justice. All except for one..

Nobody ever sought revenge, nobody tried to find what happened to the hybrids that survived. Deep down their parents knew what was better; even if the kids were in exile, it would be for the best for their identity to stay unknown; and if they were dead, they wouldn’t want to know the truth. Exile sounded better than death and for them, a lie would be better than the truth itself. It hurt too much to get separated from their beloved kids but who was to rise against the almighty Gods?

Taehyung is given the order to search for any clues inside the books they were passed down through generations, to find anything remotely close about the history of the hybrids. The library contains hundreds of books, centuries of history including the hybrids, knowledge upon the Gods, the known enemies, the existence of powerful unknown enemies hidden in the shadows, possible threats in the foreseeable future. So much information that is enough to get Taehyung confused and mostly make him give up only after two months of research.

Yoongi finds Taehyung shuffling around the library with one of the librarians, almost ready to devour her on top of priceless books which offer unlimited access to humanity's history. He would have expected him to be irresponsible, to be lazy and grumpy about the difficulty and the obligation of his duties towards their team but he would have never expected this kind of irresponsibility.

Yoongi fake coughs and it is enough to alert Taehyung who shoves himself away from the poor girl, the girl bowing slightly before leaving the two Gods alone. Taehyung is quick to grab the book right next to him, sitting back down on his chair to continue reading or at least pretend to.

"I never claimed to be the smart one, Yoongi hyung" the small pout on his lips is the sign that he is about to use, Yoongi's weakness

"Do not hyung me, Tae." Yoongi scoffs to the younger's attempt to get away from being lazy so easily

"It has been two months now and there is no progress! I am not the one to fix such a complicated matter!" Taehyung loses his calm, pouty demeanour and stands up with a small jump from his chair, tossing the book he was holding on the desk. "I wish I could help but reading is not my speciality. Having my head between books is boring" he whispers under his breath but Yoongi is quick to hear his words.

"Being between someone's legs is your speciality but right now we need you. I need you. We are talking about humanity's last chance to be saved." Yoongi's sarcasm is easy to detect and it has Taehyung get smaller when he sits back on his chair, book in hands again to keep up with their research "You may not care about them, may not miss them but they still have faith in us, Tae. We promised to take care of them as long as they honour us. And they still do." Yoongi eyes Taehyung for the first time this evening, his glare intimidating, so intimidating that has Taehyung look away from him before muttering something that sounded like "okay I'll do my best not to have them die"

Taehyung desperately tries to find any clue about the existence of any hybrids, any hint that there may be someone left to lead them back to the land where they used to live, where the families raised their kids. Two weeks go by since his small argument with Yoongi and he can feel that they are going in circles, there is no history left from back then, it seems as if they have erased any kind of hint about the hybrids.

“I give up. I guess humanity is going to die!” Taehyung mumbles “And I am in no mood to create new humans” he pouts and kicks his legs like a five year old

One of his wishes is to find an answer about the hybrids, he has been praying day and night to his ancestors to find a hybrid or for them to simply create one. Taehyung’s fear is not what will happen to humanity or what horrors the demons will bring upon them but what Yoongi and Namjoon will do to him if he doesn’t do his job. A loud thump breaks his train of thoughts, he jumps up quickly to find the cause of his disturbance.

“Why can’t I have some peace of mind?”

His footsteps lead him to an aisle full of some of the most ancient books they have, some of those are not even related to the recent Gods including him as well, books enclosing a few of the mysteries of the universe’s creation. A piece of paper draws his attention, with careful moves he retracts the paper and carefully reads it.

“Cl-o-clo...se? Close?” Taehyung sighs and tries to read it again

“ ‘Close your eyes’ ? Why didn’t I pay attention to ancient Greek? Okay.. Relax Taehyung. You got this..” he takes a deep breath and starts again “ ‘Close your eyes and.. and call my name.‘ ”

The frustration is already built up inside his mind, no time to waste but he is here trying to read a stupid paper that gives him no clue.

“Do I look like I know your name?”

“Call my name”

“W-what?” even for a creature like Taehyung that holds so much power, he is still scared of unknown voices that whisper to him.

Before he can ask for a second time, deep sleep takes him over and soon enough he is snoring on the floor, the books on the shelves shaking as something or maybe someone is arriving. The powerful spell he had just cast consumed all of his power and drained him but he is safe as the young woman arrives into their heavenly kingdom.

...

You are here.

You don’t know what here is, you don’t know where you are, what you are. You only know you belong here. Something or someone called for you. Someone woke you up from your deep sleep, you don’t know for how long you have been asleep for. Your last memory is your mother and father telling you how much they love you, how proud they are for you, how good and kind you are and that one day they will be with you again. They were scared last time you saw them; so scared. You were only a few decades old when something happened that brought so much sadness inside your house, in the place you grew up and learned to call home.

The way you heard your parents scream your name, the moment you saw their expressions change from happiness to pure terror... It still haunts you after so many years of silence. Their love can still be felt in your heart, you let it guide you as you walk down the aisle. By the looks of it, it must be a library. You think it must be a beautiful place to wake up, to make up for the years of not learning anything new, to build new memories to call your own.

It feels safe to be here, that’s what you think, already enchanted by the knowledge getting offered to you so openly. Book already in hands and for the first time in so long, you feel at peace. Even when you were asleep, away from reality, you could feel the loss, the longing. But now, everything seems to be falling into place. Is this what it feels like to hope?

There’s a God near you; you can sense his presence, his aura. A wave of euphoria overwhelms your emotions for a few seconds without realising you may be in heaven right now.

“Can I stay here a little bit longer?”

The stranger nods softly, a warm smile on his lips as he closes the space between you. Without any warning he hugs you, a way to reassure you it is safe to be here, to be with him.

“Of course” his voice sounds so sweet to your ears

“My name is Yoongi. If you need me, let me know”

With Yoongi gone you wish to continue reading, more and more books to offer you knowledge you don't have yet about this kingdom or the world, the human world. You don't find overwhelming the new information you get to explore; history of the world, evolution of the human kind, ancient times and magic, the background of your ancestors, the different kinds of art. Who could have thought humans would be so blessed?

But what about now? What is happening now in the human world? Maybe there is a book to enlighten you further into their history.

There is one book that stands out. A book in the middle of the library. Questions cloud your mind as to what makes it so important, why is it in the centre of the library. It presents itself in all its glory, white pages with golden letters. Letters that start appearing as if the book is writing its own story. And it does indeed.

The book represents the story of the human world. Everything happening right now in the human world is getting written on the book.

"It's a spell." the man says

“Don’t they need help?” but instead of waiting for an answer, you let the book answer for you

With only a touch of your hand the book spoke to you, time stood still for a split second, your eyes rolled at the back of your head and you saw; you saw the pain, the agony, the fear, the manipulation, torn souls and evil. So much evil.. It is way too late to save some of the souls, they were far too deep into the evil surrounding them, minds full of thoughts they didn’t own, another being controlling their every move, mindless puppets ready to do their master’s deed.

It feels so dark and lonely inside their world.. Hope and love can be seen, kindness can be found into the smallest corners. But you see traces of the same energy everywhere, black drops tracing back to the same aura, it cannot be seen but you can feel it spreading steadily, slowly devouring the goodness from people. It is like broken memories, the book whispering to you, scenes unravelling in front of you and they look all the same while they are revealing you one and only being; a man who walks on this earth to bring misery. A fallen God.

He is suppressing who he is, power drips from his fingertips but you can tell. He is the one to blame for the doom brought upon the humans. Why is he in every memory the book is showing you? You can only catch glimpses of him, his face changing every time he moves from one human to another. This fallen God finds a new host to live in but none of them can survive long, he repeats the same thing over and over again until he feels satisfied with the pain he brings upon.

Once you believe the book is done with showing you past memories, it shows you one more; the fallen God looking at someone. He smirks and you can feel it, all kinds of evil thoughts consuming his whole being and it scares you. It is time to go.

“Found you”

A sweet voice, there is nothing sweet about the tone he uses but his voice sounds so sweet.

"The Gods never left, little girl. Humans started worshipping lifeless devices, poisonous intimacy, gold and silver to rule their life. Humans abandoned the Gods, so They abandoned them."

The fallen God is so close to you, caught on what is happening you let your guard down and he grabs the opportunity to touch you. Is it fear you feel? No. This feeling is.. Sadness. Agony. Regret. He runs his finger on his plump lips to taste the sweetness of your fear mixed with your tears of agony. Blood boiling within his veins but it doesn't stop him from teasing you for a little more before tearing your soul. Desires of any kind have his mind under control, his thoughts are a swimming pool ready to lure you into the depths of it, darkness and loneliness wanting to drown you and keep you under their wet blanket.

“They still want you. They still need your love”

So many voices live inside his mind, the more you look into it, the more you stare into his eyes, you find something so familiar and endearing. Why is it that you cannot find yourself to feel threatened by him?

“Call me crazy, but I think I was meant to know you” you manage to get out in a soft whisper, hand reaching out to touch his cheek

His eyes soften for a moment before he goes back to his blank stare, but in that moment you felt as if he understood what you meant.

“Jimin” is the last thing you remember saying

The man who woke you up from your deep sleep, is the one who dragged you out of memories the book was showing you. Memories would not be the most accurate way to describe what just happened but you have no other explanation.

“Nobody was ever able to do what you just did” he says

“What is this book?” you ask as you take a step back from the book

“This is the book of past and present” he tells you “it shows every single thing that is happening right now in the mortal world, humans living and dying, every decision they make, good or bad thoughts”

“Who was that man? The fallen God?” you ask him in curiosity

“Taehyung, it’s okay. I’ll let her know about it”

Yoongi carefully takes your hand into his, looking for any hint of disapproval in your eyes but you have none when it comes to him and your new friend Taehyung, a sense of security warms up your heart when they are in your presence. Yoongi and you sit down on the sofa right next to the fireplace, the soft noises of the burning wood bring back memories you try to suppress while Yoongi recounts events of the past, stories of how Jimin, the fallen God you met and other fallen Gods brought shame to the Kingdom.

When all is said and done, Yoongi heads back to the headquarters to attend a meeting with their leader Namjoon, leaving you with Taehyung who is the one responsible for you.

...

Taehyung is taking his sweet time to do his so called research on you, within a few weeks you already have the ability to consume enormous amounts of information; history, science, evolution. And this kind of growth is not meant to happen in such a short time, not when the gods and daemons themselves have to learn little by little. Humans are strange, humans are unpredictable and so are you. Are you a human? Are you a god? Are you a daemon?

His eyes follow your every movement; the way your lower lip twitches every time you read something that excites you, how your eyes squint in curiosity when a new information is found within the endless pages of the books you’re reading, how pretty your skin looks under the warm light of the fireplace.

“You better stop” he tells himself

"Could you please stop fidgeting?" you ask him without taking your eyes off your book

Taehyung cannot stop staring at you, the former interruption with the librarian left him unsatisfied and bothered. Obviously you are sending him no signals, nothing impure coming from your way but that doesn’t stop him from closing his eyes to imagine how good you would feel underneath him.

With eyes shut tight his thoughts can only lead to pure filth, marking your hot skin, your sweet smell only serves to drive him crazy. Nobody has ever touched you in that way before and he wishes to be your first. Taehyung opens his eyes to be met with the beautiful sight of you. Legs now spread to help him with any kind of relief, his cock restrained inside his painfully tight pants.

“What’s up?” his voice dropped an octave and you can feel his eyes piercing through your skin

“What’s good?” another question follows but you're unsure on what he refers to

Unknowingly you trace your eyes back to him, Taehyung touching his soft lips, index finger brushing his lower lip and you cannot help but trace his every movement. A new feeling blooms inside your chest making the next thing he says so easy to follow and accept.

"Come here, angel"

The aroma coming from his aura is unbearably sweet, intoxicating. His long, curly hair falls in front of his sharp eyes, hands now placed in each of his thighs and it surprises you how breathtakingly deceitful looks are. You could have mistaken him for a devil if you didn't already know he is a God.

Lust.

The smell of lust is oozing out from every part of his body, he is so unnaturally warm when you touch his face. Taehyung grabs your hand softly, no words come out of his mouth when he pulls you in one sharp movement and places you underneath him.

"Do you trust me?"

The mixture of his scent with the warmth of his body offer nothing but safety, body relaxing under his weight. The hair at the back of your neck raises in every soft breath he takes, feeling so sensitive as it hits your skin.

"Please tell me you trust me"

Goosebumps awaken on your skin when his lips brush at the shell of your ear and you softly nod to his words. You are scared to answer, afraid your voice will betray you. You wouldn't have let him touch you, be so close to you if you didn't trust him. It doesn't feel wrong to be here with him, to feel him press his cock on your thigh.

You are not that clueless about sex, neither are you experienced. It doesn't matter because you want to know, you want to feel what those humans felt when they sold their souls to the lust demons. It must be so good, so heavenly good for them to sell the most valuable thing they have, their soul.

With his teeth grazing on your neck you close your eyes, a sound you have never made before leaves your lips and Taehyung immediately freezes. Taehyung's hand comes to wrap around your neck, fingers softly pressing against your throat but in a way that only serves to drive you crazy.

"You drive me mad. You haven't done anything but a sound and I am already so hard for you."

Taehyung roughly bites on your ear this time and you feel your panties sticking on your folds, your empty core in desperate need of attention.

"Let me take care of your every need, let me taste you"

With your clothes being a barrier anymore, Taehyung praises you, taking over you, senses overwhelmed as he is buried between your legs. His tongue is attacking your clit relentlessly, one of his digits inside your pussy and you can already tell why everyone is so easily blinded by lust.

The sounds of your moans fill up the small of the room, his fingers entering your mouth to silence you. Your instincts tell you to suck around his fingers, to lick them and you are glad you do. Taehyung groans, your actions cause him to speed up his finger, curling it inside your pussy to attack that soft spot that has you moan around his fingers.

Your back is arching, shivers welcoming a new wave of pleasure and you can sense your whole body falling apart. He knows what he is doing to you, acting so innocent as he wipes your cum off his face.

"You are dripping wet, angel"

The smirk on his face and his full blown out eyes have you spellbound, you haven't caught your breath yet from your first orgasm but you want more, you need more.

"Please, I want more"

Taehyung doesn't need more than those words to oblige, cock lining on your entrance, his need to feel you raw may cause him problems later on but he doesn't care, mind only filled with you. Thoughts of you. The sounds you make only for him.

"Look into my eyes" he says, voice laced with love and you know you won't regret having him be your first

You cannot close your eyes, the euphoric feeling of bliss overwhelms your senses and in that moment he is taking over you, he has your heart in his hands. A moment only the two of you will ever share, a memory you will forever treasure.

…

The night sky looked so beautiful from the balcony outside the library, your favourite place for the past few weeks now and you cannot wait until the moon rises. For the moon to be in its full bloom, to smell the night wind carrying the fragrance of the flowers that prettily decorate the garden.

“Why are you always up so late?” a familiar voices stops your train of thoughts

“Yoongi” you say with a smile forming on your lips

“World's asleep” you add “more room for thoughts”

Yoongi nods, quietly coming your way. Having him so close feels comforting, you had such a long day, the effort you put to trace Jimin again, the fallen god Yoongi and you saw in the human world, is wearing you down. But to have Yoongi share this beautiful night sky with you, a new feeling starts blooming in your heart. He has been supportive, he has been guiding you carefully into the human world and both inside his world, the community the Gods have. He is so good to you..

Like a dream come true, you find yourself able to breathe again, your heart coming at ease. Is it natural to feel the same way for more than two people? This feeling inside your heart is the same one you feel when you are around Taehyung.

But now you want to hold Yoongi closer, to feel him closer; with no thoughts on your mind you turn around and kiss him. What surprises you is not how easily Yoongi accepted your kiss but the way Taehyung found a way to creep inside your mind. Taehyung is filling your mind with thoughts of him, Yoongi is slowly making his own way to your heart and you cannot choose who owns your heart.

Every love story is a ghost story. Maybe you don’t have to choose.. Maybe you have found your ghosts.

#ksmutclub #yoongi fanfic #taehyung fanfic #yoongi smut #taehyung smut #yoongi x reader #taehyung x reader #bts fanfic #bts smut #yoongi scenarios #taehyung scenarios #bts supernatural au #yoongi #taehyung #dbn hs

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buckysforeverprincess · 4 years

Text

Let The Games Begin Ch. 3

Dark!Viking James Barnes x Reader, Steve Rogers

Words: 1911

Warnings: James still being an asshole.

A/N: Welcome back! I hope you’re all enjoying this fic as I have many plans for it. The entire thing is written in my head I just need to get it down and I promise to post it once a chapter is complete. In this chapter reader starts to put some things together. Let’s see just how this plays out. Enter Steve Rogers. Enjoy!

You sat on the bed staring out into the space that had become your home, looking at something and nothing all at the same time. You hated this room. It was the main room of James’ home and was where normal people ate and entertained guests but not this heathen. Civility had eluded him and had no hope of finding its way back to home to its master.

When you arrived, James had moved his bed from the other room and set up camp in here. You watched as he pieced everything together and demanded you get used to it. This bed in this room was to be your chamber of torture and he your proud captor. It doesn’t matter how many days you spend trapped in this twisted version of hell, you’ll never get used to this life or the scum enslaving you. He could fall into a pit of acid for all you cared.

“I’m leaving,” James says as he comes from the other room and heads over to the table where his knives are kept, breaking you from your thoughts. A glance in his direction sees him in dressed in some clothing you haven’t seen that appears to be a lot nicer than usual. Hopefully he’s going to ride himself off a cliff and chose to dress up for the occasion to look decent for the people sent to retrieve the mess at the bottom. A woman can always dream, can’t she?

“I’m leaving Steven to keep an eye on you today and Wanda will bring your lunch,” James says, his body half turned, and you can see his profile.

“Your whore?” The words were out of your mouth before you could stop them, and you honestly didn’t care.

James side eyes you and you can see his lips turned up in a grin. “Ahhh… so you’ve heard the talk, huh?” He looks to you, the grin now a full-on smile. “It’s a wonder you’ve heard anything. To my knowledge, you’ve never once left the house.”

You scoff and shrug. “We all have our secrets, don’t we?”

James clicks his tongue and nods. “That we do.” He turns his attention back to his task at hand.

Watching him, you see him place several of his knives around his body, a few of them concealed where they can’t be seen to the naked eye. The last one he grabs is the one you know well, the one you used and failed to take his life with. His most favorite knife with the long blade and thick handle.

James pulls it from his sheath and assess the blade, putting it up to his eye, carefully inspecting it for god knows what. Once he’s determined it’s worth, he inserts it back into its holder and makes his way over to where your sitting on the bed, holding the knife out to you.

“Here. This is for you.”

You look up at him, your eyes blinking in confusion. “What is this?”

“A peace offering, for now.” He urges you to take the knife from his hand.

“I don’t understand.”

James rolls his eyes and sighs. “I’m leaving for the day and in these unusual circumstances I figured you’d feel a little more secure in my absence if I left you something that could offer you protection.”

Your brows furrowed, still confused by his actions. “But isn’t that why Steven is staying? To protect me?”

“Yes…,” James nods, “but he can’t be here every second.”

“Why not?” You question, not buying his reasoning. “Natasha is here every second of every moment you’re gone. Why should Steven be any different?”

“Because Steven has a village to care for in my leave and they trust him. He’ll come check on you periodically, but he cannot stay the entire time I’m gone.”

This was so unlike James to offer this to you, so you know there’s more to this than he’s letting on. With a huff, you reach out and snatch the offered knife from his hand and set it in your lap. “Be careful, James. I’m not as daft as you think. This isn’t you showing you care because you and I both know you don’t. There’s something at play here… let’s hope for your sake the game ends and the pawns move as you’ve hoped.”

James’ eyes go wide and you’re the one to smirk, the ass giving something away you believe he never intended. He recovers quickly and shakes his head. “I don’t know what you think you know, but I can assure you my intent is selfish and not about you but the child you’re carrying.”

“Smart. Way to backtrack.” You grin and James turns to walk towards the door.

“Don’t wait up for me.”

“I’m missing you already.” The sarcasm is heavy on your tongue as you watch him leave, shutting the door behind him.

Your eyes move to your lap and stare at the knife that’s taken up residence there. This is his most prized possession and something he wouldn’t just willingly leave but he did, and he changed things up. Did he think you were totally naïve? You’ve been here for three months, you’ve learned how to play this dangerous game. So, why? What’s the game and how will you come out the victor? Hmmm… what are you up to, James?

“Princess.”

You look up and see a tall blond muscles man standing in the doorway. Steven. Apparently, you were lost in thought and had no idea how much time had passed but here he was. The man that’s size rivaled James, but his face was softer, more trusting. If he wasn’t James’ right hand man, you’d find yourself in a position to confide in him but that wouldn’t or couldn’t be. You’d suffer in silence and keep the man at arm’s length. Nothing to be gained from becoming friends with this brute.

“Steven. I’m still here, if that’s why you came.” Your tone is dry and without any sign of emotion.

Steven chuckles and smiles, shutting the door and making his way into the room to stand in front of the bed. “I trust all is well?”

“Why are you here?” You ask, not up for small talk or formalities.

“To make sure you have everything you need, your highness.” Steven lowers his head, bowing to you like so many had before.

It’s the first time since you’d been forced into this life that anyone has addressed you in this way and you're totally taken aback. His actions are very suspicious but there’s nothing that screams do not trust him. Hmmm… what piece of the game are you, Steven? A pawn or a knight? And how can I get you to show your weakness?

“Drop the act and tell me why you’re here.” You grip the knife and unsheathe it, pointing the sharp blade in his direction, the man still bowing before you.

The blond stands up and shakes his head. “Really? Is that any way to treat an ally?” Steven uses his hand to brush the blade out of his way and sits down on the edge of the bed. “I’m not James.”

“Maybe not, but you're his best friend and I’d be a fool to trust you.” You raise the knife back up, holding it steady in his face.

Steven’s eyes lock onto yours, and for the first time you’ve noticed just how beautiful the blue is staring back at you. “That blade isn’t meant for me, your highness. It really is to protect yourself.”

At his words, you lower the blade and place it in your lap, still out of its sheath. “Why do I need protection?”

Steven sighs and looks down, taking the knife and running his thumb across the blade. “Good… he sharpened it.” He puts the blade back in the holder and lays it down on the bed. “Because, your highness… you never know when someone might want to use James’ absence as an opportunity.”

You furrowed your brows. “An opportunity for what?”

Steven grins and leans in close, his lips brushing up against your ear. “An opportunity to bleed you dry,” he whispers, making you gasp in shock.

“Don’t worry…,” Steven sits back with a grin on his face, “I’ll keep you as safe as I can but in the worst case the knife should be used to hold anyone off until I can come around.”

You sit in silence as you study his words, the man still sitting across from you, watching your every move, which gratefully is nothing at this point. The knife is meant to protect until Steven comes and now it all makes sense. You were the pawn and Steven the knight. Guess it’s time to let the games begin.

“Thank you, Steven.” You reach out and place a soft hand on his leg. “I’ll make sure to keep the knife close and I promise to scream loudly should any harm come my way.” You give him a genuine smile, something you haven’t given anyone since you came to this wretched hell.

Steven glances down at the hand resting on his leg and then back up at you, his mouth turned up in a soft smile. “That’s all I can ask. Your safety is my priority.”

“Again, thank you. Now, you should go…,” you remove your hand but never break eye contact, staring into those ocean blues, “...James is cruel and unforgiving and I’m not sure I could survive anymore of his wrath if he found out you were in here instead of out there preventing any tragedies.” You lay it on thick, hoping to gain a soft spot within the tall Viking.

The blond nods in agreement and stands up from your bed. “As you wish, your highness.” And once again, bows and lowers his head for the second time since he arrived. “I’ll see you soon,” Steven says as he stands straight, the full extent of his muscular body on display.

“Bye, Steven.” You smile bashfully at him.

“Enjoy your day, Princess.” Steven finally makes his way to the door after several moments of stalling, opens it and exits, the large door closing behind him.

You stare at the door waiting for him to come back but he never does. Good. Steven’s presence frazzled you a bit towards the end of his visit but for the most part you were able to understand enough of what treachery lies ahead. Whatever their plan it involved you, Steven and James’ knife.

Oh, what a tangled web we weave, you thought, looking down at the knife at your side, the same one you tried to impale into the chest of the beast you share a bed with. The same one you’re positive he used when he slit your father’s throat with a laugh. It was now willingly given to you without so much as a fight or a peep of dissatisfaction, so maybe you should do what’s intended and protect yourself at all costs.

Whoever is coming won’t find the same woman that was dragged here unwillingly, kicking and screaming along the way. No. They will be met with a much-changed Princess. One who’s new mission includes protecting the life growing inside you. Come hell or high water this child would not grow up with James’ influence. You’ll burn this village down to the ground before you let that monster shape and mold the child his seed fertilized.

Viking Tags:

@ellallheart @sebastianstansqueen

Forever Tags:

@jamesbarnesappreciationclub @kruscht @palaiasaurus64 @breezy1415 @sarahp879 @supernaturaldean67 @averyrogers83 @scarlettsoldier @lovely-geek @titty-teetee @geeksareunique @peaceinourtime82 @leosandbuckysgirl @the-goddess-of-mischief @mychemicalimagines @awkwardfangirl2014 @collette04 @notyourtypicalrose @onebatch--twobatch @miraclesoflove @kcd15 @xxloki81xx @death-unbecomes-you @thatfanficstuff @hotoffthepressfics @chuuulip @unlikelygalaxygiver @lancetuckershairgel @babypink224221 @mybabe-buckybarnes @shield-agent78 @the-real-kellymonster @caplanreads

#dark james barnes #dark!viking bucky #Viking james barnes #viking au #james barnes #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #james barnes x reader

124 notes · View notes

loversandantiheroes · 3 years

Note

twp here for the "get to know the author better" ask thing! How about 5, 12 & 13, 25 ...if that's not too many?

5) character you were most surprised to end up writing

Harvey. That was very unexpected. Infinitely moreso for it to turn into a series that's kind of become a thing. It's wild.

12) your weaknesses as an author

Oh man. Scene transitions. Exposition. I get very easily hung up when I know the gist of something but I cannot properly figure out the way to express it. I'm also extremely bad at linear thinking, so a lot of my editing time is trying to rearrange things until they become coherent. I can rush through things when I get close to the end, which leads to endings frequently being flat. I also tend to latch onto certain turns of phrase and unintentionally repeat them. Run-on sentences, lack of forethought and planning, etc....

13) your strengths as an author

Hm. Banter, probably? It’s certainly one of the bits I come out the other side of the fic liking the most. Though I have been told that my dialogue is too quippy and "people don't talk like that" so ymmv.

25) copy/paste a few sentences or a short paragraph that you’re particularly proud of

I am disgustingly pleased with this bit with Whiskey and Ginger:

Silence stretched on long and sour as they stared at each other across the table, an old stalemate brought to a new head. He wasn’t sure why she kept up this dance, kept trying to push him into help he didn’t want. Especially when she knew full well it was his vote that had repeatedly blocked her attempts to become a field agent. It had been spite at first, an easy place to let his resentment show. But after a while it had become more complicated. Ginger was as competent as any of them – and a damn sight smarter than most of them – but she was kind. And even if he bristled like a damned porcupine any time she tried to levy that kindness in his direction, a dumb, dogged part of him balked at the idea of putting her willingly in the line of fire. But she didn’t want his protection, and he didn’t want her pity, and that brought them back to loggerheads every goddamn time.

#sorry this one took a minute #thank you 💗

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avas-inner-demons-are-babies · 4 years

Text

Ohana

Ship: None (Though you may take implications as you please)

Summary: Leif has always insisted that he should be allowed to do things on his own. Well, now he’s on his own and honestly...he isn’t enjoying it. Perhaps a bit of new company can help him sort out his feelings.

A/N: Hey everyone! World’s most confused college freshman here, bringing you another MID fic that took waaay to long to get typed up. Legitimately, this has been sitting in my Google Docs for months, just taunting me. But there’s been a little less stresso in my espresso lately, so I took time to actually make myself sit down and get it done. I may not ship Ava and Leif personally, but their dynamic is just *chefs kiss*. I’ll never get over that whole “If you promise not to kill me then I won’t leave you behind.” “You’re with me till you die” scene. It makes me feel things. But anyways, this is nearly 14 full pages in G-Docs, and I hope you can all enjoy!

A/N 2.0: So apparently one of the cons of staying up late to finish a fic is forgetting to attach the actual fic itself to the post. My bad guys, here she be.

In his couple hundred years of living, Leif can proudly boast that he has done many, many things; some very common for Daemos of his age; others common to those much older than him; and there have even been a few select occasions when he has done things that even the most aged and experienced elders cannot ever claim to have done (getting exiled, befriending a prince, travelling dimensions to a world full of humans, befriending a human, living with a human, laughing with a human...the list seems to grow daily now).

However, out of all the various activities that he has taken part in throughout his life, he can safely say that people-watching has not been one of them. Back on Daemos, staring- like most other interactions, whether they be direct or otherwise- often resulted in battle; which, in turn, resulted in a lot of shouting and blood-shed. It was a silent show of disrespect and of challenge; and only idiots and warriors sought out battles willingly. And while the title of ‘warrior’ technically goes hand-in-hand with Leif’s recently earned place as a knight, the position is just that- recently earned. And despite what some may say, he is not an idiot. Considerate? Scholarly? Absolutely not. But street-smart and clever? Let’s just say he hadn’t become an infamous assassin by running solely off of reckless impulse and uneducated whims. But now, here on Earth, almost all of those skills have fallen into uselessness, and he can people-watch without any real concern for his life.

And by the Gods is he watching.

He is watching and scanning and listening and praying. Praying for a familiar face. Listening for the sound of a high voice discussing things of no importance, or for a loud, bratty complaint about anything at all; for a gentle-but-stern reprimand laced with patience, or a subtly nervous acknowledgement of some strange discomfort; even for a soft-but-proud observation of something completely obvious. Scanning for a flash of hot pink eyes or a bobbing carrot-top head of hair or a giant amidst the crowd of short humans. Watching so intensely for all of these things that the rest of the world seems to have filtered down into a watery hum.

To put it quite plainly, Leif is lost. Very lost in a very crowded place, with no idea where his group has vanished to or where he himself should (or even can) be. It had been fun at first; being able to do as he pleased; wandering wherever his whims decided to take him, stealing food from a group of small humans, kicking over trash cans, and just overall being a minor nuisance. But invigoration tends to fade very quickly when one is travelling a lot of unfamiliar terrain, and as it goes, so too does energy. It doesn’t help that they’d been at this “music festival” -as Ava had called it- for quite some time before he’d broken away from her and the others, and admittedly, he is starting to feel the strain on his feet from all the walking. In addition, the ridiculously large gathering of humans that bustle around him is beginning to leave him overwhelmed. And on top of that…

“...it’s starting to get cold” He pouts internally, suddenly rather grateful for the double-layered, long sleeve human shirt that Ava had gotten him. Ever since the Fall Festival, he’d noticed the air outside growing chillier by the day. It was starting to get to the point where their thoughtful human host unusually protective prisoner was considering going back to the Sacred Ma’all and obtaining them some “coats and hats and stuff”, to quote her specifically.

As a particularly nippy gust of winds arrives, lashing the tips of his ears as it dances through, he finds himself wishing desperately for these objects that he can not even properly picture.

Looking up at the sky, Leif can just make out the thin line of orange coating the horizon as the sun begins its lazy descent. Eyes narrowed, he decides to take a break. Plomping himself down on a nearby bench, he sighs, combing his fingers through his absolute mess of a mane.

“Ava promised.” He whispers, “She promised. They’ll be back. They have to come back.”

The city-dwelling regulars that skitter past him hardly spare a glance for the strange, mumbling man on the bench. It’s nothing they don’t already see on their daily commutes, and most would not blame them for their experienced silence. But Leif, who has no way of knowing what they know, takes their purposefully imposed ignorance as a personal offence. He feels segregated from their reality. Invisible.

Alone.

Leif hisses in a sharp breath as the word taunts him. Pressing his head into the palms of his hands, he represses a shudder. He should be used to this by now; being left to his own devices. How many times now has it been? How many betrayals and abandonments? Four? Five? More than one person should be able to count. He has been able to handle himself just fine before. So why now? Why now is he having such issues with finding his own way? He might call it ironic if he knew the meaning of the word.

“It’s because you got used to the cushy life.” A small voice in the back on his thoughts croons, “You liked being chummy with the Prince and his guard dogs. You liked that there was always food at the ready, and that you never had to worry where you were sleeping next. You liked the stability. The safety. And in time, you even came to like the laziness that this new world allowed.”

“That’s not true!” Leif barks back, not realizing how loud the proclamation was until several humans passing by wince and stumble as their paces quicken. He is sure to lower his voice as he continues to mumble to himself, “I can still take care of myself. I haven’t gone soft. I can do this.”

Taking in a long deep breath, he steels his will against the unpleasant thoughts racing around in his head. He bows his head and closes his eyes. When he opens them again a few ticks later, there’s a clear change. They’re collected. Focused.

“Yeah. Yeah, I can do this.” He reassures himself, feeling some of that original vamped-up feeling return, “I’m a Daemos dammit! I don’t need some human to hold my hand! I’ll find my own way home! And then.-then I’ll kill them! I’ll kill them for leaving me!”

The mental pep talk does great things for Leif. Now enraged and brimming with confidence, breathing heavily and nearly quaking with the emotion of it all, he puts on a sneer and glares out into the crowd. His fingers flex as he summons forth his sickles, ready to swing them out at any unfortunate soul that crosses his path. He stands, his knuckles white around their hilts. The dying sunlight has no effect on him anymore. His goal is apparent in his mind. He is prepared. Determined.

He takes one strong, bold step forward…

...and is subsequently swept off his feet by the force of a group of teens pushing past him.

Nearly losing his balance, Leif’s arms flail in an attempt to regain his balance, and he immediately bumps into a young couple. As they turn on him with vicious glares, he steps away from them. Disorientation takes this chance to rush through his system. As he fumbles about, one of his sickles manages to catch on the shirt of a small child toddling by with his mother. Leif jerks one direction while the boy jerks in the other. A shirt sleeve tears, and the little one goes sprawling to the ground. An ear-piercing shriek explodes from tiny lungs. All heads turn in their direction. Wide-eyed Leif throws away his weapons and presses his hands against his sensitive ears. While staggering away from all the attention, he runs into yet another man who- being caught completely off guard- falls back into someone behind him. As the domino effect continues, the noise and panic cause the poor Daemos to go into full flight mode. Gritting his teeth, he gathers just enough control to take a flying leap over the top of the completely bewildered mob. He lands back near the bench and grasps it tightly to keep himself from falling to his knees. As he takes a seat once more, the humans are all glancing around and shouting at each other in offense. The child continues crying.

Thoroughly defeated, Leif allows his head to fall back as he slumps down into the wooden comfort. Then, he lifts it back up only to cradle it in his hands. The unwelcome tears brought on by pure fear sting at the corners of his eyes. Releasing a shaky sigh, he finally gives into the thought that he has so far been refusing to voice.

“I’m doomed.”

***

Soaring high above the head of one particularly shaken Daemos, a careless pigeon makes its way around the festival with ease. Drifting aloof above the sea of hundreds of singing and laughing humans, it follows the breeze along the street and down towards one particular block, where a vendor has been handing out pretzels. And at this moment, it just so happens that a young woman, with flowing dark hair and vibrant pink eyes, has just dropped the remaining half of her salted treat on the ground. The pigeon is quick to join several of its other brethren in tearing at the free meal to pieces, completely unaware that shock is what delivered this wonderful treat to them. Although, they learn very soon after, as said young woman lets off a loud, horrified shout. Grey feathers go flying as the band disperses in a threatened rush.

The group of men trailing behind the woman jerk in surprise.

“Princess Ava? What’s wrong?” The youngest, a concerned looking redhead, calls out.

Ava stares at her companions with a feverish look. Pointing at each of them individually, the others can hear her counting them, over and over again.

“One, two, three, four...two, three, four...three, four, four, four! Why are there only four of you!” Her voice raises in both pitch and volume, “Where’s Leif?!”

Her words seem to settle with them all at the exact same time. The tallest of the bunch, Pierce, begins flickering his gaze from face to face, searching for the former-assassin in the horde of people around them. Rhys, Noi, and Asch all turn off in different directions, then come back and share a look. They all focus on Ava, who has turned to the ground with guilt-ridden eyes.

“How could I...he was just with us not too long ago, right? Right?” Her frantic question is only met with uncertain silence from her companions. Rhys goes as far as to look away, nibbling on his ice pop, “Oh God. We have to find him! Leif!”

Ava begins pushing her way through the crowd, crying out to her missing friend. The boys stick to her like frightened ducklings as they mimic her steps. Their screams rise above the swell of music and voices.

“Leif, where are you!”

***

As his friends begin their desperate hunt a few streets away, Leif finds himself aimlessly ambling along through the park. He has discovered that there are less people back within these tree-sheltered pathways and he is grateful for it. He is on the hunt for something, although if he were asked he would not be able to say exactly what. Shelter? Company perhaps? A sign pointing home would be nice, but he can’t really read all that well, and he doubts that there is one around regardless. For a natural-born hunter, he certainly does have an awful sense of direction.

His fingers tap against his thigh as he walks. On occasion, he mumbles curses at himself for getting stuck in this situation. The night sky is clear and bright, and more than once he finds himself staring up at it, feeling as though the stars are laughing at his plight. Gaining a little comfort in the embrace of the shadows, he sticks to them, glancing over every now and again to see a straggling human stroll by. He passes the fountain where he and Ava had encountered the threatening ‘clique’;passes a large stone statue of some long-dead human frozen in time; passes what looks to be a small garden area, where brightly colored flowers glow in the moonlight.

Eventually, Leif reaches an area that he first assumes to be abandoned. The quiet and empty wrap around him like a blanket. His only company seems to be the soft glow from the scattered lampposts. The peace here cradles him in its arms and promises him safety. He’s almost relaxed, resigning to spend the night in whatever tree provides the most cover and warmth, when suddenly-

“Heya there compadre.”

Leif startles back several feet and does a neat little twirl to face the direction of the slow and kindly voice that had called out to him. How he had missed the strange human before him in his first look around is beyond Leif, but he certainly sees the man now. He sits leaning against the nearest tree with an air of remiss and a smile on his face. Upon seeing Leif’s reaction to his greeting, he puts his hands up in reassurance

“Hwoa there! Didn’t mean to startle ya friend. Just couldn’t help but notice that you were lookin’ a tad lost.”

“We’re not friends.” Leif interjects so instinctively that he nearly cuts the stranger off. Then, catching his own tongue before he says anything truly offensive, he reroutes with, “But...yeah, I am lost. I got seperated from my group a while ago and haven’t been able to find them since. And I’m not very familiar with your kingdom yet, so I can’t just go back home.”

Thanks to the poor lighting between them, the Daemos misses how the stranger’s eyebrows quirk a little at his self-correction (and yet not the use of ‘kingdom’?). But as he makes his way over to this new human, Leif does begin to take in the man’s overall messy and unkempt appearance. His long, auburn hair is wrapped up into an extremely makeshift ponytail, the length of which surpasses even that of Pierce’s or Ava’s. The many rebellious strands held back out of his face by a thick, green fabric headband that’s stretched across his forehead. It must have been made to match the long, tassled poncho that he wears, their colors the same. Beneath it, he only seems to have a miserably stained grey shirt, and pants so baggy that Leif can not imagine them being comfortable. His skin, which at first appeared to simply be naturally dark, is actually merely a deceptive tan which highlights every freckle, scar, and wrinkle. Leif is sure that if he were to touch the stranger, he might have an almost leathery feel to him. Teeth no whiter than a well-worn paperback fill in a broad smile that brings to life the creases around the edges of both the stanger’s lips and eyes. Eyes that are brown like a healthy farm soil, and seem to hold a level of spirit and life that Leif can never recall having seen in any other person before. It’s unfiltered blatancy is surprising to him.

“Well ahh, what’cha waitin’ for?” The stranger suddenly picks up the conversation, scooching slightly to the right and patting the ground beside him, “Come’n take a seat. We can vibe while the universe carries the train of life down its long tracks.”

Leif hesitates. The human before him might be a stranger, but he emits an image that reminds the Daemos of the forest spirits that could be found back in his own world. The Earth seems comfortable around him. If one squinted, it would almost seem as though the tree’s trunk and roots had warped to form a throne around him.

“He seems like a powerful sage. I should stay. Maybe he can help me.”

Nodding to himself more so than the man, Leif takes his place on the grass. This results in a wide, toothy grin on behalf of his companion, and being so close now, Leif is able to notice how one of his canines is missing.

“Joyous day! You’ll be the first bit of company I’ve had in a long time my fellow wanderer. Say now, what’s your name?”

“They call me Leif.”

“Leaf? The name of a freelancer. A young man born for travel and change. A soul that dances in the wind, its colors ever uncertain.” The man’s smile softens and his eyes stare off in Leif’s general direction, and yet seem to be staring at something miles away, “You and I, I’m sure we’re the same. I’ve had many a name myself, but most around here know me as Jingle. It’s a pleasure to meet’cha.”

Jingle holds out a hand and they shake. Leif has seen this done enough times on the tee-vee to be able to properly pull it off, even if he doesn’t quite understand the significance. Then, glancing over his shoulder, Jingle proceeds to reach back and pull, from behind the tree, a forgeign looking object.

The thing is clearly made from some kind of light and polished earth wood. Its beige surface has been very delicately carved with a swirling, wave like pattern that decorated almost the entirety of its pear shaped body. A large round hole rests a little ways above the bottom. Stretched taut up its middle and along the long arm protruding from the top are six silver strings, wrapped at both ends around small metal nubs. At the head of the arm are six knobs all turned in various directions. None of the silver pieces shine, and in fact seem quite well worn. Nearly all of the impressive wood surface is riddled with scratches.

Jingle positions the thing against his chest.

“What is that?” Leif asks, eyeing it with unease.

“This here is my trusty guitar Taylor. I know she isn’t much compared to those clunky metal demons they’re selling out there-” Here, he nods his head out in the direction of the still-ongoing festival, “-but she does me just fine. So long as I keep her pretty, she sings like an angel.”

“It...sings?”

“As sweet and humble a tune as you might ever hear. Here, have a listen.”

With his nimble fingers already poised to play, Jingle wastes no time in coaxing a tune out from the air. From the first pluck of a string, Leif finds himself utterly enraptured. Each swift movement of the human’s hand brings forth another new wave of sound so soft and breathtaking that the Daemos doesn’t even know how to process it. It is as if Jingle’s soul is completely in tune with the instrument in his grasp. Leif sits stunned, feeling the music tempt his very heart and bring prickles to his skin. A minute passes, and he soon finds himself lying completely relaxed against the tree trunk, eyes closed, and merely absorbing.

Jingle plays for some time, and for that time the two are in their own universe. It is very dark now, and Leif can feel his mind just starting to slip off in unconsciousness. His body is heavy. Connected to the very grass he sits upon by an unnamable force that he chooses to call exhaustion. When his company eventually brings the song to an end, it takes Leif a few moments to reconnect with reality. Green eyes blink several times, and turn to find that Jingle is already watching for his reaction.

“That was amazing.” Leif breathes in as soft a tone as he’s capable of.

“Jus’ like I told ya. Voice of an angel.” Jingle hums, parroting his earlier words. He shifts to place Taylor on the ground beside him. When he turns back, he finds Leif staring into the space above them with a small frown on his face, “My friend, what troubles you? The world weighs heavy on your shoulders tonight.”

“I’m not sure. I just…” Leif trails off, searching within himself for an explanation for the crushing weight in his chest, “I think I miss my friends. I keep wanting them to be here, but they probably already left. I don’t think they’re coming back for me.”

They sit quietly for a few minutes. Jingle peers off down the park path. Leif clears his throat in a battle against the tight feeling that fills it. He jumps when a gentle hand lands on his shoulder.

“Lighten your soul wanderer Leif. Everyone leaves sooner or later, but just because they’ve left doesn’t mean they are gone. Pray tell, what doubts whisper in your ear tonight?”

“Eh?”

“Why do you assume so quickly that your friends won’t return to you?”

“Oh. The way you talk is really weird, you know that?”

The human man only smiles at him, patience and expectancy in his eyes. He makes a light gesture with his hand, urging Leif to continue. And after several seconds, he does with a tamed sigh.

“I’ve had a lot of people tell me that I cause more trouble than I’m worth.” The simple admission seems to close a giant force around his ribs. As it squeezes painfully, he finds himself emptying more words than he ever knew he had been filling up with, “I know I tend to go overboard most of the time, but I never- no, I guess just lately- I mean, I haven’t been meaning to cause problems recently. Everything is just so...so calm here, and I don’t know how to live like that. Back on- I mean, back where I’m from, peace and quiet always meant something was wrong, and we hardly go anywhere or do anything, and I just get so bored! I hate just sitting around and doing nothing, but it seems like that’s all the others want to do anymore. And I know I could probably just go out for a while on my own and burn some energy but your world is so big and I just...I don’t want to end up on my own again.”

He gives a forced and pitiful huff of laughter.

“Although I guess it’s too late for that now. I’m sure they probably already went home and forgot about me. They’re probably relieved to get rid of me.”

Leif hadn’t meant to let that flooding fear leak into his words. Or that harsh scratchiness of his throat, which left breaks in his sentences. The uncomfortable rhythm of his heart and the mild shaking must be showing through as well now. It makes no sense to him. He’s only felt this terrified once before- the day they had lost Ava at the Fall Festival. And although the circumstances now are similar, he can not imagine what it is about this strange human that seems to make those insecurities rise up in ten-folds. Maybe it’s because he doesn’t have the others with him now. Maybe it’s because he really has no idea where to go from here.

The panic had set on him so fast the Leif didn’t properly notice it until it was being chased away by the strong and defendant strums of a guitar. The first twang brought him to a jerking halt at first. But as the singing notes continued, his mind returned to the harmless reality. He came back to find himself looking at the stars.

Jingle- as if noticing Leif’s inner plight- had picked up Taylor once again.

“It is not so easy to forget one’s friends.” He murmurs as he plays, “Do not so swiftly dismiss your own worth my snowy-haired partner. If the universe truly believes you were meant to be with these people you seek, then it will surely guide them back to you. And it sounds to me that affection has already been allowed to roost deep in your soul.”

The younger has nothing to say to that. He only closes his eyes, breathes deeply, and nods. Drawing his knees to his chest, he crosses his arms and lies down his head. All these new emotions are exhausting.

***

Ava slumps down against the frigid stone of the fountain, pulling her knees up and hiding her face in them.

“I can’t believe this.” The muffled moan that escapes her is full of pain, “How could I lose him? What kind of friend am I? God, he probably thinks we abandoned him.”

“I don’t get what you’re so worried about.” Asch harrumphs, doing a single lap around the structure before taking a seat on its edge, “We haven’t encountered anything dangerous since we’ve been here on Earth. Leif can take care of himself for one night. Why can’t we just go home? It’s cold out here and I’m tired!”

Despite his childish whining, he at least has the decency to look sheepish when she turns to glare at him.

“Well if that’s the case Asch, why don’t we just leave you out here tonight? You’re always going on about how you’re so much better than Leif anyways, so if he can make it out here on his own, then clearly you can too.” During her short reprimand, Ava stands and crosses the few steps between them. Her eyes hold a level of rage that the Daemos can never recall having seen on her before. And despite the fact that he could easily beat her in a confrontation- physical or verbal- he feels himself shrinking in shame before her petite frame.

With a satisfied huff, Ava walks several paces away. In the short time it takes her to regain her composure, her anger morphs instantly into guilt. Her posture slumps as she glances back at Asch, whose hurt expression is turned towards the concrete.

“I’m...I’m sorry Asch.” She sighs, “I didn’t mean that.”

“I know.” Comes the humbled response from behind her.

“I’m just really worried about him.”

“I know.”

The next few minutes are shared in silence. The other three Daemos choose not to express a word on the exchange just yet, only shuffling about in their own thoughts. There is a level of complete loss between them. No one wants to leave Leif behind-- but Asch isn’t the only one whose focus and determination is beginning to wane.

A particularly nippy breeze blows through, causing Ava’s already shaking body to jitter violently. In a second Pierce seems to simply materialize beside her and pull her sniffling form into a warming embrace.

“Perhaps Prince Asch is right. We should go for now.” He suggests quietly as she leans into him.

“But Leif-”

“-Will be easier to find tomorrow when it is light out.” Rhys jumps in, “We are all concerned Princess Ava, but Asch does have a point. It is unlikely that Leif has found himself in any sort of real danger, and even if he has, he is a trained warrior. None of us are suggesting we abandon our search completely, but we are all at our limits. Even if we were to find Leif tonight, at this rate we may all end up sick by the morning. Please, we will follow you no matter your choice, but think reasonably.”

There’s a gentle hint of pleading in his voice that prevents Ava from denying his claims outright. She looks between all of them in turn, searching desperately for some counterargument that never comes to rise. It doesn’t take long before she finally lets herself really take in the heaviness of her own body; the stinging left in her feet from walking for so long; the need to close her eyes and rest that is becoming harder and harder to fight away. The boys watch with patience as her mind wears itself down, and they don’t miss the surrender that wins over her stature. There’s a quiet breath, then:

“...fine. Let’s just go home.”

Dear reader, have you ever managed to convince someone you love to do something they don’t want to, only to be hit with a horrible wave of guilt when they give in and agree to go through with it? Have you ever wished you could travel back in time just a few minutes, if only to stop yourself from being so damn persistent? If so, then maybe you can imagine how the Daemos boys feel at this point in time. The deep disappointment they observe in Ava’s eyes as she pulls herself from Pierce’s arms is enough to make their very souls wince. Three sets of eyes meet as their minds change almost unanimously, and Rhys can tell the other two are waiting for him to come up with some sort of clever escape. And being the man he is, he complies.

“Well, ah-just a moment Princess Ava. We...we haven’t heard from Noi yet! A decision such as this should be agreed upon by everyone present, yes? And perhaps if he believes we should stay out. Noi?”

Rhys shifts, hoping to prompt Noi into insisting that they stay. But the younger Daemos- who has been noticeably absent from the entire conversation- doesn’t appear to have even noticed his name being called. In fact, he likely missed the discussion as a whole, seeing as how he stares off down one of the darkness-swallowed paths with fully focused attention. His amber eyes sparkle with wonder. In listening closely, one may have heard him humming.

Debate temporarily forgotten, Ava and the rest focus on him with quirked eyebrows and tilted heads.

“Uhh...Noi?” Asch beacons tentatively.

“Do you hear it?” Noi whispers in response, to all of them and yet no one in particular.

“Hear what?” Ava asks, frowning, “I don’t hear anything.”

Pierce steps forward and rests his chin atop her head.

“I hear it.”

“Me too.” Asch adds after a moment.

“Me as well.”

“Wait, seriously, what are you guys hearing? It’s just quiet for me.”

“It’s music.” Rhys says, “Different from what the humans at the festival were playing. It’s quieter.”

“Softer.” Pierce adds, and the scholar nods.

“Earlier there were voices too.” Noi finishes.

“Wait, voices? But who else would be out this la-” Ava’s eyes spark up wide. Before the guys can even hit the same realization she has, she’s already gone; taking off with flying feet and a new swarm of adrenaline buzzing through her veins. “LEIF!”

“Princess Ava!” A chorus of Daemos voices rise up through the night, and they sprint, one after the other, along her trail. Her voice bounces off the surveying trees.

“Leif!”

***

“Leif!”

Two men sitting beneath a canvas on moonlit leaves jerk their heads up in unison. The elder lowers his guitar and puts on a muted, knowing smile. The younger goes tense as he strains his ears for the echoes of the voice that had rushed at them in the night. His green eyes go wide as can be, quite literally glowing with hope. He places one, prepared hand on the ground…

“Leif!”

Springing to his feet faster than should be natural, he runs only a few paces forward.

“Ava?” He breathes. The sound of rushing feet pouding closer out of the darkness causes him to gasp and with the new air in his lungs he shouts out, “Ava! Ava, I’m here!”

Leif steps into the light just as his human friend barges into its threshold. He’s tossed off his already imbalanced feet as she tumbles with a football-tackle force into him. They go down together onto the rocky ground. Ava clings desperately to his shirt, as if afraid he will vanish into thin air at the impact. Before either have fully taken to their jarring landing, he finds her burying her face into his neck, sobbing almost hysterically with relief. Her sporadic hiccups seem to be contagious, and for the first time since quite possibly his toddler days, he finds himself holding onto another person like a lifeline and shedding tears that he hardly cares if others see.

“I’m so sorry.” Ava manages through uncontrollable gasps, “I’m so, so sorry Leif.-”

“It wasn’t your fault, I’m-”

“-I didn’t mean to leave you. I just turned around and you were gone and-”

“-the one who walked off. I’m an idiot for thinking-”

“-we looked everywhere for you! We almost went home-

“-I got so lost without you-”

“-I didn’t want to, but Noi heard you and I’m just-”

“-I’m just-”

“-So happy you’re back.”

The unorganized scrambling over each other’s apologies ends with synchronization. Still sniffling, Ava lifts her head from his shoulder and meets his gaze. There’s a pause. Then broad, toothy smiles replace quivering frowns, and their foreheads press together as they share a laugh.

It’s around this time that the other four Daemos reach their position, only to find their newly reunited friends on the ground, trying to hold back bursts of giggles. The picture absolutely throws them. More so because of Leif’s bubbly demeanor than Ava’s, though both are certainly a sight to behold-- with tousled hair and dusty clothes, goosebump rippled skin now detailed with red marks where they had slid against the concrete. And yet the two grin and carry on in that way that can only be done after one’s stress-forced sense has left them, their cares evaporating into thin air. Earth truly must be turning them soft, because the once strict and stone-cold warriors- upon surveying the scene- give genuine smiles of their own.

It takes a little bit of time before the pair actually settle down enough to sort themselves out and stand once again. Even then, Ava makes sure to link her arm with his, swearing inwardly to never let him out of her sights again. Leif on the other hand, does his best to recollect himself, not wanting to give the others any more reason to pester him later about the blatant displays of emotion. He hides his flushed face in his sleeve, pretending to wipe a smear of dirt off his face.

‘It’s nice to see you again.” Rhys says with only a hint of scolding behind his words, “Though if you ever run off like that again, you’re finding your own way home.”

“That’s fair.” Leif replies with a shrug of his shoulders. He doesn’t miss how Ava studies his reaction from the corner of her eye.

“Did you miiiss us?” Asch drawls mockingly, stepping forward with a smirk on his face. Despite the remark, he gives Leif a friendly knock on the shoulder- a habit he’d unknowingly picked up a few weeks ago.

Leif only scoffs, but it tells them all they really need to know. He looks downwards briefly and mumbles something that only the young Prince seems able to hear. Asch blinks in recoil, then replaces his cheeky grin.

“What was that?” He asks incentively, “I don’t think we all heard you.”

Leif growls a low growl.

“I said-ugh-thanks for...looking for me.” Then, adding on more softly, “It’s nice to know you guys actually cared enough to find me.”

“Well duh.” Ava’s response causes him to lift his head in her direction, “I made you a promise didn’t I?”

His mind flashes back to that day they were shopping for decorations. He’d almost convinced himself it was a dream.

“Yeah. I guess you did.”

“Besides-!” Suddenly, Noi appears in front of him, beaming in the friendly boyish way that used to get him mocked back on Daemos, “You’re one of us! No man left behind, right?”

“I-”

“Exactly.” Rhys cuts him off in affirmation, “Despite your chaotic personality and violent tendencies, you are still an important part of our group.”

“You-”

“Yeah.” Asch sighs, carefully selecting his next few words, “I’m not sure where we’d be without our healer honestly. And...I will admit that you’re the only one here who’s any fun to spar with.”

“Yes.” Finally, Pierce, “It wouldn’t be the same without you.”

As Leif gapes at all of his friends in turn, something new solidifies within him. See, when Asch had saved him from execution all those years ago, the Prince had earned his life. And with that, over time, there came undying loyalty. But it was always saved for Asch alone. The others had been tolerable companions at most, at least until they got to Earth.

Then came along Ava, who unintentionally became their focal point. She was important to him- to all of them. But he wouldn’t have died for her. Not at the start. That problem arose when she became fond of them, and they- in turn- of her. It only took a couple weeks after Leif had admitted to himself that she was actually rather preferable company, that he seemed to swear away to her the same things he had gifted Asch. His life. His loyalty. Fresh off the line went his affection as well. And although at this point, he was close to the other Daemos, he still felt separate. A product of his own mind and the upbringing that was so very different from their own.

It’s taken until now for that last link to click into place. That camaraderie which he’d been lacking now swarms through his morals and rearranges itself among those mental pieces. He feels some of his outlooks shifting. Most importantly, a single, powerful thought plants itself in his mind and takes root.

“They want me.”

His chest swelling, the most Leif can manage is, “Thank you.”

The sound of quiet shuffling a few feet away accidentally breaks through the touching moment. The emotional bunch all turn their attention to a man standing like a startled cat beneath a nearby tree. Clearly, he had meant to scuttle away unnoticed.

“Who is he?” Noi asks.

“Oh that’s Jingle.” Leif tips his head in the direction of the musical man, who has gathered his meager belongings in his arms. At the mention of his name, he winces slightly and gives a wave, “He’s been letting me sit with him. He's pretty cool for a human. The way he talks is weird though.”

Now, Ava, the Earth and city specialist of the group, immediately recognizes Leif’s apparent companion as a member of a nomadic homeless community that had just taken its annual place in one of the far back corners of the park. She’d never spoken to the man in true conversation, but she can recall exchanging a few words with him last year after she’d heard him playing the exact same guitar he now cradles to his chest. He had an impressive talent that convinced her to deliver him several dollar bills and whatever meager change she managed to hold onto after her sparse commutes to the mall or grocery store. She can vouch for the fact that he does say some fairly strange things on occasion. However…

“Hey, you’re that chill guitar man I met last year.” She says, hoping to spark some comfort in his cautious air, “Have you really been hanging out with Leif this whole time?”

Jingle nods, shifting into a more permanent stance.

“You didn’t have to do that. But I’m thankful that you did.” She smiles warmly, “Honestly, I was worried he might have gotten himself into trouble.”

“It was no problem young miss.” Jingle makes the effort to reply, “I’d seen you all together early in the day, and happened to catch my fellow wanderer out on his own. He looked like he could use someone to hold him steady until his world righted itself again.”

“Ah...yeah. I don’t doubt that he did.” Digging into her pockets, Ava pulls out five dollars- the sole remnants of cash that was pretty much all spent on food, “Here, please take this. It isn’t nearly as much as you deserve, but it’s all I have.”

The older human steps forward to accept the money from her outstretched hand with a grateful expression. Immediately after pocketing it, he spins back around in the other direction and walks away into the night. Ava silently determines to continue her tradition from before if she can manage to find him again in the coming weeks. But before any of that-

“Come on you guys. Let’s get home.”

#aphmau my inner demons #aphmau mid #mid ava #mid leif #mid noi #mid asch #mid rhys #mid pierce #mid fanfiction #aphmau fanfiction #there's also a sort of OC in this one #Which is really just a humanized version of Jingle from Hamtaro #because #a- childhood #and b- he was exactly the type of character I wanted for this fic #there's also a hint of dance man from Wandersong in him as well #please forgive me #I just live for vibing nomad characters #Thank you all for reading!

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aenwoedbeannaa · 4 years

Text

Friend of Humanity | A The Witcher Drabble

Prompt: “If you could do me a big solid and not do anything, that would be sublime.”

Summary: You and Geralt go to see Jaskier perform in Novigrad and Geralt becomes incensed when a rowdy theatregoer has the nerve to say something about the Bard’s singing.

Word Count: 1,760

Warnings: None, just some swearing if that offends you. Also, some minor spoilers for The Witcher 3.

A/N: A quick drabble based on one of these writing prompts was just want I needed to get myself out of my head and back in the mindset of enjoying writing and not overthinking it. Hope you all enjoy 😊.

“Can’t believe you’ve willingly volunteered us for a night of poetic nonsense,” Geralt grumbles as the two of you pick your way through the crowd packing The Rosemary and Thyme looking for an empty table. The once derelict former brothel has been restored rather nicely. Long wooden tables occupy the large floorspace in front of the stage, where patrons sit crowding long wooden benches drinking and chattering away while a young bard plucks away at a lute singing what are clearly his first works. No one seems to be paying much attention, but at least no one is shouting or throwing bread at him.

“Oh, come on, Geralt,” you pout, “Don’t you want to support your best friend in the entire world?”

“Doesn’t saving his life on numerous occasions count as supporting him?” he protests, “Looks like there are plenty of supporters here.”

You roll your eyes as the two of you spot a table occupied only by three men who have clearly been making quick work of gulping down tankards of beer judging by their slightly slurred speech and belligerently loud conversation regarding a recent run-in with the guards.

“Would you really send me here all on my own?” You blink up at him through your lashes, giving him that look that you know makes him melt and, like clockwork, his expression softens as he resigns himself to his fate for the evening.

“Well,” he finally says, “I suppose I haven’t heard his latest retelling of our adventures.” A small smile plays on his lips and his eyes flicker with what you know is love. Beneath his exterior, the Witcher really is, as Jaskier once wrote - ‘as simple as a spear shaft, incapable of pretending.’ He could not pretend that he did not care for his friend.

You grin, “I cannot wait to hear how he saved your skin this time, Witcher.”

“I wait with baited breath,” he says with an expression of stone but eyes alight with something akin amusement.

Just then, a barmaid cuts into your conversation to offer the two of you mugs of ale.

“On the house,” she says with a halfhearted grand gesture that, from the looks of it, was clearly demonstrated by Jaskier to be repeated exactly. He was quite proud of the tavern he and Zoltan have been running for the last months. Zoltan, who has no taste for poetry, takes care of the food and drink. (Even the ridiculously priced wine that Jaskier insists upon stocking despite its clear lack in sales.)

Geralt nods politely and immediately drains half the mug. You thank the barmaid as she heads off and then pick up your own mug to take a long draught.

“Would you look at that,” you say as you raise your tankard slightly, smirking at the Witcher, “Guests of honor.” You clink your mug against his. He refrains from any reaction save for a small huff that might be laughter.

As you bring the glass back to your lips, the young bard on the stage shuffles off, making way for none other than Zoltan Chivay himself. The room goes silent at once as patrons turn in their seats to face the stage.

Geralt can’t hold in a chuckle as the dwarf begins speaking in a grand voice and waving his arms about.

“And now, ladies and gentlemen, the reason you are here tonight!” A grand gesture. “The fearless bard, the friend of the Witcher, Geralt of Rivia, who is here with us tonight!” A gesture toward the place where you sit next to Geralt, who has his arms crossed and his eyes narrowed at his old friend. A soft murmur flows through the crowd as the tavern’s patrons turn in their seats and crane their necks to get a glimpse of the White Wolf.

“Unmatched in talent, a lyrical genius, and a seasoned explorer of the world, the famous bard - Jaskier!” One final grand sweep of his arm sends everyone’s attention back toward the stage, off to the left where Jaskier steps out from behind the curtain, dressed like a peacock and positively beaming with pride as the audience claps.

“Here we go...” Geralt mutters under his breath, looking forlornly at his now empty tankard.

Jaskier, you have to admit, does have a way of commanding a room. The murmers have subsided as the bard begins playing a tune. For many, these songs are the only way they learn of happenings in the world. And, while extremely embellished, Jaskier’s songs ring of truth in a way that official notices and political speeches do not. People want to listen to people like them; people who are not emperors, kings, or queens.

And so Jaskier begins singing. This particular song, of his capture by the thug, Whoreson Jr.’s, men. Apparently, he sat rotting away in a dark dungeon, until one day Jr. showed up quite unexpectedly to carry him off to Oxenfurt, where he was certain he would be able to talk his way out of captivity. After all, he graduated from the University summa cum laude—the song makes sure to mention.

You hear Geralt groan, knowing what part of the story is coming next. You can only shoot him a knowing smile and offer him your still half-full mug of ale, which he takes and drinks deeply from.

And Whoreson’s men,

Those sons of whores,

They escorted me in a hoard,

Thugs and yes-men,

For them I play this unpleasant chord.

Several patrons laugh and cheer as he strikes a chord that would make even the tone-deaf shudder. No doubt most of these men and women had dealt with the man’s thugs. Being one of Novigrad’s four crime bosses had given him immense power and stirred up quite a lot of hatred.

But apparently, not everyone was so inclined to listen to such blatantly rude remarks about their late leader. In particular, the three men sharing the table with you. In your periphery, you can see one of the men with a tightly closed fist. The other two have their lips pressed into tight lines and are shaking their heads.

Of course, Jaskier is blissfully unaware of this as he continues on singing about the evils of the old crime boss and telling of how he’d managed to deceive them.

Just as he is getting to the part of the story where the escort was ambushed by great friend of humanity, Geralt of Rivia, one of the men stands up abruptly, raising a clenched fist at the bard. “You jiggalo bastard!” he yells, drawing the attention of the entire tavern – especially Geralt of Rivia, who looks quite ready to unsheathe his steel sword and start swinging.

And here you were, hoping for a peaceful night of music. How naïve.

But you also know that the man is drunk and unsteady on his feet – unlikely to cause any real harm. Being outspoken as he is, he Bard typically draws reactions like this at his performances, and so far it had not resulted in anything worse than him being pelted with bread, half-full tankards of ale, and whatever else the patrons had readily available for throwing. So, you tug on Geralt’s arm, trying to convince him to sit down.

You give him a pointed stare when he looks down at you, hissing through clenched teeth, “If you could do me a big solid and not do anything, that would be sublime.”

Geralt looks down at you, then back at the enraged man, who appears to have run out of insults and half-eaten food to throw at the stage. The rest of the patrons, save angry drunk’s buddies, are watching with wide-eyed curiosity and excitement. Even Jaskier has stopped singing.

Geralt speaks slowly an evenly, as if slowly unwinding the tight coil of anger inside him – a truly terrifying sight. “Do you wish to say any more?” he asks, glaring at the man who seems to have somehow shrunken at least three inches in height. “Because I would greatly prefer listening to the bard sing, as I came here to do.”

Several of the guests nod emphatically, considering they’d been left off at a true cliffhanger, not knowing how Jaskier managed to escape, and what became of his companions.

“The Witcher’s right!” shouts a woman on the other side of the room. “Shut your trap, or get out!”

The man scowls, clearly not happy about the idea of having been bested by ‘mutant scum’ and a ‘stupid wench.’ Yet, immediately after hurling those newest insults, he cowers, attempting to shrink away from the Witcher, who is now leaning over the table to get closer to the thug. He smiles hideously as he speaks the next words, “Now sir, I highly encourage you to listen to the lady and the mutant, or I’ll throw you out myself. I don’t enjoy when my nights of poetry are interrupted by angry thugs.”

The man grumbles something unntelligible and his two friends stand up with him. For a moment, you are worried that a fight might break out, but thankfully the men seem intent on helping their friend stumble out of the tavern. The three held the attention of the bar’s patrons as the trio sways and stumbles their way to the door and disappears out into the night.

Geralt finally sits back down with a huff, draining the rest of what used to be your ale. Meanwhile, onstage, Jaskier is positively beaming, likely already writing a song about the time the White Wolf chased a terrifying, violent thug out of the tavern.

“Geralt of Rivia, ladies and gentlemen!” the bard exclaims grandly, “Friend of humanity and patron of the arts!”

Before Geralt even has time to react, one of the patrons tosses a coin in his direction, and another follow suit. For a moment, they all seem to have forgotten about the interrupted story, and one even calls out that Jaskier ought to sing the tune that had made Geralt famous.

Geralt looks positively mortified, but you pay him no mind. Instead, you raise a freshly filled tankard of ale in a toast and smile slyly at the Witcher as you join in the song—

Toss a coin to your Witcher,

Oh valley of plenty,

Oh valley of plenty!

And as you sing, you can’t help but think to yourself how lucky you are to have happened upon this relationship with Geralt, the supposedly emotionless mutant, who despite what the rumors say about Witchers and their supposed lack of emotions, is one of the warmest and kindest men you have ever met.

A friend of humanity.

#the witcher #the witcher drabble #writing prompts #geralt fanfiction #geralt of rivia #geralt x reader #jaskier #jaskier fanfiction #jaskier drabble #fluff #fanfiction #geralt x you #geralt jaskier #my writing

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teatitty · 4 years

Text

Jailhouse Rock

A/N: Hey remember when I said I wanted to write a traditional fantasy AU with Patrochilles and DiarCu? This is based in that. I hate copy-pasting things to tumblr bc it never keeps my italics and I’m too lazy to edit this so here it is on AO3 as well

Days of peace were rare for Patroclus; even rarer still were the days without Achilles or Cu Chulainn around to stir up mischief. On his own, Patroclus liked to think he was a perfect example of good behaviour and that his own troublemaking was nothing more than a direct result of knowing two of the biggest arseholes this side of the continent, but whenever he voiced such a thing out loud, the response from his companions was always an intense roll of the eyes and a bark of laughter, so maybe he was just lying to himself.

Given his current predicament, that certainly seemed to be the case. In retrospect, he should’ve figured he’d end up getting arrested one of these days, but when you spend most of your time in the company of two people who somehow - consistently - manage to get themselves out of trouble, well, you sort of forget that consequences for your actions are a thing you need to worry about.

In his own defense, he hadn’t planned on getting arrested. It isn’t much of a defense, because he cannot recall a single person who has ever wanted to get thrown into a jail cell with shackles on their wrists (it didn’t matter that his own had been taken off earlier, it mattered that they’d bothered to put any on him in the first place), but he also hasn’t met every single person on the planet, so he supposes the defense counts for something.

He wonders who Achilles will be angrier at when he finds out about this; Patroclus, for punching the stupid fucking Guard in the face and breaking his pompous nose, or the Guard himself, for calling re-inforcements and manhandling Patroclus into this dingy, damp little cell. It’s not a matter of if Achilles will find out, so much as when he finds out, and Patroclus can only hope it’s soon, because he’s only been in here for a few hours and he’s already bored out of his god-damned mind.

The Guards posted outside of his cell won’t even talk to him. It’s extremely rude, in his opinion, not to entertain a guest when they’re groaning pitifully on the floor, even if said groaning was mostly due to the head pain. He really needs to learn the name of the Guard who clonked him. Bastard had a real mean arm and Patroclus itches to get some sort of revenge for the hit.

Alas, it doesn’t seem as though he’ll be getting that information anytime soon. He’ll just have to track the guy down once he gets sprung from this place and then clonk them from behind and see how they like it.

“You know,” he says conversationally, “if you ask me, I did you all a favour. I mean, he just has one of those voices, you know? The really annoying ones? The ones that just invite you to hit someone?” Nothing. Typical. Patroclus sighs up at the ceiling with exaggerated effort. “I love our little talks. Can’t get enough of them, truly.”

Maybe, if he talks long enough, one of them will actually tell him to shut up instead of just trying to glare holes into him through their helmets. Patroclus snorts at the thought. If that worked, then Achilles would’ve been dead a hundred times over by now. Or just covered in a lot more scars than he already has. Which is none. Obviously. Ugh, he really needs to get better company.

As if the Gods themselves heard his plea and were, for once in their lives, actually offering to help him, a commotion from the halls causes him to sit up with immense interest, and the Guards by his cell close their eyes and actually groan.

Whoever is being led - in chains? Sounds like it - down the hall, everyone clearly knows them, because even the other prisoners, who’ve been silent until now, start murmuring curses to themselves.

Finally, Patroclus thinks, some variety.

“ - I just think that in the grand scheme of things - and purely for everyone else’s interest, of course - that stealing a few rings from the locals isn’t that big of a deal when I’m just going to be selling them later. I’m helping the economy! Helping you pass money from one hand to another and get it circulating. How’s your wife, by the way, is she still getting the bad cramps? Of course she is. I can see it in your face. You really should take my advice and -”

“Diarmuid.” A Guard has never sounded so long-suffering before.

“Hm?”

“Shut up and get in the damn cell.”

Surprisingly enough, with a huge stroke of good fortune, the cell that this blessing in disguise - Diarmuid, his name is Diarmuid, Patroclus reminds himself. He’s never been very good at names - is dancing his way into, happens to be Patroclus’ very own, and he finds himself looking at a man who is decidedly, one hundred percent, not human at all.

Patroclus grins, absolutely delighted by this turn of events. Diarmuid, noticing that he is not alone in this cell, cocks his head to the side and just sort of. Stands there. Presumably blinking at him, but it’s hard to tell behind the tinted glasses perched on his nose. “Oh my gods,” Patroclus says before he can stop himself, “are you an elf?”

“No,” replies Diarmuid slowly. “But I can see why you’d think that.”

“He’s a menace,” one of the Guards mutters and Patroclus’ grin only widens.

“I knew you could talk,” he tells them and then to Diarmuid he says, “you have no idea how long I’ve been trying to get them to say something.”

“Oh,” Diarmuid says, “I’m not hallucinating then.”

“Not used to having company?”

“Not usually.”

He looks - well, if Patroclus had to hazard a guess, he’d say that Diarmuid looks completely out of his depth. “Don’t worry,” Patroclus tells him. “I don’t bite.” Which isn’t entirely a lie. He doesn’t bite usually but all bets are off when tavern brawls happen.

Diarmuid’s nose wrinkles. “Is that a hickey?”

It is, actually, though it’s a wonder he can see it at all amidst the other bruising. “I don’t bite,” Patroclus repeats, “but my boyfriend’s a bit of a dick.”

Something in Diarmuid’s posture relaxes at that admission, which is very interesting, and Patroclus pats the spot beside himself invitingly. He’s actually surprised when Diarmuid sits next to him. He’s less surprised that there’s an obvious gap being kept between them and that, unlike himself, Diarmuid’s posture remains straight and alert.

“Soooo…” Patroclus starts, “what are you in for?”

“That’s the best you could do, huh?”

Oh, a snarky one is he? Good thing Patroclus is used to that, or he might actually find this guy irritating. “What do you want me to start with, then? The fact that you’re apparently a regular visitor here? That you probably know everyone’s first names and family histories?”

“I wish he didn’t,” mutters the other Guard forlornly.

“Shut up,” hisses the first one, “don’t encourage them.”

“Too late for that,” they say in unison. The Guards curse.

There’s a long beat of silence as Patroclus waits to see if Diarmuid will reply to his earlier question. His patience pays off when, finally, Diarmuid sighs and says, “I got caught selling stolen goods for twice the profit.”

Patroclus whistles. “Impressive.” He means it. Sure, he got caught doing it, but the fact he had the balls to try at all - and, by the sounds of it, actually managed to make some of said profit - is worth applauding.

“And you?”

Patroclus shrugs. “Broke someone’s nose.”

“Holy shit,” Diarmuid breathes, “you’re the guy who finally shut Claudius’ trap up?”

“His name is Claudius?” A nod. “No wonder he’s such a dick, then. Hey! Tell your boss that I don’t regret what I did, alright? With a name like that, he had it coming to him!”

“You’re going to get a longer sentence if you do that.” Diarmuid sounds amused as anything. Patroclus grins back at him. He wonders how long Diarmuid’s sentence is and how many times he’s gotten his way out of it.

“Nah,” he says. “I’ll be out by tomorrow.”

“Because of your boyfriend?”

“Something like that.”

“Lucky,” Diarmuid whines. “I have to rely on my natural charm, and here you are getting Out Of Jail cards for free.”

They’re only ‘free’ if you don’t count the cost on Patroclus’ brain cell capacity, because for all that he loves Achilles with his entire soul, his boyfriend is, in fact, an idiot, and this has only seemed to get worse since they met Cu Chulainn a few years back. How does that saying go again? ‘Birds of a feather flock together?’

What does it say about him that he’s part of this flock? Nothing good, probably, so best not to think too much about it.

“Are you a vampire?”

“Okay, now you’re just naming every creature with pointy ears.”

Patroclus slumps down in his seat. “I don’t have much else to go on.” And it doesn’t look like Diarmuid is going to willingly give him any hints. “A dragonborn, maybe?”

Alright, maybe that one's a little bit of a deep cut, given how rare they are these days, but, hey, if he’s going for every race with pointed ears then…

“Also,” he continues, “you’re not a ‘creature’ you’re just a different race to a human.”

“Flattering,” Diarmuid says dryly. Patroclus doesn’t really get how any of that is ‘flattering’ in any way, shape or form but then what does he know? He’s human, after all, so maybe he really has just said something that - whatever. Doesn’t matter. He’s making friends! Cu will be so proud of him.

Does he have a concussion? Probably. None of his thoughts are making any sense today.

“I’m not a dragonborn.”

Okay, strike two off the list.

“Or a vampire.”

Strike three.

This would be so much easier if he wasn’t just relying on ‘ears pointy’ because that...really doesn’t narrow it down a whole lot. Are there really that many races with pointed ears? How has he never noticed this before? “You sure you’re not an elf? Or, like, elf adjacent?”

“If you were anyone else,” says Diarmuid, “I would’ve hit you for that. Luckily for you, I’m pretty sure you’re just a mouthy moron like I am, so congrats on saving your own skin, I guess.”

“It’s a gift,” he grins.

Diarmuid snorts. Progress is being made. Fuck yeah. “You’re not used to being in a cell, are you?”

Patroclus shrugs. “Not particularly.”

“First time?”

Oh now that’s just too easy a line to pass up. “Being in the company of a gorgeous man like yourself?” His lashes flutter and Diarmuid actually looks a little bit bewildered. “Hardly.”

“You...have a boyfriend.”

Astute of him.

“I do,” he agrees. “We have a comfortable and confident relationship.” By which he means that they’re allowed to flirt with whoever they want, whenever they want, it’s just dating and sex that are off limits until further discussion. Diarmuid - doesn’t really seem to get what he means. Which. Okay then. “Flirting is fine,” he clarifies with an easy tone.

“Oh.”

He still sounds a bit miffed by the whole thing so, in an effort to bring them back to their earlier comfort levels, Patroclus says, “lets play a game.”

Diarmuid stares at him. “A game,” he repeats.

“Just something to pass the time.”

“Am I going crazy or are you always like this?”

“It’s just me.” He feels no embarrassment in admitting it either. His mouth often moves faster than his brain can catch up, or his brain will move faster than his mouth, and rarely do they ever operate at the same capacity as each other. He forgets that not everyone can keep up with his rapid changes in conversation. Achilles’ mother is the only one who can understand him all of the time, but she’s back home in her river, so he has to - make an effort to slow down a little bit here.

How annoying.

“Ever heard of 21 Questions?”

The silence continues for long enough this time that Patroclus is almost completely certain he’s just gotten rejected. Diarmuid sighs. “Sure. I reserve the right to refuse answering anything personal, though.”

For all his earlier chatter, he’s surprisingly guarded and private. This, along with his keeping his own race a secret, intrigues Patroclus a lot more than it should. There’s a dull and distant warning bell ringing in his head; caution, it screeches, CAUTION.

“I reserve the same thing, then.”

Diarmuid blows some hair out of his face and, presumably, rolls his eyes behind his glasses. “I suppose,” he sighs dramatically. His lip twitches into a smile. Generously, Patroclus lets him go first. “What’s your name?”

He blinks, startled, and then laughs. “Oh I’m such an idiot,” he says and then holds out his hand. Diarmuid is wearing leather gloves under his shackles. Interesting. “It’s Patroclus. Pleasure to meet you.”

His grip is a little firmer than Patroclus expected but nowhere near the strength of Cu Chulainn’s. Which is a bit of an unfair comparison considering Cu’s specific bloodline but. Well. He doesn’t have a whole lot of non-human references to go on. Diarmuid holds himself as though he’s waiting to get shanked in the gut and Patroclus, ever so politely, asks, “what’s your favourite drink?”

Diarmuid blinks. “What?”

“Ah-ah-ah,” he chides, wagging his finger. “Not your turn to ask a question.”

“...tequila,” Diarmuid says at last.

“Oh that’s strong! I thought you might be an ale drinker, what with all the leathers and the -” he gestures to the window of the cell, hoping to encompass the city as a whole.

“Ah,” says Diarmuid. “Ale’s too bitter for me.”

“And tequila isn’t?”

His lip quirks. “Not your turn.”

“Right you are! Continue, then.”

“Who's your boyfriend?”

He doesn’t hesitate to answer. “Achilles.”

Diarmuid promptly chokes, as do the Guards outside. “You’re kidding. You don’t mean - you can’t mean -”

Patroclus inclines his head, delighted by the reaction. Achilles is famous here! Who knew!

“Holy shit.” Diarmuid’s voice raises a few octaves. “He’s going to kill me.”

“I doubt it,” says Patroclus dryly. “He’s more likely to whine about me getting better prison company than he did.”

“I’m not talking about Achilles,” hisses Diarmuid. “I’m talking about Cu Chulainn!”

Wait.

Wait a second.

Patroclus takes a step back to examine the man before him. Dark, curly hair? Check. A penchant for getting arrested? From what he can gather, check. Pointy ears? Absolutely. And -

He leans closer to try and get a whiff of whatever scent Diarmuid carries.

-- the distinct smell of a winter breeze.

A lot of different things fall into place at once.

“You’re the friend that Cu’s been looking for. The one that lost his favourite jacket.”

“I’m dead,” says Diarmuid. “I’ve been trying to get it back for him and now I’m going to die before I get the chance.”

“Is that why you were selling stolen goods?”

Reluctantly, Diarmuid nods. “I know where it is,” he admits mulishly. “I just don’t have the money to buy it back.”

Patroclus thinks this over. He doesn’t have any money either. Fuck it, he thinks, we’re already criminals anyway.

“Okay,” he says. “If you can get us out of here, I’ll help you get it back.”

“Don’t even try it,” warns Guard number one.

Diarmuid gives Patroclus a pathetically hopeful look. “You will?”

“Yes. On the condition,” he continues, “that you return it to him in person.”

“You know where he is.”

“I know where he is.”

Diarmuid considers this for all of two seconds. “Deal.”

And then he slips out of his shackles and shatters the fucking window with them.

#fate series #my writing #2.6K words of crack tbh #i dont know what this is please just take it

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amydancepants-peralta · 4 years

Note

Hi! Not sure if you’re taking prompts atm but if you are: a canon divergent where jake and Amy don’t end up having sex on their first date, and they have sex for the first time few months into their relationship instead

Hey there, Anon!

This took a little longer than expected (life is vv crazy at the mo!) but I totally loved your idea, and this is the result … I hope this lives up to your idea! 🤞🏼🙈

*NSFW* (Also on AO3, coz it’s kinda long.) Special thanks to @amyscascadingtabs and @kamekamelea for your help on this one! 🙌🏼😊

rule number three

“Let’s not have sex right away.”

There have been only a few times in Jake Peralta’s life that he’s experienced total euphoria. One: walking out the cinema he’d snuck into a couple of hours earlier, the Die Hard credits still leaking out from the half closed theatre doors. Two: standing tall while perfectly dressed in his blues, smiling back at his proud mother who was wiping back tears as he approached the NYPD commissioner and received his shiny new detective’s badge.

Three belonged to tonight. Pressed against his couch cushions with Amy Santiago on his lap; her perfect, perfect lips pushing against his own.

For the longest time, a moment like this had seemed so far from Jake’s grasp that even now he was struggling to believe tonight was not merely a figment of his imagination. Amy was easily one of the best people he knew - if not the best - and so strikingly beautiful he’s a little amazed that it took him so long to realise how he felt about her.

But after undercover-bound revelations and forced time apart; take backs, admissions and exes on both ends, two impromptu kisses and one moment of tenderness in a room filled with evidence, the two of them had finally acknowledged that maybe what they had together was more than just an excellent partnership.

Tonight had started awkwardly, but turned out to be really fun in a way that only the two of them together can be, but Jake’s favourite moment, hands down, would have to be right now.

“Let’s not have sex right away.”

His hands are on Amy’s thighs, fingers toying with the edge of her red dress as she straddles him. Regulation short and perfectly manicured fingernails are scraping against his scalp, sending a cavalcade of shivers running down his spine, and when she breaks their kiss to start a trail along his jawline, Jake genuinely begins to forget his own name.

This was greater than euphoria. It had to be paradise. In fact, he was certain that if you flipped open a dictionary right now and searched for the definition, it would give an accurate description of tonight, and the feeling of Amy Santiago on his lap.

(Okay so maybe it would be Urban Dictionary, but the sentiment remained. Everything about this moment was perfect, and he wouldn’t change a thing.)

Except for the six little words that are running on a loop inside his brain.

“Let’s not have sex right away.”

Her kisses taste like lime juice - kamikaze remnants that he cannot get enough of. Her tongue, the same sharp tongue that has reprimanded him so many times in the past, is moving against his in perfect unison. Exploring his mouth with gentle sweeps and pushing him further into the cushions in an action that is so seamless it makes his slacks feel uncomfortably tight.

Her body feels incredible like this, moving so sinfully slow and gentle as her hands begin to wander along the outline of his shirt. The subtle grind of her hips as she whispers his name into his ear makes his heart beat wildly against his ribcage, the scent of her perfume invades his senses when her incredibly soft lips leave a gentle kiss against the edge of his jaw. But still, he can hear her voice from this afternoon, and her simple stipulation for rule number three.

“Let’s not have sex right away.”

For what it’s worth, they were doing exceedingly well at the other two rules. Neither of them had said a single thing about what they were doing to their colleagues - which was especially impressive on Jake’s end, given the overwhelming urge to scream out in joy whenever he remembered that he and Amy had finally kissed. FOR REALZ. And they definitely hadn’t put labels on anything, dodging the server’s curious gaze when she told them they made a really sweet couple. And really - when you think about it, when it comes to rules, two out of three really isn’t all that bad. (After all, Meatloaf made a song about it; and songs don’t lie, and that’s facts.)

But this particular rule had come from Amy, a firm believer that rules weren’t made to be broken. And even though Jake doesn’t want any part of this to end, there’s something he needs to check on first. His hands move from Amy’s thighs, taking their time sliding up along her ribcage before heading towards her arms because he can do that now, and before he can fully comprehend what he’s about to say, Jake clears his throat and pulls his mouth away from Amy’s.

The words still come out mumbled, his lungs a little breathless because the most beautiful woman he’s ever known is still straddling his waist, but he speaks anyway. “The rules.”

Her eyebrows lift, the surprise that of the two people in the room, it is Jake Peralta who is pointing out the rules obvious as she smiles down at him. It turns wry as she shrugs her shoulders slightly, the fingertips of the hand on his chest pushing downwards with the movement. It’s such a simple response, but he finds it so sexy, and his hands are tugging her back down towards him without hesitation; the sensation of her lips against his already taking first place in the Greatest Feeling Ever award shelf in his mind.

She moans into his mouth, a sound that he already knows he would willingly die to hear more of (okay maybe not die, because if he dies then he can’t do more of this, and he really, REALLY wants more of this), and his hands move back down over her body, fingers gliding over the fabric of her dress, resisting the urge to pull on the zipper as he passes the jagged teeth. She moans softly when she pulls away, her desire obvious as her hips grind against his just that little bit harder, breath hot on his cheek as her kisses make a trail towards his earlobe.

They both want this. They’ve been leading towards this moment all night. There were eight empty shot glasses and three empty plates (they shared dessert) at the restaurant that told them they both wanted this. There had been a definitely non-G rated cab ride back to Jake’s apartment, countless minutes pressed against front doors before keys were properly utilised, lipstick stains on collars and shoes thrown in the direction of doorways bringing them to this.

Amy whispers his name again, louder this time as her teeth scrape against that spot at the side of his neck, and lawd how he wants this, but maybe they needed to stop. Because try as he might, all he can think about is: this is how every new relationship of his has ever begun.

The story of Jake’s childhood, and the lack of stability he had grown up with, was a tale as old as time. He knew that Amy knew the most of it - probably more than others, if he really thought about it. And she had watched, over the years, as he had jumped in and out of relationships with the fervour of somebody who genuinely didn’t know better. He was, after all, Jake Peralta - eyes closed, head first, can’t lose.

He loved the thrill of it all - the rush of clicking with a stranger, of testing the waters until the spark ignited. Though he might deny it, his heart lived permanently on his sleeve, and it was always on offer - forever hoping that this one might be the right one. But they never stayed, because all that glitters is rarely gold, and somewhere along the line Jake had adjusted his expectations to the minimum. To quick and fleeting relationships that never lasted, but were always fun.

But even now, as his hands roam along Amy’s body and his lips travel up and down her neck, Jake knows that there’s no way he could ever be able to give this up. What they had was different, and so very valuable to him. She was his partner, his closest friend, and the only voice of reason he was willing to hear at any given moment. The thought that he could lose all of that with one wrong move terrified him, and even though he knew he was probably going to regret it in the morning, Jake still lifts his lips away from Amy, bringing his hands back to her shoulders and pushing gently.

“Jake?”

God, she was beautiful. Straddling his waist, dress rucked up dangerously high, lungs fighting to regain control as she looks down at him in confusion. Her voice is breathy as she speaks, and he’s thankful to notice that he’s not the only one struggling to get their heart rate back from overdrive. “Is everything okay?”

His hands move up and down her arms in comfort, resisting the urge to return to their previously favourable position on her bare upper leg, and he smiles before answering. “Everything’s amazing, Amy. I just think that … maybe that third rule of yours wasn’t such a bad idea.”

The hands that had been skirting the buttons of his shirt pause in place, and Amy rears back slightly. “You don’t want this?”

“Trust me, I want this. I’m pretty sure every time you move your hips, you can feel how much I want this.”

She lets out a tiny giggle, shifting her weight just so, and Jake sucks in his breath in response. Yeah, he definitely wants this. Her face grows serious, left hand reaching up to cup his cheek as she leans back down towards him. “Tell me what you’re thinking, Jake.”

Jake hesitates, gnawing on his lower lip for a moment. He’s never been great with emotions, and is suddenly very aware of the fact that he could blurt out the wrong thing and ruin it all. But right now, with just the two of them together in his apartment, the words didn’t seem to be as difficult as he would normally expect. “It’s just … I don’t have the best track record when it comes to this. And while I’m pretty sure that what we have is different, I’m also a little scared that if we move too quickly it might all come crashing down.” He moves one hand to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, stroking the edge of her cheek as he goes. “I don’t want to lose this, Amy. You mean too much to me.”

“You want to wait a little?”

“I think we owe it to ourselves to see where this is going before we dive too deep.”

Amy’s ribs expand and contract as she begins to control her breathing, her right hand still toying absentmindedly with a button on Jake’s shirt. She’s watching him with those careful eyes of hers, and if Jake listened hard enough he’s certain he would be able to hear the cogs of her mind turning. Slowly, a smile creeps onto her face, and she nods. “You’re right.”

Try as he might, Jake cannot help himself, and he feigns a quick search for his mobile phone - patting nearby cushions and lifting throw pillows while explaining, “Hold on a second, Amy Santiago just said I’m right. I’ve gotta record this.”

Her laughter echoes across his tiny apartment, and it’s the greatest thing Jake’s ever heard between these four walls, so when she leans in for another soft kiss he’s quick to deepen it, sighing against her lips as she wraps her arms around his shoulders. Holding her closer now that the fear of her slipping through his fingers has been lost for at least one night.

She’s still smiling when they pull apart, resting her forehead against his while she takes a deep breath. “I mean, I know that I made the rule and I probably should have stuck to it, but there was something about being out with you tonight, sharing drinks; and you looking like you do, and knowing that I can finally do this - ” she punctuates the sentence with a kiss, lingering against his lips for a moment before pulling away, “that just made everything else seem a little more hazy.” One hand moves to the back of his neck, toying with his freshly cut hair, and her smile turns shy. “You’re important to me too, Jake. This is important to me.”

And just like that, Jake knows that he is absolutely going to fall for Amy Santiago.

She stays over that night, because neither of them are ready for the night to be over just yet, and when she comes out of the bathroom wearing an (on her) oversized NYPD sweatshirt of his, Jake wonders if he’s ever going to be able to go to sleep. But the next morning, when he wakes up with a mess of wavy brown hair spilling over onto his pillow and the sweetest smile wishing him good morning, he knows that he’d wait forever for a lifetime of mornings just like this.

After that first night, Jake realised that the adrenalin-coursing-through-your-veins feeling of a quick start relationship was nothing compared to the kind of slow burn that sizzled between he and Amy now. Because now, there was the aspect of discovery.

They both learned, for example, the importance of not making out in secret locations at work. Because doing so will only startle new bosses born with heart conditions, and will almost certainly lead to a fatal heart attack. Hiding their new relationship from a room full of detectives had proved next to impossible - especially if said relationship leads to the demise of a superior - but once the mortification of revelations had passed, they were pleasantly surprised by how little most seemed to care about what happened outside of work. Charles excluded.

(Also - and purely for research purposes - they learned that if they were to sneak away for secret kisses in evidence lockers, ducking behind that next corner of shelving always bought them a little bit of extra time for recovery.)

Jake learned that he actually wanted to put labels on what they were and not just keep things vague, the word girlfriend slipping out one afternoon so smoothly it would have seemed natural, if it hadn’t been followed by a beet red face and the slapping of his hand against his mouth. The soft smile that stretched across Amy’s features as she sat across from him at her desk made it all seem a little less terrifying. Without a second thought, they were no longer mrrrmzeep or benjinglebin.

She never seemed to be far from his thoughts, and each work day served as a countdown to when he could kiss Amy again, and Jake had never felt more content.

Without actually speaking about it, Jake and Amy both decide that their second date probably needs to be somewhere relatively public (and, just to be safe, with minimal alcohol content).

Amy’s smile is secretive as she ushers Jake through the streets of Brooklyn, and he’s itching to hold her hand in his but he’s not sure if that’s something she likes, so he follows her faithfully until they reach her destination of choice. He recognises it fairly quickly as McCarren Park, although the giant screen stretched out at the bottom of the hill was definitely a new addition, and when his curious eyes meet Amy she smiles, stretching out her hand to lead him to the top of the hill.

It was a moonlight cinema, she explained, reaching into the large tote bag that Jake had carried from the car, pulling out a blanket and spreading it out onto the grass. They were early, because he was here with Amy after all, but it turns out being early has its advantages as they now lay claim to prime position, up high amongst the tree line with a perfect view of the screen below.

From the bag Amy pulls out orange soda, followed by reusable cups, littering the rest of the blanket with crackers and gummy worms and water (the latter of which Jake assumes is for her), glancing quickly in Jake’s direction as she pulls out a small bag of nuts and hands them directly to him. He raises his eyebrows settling down onto the blanket, smiling brightly when Amy sits down close to him, and she points at the bag and says “Why don’t you go ahead and throw me one of those nuts, Peralta?”

The memory of Amy’s disastrous attempts at catching food with her mouth on the rooftop has never really faded from Jake’s memory (that entire night often plays on repeat), and he casts a dubious look in her direction. She raises her chin in confidence, giving him the do you doubt me? stare-down that he loves to see, and with a quick shrug of his shoulders Jake rips open the bag, holding the nut up high to make sure she sees it before throwing softly in her direction.

And she catches it. So cleanly - so quick and seamless he almost misses it. But her triumphant grin as she chews proves her victory, and he narrows his eyes. “Lucky shot.”

Amy swallows, raising a single eyebrow and responding cooly, “Throw another one, then.”

He does, and she catches it again. And another, and another, before finally Jake has to admit that Amy has finally mastered the art of catching food with her mouth. There’s not a doubt in his mind that his impressed reaction is written cleanly across his face, and when Amy finally admits that she’s been practising for months, he can’t help but close the small distance between them and kiss her, soft and gentle and completely full of awe. His finger rests underneath her chin, tipping her face ever so slightly upward to meet his, and she sighs softly against his lips.

She’s blushing when he pulls away, the softest and most adorable shade of pink creeping onto her cheeks as she tucks her hair behind both ears and Jake cannot help but pull her in for another kiss. This one lasts longer, each wrapping an arm around the other as it deepens, and in all honesty Jake could have spent the entire night doing just this and he’d be happy.

But they don’t, because they are most definitely in public, and as the melting sun casts the sky in a shade of tangerine and more people begin to settle onto the grass around them, Amy and Jake work their way through the snacks, peppering the comfortable silence with easy conversation.

The night comes earlier in the cooler months, and as the stars fight through the smog of a busy city skyline Amy stretches out on the blanket, resting her head against Jake’s stomach, smiling up at him when he begins to run his fingers through her hair. After a beat she stretches an arm up, pointing out the structure of a constellation in the sky that, despite the high-rises surrounding them, still managed to shine bright enough for him to notice. With his neck craned towards the universe Jake listens in silent wonderment as Amy begins to tell him about the mythological legends that explained their existence, pulling off the hoodie under his jacket and draping over Amy’s middle as a chill begins to fill the air. At the base of the hill the movie screen flashes with ads and previews, but neither of them notice.

She shifts when the movie starts, stretching out her legs next to his, and it’s only a short while before her head is resting against Jake’s shoulder. An even shorter while, it turns out, before the two of them are making out, any movie turning boring when they realise there’s an option to take advantage of the coverage from the trees surrounding them.

It was so new - and incredibly invigorating - to be able to kiss Amy like this, to hold her soft frame inside his arms as their legs tangle together, alternating between kisses both sweet and borderline passionate. It’s only when a loud crescendo booms from the direction of the makeshift movie screen that either of them break away, and after a beat Amy wriggles on the picnic rug until her back is resting against Jake’s chest. Their fingers tangle together where their hands meet at her waist, and in the intimacy of it all this moment right here is all he’s ever hoped for.

Every time he opened up a little more to someone he was dating, part of Jake felt like he was giving them a complete list of instructions on How To Break His Heart. And he could write it all on a proverbial piece of paper, and mark it as handle with care, but he could never control what happened once they knew (he’d started to show parts of this list to Sophia once, and she’d inspected it briefly before handing it back to him with a vague but polite smile).

But as the movie came to an end and he linked his fingers with Amy, walking back towards his car, Jake realised that all of the details he would normally have on the list - all the things that have hurt him and shaped him as he’s gotten older - are things that Amy already knew. And she never used it as a reason to walk away, or to keep her distance. She knew more than most about him, and wanted to be with him anyway.

He presses her against the car when he kisses her goodnight outside her apartment, both of their hands wandering over each other’s bodies with a curiosity emboldened by the growing tension between them. He wants to go upstairs - to be with her and stay the night, more than he’s ever wanted to be with someone before. But they needed time - he needed to know this isn’t going to wither before it has the chance grow, and it’s time that he is beginning to hope they will have a lifetime of.

He keeps the radio low on the drive home, trying his best not to notice how every single love song seemed to tie back to Amy.

At work, it was like they’d both become characters out of some Georgian-era novel.

(Which, okay, doesn’t sound like something that Jake would say, but he totally thought of it all on his own.)

(Alright, he’d called them a Jenny Austen novel. Amy had corrected him on the name, and then told him the era, rattling off a few different titles for reference, because she’s so smart and oh god he really really likes her, SO. MUCH.)

And maybe it was a strange label, but it was true. They’d become all about long glances, gazes holding from the side of computer monitors as they both fail terribly to look like they were doing any work at all. The subtle brushing of feet under tables, lingering touches when they were left alone. Hovering at the coffee station as one would make their coffees, leaning just that little bit closer but never quite close enough. Quiet whispers of admiration when favourite items of clothing were worn, furtive glances through windows when they weren’t in the same room … fingers hooking around ties when the gentle hands of Detective Santiago pulls her partner in for a kiss once they are finally off the clock.

To everybody else, they came across as just another pair of colleagues who had started dating, doing their very best to maintain a professional appearance in the workplace. But to Jake and Amy, every moment was bringing another pile of sand to the beach - another friction filled strike of the match, calling out for the flame of desire to finally be ignited.

Amy takes a long sip from her soda, her lips curling around the paper straw as she watches her boyfriend dominate Dance Dance Revolution one last time. She can’t help the small shiver of excitement that runs down her spine as she repeats to herself once again that Jake Peralta is her boyfriend.

His feet stomp against the coloured arrows in perfect symmetry to the flashing lights, eyes focused solely on the screen in front of him as the digital music reaches its fast paced climax. The teenager beside him, who had been so cocky in challenging Jake to a showdown five minutes earlier, stumbles over their own two feet and stomps away in frustration before the game has even officially finished.

Thrusting his fists into the air triumphantly, Jake turns to face Amy with the widest grin on his face, one that Amy cannot help but match, and this is truly the happiest she’s ever been. While she knows that there was a whole bunch of reasons why she and Jake hadn’t gotten together before now (fear and doubt being two very big ones), it��s in moments like these that she wishes the world had pushed them together earlier.

Dating Jake has been so fun - so exciting and different and comfortable all at the same time. He made her laugh so much her sides hurt, and he always, always wanted to hear about her day. The way he looks out for her (and supports her admittedly nerdy hobbies) is incredible, and she could happily spend the rest of her days showing Jake just how beautiful he was, inside and out. Plus, good lord was he sexy. Perfectly toned, strong arms for her to wrap her hand around while they walked down the street; intoxicating cologne that washed over her when she tucked her face into his neck, and a butt that she could not take her eyes off. Especially tonight, while he danced in those jeans.

It had been so sweet of him to suggest they should take things slow, to give each other the chance to get used to the idea of being together before throwing sex into the mix. And while she totally got all the reasons he had put forward (it was her rule after all), there was also a very large part of Amy that was absolutely ready to fuck Jake Peralta.

(Okay, make love.)

(Then fuck.)

A week ago, Amy had been away at her parents, for a vacation that she’d organised long before the notion of dating Jake was anything more than a quiet hope she held tucked away in her heart. And during that week, the distance between them had felt unbearable - and thank goodness for the existence of texting and FaceTime, because without it Amy’s not certain she would have survived the week.

The separation, however, had lifted their resolve a little, and as the days wore on their texts grew from simple miss you’s to I think about you all the time and I really want to do things to you. Lines that made her blush - not from embarrassment, but excitement that Jake felt the same way she did about him, and that maybe the time for waiting was over.

They’d shared so many conversations and calls via their cellphones that by the time Amy was finally knocking on Jake’s apartment door a week later for their third date, she could literally feel the pull of his energy dragging her through the doorway.

His lips were on hers within seconds of the door slamming shut, kisses turning heated because it had been a week, but the week had felt like a lifetime, and a lifetime without kissing each other was something that neither of them seemed interested in considering.

Her fingers had unbuttoned Jake’s shirt before they’re even made it to the living room, her floral blouse untucked from her skirt as his warm hands wandered up the expanse of her back. It was better than she could have imagined, the electric feeling of his skin against hers, and as he gently pushed her into the couch cushions their first night together came back to Amy in vivid flashbacks. And then his hands moved lower, grazing against the bare skin of her upper thighs, and her skin shivered in its wake.

Like the gentleman that he is, his hand had hovered over the edge of her underwear, waiting until Amy had broken their kiss before touching the fabric again, silently asking for permission to continue. Her consent had come in the form of his name coming out in a breathless burst, hips lifting slightly in encouragement as her own hands gripped his biceps, and when his fingers rubbed against her centre Amy genuinely thought she was going to melt into his couch. She had been wanting this for so long, and it was definitely going to happen tonight.

His lips had slid back over hers as his hand moved her panties to the side, slender fingers seeking out her heat and touching her with such reverence that Amy would have cried if she hadn’t been so damn turned on. Too many times she had watched Jake’s hands from her position at the desk opposite, fantasising about how good he could be at making her come apart at his touch. And now she knew that she’d been right - he was amazing.

Then his kisses forged a path down her body before reaching where she wanted him the most, his breath hot against her folds as his tongue went to work, and soon her eyes were squeezing shut while her nails scraped his scalp and the only words she could say were Jake and yes. Her orgasm was quick, but lingered in waves as her legs shook underneath him, and the taste of her on his tongue was everything.

He was so good at making her feel good, in a way that she’d instinctively known that he would be, and if the garlic bread that he’d been baking in the oven hadn’t chosen that very moment to start billowing smoke and set off the fire alarm, Amy is absolutely certain they would have had sex once she’d caught her breath.

It had very still much been on the cards, in fact, as the stale smell of charred bread filled the apartment and an embarrassed Jake found comfort in her kisses from her new position on his kitchen countertop. And then his phone had started vibrating in his back pocket, a sensation Amy felt against her hands as they roamed over his ass, his impressive bulge rubbing against her thigh. He ignored it for as long as he could, but the caller kept ringing, and eventually Jake had pulled back in anger, answering the phone with a snap before mumbling “Oh, hey Rosa.”

There had been a break in a case that he and Diaz were working, and his presence was being requested (well, being Rosa, more likely demanded). Swiftly, their date was over - and Jake had given her an apologetic kiss as he’d bid her goodbye, the promise of a rain check keeping the flame between them burning hot long after they’d separated.

And now it was just over twenty-four hours later, with date number four starting at a local restaurant before the walk back to her place led to them stumbling upon a new arcade. One look from Jake, throwing the gauntlet by declaring that he could beat her at any game, and Amy was absolutely committed to kicking his butt. And kicked she had, an overwhelmingly large pile of prize tickets stuffed into her purse awaiting redemption. There’s a buzz of victory running through her veins, and her boyfriend’s smile is so contagious as he gathers up his winning tickets and heads towards her, and the memory of the two of them on his couch last night is the only thing on Amy’s mind.

Then he pulls her over to the prize counter, swapping all of his tickets for a book of brain teasers that he gives her with a shy smile, and Amy Santiago is 100% falling for Jake Peralta.

Tonight was the end of date number four, and Jake genuinely believed he was in danger of combusting.

They have been officially dating for four weeks now, and he could honestly say that they have been the best four weeks of his life. With Amy, he felt worthy - of her time, of her attention, and most certainly of her affection. And affection was something she had in spades.

There were so many little things about the two of them being a couple that, when bundled together, made Jake feel complete in a way he’d never known. Dating Amy was like swimming in the rain - like you already knew what it was like to be wet, and then the raindrops hit your skin like a thousand tiny pinpricks and you realise that this whole time you were wrong. That things could be different. And that different could be better.

He could offer her his arm now, as they walked along the sidewalks of Brooklyn after dates. Grip her hand in his own when he helped her up out of her seat and link their fingers together, holding them so close it was hard to tell which were his and which were hers. Go to dinner with her - actual dinner, not just street meat in an unmarked car on the way to a case. Talk to her, about little things and big things and everything in between.

And kiss her. Oh, how he could kiss her. It still made his heart soar up to the very top of his chest, every single time they did. But he could have that feeling forever (and was starting to think that maybe he wanted that feeling forever), if that’s the feeling that came with kissing Amy.

It would seem that all along, this is what he had been craving. And to think that now he got to have it, and that it was with Amy Santiago, put a spring in his step and an obnoxiously happy smile that never seemed to leave his face. Not even when Rosa would punch him on the shoulder, or Gina would threaten the dissolution of their friendship. He was happy. Finally happy - from the tips of his fingers to the edge of his toes - and he wasn’t interested in anything that could take that away from him.

They’d had such fun tonight at the arcade, and had quickly made their way back to Amy’s apartment (or as she called it, ‘taking a victory lap’ - his girlfriend had kicked his ass tonight, and he was totally okay with that). She’d listened, in her non-judgemental way, as Jake told her about a problematic phone call he’d shared with his less than impressive father earlier that day. The advice she offered up was gentle and perfect, just like her, and when she climbed up to the top of a park bench to rest her feet (these sneakers are cute but they pinch my toes she had muttered), Jake couldn’t resist the opportunity to rests his hands on either side of her, gripping the rails as he leant in for a kiss that just kept getting deeper.

It had felt so perfect, with her knees bracketed either side of him and her soft lips pressed against his, that they could have stayed together like that for hours - and probably would have, if another couple hadn’t loudly cleared their throats in Jake and Amy’s direction as they passed, reminding them that they were still in a public place.

And now they stand on the landing of Amy’s apartment, wrapped tight in each other’s arms as their goodnight kiss simply refuses to end.

Their bodies are pressed together, and he knows that she can feel how much her kisses are affecting him, but he just can’t bring himself to pull away. He remembers how she tastes, how it felt to have her fingers scrape against his scalp while she shuddered above him, and he was dying to feel it again. Everything about her was intoxicating, and judging by the way one of her lower legs were wrapped around his, Amy was feeling exactly the same.

“Come upstairs, Peralta” she whispers in that husky voice that he’d never really heard until recently, but always managed to hot-wire his groin. Her eyes are heavy lidded, and her lips are so swollen from the intensity of their kisses, one hand trailing down his chest until it reaches the bulge in his jeans. He nods, pulling her in for another kiss, grabbing her keys out of hand to help speed up the process.

And then her phone rings.

The sound is so grating against the quiet bubble of intimacy that the two of them had made in this corner of her doorway, and they pull apart at the completely unwelcome sound. He wants to tell her to ignore it, to pretend it wasn’t ringing at all, but that wouldn’t be Amy. Still, it’s satisfying to see her head fall back against the rendered brick wall, groaning as her hands dig through her purse.

“That’s my ringtone for the captain.” she mutters apologetically.

Jake blinks. There’s a part of him that’s still trying to understand what happened, let alone what Amy just said, and to be perfectly honest there wasn’t a lot of blood in his brain right now. “You have a specific ringtone for the captain?”

“You don’t?”

He can’t contain the smile that crosses over his face as he shakes his head, stepping back as Amy takes the call. Her hand on his chest tightens as he moves, fingers digging in slightly in a silent request for him to stay, and he covers her hand with his own.

“Captain Pembroke? No, it’s .. I mean - ” her eyes fall to Jake, and she stammers. “Uh, what’s going on?”

The streetlight catches her face as she turns slightly, and Jake can’t help but stare at her beauty, even as she frowns in concentration. Amy nods, murmuring her assent to their superior before looking over at Jake, regret clear in her eyes as she states “I’ll be there soon.” The hand on his chest falls, and he tries his very best not to cry out in frustration.

Looks like it was Amy’s turn to get called away for work.

Slumping against the smooth brick of her building’s exterior, Amy shakes her head. “I know that guy is our captain now, but … he’s just the worst.” Jake nods, and she looks at him with sad eyes. “There’s a catfish case Boyle and I have been working on. This guy has conned seven women out of their savings so far, totalling more than $50,000. The night shift got notice that he’s just used one of his fake IDs to get into some hipster bar in Bedford called ..” she pauses, tapping the screen of her phone to read out the name. “Ugh. Industrialisationism.”

“Industrialisationism? Is that even a word? If it is, it’s gotta be the longest, right?”

Amy dips her head, tucking her phone back into her purse as she speaks. “Actually, the world’s longest word is floccinaucinihilipilification. Well, non-mechanical anyway. If you wanted to talk medicinal - ” her eyes are wide when she looks back at him, as though in fear that this is it, this might be the ultra nerdy thing she does that makes him realise she’s too weird for him to date. His smile is warm, and he has to bite his tongue to stop himself from telling her that he’s pretty sure that no such thing could ever happen. That it’s getting harder to ignore the fact that being with her feels more right than anyone he’s ever been with.

But he’s jumped in too soon before, and ended up with a broken heart. So instead he smiles, and tells her “You should probably head upstairs and get changed. Gotta catch the bad guy, right?”

She smiles, taking her keys back from his outstretched hand and gesturing towards the building. “Do you wanna come up?”

“I really do, Ames. But I’ve gotta confess …” he winces, glancing down. “With the state I’m in right now, the thought of you getting changed with only a bedroom door between us? Just might kill me.”

Amy laughs, and he grabs her hand one last time, squeezing her fingers quickly before walking backwards and stumbling onto a lower step. She laughs again, the sound echoing through down the quiet street, and the move wasn’t deliberate but he’ll take it, because any day where he can make Amy Santiago laugh is a great day to him. Make her laugh twice, and it becomes transcendent.

He takes another step down, facing the street because that’s definitely a smarter way to walk down a staircase, then pauses, the soles of his shoes scraping against the concrete as he swivels on the step to bring his eyes back to Amy. She’s waiting, standing on her landing with keys in one hand and his hand still in her other, and he’s barely touching her but his heart is absolutely racing. With a gentle tug she’s pulling him back up the landing to meet her, wrapping her arms around Jake’s waist with such desire that there are now only two things that Jake knows for absolute certain:

The NYPD are there to serve, protect, and cock block him and Amy; and

Tonight’s forecast at home definitely included a cold shower.

Jake grips his towel with one hand as he swipes it across the fogged mirror of the precinct’s shower room, forcing away the condensation and allowing his tired reflection to peek through. Today has been a particularly long day.

A prolific drug dealer known as Chase Mandeville had been on the radar of several neighbouring precincts for months now, all sides working to share information in the hopes of finally capturing him. Mid-morning, Captain Pembroke had announced to the bullpen that a stakeout the 9-7 had been carrying out had been interrupted by Mandeville’s men, and that several officers were now being held hostage in an old warehouse downtown. They’d moved quickly, strapping on tactical gear and arriving at the meeting point within the hour - but hostage situations are rarely quick, and they’d sat in wait through hours of negotiations and multiple plans of attack before ESU finally called them into action.

The intense shoot-out that followed resulted in three officers and five of Mandeville’s henchmen being taken away by the paramedics, all safe but in various degrees of pain. Jake stood watching as the kingpin was dragged away from the scene in handcuffs, unable to resist a smirk of victory that was quickly wiped off his face as a passing truck hit a particularly large pothole and drenched him, head to toe, in a mixture of dirt, day old rain and floating cigarette butts.

Rosa had shoved him in the direction of the men’s locker room when they’d finally returned to the precinct, telling him with her usual gentle manner that he ‘smelled like butt and nobody should have to endure it.’ So not only had Jake not had the chance to pull Amy aside and play the ‘Super Supportive Boyfriend’ role (one that he was clearly born to play), he’d missed out on the team debriefing where they would obviously be hailed as heroes for saving their colleagues.

(Although in hindsight, The Vulture was their captain now. So there was a very good chance that any credit his team deserved had already been stolen.)

Pulling out a spare work shirt from his locker and quickly looping a tie around his neck, Jake shuffles back towards his desk, noticing with surprise that everyone has already left. Resisting the urge to roll his eyes as Pembroke approaches him from his office, Jake listens as his ‘captain’ retells the day’s events, putting himself into the victor’s position; paying attention only when his superior tells him that he is not to return for 12 hours (or, as Pembroke put it - “The bosses don’t want you to show your pasty white ass here for a solid half a day, capooch?”). He’s halfway to the elevator before another word is spoken, mind already trying to calculate if he’s still got time to call Amy.

Still in the process of pulling the tie away from his collar when he gets to his car, Jake raises his eyebrows in surprise when he realises Amy is leaning against the hood, waiting patiently for his arrival. He greets her with a happy kiss, shoving the necktie into his satchel before standing back. “Need a ride home, Ames?”

She smiles, reaching a hand out to fiddle with the collar of his shirt, and oh - how she makes his heart skip a beat. Even when he’s tired, and ready to go home, she could ask him to fly to the moon and he’d run back in to strap on a spacesuit. “It’s been a pretty long day, huh?” she asks, flattening her hand against his chest, and he’s pretty sure she can feel the thrumming of his heart.

“Yeah. Totally worth it though, to get Mandeville off the streets. Even if things got a little messy at the end there.”

Amy nods, fingers tracing the lines of a square on his signature checkered shirt before looking up at him through her lashes, and wow, she’s beautiful.

“So. Thanks to sub-section 47a of the Worker’s Rights Bill, we now get a mandatory rest period.”

Jake nods in agreement. “Yeah, the Vulture told me I can’t come back for twelve hours. Which is good to know is more because of the law, and not because he literally doesn’t want to see me.”

“Legally, it’s ten. But knowing your inability to start work on time, twelve seems fair.”

He can’t argue with that. Instead, Jake nods his head slightly, sensing that Amy is going somewhere with this. The hand that had been resting against his shirt moves slowly towards the buttons in the middle, toying with them gently. “Do you know what that means, Peralta?”

With his girlfriend (girlfriend!) playing - and pushing - his buttons like that, there isn’t a lot of cohesive thought in Jake’s head, and so he shakes it quickly.

She smiles, using the beaded chain that keeps his badge around his neck to tug him closer for a heated kiss. “It means that the NYPD legally isn’t allowed to interrupt us, Jake. For ten. hours.”

“Ames, are you …?”

“Take me home, Jake Peralta.”

He’s always been incredibly good at taking orders.

Amy’s fingers run down the middle of Jake’s shirt, using her thumb to release the buttons one by one as she yanks the fabric free. His hands feel heavy as they roam across her ass, fingertips digging in as he follows the curve and holds Amy tight against him.

She’d felt his eyes on her all afternoon, watching her from his position and hesitating to move until he knew that she wasn’t going to end up compromised. It was the well-worn action of a long known partner in the field, but there’s a difference in his gaze now - as though him looking out for her is no longer an act of duty, but more because he needs her to be safe. That her safety means more than his own. And although she didn’t want to use the word love just yet, she may just love him a little bit for it.

Her mind had tuned out fifteen second’s into Pembroke’s debrief as he (yet again) twisted their hard work into his own, instead choosing to spend the time devising a way to excuse herself from this sorry excuse of a meeting and sneaking her way into the men’s locker room. She just didn’t have enough of a working knowledge about all the cameras that ran along the hallway there, and as much as she wanted to join Jake in the shower, it wasn’t worth being busted at their workplace. (Again).

And so she had packed up her belongings as quickly as she could the moment they were dismissed, giving off the illusion of walking towards the subway before changing paths and heading to the parking garage, leaning against Jake’s car and waiting impatiently for him to arrive. Thankfully, he hadn’t been far behind the rest of them - and as she watched him walk towards her, tugging off his necktie as he moved, Amy had made a mental note to introduce said garment into the bedroom sometime soon.

He lets out a breathless version of her name as she grinds her body against his, seeking the friction of his jeans against her work slacks and returning for more. His erection is pushing through the denim, and as she places her right hand on the back of Jake’s neck, pulling him in for a kiss, her left dips below the waistband to feel him underneath. The moan he lets out in response spurs her on, and when he moves one hand away from her body to pop open the button that was holding his jeans closed Amy takes advantage of the increase in moving space, cupping Jake’s cock in her palm as she moves up and down. She never would have expected him to go commando, but right now she was thankful for one less barrier between them.

This night, this moment, was what they had been waiting for - what years of bickering and frank conversations and seeing each other at their best and worst had led to. The four weeks that they had been together had held more passion and excitement, without even involving sex, than her entire relationship with Teddy. But the crackle between them was too strong to ignore, desire growing past the point of containment, and Amy’s positive that if she doesn’t feel Jake’s hands soon, her version of the world will absolutely stop spinning.

Her own pants become unbuttoned, a thousand goose bumps rising along her skin when Jake’s hands begin to roam against the small of her back and Amy kisses him again, letting their tongues hint at what their bodies will soon be doing.

A flash of inspiration strikes her when the tip of Jake’s fingertips toy with the top of her underwear, and while Amy really doesn’t want to break the kiss, she also really wants to seduce the hell out of her boyfriend, and so reluctantly she pulls away, face softening into a reassuring smile when Jake looks at her in mild panic.

“I’m just going to freshen up a little bit … wait right here, okay?”

The desire is obvious in his eyes, and he licks his lower lip before responding. “Wild horses couldn’t drag me away from this, Ames.” His earnestness pulls her back to him for another kiss - soft and quick, just enough to keep both wanting more as she winks and moves quickly towards her bedroom.

Jake can still hear the blood pulsing in his ears as Amy disappears down her apartment hallway, and he rests his hands on his hips, taking a deep breath in a substandard attempt to regulate his heartbeat.

It was a relatively common knowledge that Amy Santiago was a little bit of a nerd. In all honesty, her ability to absorb information was one of his favourite things about her, and he could happily listen to her talk about pretty much anything. But what he had loved discovering in these past few weeks, was that underneath all the love for binders and organisation lay a red blooded woman who knew what she wanted, and knew exactly how she was going to get it. A turned on Amy kissed him like it was necessary for her survival, and kept him so close to her they almost melded into one. It was all incredibly sexy, and it kinda felt amazing that she entrusted him to know this side of her - the side that most of the people would never know. Perhaps, if he was really lucky, nobody but him would ever have the chance to find out again.

She doesn’t take too long to freshen up, in the way that only a well-practised Type A person could, and when he hears the door to her bathroom swing open and the soft sound of her footsteps drawing closer he looks in her direction, throat turning completely dry.

He’s always had a secret theory that Amy Santiago was actually a goddess, and this moment proved that he is absolutely correct. She looks stunning.

Her hair has been pulled out of its work appropriate bun, falling in gentle waves and scraping along her shoulders. Whatever makeup she had worn today has been scrubbed off, allowing her natural beauty to shine - and shine it did. Her eyes are sparkling, her cheeks a little flushed, and a nervous smile is stretched across her face. Gone was the grey pantsuit she had worn to the precinct, and in it’s place she wore a silk robe - red as the kiss-bitten lips that were stretched in a nervous smile across her face. His erection, already throbbing before Amy had even stepped into the bathroom, is now begging to be released.

Her voice is soft, and she toys with her fingers briefly. “I thought this might be a better look than my grey pantsuit.”

Jake takes in her nerves - a surprising change in demeanour, considering Sexpot Amy had been in front of him only moments before - and takes a step towards her, speaking from the heart when he responds. “Amy Santiago, you could literally wear anything and I will find you sexy. Your grey pantsuits are amazing. You in a paper sack would be amazing.”

She takes in the awed look on his face and her smile grows brighter, and it’s so beautiful to watch the confidence return to her features. How she could ever doubt how incredible she is, Jake will never know, but in a millisecond he vows to himself to never let her question it again.

He makes short work of the section of hallway that still separates them, arms already reaching for Amy before he can even get to her because the pull is just too great. It’s been seven weeks of dating, but four years of knowing her and a solid year or more of wishing for something he truly didn’t believe he would ever have. Tonight was more than just sex. It was so much more than that. They were so much more than that.

His hands dip lower until they’re gripping the back of her thighs, and with a quick tug he lifts Amy into his arms, her legs wrapping around his waist without hesitation. She lets out an appreciative moan as he pulls her in for a kiss, tongues tangling sweetly, and all Jake can think about is how wonderful it is to feel Amy’s bare skin under his fingertips again. The silk feels cool against his hand - a welcome reprieve from their rising body heat - and everything about this moment is so soft (well … not everything), so warm and perfect. Amy Santiago was literal perfection.

The shirt that she had already unbuttoned earlier is pushed from Jake’s shoulders as they make their way down the hall, falling to the floor already forgotten as Jake moves them towards Amy’s bedroom. His shoulder bumps into the doorframe as he passes, barely registering as he stumbles towards her bed, lowering the two of them gently onto the mattress. His arms are still wrapped around her as they slide upwards toward the perfectly placed pillows at the top of the frame, and when Jake finally breaks their kiss he can’t help but stare.

Amy’s lips are swollen from all the kissing, stretched wide across her face as she looks up at him, the tiny gold stud earrings in each ear catching the light of her bedroom lamp as her eyes turn soft, her gentle hands running along his arms until they join at the nape of his neck. Her robe has shifted slightly since the hallway, gaping open at her chest and revealing the hint of a lace beneath.

“You’re so beautiful” Jake whispers, craning his neck down for a soft kiss. She lets out a soft sigh as his lips travel along her cheek, forging an intrepid path of tiny dotted kisses that lead along her jawline, teeth scraping against her earlobe before kissing the spot on her neck that, since date number two, he knows will make her moan. He can feel her breath wash across his cheek as she does, one hand delving further into his hair and gripping at the roots in a silent request for more.

His right hand slides down Amy’s side, thumb tracing the outline of her breast through the fabric before settling on the loose knot in her coverup, toying with the twisted material until her free hand joins his and yanks it all free. The curiosity is too great and Jake’s lips leave Amy’s neck, raising himself onto his elbows as he gazes down at his girlfriend, taking it all in.

Her chest rises with each deep breath, breasts covered in a lacy red bra that works in perfect contrast to her skin. As his eyes travel down they take in a matching set of underwear, the delicate edges tapering out to a thin strip that he cannot wait to tug downwards. It was all incredibly arousing, but to be fair that probably had more to do with the person wearing the items than the set itself. The hand that had stayed in his hair the whole time tightens slightly, and Jake looks up at Amy and smiles. “You are so gorgeous, Santiago.”

She blushes, her voice soft as she moves underneath him, one foot trailing up and down the outside of his leg. “I wore the same set on our first date. It just felt right to wear it now as well.”

Jake gulps, nodding quickly because the ability to form any more words seems to have disappeared completely. Quickly, he thanks all the stars that he hadn’t seen Amy in this that first night, because it would have made the resolve to wait all the more harder (double entendre intended). She smiles at his response, pushing her pelvis upwards so that it rubs against Jake’s and they both let out a moan, quietened only by Amy’s lips returning to his. The entire world could set itself on fire right now, and it still wouldn’t stop this from happening.

His undershirt is removed quickly as he lifts Amy from the mattress, releasing her arms from the robe before resting her back down, covering her body with his own. With the top button of his jeans still open from earlier Amy takes advantage of the ease of access, pulling down the zipper and cupping his ass with both hands, squeezing as she raises her hips to meet his again.

Jake kisses the lace cups of Amy’s bra, tongue marking out the edges of the material before dipping underneath, pushing the fabric away with his nose and taking one nipple into his mouth as Amy shivers. He repeats the action on the other side, sighing against her skin as she thrusts her chest towards him, making quick work of the hooks at the back and casting the bra to the floor. Free from barriers, Jake sucks gently on Amy’s breasts, teeth scraping the underside of her boob gently before heading lower.

This was better than any fantasy he could have ever imagined.

Amy’s right hand moves around to Jake’s front, gripping his erection in her gentle hand and jerking her wrist while his own hands travel down her waist, circling his thumbs against her hips. He’s reluctant to pull away, because Amy’s hands on him is everything, but the memory of making her come underneath his tongue hasn’t left his mind for a second since it happened four days ago, and he was dying to do it again.

She whispers his name, lifting her hips to help him pull her panties down, one leg hitching over Jake’s shoulder as her underwear falls to the floor. He begins a trail of kisses along her body, leaving a series of gentle bites that make Amy hitch her breath every time, pausing to suck harder against her inner thigh until he’s left a mark before continuing to her centre. He flicks his tongue briefly against her clit, pulling away at Amy’s gasp before returning to her labia; tasting her arousal, kissing and sucking as her fingers dive into his hair. She shifts, tugging his head to where she needs him the most, and when Jake dips his tongue inside her Amy drops her head to the mattress, letting out a moan that sends shivers down his spine. Then he adds his fingers to the mix, and she raises her hips completely off the bed.

All of her words tangle together, a garbled mix of encouragement and gratification as she shudders above him, legs trembling and fingernails scraping against his scalp, holding him exactly where she wants him as she comes apart with a quiet scream. He continues to kiss her skin as her breathing slows, hands releasing their vice grip and body returning to the sheets below. “Jake,” she whispers again, cupping her hand under his chin and beckoning him upwards for a passionate kiss, and oh, he could do this every day for the rest of his life.

Her legs tighten around him as she breaks the kiss, using the heels of her feet to begin pushing his jeans away and Jake follows her lead, shoving the denim until it’s on the floor alongside her panties and robe. Wrapping his arms around her, Jake revels in the feeling of finally being skin to skin with the woman of his dreams, sighing into her mouth as her hands roam over his body before returning to his erection and pulling gently.

His teeth sink into the curve of her shoulder, scraping against her skin and kissing a tiny mole he finds there, moaning at the sensation of Detective Santiago’s hands going to work on his cock. Her free hand returns to the base of his neck, delving up into his hairline as her movements speed up, and he’s really going to need to start thinking about something incredibly unsexy if he doesn’t want to come into her hand.

“Jake,” she whispers into his ear, breath tickling his cheek, fingernails dragging against his scalp. “Please. I can’t wait any longer. I need you inside me.” His eyebrows raise and he moves up to kiss her again, relieved to know that he wasn’t the only one who was barely holding on. When he pulls away, Amy looks at him with such tenderness that Jake’s heart stutters a little in his chest, moving into place until the tip of his cock is rubbing against her clit, shifting again until he’s hovering above her opening.

He enters her, keeping his movement slow and steady, watching her carefully as he goes. Her eyes are on fire, brown embers stoking his own flames as they become one, Amy letting out a heavy breath as he moves. Finally, their pelvises are hard against each other, and Jake has a new contender for the Greatest Feeling Ever award.

She pulls him in for a kiss, twisting her tongue alongside her own and biting down on his lower lip when she pulls away, the defiance in her eyes mixing with her desire. Her name comes out as a venerable moan and she cups his cheek, thumb stroking his cheekbone as she wraps her legs around his waist, and just like that, it’s on. Jake pulls out slightly before returning a little faster, repeating the motion and working the two of their bodies into a rhythm both can enjoy.

It’s as though the fireworks that have been building up inside them have finally snapped, the continuous friction leading to an outpouring of sparks so bright and mind-blowing they can barely keep up. Her legs grip tightly around his hips, shifting her weight onto one shoulder as she flips them over, rising up and sinking down low as their movements gain speed. His hands follow the curve of her waist, tracing the dip of her ribcage and palming one of her breasts as she lets out a moan of pleasure above him. Her skin, slick with sweat, looks so perfect as it glistens in the low light of her bedroom, and the sight of her now is something Jake will remember for years to come.

All the years of bickering, of stubborn silences and quiet conversations during overnight stakeouts have boiled over, culminating in the two of them tonight as they move together. This was the best sex he’s ever had, and it had everything to do with it being with Amy Santiago.

Amy twists her hips slightly, rising and falling on his cock with breathless huffs of her chest, and as he feels himself creep closer and closer to the edge Jake reaches out to touch her clit, rubbing his thumb in slow circles as she keens above him. She leans forward, squeezing her knees into his waist as she pulls him in for a kiss and the change of angle makes them sigh in unison. Jake begins to increase his thrusts, tenting his knees and pushing himself into her in rapid succession, thumb playing harder with Amy’s clit until she’s shaking above him, tucking her head into his shoulder and calling out his name as she climaxes.

Jake’s hands wrap around Amy’s back, holding her close to his body as his movements turn erratic, and it’s only a few short moments later that he finds his own release, tightening his grip around her as he lets out a satisfied moan.

Her head rests against his shoulder as they lay together panting, the feeling of togetherness too great for either of them to be interested in moving just yet. Moving one hand from her back, Jake grips Amy’s hand inside his own, noticing for the first time just how small her palm is compared to his own. She is tiny, but she is fierce. And he’s fairly certain that he’s falling in love with her.

It’s another few minutes before either of them can speak, and even then it’s only after Amy has finished peppering tiny kisses onto Jake’s bare chest.

“That was … amazing.”

Jake smiles, using his free hand to wipe a few stray hairs away from Amy’s sweaty brow. “It really, really was.”

She smiles, leaning up slightly to capture his lips in a chaste kiss. “To think we could have done this years ago, if we’d actually paid attention to our feelings instead of ignoring them.”

He lets out a snort of laughter. “But … worth the wait, right?”

Amy’s arms fold out onto Jake’s chest as she rests her entire body on top of him, legs sliding alongside his, resting her chin onto her forearms and looking up with those beautiful eyes. “Oh, absolutely. But … for the record, everything about you is worth the wait.”

She leans forward again for another kiss, only this time Jake holds her there, tangling his fingers in her hair as he deepens it. They’re both breathless by the time he pulls away, and she rests her forehead against his for a spell, taking everything in. “Smooth talking, Santiago.”

Sliding off of his body and resting on the mattress next to him, Amy shuffles until one whole side of her is pressed against Jake before responding. “Every bit of it is true, Peralta. Now let me catch my breath, because we are totally doing that again.”

“We are totally doing that again, title of my sextape.” Jake gasps, turning to face Amy as an ecstatic grin takes over his face.

“Title of OUR sextape!”

#mine #myfic #thank you for this prompt!#peraltiago fic #peraltiago smut #jake x amy fic #smutfic #oh how I've missed writing this #kinda nervous posting this #hope it reads okay!#b99 fanfic #peraltiago fanfiction #b99 fic

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johnandrasjaqobis · 3 years

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abcs thing: F IS FOR FRIENDS WHO DO STUFF TOGETHER; U IS FOR YOU AND ME; N IS FOR ANYWHERE AND ANYTIME AT AAAAAAAAAALL!

are u ready for more vic because aha that is my brain nonstop lately

listen i just love oc questions

F: Fun 1. what do they do for fun? He really enjoys good sparring, uhh,,, honestly shopping? Not even necessarily buying much but just wandering shops with friends. He definitely prefers just kind of tagging along, not too picky about what they’re doing as long as the others are there.

2. what is their ideal party? As long as he can keep to light drinks and keep something of a close eye on things and boy that makes him sound very unfun but Vic’s never been one to like. Seek out parties? He’ll go, of course, but it’s hard to get him out of the Watchful Eyes mode

3. who would they have the most fun with? There’s probably like,, different kinds of fun with most of the dreamteam (can PAT do fun right now, he is not sure). Overall I’d say Ziggy and Anthe in the most classic sense? at least when it comes to being a little ridiculous.

4. can they have fun while conforming to rules? He managed it while literally being in the military so yea, I’d say so. A lot of that was y’know, while out on missions and not under direct supervision, but still no real blatant rule breaking, there wasn’t really need to.

5. do they go out a lot? If the rest of the party’s going out, so is Vic. He’s not one to go out on his own very much, really, but a bathhouse trip or tea with the girls, roaming the library while Nol does research, he’s always down for that.

U: Underdog 1. have they been bullied? I don’t ?? really think so tbh, like sure he got into some little fights as a kid (sometimes because his sister started them) but Vic’s always been a rather intimidating figure before he starts talking. Not really the first target.

2. have they bullied anyone? lord just imagining the Disappointment from his parents,,, he picked on the little siblings, of course, that’s mandatory, but Vic has always been the protective sort. Like, since his sister was old enough to start toddling into trouble. Good-natured ribbing happens but he will always feel Immediately Terrible if there’s any indication he goes too far with it.

3. have they been physically attacked by a bully? I don’t think so, there was always the aforementioned Intimidation that deterred any real attempts, and that extended to anyone going after Theru (Fela’s even bigger and seems to be able to talk her way out of anything, so).

4. have they ever been doubted? Oh I am Sure. And Vic is doubly sure. He knows he’s not the brightest one around, especially compared to some of the people he worked with, so there was probably some doubt regarding his ability to think tactically, to make plans in the middle of a fight. There’s a portion of his drive to Not Fail Again that stems from just. needing to prove to everyone (and himself) that he can do his job, that he’s capable of just keeping someone alive. He is of the opinion any doubts are pretty well-founded ones, so he has to work twice as hard to prove them wrong.

5. have they surprised people with being good at something? He surprised himself with how quickly he picked up the echo abilities. There’s a reason it’s not an overly common skillset, even in the Dynasty, and he is still quietly very proud that it was something that just. kinda came naturally. the idea of anyone outside of the dreamteam eventually seeing him do any magic at all is a Delightful one tbh, Vic has always been so adamant about not being the magic type (which he was legitimately fine with) and whoops I’m getting feelings about all that again because lord what a long-shot and literally decades away but if Illy ever got to see him do magic, aha

N: Never Have I Ever 1. what would they never do? Betraying his friends seems a little too obvious but y’know. In a similar vein though he’d never willingly work against the Dynasty. The desertion was bad enough, but you could not make that boy do something to intentionally hurt his country. Loyal to a fault and all that.

2. what have they never done that they want to do? Vic has been to the coast, but he’s never gotten a chance to really visit the coast, y’know? It was all work and looking for work and there has been talk amongst the team of going down south when things calm down a bit to just. Get a vacation of sorts, and he is so very for that.

3. is there anything they absolutely can’t believe people do? After this Extended Worm Hell he absolutely cannot believe that one day someone looked at those giant purple worms and thought “hey, y’know what sounds fun? training those and willingly working with them.” It is just. Very insane and he has both a newfound respect and slight fear of the troops that utilize the worms.

4. what is the most embarrassing thing they’ve done? In recent memory, that entire Encounter with the innkeeper who was very convinced he wanted some Nice Company and apparently could not be told otherwise was. A Time. He is also very glad no one really witnessed just how little he got out of that book when they were researching for the Amalthea work. He is also. Not a fan of how much he fell apart after Anthe’s very brief death. But that’s a very complicated sort of embarrassment.

5. have they done anything they thought they’d never do? [gestures to everything in the past couple months] He was just looking for a dwarf, okay, none of this was expected. Vic did not expect to be fighting demons in the basement of an abandoned slave trader base. He did not expect to be nearly killed by a Thelyss. He did not expect to fight the undead remains of the mage that killed Ilharess. Definitely did not expect to find something that might help him learn magic. He didn’t expect to get friends like this.

#thank u for indulging my yelling friend <3 #viconis #glowstickia

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tanoraqui · 4 years

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*chinhands* so tell me about guinevere being gay and doing crimes in space

There are three rules that an e-space* Navigator lives by:

Know who you are

Know where you’re going

Know where home is (just in case)

*“espace”, more often; hyphens don’t survive casual parlance; it’s short for “extra-space” because scientists aren’t always good at naming things. just thank god for the one physicist who raised an early objection to “subspace”, even though in early models of layered reality, what came to be known as “espace” was, indeed, below our space.)

The third is easiest, because it’s drilled into every recruit from the second they’re brought to the Lighthouse - which is usually at an age so young they’ll forget having lived anywhere else before. There might be an official name for the headquarters of the Navigators’ Guild on paperwork somewhere, but inside the space station’s halls and outside it, on every ship and planet and empty space between stars in the galaxy, it’s the Lighthouse. There’s a general understanding of why: it’s where navigators call home, where they can look to for aid and succor when the seas turn rough, in this space and the other.

Most people don’t understand, though. Because most people are not navigators: they have never stayed awake while every other mind in the ship was sent very carefully and very deeply into sleep, while the ship passed across a crackling boundary between this reality and another. They have never held themselves together in a world where up was not quite down because neither of those terms applied, where colors were tastes were neither, where time and space were both only suggestions, and the map is a matter of focus in your mind.

You are lost as the default, in espace. Or, “lost” isn’t a term that applies, because all reference points are only in your mind, and if you don’t have your destination absolutely clear, you will be lost in the metaphorical sense as well as not quite the literal. So the politer, more bureaucratic line is that navigators (orphans, usually) are taken in so that their training can begin as early as possible, the truest truth is that it is so that when they begin their training, they will have somewhere to come back to. (Their very secretive training; it’s not, allegedly, sink or swim, but the Guild protects the secret of how it trains its navigators more closely than it guards anything.) So that no matter what, if they lose track of their destination - too unfamiliar, or even unwanted - they can always remember the Lighthouse. The bunkbeds and warm corridors of the dormitories; the creatively placed asteroid ring, more for agility practice in dart-fliers than anything else; the iconic long body of the station itself, modeled half-seriously after a lighthouse of old (symbols can matter in espace), floating amidst darkness and a starry background, the nearest planet several standard-orbits away for the sake of autonomy…the navigator’s last and truest port in a storm.

The earlier a young navigator-to-be can fix that in their heart, so surely that they’ll know the exact moment its closest, to fire the engines to make the jump back, the more likely they are to, indeed, return home.

The second has been touched on! Navigation in espace is a matter of focus and knowledge, intuition, sense of the shape of a world without shape and essence of a world - or rather, a very specific part of a world - in which its rarely manifest. Many navigators dabble in art of some kind - painting, sculpture, crochet, poetry - because it helps them capture what cannot otherwise be captured. Or maybe so much time in espace means they can’t help but see this world differently as well, and need an outlet…opinions differ. Among navigators. Person to person, you know?

Anyway, because of this quirk of interstellar travel, most planets have, gloriously from a worldbuilding perspectively, entirely in-canon motivation to have highly specific unique traits. The easier a planet or station is to remember, itself and only itself, the less likely ships are to be lost on the way to it. So there’s a planet in Alpha Centauri renowned for its deserts, and its annual global competition, bringing thousands of would-be bakers, confectioners, and more each year. There’s a space station circling Rigel where every citizen proudly gets a new tattoo each year, and so does the station itself, vast stenciled artworks commissioned by the ruling council and drawn by artists in space suits. There’s old Red Mars itself, now more a tourist trap than anything but still just as proudly rust-colored, the closest any interstellar ship is allowed to the nature reserve of Earth.

So, know where you’re going, because going back to the Lighthouse gets you safe, but it doesn’t get you paid. The Guild cares for its navigators, it really truly does…on average. But there are bureaucrats and business managers in there, too, and they know they’re sitting on the galaxy’s most valuable monopoly.

And first: know who you are. Nothing in espace is real the way it is in standard space, including the self. Don’t worry about the crew or the passengers, or even the materiality of the ship itself - the ship AI will keep track of them, as well as of time as it should be passing. Nothing determinedly holds to numerical time like a digital mind. They’ll keep track of the navigator’s physicality as well - that’s what the biotagging chip is for. But most navigators do some sort of dance, martial art, or other exercise as well, to give themselves a better sense of, well, themselves - it’s always good to have a backup. Any passengers and crew are so unconscious that they may as well be inanimate, which is why an AI can keep track of them jus fine - the navigator, of course, is awake for the whole voyage.

So, the woman who in another life might be named Guinevere…

Her first name is Djinn, because a lot of navigator orphans are named after mythical creatures or heroes, from one culture or another, that can fly. A lot others are named after mythical heroes or creatures known for sight. The people in charge of children at the Lighthouse are a bunch of nerds, really, or they were once, and tradition stuck.

Her last name is probably Navigator, because being named after your profession is as old as civilization, and there are fewer things its easy to be proud of than being an official Guild-licensed navigator. You get to choose a surname when you get your license, and like many before her, Djinn chose that.

Once a navigator has their license, they’re more or less loosed unto the galaxy, if they want to be. You’re welcome to work as an independent contractor, so long as you still pay your percentage back to the guild of every navigating fee, and don’t undercharge the Guild minimum.

Djinn elected not to do that, actually. She wanted to travel, of course, to fly, to spend as much time as possible in hte giddy twistedness of espace. But she didn’t want to manage her own business, and she didn’t mind the Guild taking a little higher percentage to have jobs lined up for her. And she was good, oh, she was good, so it wasn’t long before she was flying precious cargos and even passenger ships - small ones, to start, and not particularly pricey (not used by the affluent, that is, who would pay more for a more experienced navigator, with more successful trips under their belt). But still, a very promising career, and she was comfortable.

She always has a sketchbook, luxurious paper so she can save or destroy the drawings as she wants, rather than wipe them clean from a laminate. Physical rather than digital, because she’s drawing this world, she says, so it has to have real mass - but she almost only ever uses pale colors. Bright things, she saves for paint, when she has time and space and money for an easel, and that art is twisting and bright and incomprehensible to everyone but a fellow navigator - and even then, most understand what she means, but now how she’s representing it. No one really experiences espace the same way.

She’s short of stature and of hair, skin probably #C26604-ish? and walks with a dreaminess in her eyes and the confidence of someone who knows she’s weird - as most navigators do. Also, definitely practices some science fiction equivalent of judo. Has slightly more energy than she needs at any given moment, and when she decides to move fast, will do so. Physically, emotionally, and in terms of decision-making - will put off decisions if they’re unpleasant, but will make them quickly if they’re not, and commit 100%. Stubborn or determined, however you want to phrase it; holds grudges…but if pushed to reconsider something, will do so, and will willingly change her mind. Often in the 100% opposite direction from before.

(It’s hazardous to go into espace unsure of what you want in life.)

Also, she’s not actually a licensed navigator anymore, by Guild rule. See, I said she was good, right? Really good? So, most navigators have a seat on the bridge - they don’t really need to be there, but it feels right - and that’s where they stay for the duration of the espace journey. Easier to focus if you don’t need to move, don’t need to think about anything but where to go and when (”when” maintained by the ship’s clocks) exactly to make the jump back to get there. There are probably IV tubes and catheters and everything, because it can be a several subjective hours sometimes, and better safe than sorry.

But Djinn was good, oh, she was really good, and she didn’t need that stuff. She didn’t want that stuff. Always a little more energy than necessary for the moment, remember? So her knee jiggled, and that was fine. She stood and stretched, and that was fine. She paced the bridge, alone save for the AI, and thought about the swirling patterns on the outer skin of that one station, or the best donut she’d ever tasted on that one planet (she always wanted to be more of a sweet tooth than she actually was.)

None of this was per regulation, but it was the sort of thing that got comfortably ignored by the Guild, if you admitted it - and you were encouraged to, for your own safety as a navigator and that of your ship, and in the interest of more data gained about espace travel. And then not reported on to whoever’d chartered the navigator, so long as the nav was back in their seat by the end and got the ship to its destination just fine, because what the layperson didn’t know couldn’t hurt them.

But, well…

It doesn’t get much harder to hold yourself and everything under your care together as they are the longer you’re in espace - additionally, but not multiplicatively, much less exponentially. Time and space still function in a way, so trips between this planet and that are known to have a certain average amount of time, but it’s flexible. If a navigator can confidently know themselves through, and the ship AI has a confident grasp on everything else, there’s no reason she shouldn’t pause in her destination-seeking, or at least not focus quite so hard, and just…wander the ship for a while. See the sights (that aren’t quite, here.) Enjoy the upsideways-tasting sensations.

So, Djinn met an AI with whom she really got along, did a couple trips in a row on that ship specifically, and then talked them into covering for her while she stole stuff from the passengers. More for fun than anything, honestly. But she got…well, she got caught, mostly, more than she got anything particularly valuable (probably?). (She got away with it like a dozen times, first, though.) And stealing from passengers while traveling through espace, while nearly unprecedented, is illegal by the laws of every place of origin she flew from…which is what applies on-ship until the destination is reached, by interstellar law.

More importantly, it was against Guild rules. They claimed precedent, because the Navigators’ Guild looks after its own, so Djinn wasn’t imprisoned anywhere. But her license was revoked for 7 years.

We meet her sometime in year 4, maybe 5 of that probably, I think on the equivalent of Jackson’s Whole.

#uhhhh #my fic #original fic #science fiction #arthurian legend #astria et al #hermionehair goylebrain

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shellheadtm-a · 4 years

Text

know your 616 tony stark - steve rogers edition

originally i was going to group these by groups but the avengers are so large i'm gonna just do...posts for everyone. especially steve. there's just too much between these two for me to ever keep it to a blurb, and that relationship is super different in 616 and why is also important.

this is gonna get real long. strap in.

if you've been here a while you know this story: so, unlike the mcu, where steve was found and thawed by shield, a newly-formed avengers (consisting of iron man, the wasp, giant man, and thor) went looking for the hulk on a rampage, and happened to stumble across a body floating in arctic waters and pulled it into their sub to have a better look at it. they didn't expect the dude to be alive, but as he thawed, they realized he was breathing. more than that, they realized that his clothes - old army olive drabs - had been shredded, and underneath was the red, white, and blue of the fabled wwii war hero, captain america, along with his shield.

sidenote: tony stark considers this day (canonically) to be the best day of his life. the day they found steve in the ice is his best memory, his little injured fanboy heart went pitter patter at the very idea of captain america being on their sub and being alive after all that time.

so, to continue our story: steve woke up and flipped out and had to be subdued before they got him calm down and got to talking, and they decided he was more than welcome to come back to new york with them. after some adventures of steve's own - the avengers being turned into statues, getting shot, meeting rick jones (professional hero sidekick), finding the alien who turned the avengers into stone, and fighting namor the sub-mariner - steve was made an avenger and the rest is history.

unfortunately, it's...a lot of history. so let's look at the differences.

iron man and captain america were immediately friends. there was no animosity there, iron man very quickly became the solid grounding force in steve's life at the time, because iron man was pretty down to earth and charming and funny for a robot (full disclosure, tony kept a secret identity and claimed iron man was his bodyguard). it's a joke that tony and steve always touch each other unnecessarily all the time always but the reason it's a joke is because it's true. it started literally immediately after steve got out of the ice. tony stark gave steve a home in that not only did he open his house on 890 fifth avenue to the steve (it was the avengers' meeting place), he took him on a date tried get up him up to date with the present day. radiohead is forever going to be an inside joke between them. no i'm not actually going to explain that. just know that the band radiohead definitely has a meaning for both them.

the animosity that happens between the two of them is because they both have tempers and are stubborn. not because they don't like each other. they love each other, this is fact. they are literally attached at the hip when they're not swinging at each other, and them swinging at each other is super rare, actually! tony's one of the people in steve's life that will call him out when he's being stupid about something (the captain america mythos is strong and tony's both not over it and over it - he's come to value steve a hell of a lot more than captain america and he's not afraid to let steve - his best friend - know when he's being a dumbass). steve makes tony want to do and be better, to be someone steve can be proud of. they're a duo. they work best as a united pair and with being on the same page. they're the mom and dad of the avengers and everyone knows it. steve's the disappointed gives you a lecture parent, tony's the stand there behind steve and frown and reel steve in when he gets carried away parent. i'm not even joking a little bit about this, this is what they do. they're a two man show.

they communicate in looks and finish each other's thoughts and sentences. it's part because they're part of that generation of avengers teams that were all super close like a family and literally lived together, and part just plain steve and tony. they do this thing where there can literally be a party going on and everyone else is milling around socializing and they'll have themselves in a corner and talk to each other only, like they're the only people in the room. they do that in front of other people in other situations. they fill in the blanks for each other when they talk to other people together. it's sure as shit a thing you have to witness for yourself.

the nicknames tony gives steve aren't derisive. instead, he's a big fan of things like beloved. captain handsome. winghead. he occasionally throws out an old man, but even that's affectionate instead of acerbic. he likes to talk about how pretty steve's eyes are. the only times he refers to steve as rogers is when things are literally going to shit between them, which, again, is less often than you think. tony and steve are best friends. if they're not speaking, the world is out of balance. all of these things are part of the tony and steve displays of affection with each other, when including the fact that they are touchy. like i could literally dig through the comics and find plenty of times where there have been shoulder squeezes, the way they'll guide each other with a hand on the back, neck squeezes. that's just tony and steve. it's how they are. there's normally none of this standoffishness. they are, in the end, physically and emotionally very close.

they love each other. however you want to read it, that is fact. that is canon. whether you want to look at it as them hovering in some weird space that's more than friends and never taking that last step, as one side being unrequited on a romantic front, as it being strictly platonic, whatever. they still love each other. it's not some tsundere thing, literally everyone knows they care a lot about each other. like a lot of you know, a lot of you are new, but some of you may not be aware of how during civil war, steve literally died in 616. well. not literally. more like got forced through time but for all practical purposes he was dead. and tony immediately fell the fuck apart. couldn't even give steve's eulogy, he broke down right there at the podium. if you've never read the confession, you should, that's about as solid of a love confession as you're ever actually gonna see, probably, of tony sitting in a room with steve's body sobbing his heart out explaining his reasoning for what he's done. because steve's death is the one thing! he cannot live with. and he is a mess until he goes on his brain delete world tour. there's a whole secret funeral with just tony, jan, and hank (well, skrull-hank but they think it's hank), the last of the original avengers still standing, where they found steve in the ice. just...he was a mess. and it didn't get better at all for a...super long time. (they're in a much better place with each other again finally and it's good to see and i love my boys.)

when they fight it's usually due to hurt feelings on both sides because they are both shit at using their words. and tony's usually the guilty party that's been lying. lying is a defense mechanism for tony. it's something he's trained himself to do after years of abuse. which is kinda funny (in a sad way) because steve actually had a Not Great Childhood with an abusive alcoholic father, too, they just coped in two separate directions. but tony likes to hide things, pretend like everything is great, everything is peachy, he can do it On His Own, and steve gets angry, every single time, because together things might have turned out differently, and also there's some jealousy occasionally mixed into that (read: finding out about the illuminati) and they just...they're very intense. their relationship is very intense. and they can argue and fight and disagree on all kinds of things but at the end of the day...tony still loves steve, and steve still loves tony.

steve is tony's moral rudder. this isn't me talking shit, tony literally says so. steve is tony's north star, the one he follows to guide him in the right direction. what would steve rogers do is literally his mantra. and this isn't a new thing, tony's been a cap fan from when he was very small. he has an entire collection of captain america memorabilia that he's been gathering since before he ever became iron man. so it definitely predates him meeting steve for real. he decorates with steve's face (okay, and the other avengers, too, there's always plenty of artwork and photos of the teams hanging on the walls). he keeps a picture of steve in his office the way most people do their significant others. he just really loves and admires steve a whole lot, and it's only intensified in the time they've known each other and been friends, and steve's friendship is literally the most important thing in the world for tony, period. even when they disagree. especially when they disagree. and tony would trade his life for steve's without even thinking. has tried to. the red zone story arc is a prime example, because tony willingly exposed himself to a biochemical agent that worked as flesh eating bacteria on steroids to give steve mouth to mouth to keep him alive, essentially thinking he was trading his own life for steve's and being fine with that decision because "captain america's more important than you." obviously they both survived, but nothing hurts more than seeing steve cradle tony's head in his lap while tony's dying, knowing tony willingly exposed himself for steve.

tony would probably have left the avengers ages ago if not for steve. he'd have let the dream die after avengers disassembled (which, for the unfamiliar, is when wanda destroyed the mansion and house of m happened and some of the team died and tony just didn't have the money to rebuild and keep them going). steve basically gently bullied him into starting a team with him after the breakout at the raft (a bunch of superpowered criminals got loose). he definitely wasn't going to join again after siege and reluctantly let steve talk him into it (even though i think a break there would have been good for him). he built the avengers machine for steve, to center around steve, because i believe he fully intended to either not survive or to in some way no longer be a part of the avengers. he let steve and thor talk him into starting another new team (the current one).

for tony, steve is the important part of captain america. and it's been that way since they first became friends. steve constantly amazes him, makes him want to try harder, live up to who steve thinks tony is. he stumbles a lot, he's only human, but steve's opinion of him is so, so important, and when they're on the outs tony's whole world just falls apart. but more than that, steve's not just...he's not the serum to tony. steve could be deserumed and scrawny and have a host of health issues like he once did and it wouldn't matter a single fucking bit to tony, steve will still be steve for him, because it's not captain america that's made steve a hero, it's steve that's made captain america a beacon of hope. that's all steve. and tony will also do everything in his power to get steve what he needs, help him when he needs it, will drop literally everything immediately to do anything steve asks. the rules tony may have in place with other people do not apply to steve. the exoskeleton he built steve, when the serum was failing and steve was basically dying, broke all of tony’s rules about his tech, and he did it willingly, without a second thought, because it was for steve. the idea of someone ever telling steve the only thing that makes him special came out of a bottle would have tony ready to fucking fight.

tony knows all the little things about steve you typically do know about your best friend. the bagel thing always comes up, so you know. tony absolutely knows steve's favorite bagel flavor. they can probably recite the way they both take their coffee by heart without thinking about it. dean harassed me with it like at some point earlier, but there's a thing samnee did that was basically the steve and tony dynamic in a nutshell. i mean ffs, folks, tony literally. canonically. has stolen clothes from steve, he's absolutely got one of steve's blue with the white star tshirts.

in retrospect this all sounds way, way less than platonic but i literally cannot make this shit up.

point is: in this case, steve is probably his most influential and important relationship. i'm not saying at all that there aren't others that have their own extreme importance; there are. rhodey, carol, pepper, happy, nat, clint, thor, bruce, all the people you know from the mcu are all very important to him. but steve and tony are...intense. very intense. and at the same time so absolutely effortless when they're not opposed on the important things. steve is tony's best friend, full stop. if tony possibly feels more than that...well, you're allowed to draw your own conclusions? but uh. intense. they act as one another's anchor, they're home.

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