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prince--thomas · 2 years

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Bring Back My Bonnie to Me [Part One] ~~ [Tonnie + Elinor]

In which Tom and Annie meet face to face for the first time since Levi was born...[takes place: May 23, 2022 evening]

@ugly-anastasia, @mamabear-elinor

[tw -- order stuff, manipulation, thoughts of violence/murder lol]

THOMAS: This was only Tom’s second time at the old castle in the woods and it gave him the same sense of dread and foreboding as it had the last time he’d seen it. Its parapets rose high, disappearing into the trees and a dense fog lay like a blanket over the ground. A chill ran up his spine, despite the relatively warm day. Dawn was just cresting over the horizon, but in the dense forest you could not see it. It didn’t matter to Tom anyway. It just marked his second…third? day without sleep. And another sunrise where his son was still missing.

He had come only on behest of his aunt, with no idea why she had called for him. At the very least, he could see Merida and see if she had any updates on their situation. What they were going to do. And look at his cousin with his own two eyes and know she was alright.

He could do that.

The knocker on the large oak door echoed and it took only moments for Elinor to open it.

“Oh, Thomas,” she frowned, reaching up to put her hands on either side of his face. She brushed at his oily, messy curls and brushed her thumbs against the apples of his cheeks. “We are going to fix all of this, I promise.”

Tom wanted to tell her that they couldn’t fix all of it. Unless that demon could bring back Eric from the dead. (And would Tom even want him to?)

Instead, he just nodded mutely and allowed his aunt to pull him into the castle. “Come, sit down near the fire. You’re cold as ice.” She squeezed his hand, but he barely felt it. He let her lead him, though, as if he was just a small boy again, clinging to his mother’s skirts.

That was until he stopped in the doorway of the sitting room, his feet planted. “What--what are you doing here?” he snarled, his eyes wildly darting about the room--looking for his son. “Where is Levi? What have you done with him?”

“Thomas.” Despite his own anger and his own exhaustion, his aunt’s voice was still an effective whip, cracking over his head.

He was breathing heavily, his fists trembling where he clenched them.

“Let her explain.”

“Aye, she bloody well better.”

ANNIE: Annie was really good at the art of curating an emotional crisis. Her most recent online scandal was proof of that. She knew how to put on just enough makeup that she looked tired, but not ugly; the perfect messy bun that said “I don’t care what I look like right now, but I do still look good;” a matching lounge set that was cute and understated and, like, respectful or whatever. Annie was good at reading the room.

But Annie’s current emotional crisis was not curated. She did not have any makeup on, and her hair wasn’t in a perfect messy bun, it hung around her face in a frizzy, unbrushed mess. She was wearing the same jeans and blouse she had been wearing all day, but there was a noticeable coffee stain down the front. Annie clutched at the offending mug tightly, like it was a life raft.

Tom had been right. She had handed her day-old son over to murderers. What kind of mother did that? And what was going to happen now?

“Tom, I didn’t know,” she whispered hoarsely. “As soon as Elinor told me, I– I realized I had been wrong. She was just so… Eloise, she always knew exactly what to say. I thought I was doing the right thing for Levi by listening to her. And then…” Annie’s voice caught in her throat and she started to cry– not for the first time that day, or even that hour. “I’m sorry, Tom!”

THOMAS: “I bloody told you!” Tom bellowed, his shout echoing off the walls. All his frustration, all his fear, anger, and grief unleashed. He took a step forward.

Elinor cut in front of him, drawing Tom up short. “Thomas--”

Tom sucked in a deep breath and then turned away from angling towards Annie. He crossed to the other side of the room and began pacing back and forth, a couch and coffee table between himself and Annie on the other couch. Elinor stood in the middle of the room between them. He ran a hand through his hair.

Then, all of the sudden he stopped short and whirled on Annie again, gripping the back of the fragile, antique wood hard enough heard it crack.

“Where is he?” he snarled, eyes hard and sharp. “Did you LEAVE HIM WITH THEM?”

ANNIE: For Annie, tears were usually a defense mechanism. She cried when she felt backed into a corner, because she knew how to use her tears as a weapon. But she wasn’t fighting Tom. That wasn’t what this was about.

Instead, she yelled back at him, her voice low and still thick with tears and decidedly more British. Yelling felt better than crying. It felt like she was doing something. It was practically her and Tom’s primary form of communication, wasn’t it?

“I told you, I didn’t know! Stop bloody shouting at me! You’ve got no idea what it’s like to be in my position! You think I wanted this? To find out the people who were supposed to be giving him the life he deserved are bloody psychopathic murderers?!”

THOMAS: Tom didn’t want to stop shouting. Maybe, once upon a time, he would’ve felt bad for it. For shouting at Annie, the mother of his child, a woman. But right now he only saw her as a kidnapper. Taking his son from him. Leaving his son in the care of, as she said: psychopathic murderers. He had no sympathy for her. Her tears meant nothing to him. How many tears had Levi cried? How many more would he cry if he grew up in the clutches of the Order?

“I told you!” he bellowed right back at her. “I told you and you didnae listen to me! I begged you but you thought you knew better, eh? Knew my family better than I did. Thought I was what? Crazy? A brute? A liar? Why? Why would--”

“Tom--”

“Nae, Auntie,” Tom snapped at his aunt. “She deserves this! I tried--” Tears suddenly clouded his vision “--I did everything I could.”

Elinor reached out and gripped his shoulder with surprising strength. “I know,” she murmured to him. “I know. Fighting isn’t going to fix this. It is what they would want. You need to be strong. For Levi. For your son.”

Tom let out a shuddering breath, bowing his head forward as he gripped the back of the couch. He sniffed once, then sucked in a deep breath and nodded. He looked back up, still glaring at Annie but when he spoke, some of the heat was gone from his voice.

“You’re gonnae help us get him back. And you are gonnae listen. And do everything that I say. Are we understood? This is not your world. It is mine.” He is my son.

ANNIE: Annie opened her mouth to tell Tom exactly what she thought of him. That she thought he was stubborn and secretive and no, she didn’t think he was crazy, but she didn’t trust him, and that was enough to get her to listen to Eloise over him.

(That wasn’t the whole story, of course. The whole story was that Annie didn’t really feel inclined to trust men as a baseline, and she had developed a deep aspirational obsession with Eloise over the past few months, and she felt drawn to people who validated the things she already believed about herself. Annie wasn’t self-aware enough for that part, though.)

Elinor was the one to interrupt Tom, though, and now Tom was crying, and that was what actually scared Annie. She wasn’t afraid of him. She was afraid of what he was afraid of. If his family was capable of murder, what else were they capable of? What else did Tom know?

Annie stared at Tom, wide-eyed and pale. Her hand twitched and more coffee splashed out of the cup, but she didn’t notice.

“Why do you think I’m here, Tom? Obviously we’re getting him back,” Annie said, but her tone didn’t have the irritable, sarcastic tone she usually took with Tom when she said things like that to him. It was at once both desperate and flat. “I don’t care what I have to do. Sure. I’ll listen to you. If you know something I don’t, that’s fine. But I have information, too. Stuff you might not know. And they still trust me. So we’re gonna need to work together.”

THOMAS: Obviously we’re getting him back, Annie said, but that--meant nothing.

There was no ‘obviously’ about it. Tom would not underestimate the Order. They wanted his son. Tom had, technically, sworn his son to them. They would make good on their threats. He knew that they would. This was a dangerous situation. Not just for Levi, but for Tom--for everyone that he cared about.

He glanced at his aunt, who was still standing at his shoulder, a hand on his arm. Her gaze was steady, but firm and he appreciated it. At least someone else here knew what the stakes were.

“Alright: what do you know then?” Tom asked. He resented this. Working with Annie. But, at heart, he was a warrior. And it would be stupid not to take advantage of the assets he had. It didn’t mean anything. Tom wasn’t doing it for Annie. He was doing it for Levi.

ANNIE: Annie frequently preached that anything was possible if you set your mind to it. That didn’t mean she always believed it. But it was what people liked to hear, and right now, she didn’t really want to think about what would happen if they didn’t get Levi back (because she had thought about it. She had mulled it over all day. She didn’t know all the details of why they had killed that boy, Tom’s cousin, but it meant they were dangerous and they would kill again and Levi wasn’t safe there).

So right now, she was gonna have to believe it. She was putting her whole mind to this— every last ounce of determination she had. She was even working with the last person she wanted to confront right now. It was going to be worth it. It had to be.

“There’s going to be a party. Monday night. It’s kind of a meet-the-baby welcome-to-the-family type thing. And I’m invited, obviously, and they think I’m still totally fine with, uh… him being there.” Annie stumbled a little over that part, her face reddening. There was a reason they thought that. Because, for a moment in time, Annie had been totally fine with that. “Apparently it’s at a new location, this property they just got in London. They sent me the address and all. So I think I should just, I guess, uh, go in there, get Levi, and make a run for it. Not totally foolproof, but… it’s the best plan I got.”

THOMAS: Yeah, of course it was a new property. The Order wasn’t going to go back to their old haunts. The places that Tom, Phil, and John knew. The places they knew the weaknesses of. It would be stupid to stay there and, unfortunately for Tom, the Order was not stupid.

Part of him wanted to pace the floor, but Tom had never been one for pacing. He was stoic and still, as the storm raged inside him. He rubbed an exhausted hand over his face, trying to blink away the tears and bleariness. His mind chewed over Annie’s words, trying to find fault with them. He was so focused on the plan itself that he almost missed the other part.

The most important part: they think I’m still totally fine with him being there.

So, she had left Levi. She had been planning on leaving him properly. The Order hadn’t taken Levi. Annie had offered him up to them on a silver platter. Tom wanted to launch himself over the couch and strangle her. But even with the righteous fury coursing through him, he was too tired. Instead, he took a deep breath and stood up straight again, but he didn’t look at Annie. He couldn’t. If he did, he’d start shouting again.

He looked at his aunt.

“Do you think it will work?” he asked his aunt, because he knew she’d know better than him. After all, this was women’s territory. Babies and parties and things like that. His aunt had plenty of experience organizing such events.

Elinor nodded. “If they believe she gave Levi up of her own volition and just wants to come to the party, they won’t see it as a threat. She is still his mother.”

And though that did not mean as much as a father to the Order, it still meant something.

“Aye. Alright. But I’m going with her.”

“Tom, no--if anyone spots you.”

“No. I am going,” Tom snapped harshly, glaring sharply at his aunt. “I have to go.” The fire gave way to tears again as the fear squeezed his throat.

ANNIE: Annie was inclined to side with Elinor. Because even if she realized, now, that she had been wrong about Tom, she still trusted Elinor more. Tom was the one who was angry and emotional and who was making her feel the depth of all the terrible things she didn’t want to confront about her mistake.

But, then again…

Annie didn’t want to go alone.

“You can’t come in, but it might help to have someone driving the car,” Annie suggested weakly. “And, uh… I mean, obviously I don’t wanna think about the worst case scenario, and I am pretty scrappy, but if it comes down to it, might be good to have someone there for backup who’s, uh…” How was she supposed to put this. “…Trained for this kind of thing?”

THOMAS: Tom was trained for this kind of thing.

Maybe this was what his whole life had been leading up to, in some strange, twisted way. The Order had given him the tools he needed to tear it down. To save his son. If he was someone else, maybe he would not be able to. Even another Prince. Another Prince would not have the skill he had, passed down to him through his father, nor the special time spent training--the whole Order investing in him, Phil, and John, they way they hadn’t in their peers.

They had crafted Tom into a weapon and set him loose under false pretenses. Now, he was the banshee on the moor and he was coming for them. Something about that soothed him. He knew, objectively, that killing anyone would lead to his own death, but he was a talented soldier. He did not have to kill them in order to fight.

Tom still did not want to look at Annie, to speak to her. He was still boiling over with fury that she would leave their son in the clutches of the Order.

But, after a long moment, he managed to nod. Just once. “I’ll drive. You’ll go in and fetch him. If things start going wrong, text me.” He said all of this still looking at his aunt, but eventually he turned and met Annie’s gaze, his own hard as stone.

“If he’s gone, if I lose him--”

The threat burned up in his throat, because he did not know what he would do. Part of him felt that it might be satisfying to run Annie through with a sword, but the grief at just the thought was far too painful to even comprehend. So, instead, he just let it linger.

“Come on,” Elinor said softly, putting her hand on Tom’s shoulder. “You both need to rest. You have a long day tomorrow…”

ANNIE: It was what Annie was thinking, but would not say.

They weren’t going to lose him. It didn’t matter that the Harringtons had been nothing but kind and welcoming and accommodating to Annie (well, maybe sometimes they had been a little cold, which always just made Annie crave their approval all the more). According to what Elinor had said, these people were crazy evil murderers, and Annie was getting Levi out of there before any of this continued.

Not that she was comparing Charlie to a murder cult, but if the past year had taught her anything… it was when to get the fuck out of a situation.

So no, Annie was not going to let herself imagine what would happen if she failed. She nodded at Elinor and didn’t look at Tom, and then she went to start her skincare routine. She knew she wasn’t going to sleep much tonight. It was probably useless. Still, Annie clung to the routine.

#swynanastasia #swynelinor #tonnie #elimas #bring back my bonnie to me #my bonny lies over the ocean #the fall of rome

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barnes-dameron · 3 years

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hi, do you think you could write a mandalorian x reader where the reader gets hypothermia? maybe din goes off on a bounty hunt for a few days and a couple days into him being gone the heating completely stops working and reader can’t fix it and she gives almost all the blankets to grogu to stay warm? cue din freaking out when he comes back to a barely conscious and freezing reader and he warms her up and it’s just cute

Frigid

*gif not mine

Mandalorian x reader

Word Count: 1.7k

A/N: This seems very fitting for me right now since there’s a foot of snow outside of my house! The reader is gender neutral

***

You looked out the wind shield of the Crest to watch the frantic swirls of snow that encompassed the ship. Though you couldn’t feel the cold at that moment, the sheer thought of it was enough to send a shiver down your spine, causing goosebumps to rise, and the tiny hairs on your arms to stiffen. The howling wind outside was so strong that it gave the Razor Crest a gentle shake. You hated the idea of coming to Hoth, but the Mandalorian insisted; a bounty worth a ton of credits was hiding out in a cave somewhere nearby.

Shaking your head, you descended down the ladder to be greeted with the beskar clad bounty hunter who was packing for his hunt.

“I shouldn’t be gone for long,” he said, his deep voice doing nothing to comfort you. “Keep the heater on, and you and the Child should keep warm.”

You nodded at his words, pulling your jacket closer to you at the mere thought of being cold.

“How long will you be gone?” you asked, trying to conceal your anxiety.

“A few days at most,” he replied, shoving a blaster into his holster before slinging his prepared bag over his shoulder. “But I’ll be back in no time.”

That was the last thing he said to you before departing into the white abyss, leaving you and the Child in solitude.

It was quiet in Crest, except for the hum of the heater and coos from the Child every now and then. There was little to keep you occupied, much less to distract you from worrying about the Mandalorian. There was nothing on board that interested you, and the Child couldn’t do a lot, much less talk. The only thing that kept you company was your anxieties. However, you put all those thoughts aside when it was time to eat. You heated up some pre-made soup, serving both the Child and yourself. But as soon as the hot broth reached your lips, the humming stopped.

Your heart began to quicken its pace as fear began to spawn within you. At of all the times for this to happen, why did it have to happen now? You stood up from your seat on the floor, grabbed the toolbox, and made your way to the control panel for the heater. Removing the metal paneling that was concealing the controls, you stared at the wiring and tried to make sense of the thing. You didn’t know much about this sort of thing, only how to hot wire a speeder, but you hoped that this wouldn’t be too different. You rearranged the wires, and nothing. You reprogrammed the system, and nothing. You stepped back, putting the panel back, then began your frantic search for anything that will keep you warm.

Days. That was what the Mandalorian said. He would be gone for a few days. A few days for you and the Child to survive without heat. You gathered all the blankets that you could find, all your clothing, the Mandalorian’s capes and shawls, and an old animal pelt you found in the back. The Child watched in curiosity as you began to make a nest of blankets and clothing in the small bunk. You grabbed the little guy, placing him on the make shift bed, and continued to wrap him in the Mandalorian’s capes.

“Go to sleep, little one,” you murmured. “Hopefully you’ll keep warm, and by the time you wake up Mando will be back, and we’ll be far away from here.”

You closed the door to the bunk, praying that the Child will stay warm and that the Mandalorian will come back soon. If anyone knew their way around this ship, it was him. You sighed to yourself as you pulled on more of your clothes, the layers hopefully keeping in your body heat. You made your way to the cockpit, and settled in the pilot’s seat, looking out the wind shield in hopes that a beskar clad figure would appear in the winter desert. You didn’t care how long it took, you will stay there to make sure he comes back.

Hours have passed by. The never changing scenery doing nothing to keep your interest, much less to keep you awake. You lost all feeling in your toes and fingers. You were now able to see your breath every time you breathed. You continued to shiver in place, trying to stay awake to see the Mandalorian. But the swirls from wind and snow caused your eyes to grow heavy, lulling you to sleep despite the cold that was beginning to bite your cheeks.

***

The Mandalorian dragged the body of the his dead bounty behind him as he approached the Razor Crest, but a certain dread overcame him when he entered the hull only to find the interior was just as cold as it was outside. His heart dropped as the idea of the situation washed over him. He released his hold of the corpse’s feet, the thud echoing. Din closed the hatch to the hull, and began to look for you and the Child.

He opened the door to his bunk to find a little bundle of blankets on top of his cot. Din pulled aside some of the blankets to find the little womp rat, curled in a ball with his eyes closed as he napped. Turning on the heat signature on his visor, he was relieved to see the Child warm. He nodded to himself, placing the blankets back on top of him before going to find you.

Din climbed up the ladder to the cock pit, and his heart began to sink when he laid eyes on you. You were nearly blue through the heat signature vision, and panic started to arise within the Mandalorian. He turned off the heat signature, and began to examine you.Your features lost color; your lips were pale and chapped, and eyes shut. Your body was shivering, and your teeth were chattering softly. Din shook your shoulders, and began to repeat your name, trying to will you to wake up.

Relief flooded him as he watched your eyes flutter open, though they seemed lifeless, it held the light of someone who had hope.

“What happened?” Din asked, trying to keep your attention before you go back into your sleep.

“H-h-heater,” you stammered out, your teeth chattering as you did so. “B-b-broke.”

Din nodded, before hastily ripping off the cape that rested on his shoulders. He wrapped the garment tightly around you, making sure it covered a good portion of your head so that some warmth could return to your face. It was then that he set forth towards the control panel, pulling out the tools that Kuiil gave him from what felt like ages ago. Din recounted the words and advice from the wiser being as he fixed the wiring and checked the internal structures of the heater so that it would last. When he gets back to Nevaro, he will pay a mechanic to install a new one so that this will never happen again.

Din sighed in contentment when he began to feel the haul warm up, the soft humming filling the air once more. Turning back, he returned to the cockpit to find you once again sleeping. Taking off a glove, he pressed the back his bare hand to your cheek but then instantly pulling back when feeling how cold you were. It would take some time for the whole ship to warm up, and he would have difficulty carrying you down the ladder. You were still unconscious, practically dead weight. He would have no problem with anybody else, but this was you. He didn’t want to even risk hurting you.

Weighing his limited options, Din decided to do what he thought best. One by one, the Mandalorian removed pieces of his beskar armor, setting it aside on the floor, but not removing his helmet. Once it was all laid side by side, Din dragged you off the pilot’s seat, moving you towards the door so that the heat could get to you sooner. He pressed his back to the wall, holding you close to his chest as he circled his arms around you; pressing as much of his weight on you so that you could receive some his heat as well.

Din didn’t know how long it took for you to begin to warm up or even regain consciousness. To be completely honest, he enjoyed this intimate moment with you, despite the circumstances of the whole situation. He took this time to remind himself that you were safe, alive, even though he was gone. Even though you were helpless in this situation, you remained alive.

He was pulled from his thoughts when he felt you shift under him. He turned his head to look at you; the color has returned to your face and your eyes fluttered open to reveal the light of life within them. Din brought his hand to your face once again, relieved that it was warm instead of frigid cold.

“Mando?” you whispered, your voice hoarse.

“I’m here, cyar’ika,” Din said, grabbing your hand and holding it in his glove less one. “Are you okay?”

“Better,” you replied, snuggling closer into his chest. “The Child?”

“He’s okay,” Din assured. “Sleeping soundly in the bunk.” Din stroked your hand, relishing in the soft texture that he so rarely felt. “Can you move?”

“I think I can,” you said. “I can wiggle my toes.”

“That’s good,” Din affirmed. “Do you want to get up?”

“Not yet,” you answered. “Can we stay like this for a bit longer?”

“Whatever you want,” Din replied.

He leaned his head back to rest on the wall behind him, allowing you to get closer to him; resting your head on his collarbone, right underneath his chin. If he were to lean forward, he was sure to feel the top of your head beneath his helmet. But this wasn’t about him, it was about you. He wound his arms tighter around you, but still held your hand, tracing patterns on the back of it.

“Hmmmm,” you hummed, causing Din to draw his attention to you.

“What?” he questioned, curiosity getting the better of him.

“Nothing,” you replied. “I just never really realized how warm you are.”

Din felt you squeeze his hand tighter, but he pulled away for just a moment. He positioned it so that your fingers would interlock with his, palm to palm. It was this moment that Din would cherish forever: holding your hand with you so close to him in the solitude of the ship with the heater humming in the back and the harsh cold outside.

Taglist: @tangledlove27 @absurdthirst @caswinchester2000 @16boyfriends-and-me

#the mandalorian x reader #din djarin #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian #mandalorian x reader #star wars #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #cold #fluff #writing #fanfic #gn!reader #gender neutral insert #gender neutral reader

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lemons3ason · 3 years

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How the Germa 66 Boys React to You Wanting To Leave the Kingdom

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ichiji Vinsmoke

Saying his heart sank when he saw the flames and smoke coming out of the main Germa Ship where you and Asami were held was an understatement, this man was hysterical. He had just returned from a mission and just wanted to hold you and Asami in his arms but he wasn’t expecting to see the castle on fire, with his raid suit still activated he quickly flew towards the castle flying into the heart of the fire to save you if need be but it was his (Y/n) who started the fire. You were fighting Judge, holding onto your infant daughter for dear life with a look of terror in your eyes.

“(Y/n)!”, Ichiji screamed snapping you out of your power driven trance.

Your Phoenix fire quickly died out as he rushed to your side holding you tightly in his arms. Asami smiled and babbled up at her father who quickly smiled and pressed a soft pet to her head before turning his attention back to you.

“(Y/n), my love, what happened? What’s wrong?”, he asked calmly brushing your hair out of your face so you could look at him.

“I-I...he...he was going to experiment on Asami. I-I couldn’t let that happen I just...I just couldn’t! I’m sorry, s-so sorry.”, you stuttered out clinging to his shirt for dear life.

Ichiji softly hushed you and held you close before glaring up at his father who now loomed over him, “How dare you attempt to hurt my daughter.”

“The runt isn’t going to be of any use if she’s normal.”, Judge spat.

Ichiji scoffed at his father and picked you up in his arms carrying you away from the scorched laboratory. He tried to calm your nerves but his words barely reached you, he sat you on the bed once you had all reached the bedroom and called your name. You gasped quietly and took in his worried expression, you nervously pressed a kiss to his lips to try and hide your fear but he knew that something was bothering you.

“(Y/n) talk to me. I know there’s something else on your mind, what is it?”, he asked pressing his forehead against your shoulder.

A sigh of defeat pushed past your lips, you put Asami down and pulled out a letter from under your pillow and showed it to him. The symbol of your family crest detailed over the envelope, “My parents want me to go back home for my coronation and take over the kingdom.”, you explained quietly. Ichiji didn’t see anything wrong with that, at least until he pieced one and one together.

“But that means leaving Germa forever.”, he finished your thought and you simply nodded.

You were so afraid of what he’d say, what if he told you no? You didn’t want to separate from him over this, you didn’t want him to leave you or Asami!

“Then I’ll go with you.”, he admitted much to your shock.

You tried to stutter out a rebuttal for his decision but he quickly shut you up with a kiss, “You aren’t happy here. I don’t feel safe leaving you here anymore knowing that my father wants to take away Asami’s humanity, it’s okay. Let’s leave, I’m tired of this shit anyways, I just want to live out my life with you and Asami. We’re safer with your kingdom so let’s just leave Germa behind.”

“Are you sure? Ichiji you’re the first born son of Germa, you’re supposed to take over the kingdom.”, you sighed feeling like you were going to start a war between the two families.

“My first priority will always be my wife and my daughter, if you’re not happy here then let’s leave Germa.”, Ichiji smiled at your softly kissing your lips to reassure of your decision. You smiled and kissed him back as you both planned the preparations to leave the kingdom. Within four days you had arrived at your kingdom with family and your coronation would be held just days later. Reiju was the one to inform Judge of Ichiji’s decision and she couldn’t be happier.

“Father from this day forward I will the heir to the throne and when I become Queen of Germa I will tear down everything you worked so hard to build and make this a kingdom my mother would’ve been proud of. Ichiji is never coming back and I’d advise you to leave him alone unless you actually want to lose to (Y/n).”, the pink haired woman grinned as she returned to her quarters.

You were happier now, especially Ichiji, he no longer had to play the monster. Now he could just be happy ruling your kingdom by your side.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Niji Vinsmoke

Niji had married you, much to his father’s irritation, you were now a Vinsmoke by marriage. You were happy of course now you were bonded to him for life but while you were treated more like royalty amongst the guards Judge’s cruelty was now moved onto Cosette. You hated it, she was your only friend on this ship but still they treated her like trash so you decided to do something about it. One night in her chambers you went to speak with her and asked her to run away with you, you weren’t running from Niji you just wanted to get her away from Germa so she could live a happier life. She sobbed in your arms agreeing almost instantly, at night you’d run away on one of the life boats that Germa had hidden under the main ship. Cosette tried to be as quiet as she could as you both snuck past the heavily guarded halls of the ship. You were able to get her there safely but just as you were about to release the ship you felt a familiar tingle run up your spine.

“(Y/n) what the hell are you doing?”

You finished unhooking the ship and let it go allowing Cosette to escape into the water as you turned towards your angry husband. You sighed unsure of what to say since this whole situation made you look guilty.

“What the hell were you doing?”, Niji asked again.

“I was going to let Cosette run away to my family island. She’s not happy here, neither am I but unlike me Cosette doesn’t have anybody to live for. I’m tired of seeing her constantly abused or degraded because that’s how it was for me before you and I fell in love with each other. I wasn’t running away from you I-I just don’t want to be part of Germa anymore.”, you admitted hanging your head in shame.

“Oh really?”, he growled.

You expected to get scolded, you really did, but when you felt Niji wrap his arms around you and leaning forward towards the water you realized that your husband felt the same as you.

“If you wanted to leave then you should’ve just said something you idiot. I don’t want to be anywhere you aren’t.”, Niji admitted in your ear making your heart skip a beat.

He transformed into his raid suit mid fall and landed back on the small ship where Cosette was waiting. She quietly cheered hugging you tight, Niji began to steer the small ship and readjust the sails so the winds would guide you all home faster.

“N-Niji-sama, w-why are you helping us?”, Cosette dared to ask.

Niji didn’t bother turning towards you two but you could tell he was sincere with his words, “I gave up on Germa when they took (Y/n) away from me. If she’s unhappy there then I’ll gladly run away with her, and...and nobody’s food would be as good as yours if you were to leave so I guess I don’t really have a choice but to get you two dorks there safely.”, he mumbled the last part since he started getting shy but you heard what he said.

You stood up and walked to his side pressing a huge kiss against his cheek until your lip gloss stained his cheek. He tried to complain but you noticed his face turning red, “I really am lucky to have such a wonderful loving husband.”, you giggled turning his head towards you to kiss his lips.

Life would be better now, your grandfather would be waiting for your arrival and you don’t think he’d mind a few extra guests. At least one of them would be a great addition to his restaurant back home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Yonji Vinsmoke

Terror, was that the word that would describe your mood right now? No, petrified maybe? Regardless of what word described how you felt you knew this one stupid test in your hands would change your whole life. Yonji had noticed you had suddenly gotten morning sickness, and although he was a childish idiot he knew what he had done with you one more then one occasion so he suggested that you’d take the pregnancy test but now...now that the result was positive you were shaking.

“(Y/n), honeybun, are you okay in there?”, he called from the other side of the door turning the knob to see if he could get in.

You quickly unlocked the door and let him in collapsing against his chest due to the stress of the situation, what would you do? Judge would take your baby and make it a monster soldier just like Yonji and the others you couldn’t let that happen.

“(Y/n) what’s wrong?”

“Y-Yonji...please...please don’t let Judge take my baby. Please. I-I don’t want them to take m-my baby please.”, you broke down clinging to his ruffled shirt desperately as your fear coursed through your blood.

Yonji realized that his speculation was correct, you were pregnant with his baby. Although you were worried he knew what he had to do, “Baby, hush, listen to me. Pack all of your things, we’re gonna run away from this place.”

You stopped panicking and tuned in to what Yonji was saying, runaway from Germa?

“We’re gonna run away. I have more then enough funds to have us live off of for the next 200 years, let’s start a family and a whole new life away from Germa.”, Yonji smiled the more he explained his idea.

He wiped away your tears and kissed your lips sweetly, “I’m so happy right now, I couldn’t think of a better reason to leave this stupid place. You’re gonna have our baby, I hope they come out with your beautiful eyes and your cute smile.”, he chuckled. You smiled at him and nodded, you were unsure of how far along you were but if Yonji was willing to throw away everything he was for you then who were you to turn down such a delicious offer. As you packed a certain pink haired sibling entered the room to see you both clearing out both of your belongings she became curious immediately but the simple fact that she would be an aunt soon was enough to keep her quiet and join in the plan. Yonji contacted a landowner in the East Blue for his own property, this way he could stay as far away from Germa and stay with you peacefully. Everything was set at nightfall you’d leave this terrifying family behind to start your own.

“They’re running late I hope they’re okay.”, you sighed unconsciously rubbing your stomach.

You heard your name and quickly turned to your green haired lover who scooped you up and kissed you passionately.

“Get on the ship love. It’s time to leave this shit hole forever.”, he chuckled grinning like a fool. It was time. Reiju was running away with you and both siblings had left a little surprise for their father. Once the sun rose over the Germa Fleet Judge awoke to see two cans sitting on his desk, a red ‘X’ drawn over the numbers of the child that once owned them. He growled under his breath and crushed both cans in his hands completely destroying the suits, if that’s how it would be then fine he didn’t need weak fools in his army.

These two fools were now happy, in just a few months they would get to greet their first addition to the family and they couldn’t wait. You were happy throughout your whole pregnancy because not only were you free from Germa’s experimentation but you’d soon get to birth a normal healthy baby.

#x reader #one piece x reader #one piece #ichiji x reader #vinsmoke ichiji #niji x reader #vinsmoke niji #yonji x reader #vinsmoke yonji #one piece reiju #germa 66

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blackstarising · 3 years

Text

precipice, a buckysarah fic | also on ao3

bucky and sarah spend saturday mornings together on the wilson's back porch. neither remembers when this became a habit.

She’s awake for a few moments before she hears it, the creaking, through the open window. It’s not loud, of course, it’s never loud, Daddy had dutifully oiled the swing’s joints to make sure that wouldn’t happen, but age had touched it just enough that, nowadays, you’d know if someone was sitting there.

Sarah sits up, and rubs the sleep from her eyes. The thick, summer air fills her lungs, the same that coats her forehead in a sheen of sweat. Lingering tension from melts from her shoulders. Unconsciously, she brushes the dog tags nestled inside of her shirt.

He’s okay. Thank God.

A familiar electric buzz runs up the back of her spine as she pads past the boys’ rooms and tiptoes down the stairs. Months ago, that buzz would have prompted her toss her bonnet onto her bed, to swiftly change into jeans and a somewhat presentable T-shirt, even though Saturday mornings before 8 were, by law, designated as Sarah Time.

And then, three weeks ago, the last time she’d seen him in person, she’d raced down the stairs to get AJ’s stuffed toy (some Minecraft thing? Sarah could never keep track) that he’d accidentally left outside before he woke up, cheesy printed pajamas and all. He hadn’t flinched.

He could fit into Sarah Time, she’d decided, right then and there. Lizzo’s “Cuz I Love You” was left on repeat on her phone for her the rest of the day.

So she slips downstairs, ‘Bad Mama Jama’ shirt and all. Coffee steeps. Two mugs are produced, lactose-free milk dumped into each, and a sizable glop of honey into hers.

After all this time, his breath still catches a little when he sees her come out the back door. The humidity that sticks to Bucky’s skin like a stifling coat makes her skin shimmer in the faint sunlight. She yawns, her nose wrinkling just enough that it’s painfully cute, and then she relaxes, still sleepy but serene as she presses the hot mug into his right hand.

“Hey.” He greets her.

“Hey.” Her smile grows. “You’re back.”

“I am. With cinnamon rolls.” Sure enough, a paper bag rests next to the swing. He pats his left side, and she obliges. Their thighs touch plainly this time.

She takes a slow sip of her coffee. “Hope you haven’t been sitting here all night. Where’s Sam?”

“About an hour, and still in DC. Captain America business, and all that.”

“And what? No Winter Soldier business?”

Bucky shrugs. “I like the quiet.” Her quiet. Or maybe just her and the boys, though the boys weren’t that quiet. And ‘like’ was too weak a word at this point, probably.

She takes another sip of coffee, strangely proud. He does too, if only to silence the annoyingly insistent voice in the back of his head nagging him to just put his arm around her shoulder already.

“Still not sure about this fancy milk, though.”

“You mean milk that me and the kids can actually digest?” Sarah knows damn well he can’t taste the difference. “Well, I have bad news for you about oat milk. And soy milk." She grins wickedly. "And don't forget rice milk-”

“None of which belong in coffee.” After nearly a century of identities and missions she’s not sure if she ever wants to hear about, his Brooklyn accent is faint, but he still stretches out the caw in ‘coffee’. How mortifying it is, the way she perks up when that grit bleeds out.

He brushes the bright blue hem of her bonnet. “Is this new?”

She shakes her head and pulls it off. Dark braids tumble down her shoulders. These ones are new, he notices - they’re tighter at the root, and shimmer with oil that smells of roses. “Found out AJ stuffed it in the couch cushions a month ago. I just happened to stick my hand down there yesterday. I do not know what it is about him and that damn couch.” She snickers. “Maybe I’ll get lucky and find a signed check for a million dollars down there one day.”

He chuckles, and gives the ground a little kick the start the swing going again. “Did he get his new glasses yet? Last time I was here, he was saying that he didn’t want to see the optometrist again.”

“Yeah, he doesn’t like the...” Sarah makes a motion with a finger, like she’s pressing a button. “There’s a little gun they use. They blow a puff of air onto your eyeball.”

Bucky recoils a little. “They what?”

“It’s supposed to measure it for the prescription. They tried to do it on me before they did his. I thought it was supposed to be just like a little breeze, but it bounces off your eye.” She pauses and scratches her head. “I may have hollered-”

“Ha! I bet he took that well.”

“I had to get him on my lap to calm down.” She sighs and pouts, just a little. “At least he still wants to be held. Cass makes me drop him off a block away from school now.”

Cass is indeed growing. Overnight, he’s shot up like a reed so that he’s just as high as Bucky’s shoulders. His normally smooth skin is interrupted by a few bumps, and his voice bounces around in pitch like an untuned clarinet. Something in his chest twinges when he considers it, how time marches forward. How, very soon, the collective wide-eyed innocence of the boys will harden into adulthood.

Her gaze falls to his left hand. The fingers curl and flex. She still remembers the first time she’d looked at his arm, really looked at it, the dark plates molding and shifting. It’d been the second time they’d shared this same porch, waiting for Sam to bring back the boys from fishing.

I don’t want you to get the wrong idea, Sarah, he’d said suddenly, catching her gaze. His voice had been heavy, but clear. Dark blue eyes filled with regret. I’ve hurt people. Killed people. I didn’t have a choice, but, with you and- here, she’d held her breath as his Adam’s apple bobbed, how quickly he’d blinked - and the boys, I...I don’t want- I need you to know all of me. Who I’ve been. Who I am. And then you can decide. But you can’t do that if I’m not honest.

She doesn’t remember what she’d said after. She does remember watching him get into the truck so Sam could take him to the airport. How he’d paused when he’d opened the door, and turned towards her, eyes wide. Vulnerable. How she’d smiled at him, and waved, maybe a bit too cheesily, like it’d been the easiest thing in the world, because despite it all, oddly, she hadn’t been afraid. How the widest grin had broken out on his face and something deep inside her chest that had been closed had burst open for the first time since she’d lost Andrew. And she remembers watching the truck pull out of the drive as her heart filled to such a capacity that her chest hurt, and the second they’d disappeared over the hill she’d promptly burst into tears, well, really, half laughing and half sobbing, because how the hell was she supposed to know she could find that feeling again?

It’s only when she sees his jaw clench that she finally notices the cut, long and fading pink against his chiseled cheekbones. Maybe she’s getting too used to them - he’s always injured in some way when he gets back.

He can see that familiar softening in her eyes as she catches sight of the gash. Well, it had been a gash just an hour before, the result of catching a thrown knife on his cheek before he’d caught the hilt. But what’s about to happen next will play like clockwork.

First, she’s going to try to get a closer look. Her index and pointer finger come up just under his chin, tilting his head to the side. His skin tingles, the electricity of her concern rushing through him.

Then, she’ll hum. She’s never chastised him, though he wouldn’t know what there’d be to say if she tried. But that hum says more than enough.

“Hmm.”

In the moment, she doesn’t feel herself cupping his face with both hands, it just sort of happens. Her throat dries instantly as the stubble brushes in her palms.

He can’t breathe, but every single muscle in his body relaxes. He sinks into her touch.

“Y- you should see the other guy,” he manages to get out. There’s a faint memory that breaks to the surface, the docks in New York, 1940-something, 1943? A date whose name has been lost to time, the last date he’d ever go on. Soft hands cupping his face, just like this, and warm, pleading ruby-red lips crashing dully into his, a whisper to not forget her.

Sarah’s tongue darts between her lips. Both thumbs rub small circles into his cheeks. It wasn’t a question of if he wanted to kiss her, no. When has a day gone by that he hasn’t thought of kissing her? How is it that it’s never happened, but he can see it, clear as crystal, and hold it in his mind’s eye. How can he already feel her warm and flush and present and breathless and real against him?

Very slowly, she comes back to herself, and her face immediately flushes with a sharper heat. Her hands awkwardly drop from his face. She tries to think of something, anything, to interrupt the silence (to explain herself?), but every word that comes to mind sticks helplessly in her throat and she just can’t stand it because she’s the same, she’s exactly the same as she’d been at 17, leg jiggling and sweating and staring a hole right through the back of Andrew’s head in AP Calculus.

(She’d never wanted to punch Sam so bad back then when he’d had the audacity to say well, just tell him, already. The audacity of him, to think things were so simple.)

She leans back, scooting just a hair away this time. The crest of the sun beams through the trees, painfully bright. Her pulse is louder now. She’s looking at the small grove so intently she doesn’t even register the weight gently settle on her left shoulder at first. It only clicks when she feels the cool metal of his thumb brush up and down her bicep. Their eyes lock, brown against against blue.

He’s still smiling, and she, she realizes, is too.

So she melts into him. She melts into him, her ear landing over his chest, her arm wrapping around the small of his back. She sighs into the muted whoosh whoosh whoosh of his heartbeat, the cotton of his shirt, and the faint smell of spearmint on his breath. Another kick of her foot and they’re swinging yet again, back and forth, back and forth. The sun pulls itself up ever higher and higher.

The light starts to burn his cheek. “The boys’ll be up soon,” he murmurs into her hair.

She snuggles deeper into him. “Mmm.”

They’re on the precipice of something, this, they both know. They're inching closer and closer, and one day they’ll step off, and she’ll kiss him full on the mouth and whenever he’ll come back to the house he’ll be coming back home and whenever they go anywhere they’ll stick each others hand in their back pockets in that particular way that teenagers do that let everyone know that they’re each others and there’s nothing they can do about it.

One day. But for now, this is more than enough.

They like the quiet.

#tfatws #tfatws spoilers #bucky barnes #sarah wilson #buckysarah #bucky x sarah #sarahbucky #sarah x bucky #otp: buckysarah

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my-naughty-writings-and-musings · 3 years

Text

Whirl/Reader

Time to crack in this new naughty blog and write all the self indulgent stuff I've been longing for... Short and sweet, but I'm always open to continuing should the good people request it.

Whirl is a sub because I want him to be one.

"You know, I think my audial receptors may have glitched last time, you mind repeating what made you want to do this tonight?"

You'd have lightly slapped the big bot, playfully of course, but it would have hurt your hand no matter how lightly you attempted it. Not to mention it would probably just get him more riled up. For the sake of your sanity, you settled for sticking your tongue out at him from atop his cockpit, crossing your legs as if cheekily sitting atop a throne. The rare opportunity to look down at him helped you feel far more cocky than usual. Even being naked, completely, didn't diminish the sense of authority. Still, you were far from regal as you chastised him. "Same reason as always; because I like you, dumbass. Stop trying to make me reconsider."

Pouting with surprising efficiency, he gave you his most pitiful look from below, aided by his admittedly adorable position sprawled out beneath you in all his gangly glory. It didn't hurt that the two of you had the added intimacy of being equally naked. Without your clothes you gained dominance, but with his spark and spike exposed... The resilience of anyone would have been tested as he pleaded. Because damn it all, he looked cute.

"Nooo, I mean; say the part where you describe exactly what you find most irresistible about me!"

There was a shifting beneath you after he finished speaking, and you realized much too late that he was purposefully curling up to look even cuter. That single yellow optic went straight into your soul as he finished his setup, claws gently supporting you as he begged with the closest thing a giant robot could get to a puppy dog stare.

"Please?"

Sitting down heavily on his protruding chest, you deflated with a sigh, playing the part of annoyed partner despite your boundless love for his antics. It was a little obnoxious how he always won, but you just adored him too much to care in depth. "Oh, fine..." you said at last, earning one of the smiles he did purely with his optics. Unable to help smiling back, you held your chin thoughtfully in your hand and looked him over. The big bot was plenty handsome by your standards, but you knew he was sensitive, and thus you had to be careful. His body carried plenty of features for him to be wary about. "If we're going by pure physical attraction-"

"Of course."

"I really like your shoulders." you said, gesturing to the area you were too small to reach. "Particularly how they accentuate your chest."

Whirl whined in the way only he could make endearing, wiggling needily beneath you once again. "Say it how you did before!"

"Seriously?" Came your slightly indignant response. As much as you wanted to please him, you were a tad impatient for some fun here, and didn't want to constantly start and stop the evening for his demands. Not that you'd ever needed to, but everyone had a limit...

"Pleeeaaassseee?"

Once more, you were broken, but this time you made a point to set a boundary. "Fine. But if you stop me again I'm just gonna use a vibrator and call it a night."

At that he looked quite pleased with himself, and the mood returned to one you could work with. Taking a breather, you tried to get your head into the space it had been in earlier, when you'd so gracefully sung his praises and gotten him as riled up as he was tonight. With both of you naked and in his berth, the inspiration came easier than you would have ever expected. In fairness, you had a lot to admire.

"One thing I find very attractive about you is how strong you are; not just in raw muscle power, but how your whole frame is solid. It starts up top." you purred, settling down from a dominant seated position into something that allowed actual movement. On your stomach, you slid slowly to his face, crawling carefully over his armor and hoping your careful pace would be read as sexy instead of cautious. Judging by the fact his optic was as wide as a sun, you were having fantastic success. Allowing your body to rest against his powerful chassis, you slid your fingers along the warm armor as you spoke. "Big, tough shoulders on a broad, handsome chest. I bet you could punch a bot to pieces."

"You know I have." he replied, voice rumbling beneath you as he managed to purr with only the tiniest bit of a whimper.

Eager to take him further, you say up and spread your legs, straddling him so he could feel the heat of your own arousal. The gentle hum of his internals sent a shudder up your spine. "Then, under this brilliant spark there's some powerful weaponry... I've seen you shred bad guys with these, and it's never anything but thrilling."

"All for you, babe." he whispered, optic lidding in lust filled adoration. A tender claw stroked your hair back, and for a moment he looked lost in a total daze. It was only when you gently took hold of the tip that his mind snapped back to the present. "Uh, what else?"

"Down low..." Getting right back to your flirting after his response, you once more began to work downwards. Past the protruding chest and the barrels of his guns, you knew he couldn't see you as well, so you focused on narrating every careful motion. The expanse of his corset like waist stretched out before you like a banquet. Grinning at the proud but needy mast of his erection, you tempered your own enthusiasm for his sake. It was growing increasingly apparent he was trembling despite his best efforts, and you wanted to coax more of that out of him. "You have lean, lovely, shapely hips." you said eagerly. Inching your way down to the eager parting of his thighs, you felt your mouth begin to water as you traced the beautiful and streamlined armor that accentuated the plentiful length awaiting your arrival. "Perfectly sculpted to guide me exactly where I want to be."

A soft moan marked the beginning of his total submission, as well as your arrival to his spike. Head going fuzzy with want, you decided to show your appreciation more through actions than words, if only to satisfy some of your own desire. Given that he was over three feet long, you had plenty to sample. Experience led you to embrace the heated erection as you got comfortable between his legs, the soft and smooth mesh like heaven against your skin as he trembled hard enough to rattle his armor.

Curling up just enough to look down at you, his optic crests over his chest just as you wrap your hands over the swollen tip. Love and lust overflow from his expression while he moans openly and helplessly. Your prior talk had clearly wound him up something fierce. Truthfully, you were fairly certain he had a praise kink, and playing dumb was the only way he could think to satisfy it, because Primus forbid he just ask... Now wasn't the time for such thoughts, however. You wanted to please him as he deserved.

"I can keep talking, or I can use my mouth for other things."

Whimpering shamelessly, he spread his legs and arched into the attention, all of him yours for the taking.

#transformers #more than meets the eye #mtmte #lost light #lostlight #ll #idw #tf #my writing #lemon #valveplug #robot x human relations #human reader #self insert #whirl #whirl x reader #gender neutral reader

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b0n-chann · 4 years

Text

I’m so sorry I’ve been away for so long! I’ve been working crazy hours at the hospital since all this covid craziness happened and I really had no motivation to do anything because of it. I’m still finishing up the last part of To Love and Protect but I wanted to write something small and cute just to ease back into things.

Soon

You sit cross legged; your eyes closed as you focus on keeping your balance in your poor attempt at meditation. The soft whirring sounds of the Razor Crest fade away as the Mandalorian’s breathing begins to labor—an occasional grunt bringing your attention to focus more on him. Obviously you weren’t meditating so much as you were admiring the man beneath you. A smile quirks your lips at his stubbornness.

“You don’t have to do this you know.” The only response you receive is the Mandalorian’s modulated breathing. You take a second to appreciate the view; his back muscles flexing and contracting with each push-up he does, the years of his fighting and training evident. Scars litter his body, telling stories of past victories, and you can’t help but admire them. Stifling a laugh, you attempt to reason with him again. “I’m sorry I called you an old man. I really didn’t mean it.” You and Din were sparring earlier in the day and while he easily overpowers you in strength, your agility worked in your favor. A few insults regarding his age may have escaped your lips during your session as you flitted around him, which were not taken very lightly. And this is how you found yourself perched atop Din Djarin’s back this evening, as he attempted to convince you that he was not, in fact, an old man.

He pauses at the top of his push-up before he responds to you. “I need to prove a point.” You feel him lowering back down again. You had to hand it to him though, it didn’t seem like he was going to back down any time soon.

“Hmm,” you respond, lazily walking your fingers up his spine along a particularly long scar he managed to acquire when he was younger and reckless. He jerks just the slightest bit but doesn’t break his cadence, and you file this information away for later. “So how many are you trying to do?”

“100, at least. How many am I at?”

“Err...I was supposed to keep count?” You let out a nervous laugh. “Oopsies.” The Mandalorian shakes his head but still continues his pace. “Am I too heavy for you?”

“You’re too light. Have you been eating enough?” He asks, genuinely concerned. He’s noticed you feeding the kid a part of your meals on more than one occasion and can’t help but worry that you aren’t taking care of yourself. He savors these moments of privacy with you and has been trying to go further between stops. He is a greedy man and hates having to share you. However, it’s been weeks since your group has managed to restock supplies and Din knows it’ll be time to find a planet to land on soon.

“I’m fine,” you brush off lightly. And you are. Din always makes sure you have plenty, to the point that you worry that he isn’t taking enough for himself. You know he’d never tell you otherwise. He makes a noise of disbelief. You place a hand on his bare back and you swear he shivers at the contact. “I swear, Din, I’m fine. More than fine. I’d tell you if I wasn’t.”

“Good,” is his only response and you can’t help but roll your eyes. As always, he is a man of few words. But the words he did speak were always weighted with truth. You stretch over him and lay yourself over his back, and your shift in weight causes him to lose his balance for a second. “What are you doing?”

You shrug as you tuck your hands under your chin, your head near his shoulder. “Getting comfortable, if we’re going to be here for a while. I’m not the one trying to prove a point here.” You kick your legs in the air and cross your ankles. “You must be hot under there.” You brush your hand lightly against his helmet.

“This is the way.” It was always the way for Din, and you knew it. Respected it. That didn’t stop dark eyes and bronze skin from haunting your dreams though. If you were being completely honest with yourself, you thought of his face more often than you’d like to admit. You let the conversation stop at that for a moment, letting him continue with his exercise. Intrigue, however, soon gets the better of you and your fingers begin to trace the scars along his back once again. He flinches when you reach his side.

“Din, are...are you ticklish?” You ask, laughter in your voice as you run your fingers over his side again. Feather light fingers brush past battle hardened skin in an attempt to find a sensitive area.

“No.” His voice is shaky at best. He’s stopped his push-ups at this point and is holding a plank position. You run both your hands up his back this time, following the smooth planes of his muscles before bringing them back down to his sides, brushing the sensitive skin again. You don’t let up though, and continue to flutter your fingers around his rib cage. “Will you stop that?!” His body shakes with laughter which causes you to lose your balance. You both tumble to the floor, a mess of tangled limbs. The Mandalorian is too quick for you though, and he’s able to roll over and pin you to the floor; careful not to put his weight completely on you.

“You play dirty,” he says as he attempts to smooth your hair back into place.

“I think you taught me how to do that,” you retort. Your hands find purchase on his shoulders as you look into his visor and you swear you can feel him smirking at you.

“You’re beautiful.”

His voice holds such conviction in that statement and you can’t even attempt to argue.

“Ahh...now I think you’re the one playing dirty.”

“I’m only telling the truth.” He can’t help but notice the pretty blush that flushes your cheeks. He brings his forehead down to touch yours; a sign of his affection when his helmet is on. “Are you sure you want to stay with an old man like me?” He asks.

“I’ve got a thing for old guys.” You say with a shrug before erupting into laughter as Din gives your waist a squeeze. “But really, it works in your favor. The older you get, the more attractive I’ll think you are. So sorry to say, you’re stuck with me.”

“That’s easy to say when you’re the young, beautiful one.” He gives a great sigh. There is a pause so pregnant it is almost palpable before he continues. “Are you sure you want to stay with me? Even when you don’t know what I look like?” He tilts his visor away from you trying to break your gaze away from him.

You place his helmet between his hands and bring his line of vision back to yours; and he swears you can see straight through him even with the helmet on. “Din, I don’t need to know what you look like to know that you’re beautiful. Do you think I’m so fickle that I would leave you because you respect your culture?”

“I just don’t want to disappoint you.”

“How could I ever be disappointed? I see how protective you are of the kid, of us. You always try to do the right thing, even if it’s not to your convenience. I know you have a good heart, and that’s more than enough for me. You are a beautiful man, Din Djarin, and I don’t need to see your face to know that.”

If Din didn’t realize he loved you already, he would have easily fallen for you in that moment. He never thought he’d find anyone in the galaxies like you, so perfect and understanding, and he thanks every entity he can think of that he did. He wants nothing more than to look into your eyes, really look into them to show you how much you mean to him.

Soon, he promises himself.

Soon.

Tag list:

@momc95 @electricprincess888 @maia-hocane @lamnothome @highonsoundwaves @tedpicklez @renreypoe @mabelleen @cryptkeepersoul @holamor @mando-vibes @lustriix @katialvi @spookyold-saintjm @sarcasm-n-insomnia @awesomefandomsunited @sentimental-ghost

#star wars #star wars fanfiction #star wars imagine #the mandalorian #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian imagine #mandalorian #mando #the mandalorian x oc #mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x oc #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin fanfic #din djarin imagine #din djarin x reader #din djarin

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reluctant-mandalore · 4 years

Text

Opposites Attract (Din Djarin x Reader)

Warnings: Fluff! That’s kind of it. It’s really just a sweet thing of Cara meeting Din’s S/O. Also not beta read, we die like men.

Words: 1,894

a/n: Thank you so much for the request anon! I really hope you enjoy it ^-^ The idea of Mando being comfortable enough to introduce his s/o to Cara also comes off as sweet because it shows his trust in her! And then of course the whole thing with the confetti jacket was fun. Honestly this idea as a whole was just really fun and cute to write! Thank you again for requesting <3

I did try to keep the reader gender neutral with this one. So hopefully that turned out well. I sometimes find myself having a bit of trouble with staying gender neutral, but I think it worked out fine here.

Cara was a bit surprised to hear that the Mandalorian had a significant other. The thought of him having one had never crossed her mind, and even seemed a bit strange to her. She had first learned of his partner when they had made the long walk to his ship, after he had come to ask for her help with a job. She had agreed to help right away with the job, as she did enjoy working alongside him, and considered him to be a good friend of hers by this point. It was on the way to the Razor Crest, where she had taken note of his tense and almost nervous exterior. He seemed to have something on his mind, like he wanted to say something, but wasn’t sure on how to go about it.

In all the time of their friendship, she had never seen him act this way. He usually held an air of confidence and control around him, never really breaking from his bounty hunter persona. However, this time he seemed to be very anxious about something, and almost looked like he was struggling with the thought of telling her about whatever it was. The way he was acting had confused her greatly and also worried her. She began to wonder what exactly could have been such a great concern to one of the most fiercest warriors of the galaxy.

On one hand she wanted to ask him what was wrong, on the other she didn’t want to overstep any boundaries. She was aware of how private of a man he could be, and knew he wasn’t usually comfortable with talking about personal matters. She ended up deciding to just wait for him to bring it up to her, rather than bringing up his behaviour herself, not wanting to make him feel any more pressure than he clearly already did.

Eventually, he had straight up just stopped in his tracks, turning his head slightly to look at her, before looking back into the distance. She had stopped as well, waiting for whatever he planned on saying, the anticipation almost eating her up by this point.

When he had told her he had a significant other back at the ship, she had originally let out a small laugh. She had thought that he was joking with her, as the idea seemed a bit unrealistic to her after the whole Omera situation. The thought of him ever having a significant other was bizarre to the retired shock trooper, especially now that she and him had grown closer. She couldn’t even manage to conjure up a single picture of him in a relationship, it just didn’t seem like something he would obtain for himself at this time.

Her laugh had quickly died down though, due to his impending silence and deathly stare. The realization of him being serious dawned on her and she stared at him with her mouth agape. Immediately, she had felt a pain of guilt at laughing, not meaning to not take the new knowledge of her friend's relationship status lightly. In all honesty, him having a significant other was something that she had never expected. He just didn’t seem like the type to let anyone be that close to him. Lucky for her, Mando didn’t really seem to hold her reaction against her, and just nodded his head when she had verbally clarified his seriousness,

“What are they like?” She had finally asked him, curious as to who had managed to actually snare the bounty hunter’s heart as their own. The person had to have been amazing to be able to do it, a one of a kind, as not anyone could have managed the task.

He had seemed to think for a moment, trying to decide on the best way to describe his significant other to her. “The opposite of me.” He had finally said, giving a slight shrug of his shoulders, before continuing to walk in the direction of the ship.

“Hold on. What exactly does that mean?” She had questioned, trailing behind him, an amused tone tainting her voice, as she found his choice of words to be interesting. “Opposite of you? What? They’re like the anti-Mando?”

“No-” He said quickly, halting in place once more, causing for Cara to almost bump into him, as she also came to a stop herself. “It’s just...You’ll see.” He said, his voice mumbling through the modulator, as he looked over his shoulder at her briefly, “I think you’ll like them.”

After that last comment, they continued with their trek to the ship. Cara had begun to ask questions on the way about the Mandalorian’s partner, but only received the odd reply in regards to them. It was clear he didn’t really plan on sharing much with her at that moment, and likely hoped that meeting this special person would clear up everything for her.

Finally, the ship had come into view through the trees, and the two had walked up to its entrance. Mando had seemed to pause for a moment, his fingers hovering over the button which would open the entryway to the hull. He had looked once more to her, before pressing the button and allowing for the door to open for them. When they stepped inside, Cara had felt her eyes drift throughout the familiar hull, before they found their way to an unfamiliar person within its confines.

Standing in the middle of the hull, there was a person looking through one of the many supply crates onboard. They wore a clear jacett, which appeared to have sleeves made completely out of brightly coloured confetti. This jacket of theirs was definitely one of the strangest pieces of clothing she had ever set sights. Never in her travels had she seen something so odd and yet so bold.

She couldn’t imagine the jacket being very practical, and couldn’t see her wearing one herself. The jacket did intrigued her none the least, as it seemed like something only the most strangest of people would wear. Then again, from her understanding, fashion could be like that sometimes. She never really got the whole deal with fashion though, as her line of work never really called for her to be concerned with it in the first place.

The beskar covered man at this point had cleared his throat, likely as an attempt to grab the attention of the person in the sparkling attire. The sound had managed to do its intended purpose, as it made the person aware of his and Cara’s presence. Instantly at hearing the noise, the person had looked over in their direction, a smile etching across their cheeks and their eyes shining brightly.

“You’re back!” The person’s voice had rung out through the ship, as they dashed right into the Mandalorian’s arms. He had stiffened at first, clearly not used to showing his affection for them in front of others, but he had quickly relaxed into their embrace anyway. His arms had now circled around their waist, pulling his partner into his chest tightly.

Cara had smiled at the sight of them hugging, her arms crossing as she watched them. She had never seen him be as close to anyone before, and had never seen him let anyone interact with him in such a way. The only times she had ever seen him show this much affection was with the child, but even that could be considered reserved at times.

Glancing over and seeing the look that Cara was giving them, Mando had pulled back a bit, clearing his throat again before speaking, “Yes, told you I wouldn’t be long. How’s the kid?”

“He’s napping right now!” They had said, pointing in the direction of the hatch where the child usually slept, the confetti of their sleeve shimmering in the sunlight pouring through the still opened entry. “Little guy tuckered himself right out, probably won’t be up for a few more hours.”

Mando’s only reply to that was a nod, as he let go of them, and went over to the supply crates where they had once been. As he did, the person’s eyes had suddenly drifted over from him to Cara, their grin widening when their eyes had locked with hers.

“You must be Cara!” They exclaimed, making their way over to her, their hands taking hers into their own and holding them. “He’s told me all about you!”

She had smirked at the thought, looking over to Mando who had snapped his head in their direction once more at hearing his partners words, “Oh has he?”

“Yes! It’s so nice finally being able to meet his friends.” A small laugh had left them when they spoke, “I was getting a bit worried there.”

“Cyar'ika...” His voice came, barely audible through the modulator, almost as if he had become shy. His partner had let go of her hands, to go over to him, their smile softening.

“Ohh, you know I’m just teasing Sweetie,” Their playful reply came, followed by a little giggle with one their hands being placed on his shoulder. “I’m really happy that I get to meet your friends.”

Hearing this, Cara had mouthed a ‘Sweetie’ in the direction of Mandalorian, a teasing grin plastered across her cheeks as she did. In return he had stared her down, giving her his famous look of death, which usually sent chills down peoples spines. However, seeing it only made her grin wider, before she closed the hatch to the outside behind her.

Throughout that night as the three talked and planned for the upcoming days. While doing so, the veteran shock trooper couldn’t help but notice how different the bounty hunter’s significant other truly was to him. They had seemed to have an abundance of energy, moving from the next task effortlessly, never tiring as they moved about the ship. Their aura had felt bright and carefree, a smile almost constantly settled on their lips. She watched as the two would tease each other, and felt herself amused with how easily Mando seemed to melt in his partner's presence. This being a side of him that she had never got the chance to see before this moment.

Cara understood now what the Mandalorian had meant by his significant other being the opposite of him. Where he was oftentimes serious and stoic, they were bubbly and cheerful. The two completed one another, making up for what the other lacked. They were the sun to his moon, the day to his night, and the light to his darkness.

Both needed and depended on each other, working with one another to make up for the others faults. Rather than dividing them, their differences only seemed to make their bond grow stronger. They seemed to be the most perfect couple she had ever seen, differences and all.

The two of them working so well together was probably the most surprising thing to Cara that day. Seeing two people so different from one another being able to operate together efficiently was an unusual sight to many individuals—including her. Although, watching them had brought up an old saying to the front of her mind. A little saying which the two of you had seemed to fit perfectly.

Opposites Attract—especially when it comes to the Mandalorian and his beloved.

Tags:

@ah-callie @readsalot73 @starrywatermelon @karnita-mexicana

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kumeko · 3 years

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A/N: For the ‘A lost Ballroom of gold’ rarepair zine! I had to write sylvixgrid and I wanted to lean into that masquerade feel. This is utterly self indulgent.

…

Ingrid softly sighed as she looked around the ballroom. Dozens of couples waltzed around the dance floor, each pair magically gliding past each other without so much as a bumped elbow. As A minor noble’s daughter, there were many perks to her family’s status: there weren’t as many functions she had to attend, her father allowed her free reign to hunt and ride on their lands in the attire of her choice, and society’s expectations for her were low.

Unfortunately, that was only when Fódlan’s was out of season. Now that the balls had finally started, her father had packed her off and sent her to the capital. The season really just meant ‘husband hunting’, as her friend Dorothea had put it. While Ingrid understood the importance of climbing up the social ladder, of marrying a more powerful family in order to help her own, she hated it with every fiber of her being.

It also didn’t help that she was terrible at courtship. She had two left feet, walked in a masculine fashion, and the only good thing about her was that if she kept quiet, she could perhaps pass for a gentle lady. Rubbing her arm, she tried not to glare. Ingrid couldn’t scare away everyone, after all.

“Careful, your face might freeze like that,” a man to her right teased.

“What—” Ingrid snapped, cutting herself off when she realized her childhood friend stood next to her. “Sylvain!”

The redhead grinned mischievously. “That’s the name, don’t wear it out!” Hands in his jacket pockets, he leaned forward to take her all in. Suddenly, she felt self-conscious in her pale green ball gown.

“What?” she asked, resisting the urge to tug on her long hair nervously.

With a wolfish grin, he whistled. “Wow, Ingrid, you look gorgeous. How’d they get you in that?”

Immediately, she wanted to elbow him. His flirting came to him as easily as breathing; she should have expected that by now. Still, her ears warmed at the compliment. “Sylvain, please tell me you haven’t said that to every woman in the room. I can’t save you if you’re attacked later.”

“Don’t worry, the idiot hasn’t talked to anyone yet,” Felix cut in.

Ingrid blinked, surprised. Leaning forward, she found her other childhood friend on Sylvain’s other side. The two were dressed in similar suits, with small differences such as tie colours and buttons matching their families’ crests and coat of arms.

It was odd. The season had started a few weeks ago, and while she’d only attended a few events since, she’d seen and heard Sylvain flitting about them. Felix, on the other hand, she’d barely heard a word about and she’d almost thought he’d stayed behind in his estate. “Felix? I thought you didn’t like balls.”

“I don’t,” he replied flatly. His posture was stiff as he looked around the ballroom, his perpetual scowl scaring away anyone who’d come near.

Well, if Ingrid didn��t find a partner tonight, she could blame Felix for it at least.

“Why do you two always gang up on me?” Sylvain pouted, his cheeks puffing slightly. He’d always had a childish streak. It was cute at times like these, when she wasn’t cleaning up after him. “Felix, you think she’s pretty too, right?”

Felix made a strangled sound before directing his glare at Sylvain. Despite her best efforts, Ingrid still felt a pang of pain; she’d long known that the extent of his affections was a bare tolerance. Anything more was pushing him. Before he could say something she couldn’t unhear, she stepped on Sylvain’s foot. “Don’t drag Felix into your jokes.”

Felix looked at her, his expression unreadable.

“I wasn’t, but fine, fine, I give.” Sylvain sighed, his handsome features twisting into a frown. “Anyways, been here long, Ingrid?”

“Not really.” She rubbed her wrist, remembering the journey over. “My carriage’s wheel needed to be fixed, so I arrived late. I could have just ridden here instead, with the time it took.”

“That sounds just like you.” Sylvain laughed. Leaning closer, he waggled his brows, already over his sulking. “So you haven’t danced with anyone yet?”

“No,” Ingrid replied slowly, stiffening. There was something inherently untrustworthy when Sylvain asked that many questions in a row. Even more so when her response caused him to sigh with relief and Felix to visibly relax.

Whenever the both of them agreed to something, there was trouble brewing. She’d never understood how Sylvain managed to drag her, Felix, or even the king’s son, Dimitri, into any of his nefarious plots, but then again, she’d never met anyone with a silver tongue like his. He’d even charmed her grandmother!

“Why are you asking?” she asked, stepping out slightly so she could glare at both of them.

“Nothing, nothing!” Sylvain walked closer, blocking Felix from her view. Felix had always been the worse liar. “Can’t a friend ask questions anymore?”

“Not when the friend is you.” She pursed her lips, trying to read his expression.

“Am I really that untrustworthy?” His smile didn’t drop a notch, his eyes crinkling with amusement. Without waiting for her to respond, he held out a hand. “Well, since you haven’t had a chance yet, could I claim your first dance?”

“Huh?” That wasn’t the response she’d expected. Flabbergasted, she stared at his hand. “Me?”

“Who else?” he winked playfully.

“But…but…” Incredulous, Ingrid spluttered as she tried to make sense of it all. She couldn’t tell if this was one of Sylvain’s japes, or if he was earnest. And even if he were earnest, this wasn’t one of their family functions; the dances here were for a singular purpose for them.

“Let’s get in before the song starts.” He gently grabbed her hand before she could reply and quickly guided her to the dance floor. When she hadn’t been paying attention, the last waltz had ended and a new one had started. Couples swapped on the floor, pairs exchanging partners as they tried to find a suitable spouse.

And now, in the midst of it all, she stood with Sylvain. His arm hooked around her waist, pulling her almost flush against him. His other hand slipping into her right, cupping it carefully. Her skin burned from the impropriety of it all, but this was the waltz. They were supposed to be this close. Sylvain’s breath was supposed to warm her ear, his long hair was supposed to mingle with hers if she turned her head just so, and no one would think this was shocking.

Unless they realized it was Ingrid he was dancing with, and not one of his many, many dancing partners. God, she hoped no one recognized her, she couldn’t handle the gossip after.

“Shall we?” he asked, cocking his head slightly, green eyes bright with merriment.

It was impossible to resist those eyes. Gingerly, she rested her hand on his shoulder and nodded, not trusting her voice. Luckily, the music started immediately after and they slowly glided through the ballroom in time with everyone else. Ingrid had never been a good dancer—she could handle the movements just fine, but she lacked the grace to make them look good. Sylvian never had that problem and in his arms, she felt comfortable with the moves for once. It was like she’d finally learned to read or solved a difficult problem.

“Having fun?” Sylvain asked quietly.

She hadn’t realized she was smiling. “Yeah. I didn’t realize dancing could be so” Fun. “Easy.”

“That’s because you always overthink things.” He chuckled, his eyes sparkling. “You and Felix are both the stiffest dancers I’ve ever seen.”

“Well, sorry for that,” she huffed. “Why don’t you dance with someone more graceful next round?”

“Hey, I didn’t say it was a bad thing!” Sylvain protested, dipping her slightly before pulling her back. “I find it cute.”

Ingrid fixed him with a flat stare. “Cute.”

“Yes, very cute.” Sylvain chuckled. “Your expression is so serious when you try to dance, and Felix’s is so determined to beat his partner. It’s like you’re both fighting a war. There’s just something really cute about how terrible you both are.”

“I’m not trying to be cute,” she grumbled automatically, though her mind was awhirl from what he’d just said. She’d had her suspicions over the years, but this was the second time he’d brought up Felix. Maybe she hadn’t been imagining things after all.

“Which makes it all the cuter.” Sylvain grinned as he squeezed her hand. “Man, I’m glad you finally debuted. The season’s was too long last year. I really missed you.”

If he hadn’t taken the lead, Ingrid would have frozen in place. Sylvain was a consummate flirt, something that was easy to forget in face of how goofy he was. These lines just rolled off his tongue naturally. They didn’t mean anything. He’d said them to dozens of girls, some she’d had to console after.

Her skin heated up anyways.

“Sylvain.” She frowned, looking up at him. “I know you act like this to every girl you meet, but you shouldn’t be telling people you have no intention of courting that they are cute or that you miss them or well, flirt with them.”

He didn’t look the least bit contrite or chastened as he locked eyes with her. “What makes you think I have no intention?”

The implication wasn’t lost to her. Incredulous, she studied his face once more, looking for some sign that this was another jest of his, that this was out of pity or something akin. “Sylvain, you’re supposed to take this seriously,” she hissed, lowering her voice.

“I am taking this very seriously,” he replied. For once, there was none of his charm in his voice, none of his light-hearted teasing. His green eyes bore into hers and she swallowed. The music stopped. Before she could get her bearings, he leaned close, his lips brushing her ear and sending a shiver down her spine. “I meant every word.”

Then he stepped away, bowing slightly, his usual teasing smile in place as he headed to the side of the room. She could only stare at his back, her blush spreading down her neck. How was she supposed to take that? React to that?

Someone behind her coughed, and Ingrid realized she was still on the dance floor. The next song would start soon. “Sorry,” she mumbled, turning around. “I—”

Her apology caught in her throat as she found Felix stiffly standing behind her, his hand out. “Next dance is mine.”

Felix looked utterly uncomfortable about the whole thing and Ingrid bit back a sigh. “I can guess why Sylvain did it, but you don’t have to copy him. I don’t need your pity too.”

He snorted. “Like I would do this out of pity.”

Well, she couldn’t deny he had a point there. Ingrid couldn’t remember the last time anyone had forced Felix to do something he didn’t want to. Even his father had a hard time reigning him. Puzzled, she bit her lip. “Then why are you here? You don’t like dancing. You don’t like the attention. You can barely tolerate me. What do you get out of this?”

He looked at her, his expression unreadable. “The dance is about to start.”

“That isn’t an answer,” she grumbled, rolling her eyes as she took his hand. However infuriating he was, dancing with him was still better than dancing with yet another unknown suitor.

Felix’s hands were surprisingly gently as he slipped into position, his right hand featherlight as it settled on her waist. His other hand clasped hers delicately, like she was china and easily breakable.

“You can hold on a little tighter. You know I don’t bruise that easily.” Ingrid clicked her teeth disapprovingly, resting her left hand on his shoulder as she stepped closer. “We can’t dance if I’m that far.”

He didn’t say anything, not even his usual scoff, as his fingers dug into her side a little firmer. When she peeked up, she found his ears a soft pink, jaw clenched. Normally she’d think of it as his usual annoyed look, but now she reconsidered. Felix seemed more embarrassed than irritated. Ingrid giggled softly. Even when they were kids, he’d always strived for perfection; it must bother him that in this one arena he couldn’t quite reach it.

“Why are you laughing?” he asked as he took the lead.

“Nothing,” she lied, hiding her smile. Knowing how he’d take it, it was better not to say anything at all.

He harrumphed but didn’t press. This dance wasn’t quite as easy as her last. Felix was steady, for sure, and mostly smooth, but he lacked that innate grace that Sylvain had. Then again, she wasn’t much better herself, and she felt at ease as she kept up with him. They were equally uncomfortable on the dance floor, and there was something oddly reassuring about that.

From the corner of her eye, she studied him. Standing under the bright candelabras, he cut a dashing figure. A classical handsome, with his well-cut jaw and stern expression. Sylvain had always been the preferred one, but she’d still heard ladies tittering for Felix, not realizing just how sharp a tongue he had.

Or how carefully he hid his soft spots. Like this dance. Ingrid scanned the wall as they danced, trying to find their misguided friend. “I’m sure Sylvain pushed you into this, but thanks anyways.”

“Sylvain didn’t push me.”

His response was blunt, to the point, and Ingrid tore her eyes back to him, flabbergasted. “Huh?”

Felix’s eyes were dark, burning, as they met hers. She’d seen this gaze directed at Sylvain before, but now that it was on her, she was surprised by the intensity. “Why do you think I can barely tolerate you?”

“I…” It was a little hard to think and she studied his shoulder. “I’ve known you for years. After Glen—”

At the mention of his dead brother, of her ex-fiancé, his grip tightened. Even now, he hardened when Glen’s name was brought up. “That was years ago.”

Oddly enough, his voice was tempered for once. She’d expected his usual harsh outburst, but today he had reigned in his emotions enough for them to actually talk. “It was also a rejection,” she replied carefully. “Not just of the engagement, but of me.”

Ingrid hadn’t expected him to take on his brother’s engagement after; he had always chafed against his father’s expectations. But he had been unnecessarily cruel when he had. With time and distance, she could see it for what it was: a boy in pain lashing out. Yet they had never properly talked about it and it was ironic that out here, as they swayed and spun in time with a dozen strangers, that they were having the most honest conversation they’d had in years.

“We haven’t been the same since then,” she added, lowering her eyes.

Felix fell silent and she wondered if he hadn’t noticed the gap between them. Sylvain had always filled it; ever since he’d pulled her out of her depression, dragged Felix out of his rage, he’d always done that. They’d had a handful of times when it’d been just the two of them after, and it had always been an awkward dance of figuring out where they stood with one another.

Letting go of his shoulder, she twirled once before he pulled her back into his arms. Quietly, he muttered, “I shouldn’t have said that.”

She had to strain to hear his response; he wouldn’t repeat this, she knew. It was as close to an apology as Felix could get, and something in her unclenched. Clearing her throat, she offered a lopsided smile. “It’s fine. Like you said, it was years ago.”

“Anything else?” he asked, neither agreeing nor disagreeing with her.

It took her a moment to remember what he was talking about. “Well, there’s…”

Ingrid frowned, parsing through her memories. What else was there? Felix had a sharp tongue, it was true, and they’d gotten into more than a few fights over it, but that was the case with everyone. While he had never sought her company, it was almost impossible to imagine him asking for anyone either.

And even when she’d barged in, uninvited, he had never turned her away either. Even at his grumpiest, he’d listen to her rant about Sylvain and his pilfering ways.

“You…” She bit her cheek, trying to figure out why she’d felt that way. Grasping for straws, Ingrid mumbled, “You’re softer with Sylvain.”

Felix snorted. “You’re the same.”

Ingrid couldn’t deny that. “Then…” She had nothing else. Had she spent years misreading their interactions, all because she couldn’t let go of the past? Embarrassed, she stared at his shoulder. “I was wrong.”

She expected a smirk, an insult, anything but the soft chuckle he gave. Surprised, she looked up at him only to find his usual exasperated expression was more fond than annoyed. Felix brought them to a halt, bowing slightly as he let go of her hand.

As he left her not only with more questions, but the strangest sensation in the pit of her stomach.

“Fe—” Before she could take a step forward, broad shoulders blocked her sight and Ingrid looked up to find Sylvain grinning at her once more.

“Can I have the next dance?”

-x-

For all her intelligence, Ingrid knew she could be dense on some matters. However, after swapping between her friends yet again, even she could figure out what their plans were. Or, at least what part of their plans were—their conversations left her confused and flushed in ways she couldn’t understand.

Still, that could possibly be chalked up to the fact that she had done four dances in a row. For a woman that hated her heels, that was four too many. It was time to end this game. The second the song ended, Ingrid grabbed Felix’s hand before he could disappear. Pivoting immediately, she found a surprised Sylvain already waiting in the wings.

“We’re going to talk,” she ground out, snatching his hand as well. The nobles would titter about this, no doubt. It was highly improper to act the way she did, but she was tired of the questions, the confusion, and, most importantly, the dancing.

They’re almost too compliant as she drags them to a secluded balcony. Ingrid had never known Felix to agree to anything in his life. All but shoving them out into the cool, night air, she hastily loosened the curtains on the doors before closing them behind her. It was the most privacy they could get, unless she forced them further into the gardens.

Sylvain and Felix stood in the middle of the balcony, watching her expectantly. There was a single candelabra outside, giving just enough light that she could make out their expressions. Sylvain’s looked apprehensive, while Felix’s was more bored. Her heels clacked against the marble as she approached them, coming to a stop just in front of the two. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Felix snorted. “Told you we couldn’t keep it from her.”

“I know, I know.” Sylvain sighed, running a hand through his fiery mane. “I thought we’d have a little longer.”

Triumphant at this admission, she crossed her arms. “I knew it. Is this some sort of game.”

“Game?” Sylvain laughed, shaking his head. “No, no, we’re just keeping the others from dancing with you.”

That wasn’t a response she’d expected. Or, well, maybe from Sylvain, but not Felix as well. Confused, she glanced from one to the other. “What? Why?”

Felix regarded her coolly. “Why do you think?”

She didn’t really have an answer to that. Turning it over in her mind, she hazarded a guess. “You remembered how I complained about my father? I’m grateful, truly, but—”

The words died in her throat when Felix frowned, shooting her a derisive look. She’d guessed wrong. Even Sylvain sighed, pinching his nose. “How are you so sharp in everything else, but get this wrong?”

“Are you calling me an idiot?” Ingrid retorted hotly, flushing. She had known these two for years now, how was she having such a hard time reading them tonight?

Felix shrugged. “You are one,” he stated simply.

“Your denseness is adorable,” Sylvain smoothened over, grinning as he wrapped an arm around Felix’s shoulder. “But it makes things a lot harder than it has to be.”

“What? Dense?” Ingrid gaped, not sure how she’d ended up here. She was supposed to be the one lecturing them, not vice versa. What was she even being attacked for? Irate, she pointed at them. “I know about you two.”

This stopped their laughter in its tracks. Sylvain’s eyes grew wide, his expression almost comical as he managed an incoherent, “Huh?”

Even Felix looked shocked. It was a major victory. Ingrid savoured it for a second before she realized exactly what she’d admitted. Immediately, she covered her mouth, but it was too late. The cat was out of the bag. The air grew tense and she wondered if it was too late to step back into the ball and pretend that none of this ever happened. “I…”

“You knew?” Sylvain finally asked, regaining control of his mouth.

“Since when?” Felix was as straight to the point as ever.

Ingrid rubbed her arm, looking away, past the railing and out onto the barely lit gardens. It was strange, she had suspected this for years, but somehow their admission made her heart ache a little. Maybe it was the lies or the loneliness or—she didn’t know. It just hurt. Quietly, she explained, “It’s hard to miss the way you two look at each other sometimes. Or, you know, the way your hands linger.”

She blushed as she spoke; it felt even more inappropriate to talk about than it had been to witness.

Amazed, Sylvain stared at her. “And you noticed that?”

“That’s because I—” Watch you. Fortunately, what little brain power she had left was working right now and she cut herself off before she could embarrass herself further. If she even finished that sentence, she knew how Sylvain would look at her, and then how he’d ask questions she didn’t know the answer of. Clearing her throat, she finished lamely, “We’re close, that’s probably why. I’m sure no one else has noticed.”

“Who cares?” Felix grumbled, hands in his pocket.

Their parents, for one, high society, for another. While the nobles were willing to overlook discrete dalliances, anything too obvious would result in blacklisting. And with Sylvain’s penchant to flirt publicly and Felix’s inability to read any room, it was amazing they’d made it through life as it was.

For tonight, at least, they’d spent all that time dancing with her and not angering their peers. Whether it was out of pity (and her heart twisted again at the thought) or friendship, they’d spent the last few hours keeping suitors off her hands. It was the most fun she’d had at a ball, even if it had also been the most perplexing.

It was only fair she returned the favour. Clasping her hands in front of her, she offered, “I can keep the balcony empty for you two.”

“Huh?” Once more, a befuddled Sylvain stared at her.

“What are you talking about?” Felix asked, his brow furrowed.

It was strange, knocking them both for a loop a second time, and it threw her off balance too. Resisting the urge to rub her neck, she gestured at the empty space around them. “It’s a nice night, and there’s plenty of room here. I know you can’t dance inside, but the music still reaches here.”

“Ohhh.” Sylvain’s expression brightened, catching on. He whistled appreciatively. “Nice eye, Ingrid.”

“What are you going on about—”

Before Felix could finish his sentence, Sylvain wrapped an arm around his waist, pulling him close. “Mmm, yeah, I’ve wanted to do this for a while.”

“You’re an idiot,” Felix huffed, but he didn’t pull away.

Her heart tinged again, an inextricable pain. What did she want? It wasn’t this. They were her friends, she should be happy for them, but she didn’t want this. Not trusting herself, she turned around “I’ll keep an eye for a few songs. They won’t miss you for that long.”

Luckily, her voice remained strong. Maybe later she could figure out how to smile in front of them.

Before she could open the door, Felix growled, “Where are you going?”

That was the only warning she got before Sylvain’s soft hand wrapped around her wrist, halting her in place, before Felix’s hand splayed against the door from behind her, pressing on it hard as he kept it shut. Ingrid gave an undignified squeak when she realized she was penned in between the two of them and the doors.

Every one of Annette’s and Dorothea’s raunchy novels ran through her mind. It was the most inappropriate time for that to happen and did nothing to help her calm her racing heart as she slowly turned to the pair of them. Her cheeks burned a dark red but Ingrid tried to keep her voice as even as possible as she asked, “What are you doing?”

“Stopping you,” Felix scoffed, still towering over her.

“I can see that.” Ingrid glared at him. “I mean…” She tried to tug her hand out of Sylvain’s vise-like grip, but he merely grinned, not letting go. “I’m trying to give you some privacy.”

Sylvain chuckled. “That’s why I called you dense.”

“Huh?”

“You got us wrong. Or not entirely right?” He shrugged carelessly as he leaned forward, tucking a stray hair behind her ear. “How could you see how we looked at each other, but miss how we’ve looked at you?”

“Me?” She swallowed. Certain she was misunderstanding, she glanced at Felix, waiting for him to deny it all in his usual blunt manner. “Felix?”

“Don’t make me repeat him,” he glowered, his ears a bright pink.

“Wait…then…” Ingrid’s eyes flickered from Sylvain to Felix and back again as she put together everything that happened tonight. “The dancing…”

“Well, you deserve a proper courtship,” Sylvain explained, his hand now cupping her jaw. Tenderly, his thumb brushed her cheek. “And we couldn’t let anyone else snatch you up.”

Felix lowered his hand from the door, his fingers now threading through her long hair. Even without saying a word, she got the message loud and clear.

It didn’t make sense, really. Even hearing their words, she couldn’t believe. But Ingrid had seen the way they’d look at each other, when they thought no one was looking. Something soft and hungry and more powerful than the sun.

It was how they were looking at her now.

“Really?” she asked, not fighting her blush as it spread down her neck and up her ears. Her voice came out softer than she’d intended, shyer.

If they noticed, they didn’t say anything. Sylvain leaned forward, pressing a kiss against the corner of her lip. “Really,” he answered, and she shivered as his breath warmed her skin.

“Like we’d do this for any other reason,” Felix grumbled, his finger brushing her ear, sending a jolt of electricity through her.

Ingrid wasn’t sure what she’d tell her father. Or the nobles. Or anyone, really.

But that was a tomorrow problem. The door was still closed behind her, the curtains drawn, and the night air cool on her hot skin. For now, all she wanted was a moment to just feel it all, this joy that threatened to burst her heart.

#fe3h #felix hugo fraldarius #sylvain jose gautier #ingrid brandl galatea #sylvixgrid #fanfic

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unstoppableforcce · 4 years

Text

a new dawn

—CHAPTER 2: to fall asleep

pairing: Poe Dameron x reader (modern au)

previous part | next part | masterlist

a/n: aw I feel bad when I write this stuff but it’s a solid story and I really feel it when I’m writing it. more cute moments, flashbacks and growth to come !

What was he doing?

A phone call at 4 a.m. was one thing, showing up at your apartment after a night out that you said you couldn’t make? That was another thing entirely and what was he doing?

It was exactly what Finn told him not to do when he helped him into the lyft, and yet here he was. He was at your door, he was more than a little tipsy and mad at himself for being there at all. This was such a bad idea. You didn’t deserve this.

And he wasn’t going to knock. That made it okay.

He was just going to stand there, staring at your foot mat, and definitely not knocking or using the key that he still had to head straight in.

He definitely wasn’t going to knock—

“Just a second…” You called from within your apartment and it was only then that he realized he had knocked, his hand acting against his better judgement.

He could still just walk away. He could turn away and pretend he was never there. It would make it less weird and desperate. You wouldn’t know and he wouldn’t seem like he was, drunk and showing up at your door beyond any reasonable hour.

He could still leave. Taking a step back, he put his hands back like heavy weights into his pockets and almost fully pulled back into the hall by the time you made it to the door.

There was no running away now.

Stars, you looked tired. And the cash in your hand, clearly you were expecting someone else.

“Poe?”

He snapped back to himself, rubbing over his face and realizing all at once that he needed to shave and that you looked worried. That look was all it took to sober him the rest of the way up.

“I shouldn’t be here…” He pinched at the bridge of his nose, “I’m sorry I—”

“No, no it’s okay…”

“It’s not, I’m sorry I—”

“Poe—”

“Did one of you order from Thai Classic?”

Both of you turned immediately to the poor delivery man standing in your hall who had approached quietly enough that neither of you seemed to notice.

Poe flinched away, turning his back as he sniffled and tried to compose himself. He shouldn’t be there. He kept repeating it in his head. He shouldn’t be there. But at the same time, he could still hear the echoing downpour in his head.

By the time he turned back, you had already accepted the food and tipped the delivery man, sending him on his way. Now, you were just stood in the doorway with your bag of food in hand, watching Poe with a carefully scanning stare.

“Do you want to come inside?” You asked lowly, leaning back against the doorway. “I bought plenty of food, I got so used to sharing food with you… I still buy your order, so if you want—”

“I think I should go…” He fought with a voice much more hoarse than it was thirty seconds before.

“I think you came over for a reason.”

Did he? He was drinking, he was sad, it was raining, he missed you and having a conversation with you, no matter how brief this morning, made it all so much worse. But was that reason enough?

“Poe, come inside.”

He nodded, following in behind you as you turned back into your apartment and carefully shutting the door behind him, locking the locks with an ease of familiarity. You set the food on your counter and he silently followed behind, within seconds, settling back into a system he knew all too well.

He grabbed the plates, you grabbed the utensils and pulled the food from the bag, laying it all out. All of it was silent, but perfectly in sync, even if he was further from sober than he was used to.

It was painfully familiar. A pain that sank his heart immediately.

He could see the rain right out the window above your sink, it was dark and it was late but he could still see droplets hitting the window, illuminated by the streetlights down below. It sent a chill up his spine, shuddering him from his skin almost—

“How was Finn’s thing?” You muttered, snapping him from his thoughts again and lessening the sound of rain he could hear. You took the plate when he passed it to you and he felt he was almost settling back into routine with you.

“It was fine…” He sighed, looking at the array of food, exactly what you used to order when you were together. He wanted to think it was some kind of sign, tapping into something in your psyche or something, but he also knew you liked stealing off his plate and that using the app meant you could just re-order your previous orders easily.

He knew he couldn’t think so deeply into it.

This was just normal for you. A new normal. One that didn’t include him.

He could hear the rain again when he began to think like that, it was better to change the subject.

“How was work?”

You shrugged, loading up your plate and settling back against the counter and taking your first bite. “Lots of accidents, couple of DOAs…”

“I’m sorry…”

You shrugged again, continuing to eat. That meant it was worse than you were letting on. If things were normal, things were ‘fine’, but if things were bad, you wouldn’t talk about it, you would just get silent. He figured that was why you couldn’t make it tonight, he just hated seeing it confirmed with your quiet disposition, he hated seeing you like this.

But what could he do? Hug you? Comfort you? Where was the line of friendship drawn when he had your key on his key ring and had taken you right there on the counter before?

He dug around and found a piece of chicken, trying to distract himself by chewing, but with you only a few feet away at the opposite side of kitchen, it was impossible.

“What are you doing here, Poe?”

Didn’t you get it? He had no idea what he was doing there, absolutely no idea.

“Did you ever go back to sleep?” You muttered again; your mouth full of rice still.

“No, I couldn’t, went to the gym instead…” He said, sighing out. “I’m sorry I called so early—”

“Poe, you don’t have to apologize to me…”

“I know I shouldn’t be here—”

“Poe…” You sat your plate down, taking the few steps to close the space between the two of you, forcing him to set his plate down too so you could grab his hand. “You don’t have to apologize to me.”

He nodded, but he wasn’t holding your stare anymore, he couldn’t. All he could do was trace the details of your hand with his, the crest of your knuckles, the soft feel of your skin, remembering it all in a flash.

“So, what’s the prognosis doc?” He had mocked as he watched you skim your hands along his bruised wrist. “Tell me it’s not broken.”

“It’s probably not broken.”

He blew out a breath, a sigh of relief as he watched you survey his new injury. “A bad sprain?”

“I don’t exactly have an X-ray here.” You laughed back, “You come in to work with me tomorrow and I can tell you for sure.”

You reached around where he leaned against the bathroom counter, grabbing a tube from the drawer and beginning to rub the cream along the tender skin. He flinched back and sucked in a sharp breath, but you just kept going.

“Nah, doesn’t even hurt.” He joked, groaning out as you continued to rub in the cream.

“I’ll bring you a splint.” You sighed, recapping the cream but still holding his hand.

It was the same soft grip you were giving him now.

A grip he so desperately missed; he didn’t even know what to do now that he had it.

“When was the last time you went to a meeting?” You asked softly, waiting for his eyes to meet yours but they didn’t, they stayed directed to the small strip of floor between the two of you.

“It’s uh… It’s not normally this bad—”

“That wasn’t what I asked you, Poe.”

He kept his eyes down but nodded, he knew what you were asking, he just didn’t have an answer you would like.

“It’s been a little while.”

“You can’t just will away PTSD—”

He ripped his hand from yours and instead crossed both of his arms over his chest. “I’m fine—”

“There are some good therapists who work at the hospital if you don’t like the VA—”

“I’m fine.” He repeated, his voice finally wading out of the hoarseness, finding a strange stern quality that didn’t suit him. “It’s just worse when it’s raining, it’s nothing I can’t handle.”

“You didn’t sleep at all last night—”

“How would you know; you weren’t exactly in bed with me.”

He didn’t mean to snap, he hated raising his voice to anyone, much less you, but it ripped through him so fast, he had no chance of stopping it. And finally looking up at you, he could tell it wasn’t worth it to try and back track either, the words had already settled over you.

You were biting your lip to keep your mouth shut and stepping away. As far as body language went for you, that was basically broadcasting the end of the conversation in flashing neon lights.

“I didn’t—”

“I don’t want your apology, Poe,” you turned back to grab your plate, shaking your head humorlessly. “I just want you to get better.”

And with that, you took your meal into your bedroom, not telling him to leave, but certainly not inviting him to stay.

But it was still pouring outside, he was going to delay heading back into it for as long as possible.

He packed up the food, putting the leftovers in the fridge and washing his plate, his appetite was gone anyways. But he couldn’t stop there, his hands just wouldn’t let him. He began washing all the dishes in the sink, he couldn’t help himself.

By the time you came back out with your empty plate, expecting to find him gone, you found him asleep on your couch, your entire kitchen scrubbed clean.

You placed your plate in the sink and wandered over to the couch, sitting against the back of it and just watching him for a moment. He really looked like crap. You might have been the one coming off a twelve-hour shift but he hadn’t slept in weeks, you could tell by the bags under his eyes. And with the slight uptake in his breathing the second you sat along the back of the couch, you could tell he wasn’t doing much more than feigning sleep now.

Reaching for his hand, you gently grasped it, waiting for him to hold it back. By the time he reluctantly took hold if it, his eyes were already fluttering back open.

“Come to bed with me, Poe.”

“Do you work tomorrow?” He asked back, rolling over to face you better where you sat.

“Yes.”

“I don’t want to keep you up.”

You gave him a sweet smile. “You need real sleep, on a real bed, not the couch.”

Against his better judgement, he got up, following you to the back bedroom and after stripping his jacket and jeans, slotted in beside you in the plush bed that seemed to remember the curve of his body as if he slept in it the night before, as if it hadn’t been much, much longer than that.

He didn’t know what he was doing there. He didn’t know what any of this meant for the two of you. All he knew was that being able to feel you depressing the bed next to him, being able to feel the heat of your body even if the two of you were keeping your distance... All he knew was that he couldn’t hear the rain anymore.

And that was the little push he needed to fall straight into the deep end and drown in his own sleep within minutes of his head hitting the pillow beside you.

#star wars #star wars imagine #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron #poe dameron imagine #angst #poe x reader #tw: ptsd #tw: injury #tw: anxiety #a new dawn

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malopascal · 4 years

Text

How they tell you they love you pt. 1

Warning(s): none

Author’s note: more characters are to come!

Din Djarin

It was funny how you and the Mandalorian went from almost killing each other in a fight to being lovers. You were a bounty hunter yourself and also had been tasked to search for The Child, being at the bar and watching Din walk in, in his new armor while you and the others bit on your tongues in jealousy and anger. He already had spent the earnings on his armor while you didn’t know when your next decent meal would be.

You didn’t know whether it was the anxiety of having to starve of the curiosity to know how Din was able to capture the Child all by himself while not losing his head over the other bounty hunters chasing him down, but before you could think clear, you had followed him back the Cantina. Your movements were as silent as the softest breeze and didn’t make the Mandalorian even glance back to make sure he wasn’t being followed.

Eight minutes of being in the Cantina, you suddenly were helping Din save the Foundling as it was fast asleep, wrapping in a brown cloth. It had been a long time since you had seen a baby of any species and just looking at the Child made your heart skip a beat in your chest. There was something special about the youngling sleeping in your arms and you were more than ready to protect it with your life.

A nasty blaster pistol fight later, you and Din were on his ship, the Child sleeping in your arms while you offered the bounty hunter your services and protection in trade for a partnership. The Mandalorian had been very surprised at your offer due to the fact that bounty hunters barely teamed up with others. They all were greedy and preferred to keep the earnings to themselves than fairly split it in half with someone else. But was able to see right through you and just read from your body language that you weren’t a bad person with bad intentions. Just a starving hunter who also had created a special bond with the Child.

“What are you thinking about?” Din’s gentle voice asked from across the room, your body jumping for a split second as he had pulled you out of your deep thoughts. You were lying on your shared bed, small but comfortable while thinking of your first encounter with the Mandalorian. The Foundling was already fast asleep in its tiny crib next the cockpit. It slept ten hours a day and had fallen had been put to sleep two hours ago, meaning that you still had more than enough hours to rest your eyes too before it would be up again and ready to take on a new adventure with you and Din.

“Oh…just things” you sighed and smiled over at your significant other. Despite that you couldn’t see his face, you know that he had an eyebrow raised while his covered head slowly shook at your words. You had become a master at reading his body language as he hadn’t revealed his face to you. “Uh huh…” was all Din said before letting out a soft chuckle.

Today was actually a special day for you, it had been exactly five months ago that the two of you decided to commence a romantic partnership with one another. You had realized that you had fallen for the bounty hunter the day you met him, all sentiments of bitterness and jealousy for having found the Child had long vanished the second you saw that he already had bonded with the youngling. The two of you became its foster parents while fighting off all those who were chasing you, with the intention to kill you and take the Child back to the Cantina.

“Jesus!” you gasped once all the lights shut down, your heart pounding in your chest while realizing that Din had left your shared room to turn off all the lights in the Razor Crest. Bedtime, you thought to yourself, which also meant that the helmet was about to be removed and your craving hands were able to study and feel his delicate face in the dark.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Din’s voice spoke in the pitch dark room, making you let out another frightened hiss before placing calming down your frantic heartbeat. “I was thinking about you…about us” you finally confessed while listening to your partner slowly remove his armor, the heavy metal falling to the ground which excited you and your fingers greatly.

“What about us?” Din asked, a sigh leaving his lips before the sound of his helmet falling onto the ground filled the room. A small gasp escaped your lips as you laid back on your back, closing your eyes and raising your hand in the air, waiting for him to take yours in his.

“I was just thinking how we met and how we’ve changed” the worst spilled from your tongue before silence filled the room. Din had removed all of his clothes, always slept in just his boxer briefs. His heart thumbed loudly against his rib cage as he already was standing at the edge of your bed, already knowing that you were desperately waiting for his soft touch.

A delicate spark rushed down your spine when his hand finally found yours and he joined you on the bed. You didn’t waste a second rolling on your side and then letting your fingers gently drink in Din’s handsome features your eyes hadn’t seen yet. A soft chuckle escaped his lips and you felt his cheeks meet his eyes as he beamed at you through the dark.

“You and the Child have changed me for the better” he whispered; his soft arms already being wrapped around your waist like delicate vines. Your heartbeats synched, a pleasant and warm feeling was spreading through your chest while your fingers stilled on your partner’s soft cheeks.

You didn’t need your eyes to see that he was handsome, a piece of art that would reveal itself to the only worthy person. But not now or any time soon. “You changed me too, Din” those words had him let out a soft sigh, being grateful that your paths had crossed and your love blossomed beautifully.

“I love you”

Those simple three words had left you speechless, your lips parted in the dark but no sound left them as your mind tried to wrap itself around the intimate moment. You had felt the same, always had felt the same but hadn’t expected to hear Din say those heart fluttering words out loud, his body language let you know that you meant the world to him.

“Say something back…please” his tender voice begged into the darkness. Without hesitation, you rolled on top of him and let your lips melt in a passionate kiss. Your lips moved smoothly against your lover’s while your arms wrapped themselves around his broad shoulders, gently moans leaving your moving lips as every delicate sensation were being poured into the kiss.

Din could never get enough of your lips, the taste and softness of them had him running back with no breaks in sight. The emotions he felt by your pure presence always overwhelmed him but to actually feel and touch you was indescribable, never in his life had he been familiar with such amazing sensations.

“I love you too” you panted, having pulled away from his soft lips that only had you yearning for more. You couldn’t help but let out a joyous chuckle that filled the room, not once had you doubted Din’s love for you but he had been able to knock you off your feet all over again and only make the love you had for him grow stronger by the second.

“I love you so much” the two of you whispered at the same time before letting your lips crash into another passionate kiss, your hands roaming all over your bodies as the tension shifted in the room. You knew that it wouldn’t be for another while before you’d be able to rest your eyes….

Jack Daniels

“Jack?” you asked groggily, rubbing the sleep from your eyes while looking at the statesman, who was standing at your front door at three in the morning. His chest was heaving heavily, his hands stuck in his front pockets and you were surprised to see that he wasn’t wearing one of his infamous hats.

Seeing his hair in a cute little mess made a smile appear on your face before it was quickly replaced with a concerned frown. “Did something happen?” you asked your lover before stepping aside and welcoming him into your apartment, a part of you afraid that he was about to drop some bad news on you.

Jack shook his head and made sure to lock the front door, his lowkey paranoia getting the best of him before he walked over to the couch and sat down on it. He lifted a hand to run it smoothly through his messy hair while watching you join him on the couch, your eyes begging him to state the purpose of his late night visit.

“I-I’ve been thinking meaning to tell you something for a while now” your boyfriend began, his heart still playing a loud song against his rib cage. His hand intertwined with yours and you could see nothing but love but also fear cloud his beautiful dark brown eyes.

The fear in Jack’s eyes made your mind start wandering off, thinking off all kinds of things he could say to you now. “D-Did you cheat on me…?” you whispered softly, a nasty shiver running down your spine as the mere thought of your lover being unfaithful to you making your stomach protest heavily in discomfort. It started to churn while a shaky breath left your lips.

You knew known about Jack’s ex-wife and baby boy but he also had confided his other relationships that followed after their passing which included him not being able to stay faithful to his ex-girlfriends. Every single one of them had gotten their hearts shattered by him and that had made you not want to start a romantic relationship with the agent as you were madly in love with him but not stupid.

After he had to prove his worthiness to you and successfully passed, you agreed to continue to be romantically linked while silently hoping and praying that he wouldn’t do you dirty, the same way he did his exes.

“Jesus no, [Y/N]” Jack’s expression had changed from anxious to disappointed. Cheating on you was the last thing he thought about and the fact that it was the first thing on your mind made him realize that his past stories were still tormenting you on the low.

“I would never cheat on you, my precious darling” your intertwined hand was raised to his lips before the back of your hand was spoiled with a tender kiss that left your body tingling for more. “I know that we’ve only been together for three months but I can’t keep my emotions to myself anymore, [Y/N]”.

“What does that mean-“

“I love you, my darling. I know that I still have to earn all of your trust and I’m more than ready to do whatever it takes for you to fully confide and love me”.

Hearing those three precious words leave Jack’s lips made every doubt that still was lingering inside of your heart vanish in a heartbeat. You felt the same, but had been hurt too many times in the past to openly show your love and affection for the agent.

This was exactly what you needed in order to fully dive head first into this amazing love and see what else it had in store for you.

“I love you too, Jack” you beamed at him before surprising him by straddling his lap and then engulfing him in a tight hug, your frantic heartbeats syncing while enjoying every single second of this amazing moment.

“You made me believe in real love again, [Y/N] and I want to spend the rest of my life with you” Jack whispered in the crook of your neck, your delicate scent filling up his nostrils. He let out a satisfied sigh while wrapping his strong arms around your waist and silently wishing for this beautiful moment to never end.

“I want that too” you whispered before smashing your soft lips against his, pouring all the love you had for that man into it while looking forward to spending the rest of your life loving him.

~~~

Thanks for reading!

#kingsman #jack whiskey daniels #the mand #the mandalorian x ofc #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x y/n #jack daniels #jack daniels x reader #jack daniels x you #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you

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mor-beck-more-problems · 3 years

Text

Dead-ication || Morgan & Grace

TIMING: Current

PARTIES: @silveraccent & @mor-beck-more-problems

SUMMARY: Grace and Morgan just want to bake pie and be okay, but you can’t always get what you want.

CONTAINS: discussion of a car accident

Grace sat in her car, the buzz of the steering wheel still sending electricity through her fingertips. The sound of the engine settling into silence was barely recognizable. She reached up and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear as she stared at the house. Morgan had invited her over, and while Grace had appreciated the concern and newfound… friendship, she still felt awkward imposing on somebody else’s time. Still, she had been invited, and it would be rude to decline such a thing as baking together. She finally got out of her car, the bitter cold burrowing into her bones as soon as she stepped out. Grace looked up to the house, her nerves suddenly growing. She had been absent lately, taking more time for herself-- but after Kaden had explained that Morgan helped with a lot of the pies that he passed around, she felt slightly more inclined to trust her. Grace pulled her phone out of her pocket, texting Morgan that she had arrived. There was doubt and embarrassment pooling in the pit of her stomach now. She looked down at the dead grass beneath her shoes, stubbing her toe against it.

Morgan ambled out of the studio in her puffer jacket, nudging the fresh snow on the grass with her boots as she crossed the garden to meet Grace. She didn’t know if she was playing human-in-the-cold right, but the faint prickle of snow on her hands was the closest thing she had to feeling anything, and she wouldn’t give it up even for appearances in single-digit temperatures. “Hey!” She called, waving to Grace as she came out of the side gate. She beamed, relieved to have some new company. “Come back through the garden with me, I’ve got a new workspace set up, and there’s just barely enough room for trying out something I found online: cherry and pecan pie, with a chocolate glaze. It’s either going to be the most amazing thing I’ve attempted or the worst.” She draped an arm around Grace and started ushering her toward the blue cottage studio, having just enough sense to keep from loitering in the cold.

Morgan’s voice was loud enough for Grace to be pulled from her thoughts. She looked up from the grass and let a smile pull at the corners of her lips. She wasn’t sure where she and Morgan landed in the grand scheme of things-- pies or not, Grace had cried and unfolded in front of her while she was a stranger, and even Grace knew it was hard to break that kind of bond. “Oh, okay!” She followed Morgan’s directions, leading after her closely, leaning into the woman’s touch when she draped an arm over her shoulder. “That sounds…” Grace wanted to be optimistic so instead of saying what she thought, she simply nodded, “good, if you do it the right way.” She looked towards the cottage, “that’s really cute-- but--” She looked towards the larger house, deciding not to ask questions. “How have you been?” She asked instead, ducking in through the doorway, taking off her shoes.

Morgan caught the dip in Grace’s voice. Her smile tightened as she led her across the garden and into the small building where she now devoted a few hours of each day, and sometimes more, to rebuilding a world of her own. “Okay, yes, there is a perfectly good, roomy kitchen in the house, but I am really desperate to break in the oven in here. I have a lot of pie-themed aspirations, and the sooner I get started the better, right?” She opened the door and hopped inside, holding it open for Grace as she welcomed her into the space. “I’ve been good!” She said, a little too brightly, even to her own ears. “Busy, kind of? But mostly good! It really does feel like a whole new time. How about you, Grace?”

“That’s… true.” Grace offered Morgan another smile, this time a bit more heartfelt. Despite not being able to feel anything off of the woman, she could tell there was something genuine in her, if not a bit sad. Though, she had suspected that was likely for all of White Crest’s residents. “It’s very cute,” she admitted as she looked around. The cabinets were low for either of them to reach-- more than she could say for her own apartment. It looked like something out of a story book. “Busy isn’t a bad thing,” she said. She kept busy mostly to keep her mind off of other things. “Better.” Better than the last time we met. Grace tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear as she ventured further towards the kitchen. She wasn’t sure if she should address the elephant in the room, that the last time they had talked, or even met, Grace had been full of tears and self-depreciation. Now, there were no tears. “Excited about um, the pie?” She smiled faintly.

“You know, I guess that’s true!” Morgan conceded, her voice a little off key. Grace was right, in general, but Morgan had been busy saying goodbye to her closest friends, botching opportunities to make new ones, pulling her sense of self back together again, and grieving the destruction her midlife angst had wrought on the town. It wasn’t a kind of busy she relished in, but making a pie was supposed to change that. “Better is good,” she said, a reminder to them both. “I was a little worried for you there, for a second.” She knelt down and fetched the bowls and tins they would need, then picked through the small fridge. There was only space for them both with Grace on the other side of the counter and one of the bar stools used to rest the items they weren’t using. It reminded Morgan of the studio apartments she used to live in full time back in Houston and the desperate contortions she’d put herself through to get her books out of their cabinets and squeeze something that was almost a life together.

Morgan pushed the thought out of her head. “Anyway, I am actually excited. If you want, you can get going on the crust and catch me up? I wouldn’t mind hearing some good news out of this place for a change.”

Grace let her gaze remain on Morgan a beat of a second too long, still unsure of why she couldn’t feel anything. As for others, it was faint, but from Morgan, she received nothing. She folded her arms across her chest and watched as Morgan began to work at collecting their supplies. She felt awkward, not knowing what to do. “There really wasn’t a reason to be, I was just…” Devastated? Angry? Scared? “I mean, you know how it is.” Grace dropped her arms to her side, a nervous laugh escaping her. It’d be her luck that Morgan would know she was full of shit. She glanced down at the ring. Anxiety. But something yellow-- or maybe orange, began to peek through. She couldn’t be sure what it was, so she pulled her gaze back to look at the contents of Morgan’s cabinets and fridge beginning to make an appearance on her counter.

She finally took a step forward and stood just next to Morgan. “Um, yeah--” She looked down at the ingredients. She had made pie once or twice, but the crusts typically came in plastic, already made. “Sure.” She forced confidence in the word before she started incorporating the proper ingredients. Morgan wanted good news. Grace wasn’t sure if she had any-- at least, not exceptionally good news. “Work is better,” she said after a moment, glancing over at Morgan as she worked. Except for the fact that Cece was now gone and Regan was still not speaking to her. “Uh… I’m thinking of getting a rat?” She offered with a laugh, “Kaden and I watched Ratatouille, he mentioned that they have some up for adoption.”

Morgan took in Grace’s words silently. “I--think I do. Though I’m not sure what that means. I am sorry, you know. About Cece. I was there when she, um, had to go. I can tell you she really didn’t want to.” Although thats really wasn’t much in the way of comfort. To Morgan, that just made the situation that much more painful and unfair. “But I’m glad work is better.”

She managed a small laugh at the mention of Ratatouille, imagining Kaden making faces at the screen and silently critiquing the depictions of French people. “A pet rat, huh? Well, they’ll definitely have plenty of space around wherever you live. I hear some of them can be pretty friendly. But they have a short lifespan, I think. But then again, nothing on this world is truly stagnant. I’m sure you’d give one a really nice life.” She fell into blending her wet ingredients as she spoke this, eyes glazing as she watched the stand mixer do its work. It was the little things that you kept going for, she reminded herself. Especially if one of those little things was yourself.

Morgan’s mention of Cece made Grace freeze momentarily. her fingers twitched around the egg that she held in her hand. “Yeah, I--” She reached up with her free hand and pressed her fingers into her temple. “I’m sorry, but is it okay if we don’t… talk about that?” She offered Morgan an apologetic smile, “I just-- it was a lot.” It should’ve been easy to say goodbye to a co-worker, but at the morgue, Cece had been the only thing keeping Grace from falling apart. Now, it seemed like every turn she made, shivers ran down her spine and there was always anxiety in her gut.

Grace forced herself to relax and began working on the crust again. “Oh, yeah-- he was… perplexed about the whole uh, cooking thing.” She remembered Kaden’s face after his realization that the rat had been the chef all along and it brought a smile to her face. “I have a fish, but it’d be nice to have something I can sort of hangout with.” The right answer would be either a dog or a cat, but she felt her building was filled with so many of those already. Plus, a rat wouldn’t require as much attention as a dog. “I’ve been looking up these really big enclosures for them…” Grace’s lips twitched slightly into a frown at Morgan’s words. She couldn’t get a read on her, or why the conversation had turned slightly to the dark side. After a moment, she paused, “is everything okay?” She didn’t want to pry, didn’t want to get involved in something that didn’t concern her, but something told Grace she needed to ask the question.

Morgan winced at Grace’s aversion to discussing Cece. “Of course. I’m sorry.” As much as she intuited some commonalities in their pain, the way they coped with it was different, and she wasn’t much of anyone to the girl, just someone who had accidentally happened upon her during an emotional crisis. They should talk about other things. Better things. Literally-anything-but-that things. “Hanging out, yeah! Quality time is really special with an animal. I love it when the cats wander over just to watch or sit on me while I try to work around them. Moira’s getting kind of big for riding on my shoulder, but she doesn’t seem to understand that.” She added the egg to her bowl and when that was done, the cherries. Just in time for Grace to ask her what was wrong.

“Oh, yeah! I’m good. I’m sorry I’m being so--nosy, I guess. Maybe there’s something to be said about starting with small talk and pseudo-interview questions when you first meet someone. But really, there’s been a lot of changes, but most of it’s been really good!”

“No, it’s okay.” Grace offered her a reassuring smile. “It’s just… I’m trying to not really think about it.” She should and she knew it. Ignoring the pain Cece’s departure had brought wasn’t the right thing to do and she knew it, but being alone with Morgan made it impossible not to focus on her own feelings, especially because Morgan’s were absent. She fidgeted with the startings of the dough, not wanting to overwork it. “How long should we chill this?” She asked as she looked over at the brunette, her smile still intact.

“And no, it’s okay-- it’s normal to ask questions, right?” Their first meeting had been… different than any other meeting that Grace had had in White Crest. In fact, all of the people she had met had been different. At first, she was embarrassed by Morgan’s first impression of her, but there hadn’t been any point in allowing it to entirely encroach what could be a solid friendship. It had taken some time to get used to the idea, but she was there now, standing beside her, attempting to bake a pie. “Good changes,” Grace nodded along, “that’s good-- I’m glad things are good.” Grace chewed on the inside of her cheek.

Morgan continued to work the blender, allowing herself to fall into the hypnotic accomplishment of seeing raw ingredients turn into something meaningful, even beautiful after a little mundane alchemy. She switched out the attachments and started adding in the fillings. It wouldn’t take long for everything to get folded in properly. “I’ll set a timer for thirty minutes,” she murmured distractedly, tapping the numbers into her phone. With nothing much else to do, Morgan watched the batter fold. Something was wrong, off. Not with the recipe but with them. Not the strangest thing in the world, given both of their tendency toward worry and overthinking, but it was too much for Morgan to bear silently. The last thing she wanted was to keep Grace hostage in her bad company. “Okay, I’m just gonna come out and say it,” she said. “This is weird. I don’t know if it’s because things aren’t actually that fine, or if I’m being weird, or the place is making you claustrophobic, but there’s something, right? I’m not just imagining it?”

Grace stopped kneading the dough and nodded at Morgan’s instruction of 30 minutes. She grabbed the clean towel from the side and draped it over the bowl. She knew to put it in the fridge, or at least that’s what she hoped needed to be done. Would the cold butter turn chunky? No, she had worked that through, right? Distracted, Grace doesn’t quite hear Morgan’s question. Eyebrows furrowed, Grace stops in her tracks, the bowl of dough still in her hands. “Wait, what?” Could Morgan read her? Was that why Grace couldn’t get a read? If two empaths-- No, that didn’t make sense. She and her grandmother could read each other. She fiddled with the towel, her thumbs tugging it down, closer to her palms. “I don’t--” Grace took a deep breath, “it’s not you-- it’s just--” She recalled their online conversation, about how they were both something, and Grace wondered if it was time to come out and say it, to explain that no, there was nothing wrong with them, it was just confusion and anxiety on Grace’s part. After she put the dough into the fridge, she turned around and wrung her hands together, nails digging into her palms to create crescent moons. “Do you remember the conversation we had? Online? It was a while ago.” She paused, “about us being something? Both of us?”

Morgan resisted the impulse to double over with relief. “Yes! I do! Oh, stars, come here, Grace. Let’s sit, okay?” She led the girl over to the main area where there were floor pillows, a day bed, and a desk chair to choose from. Morgan chose the pillowy corner of the bed, if only because it meant scooping up Anya, who had snuck in with her usual silence, and squeezing in a moment or two of time with her. The black cat squinted at her, quietly affronted, but as Morgan settled, Anya marched along her legs and scraped the side of her face along the zombie’s hand and arm. “This seems like more of a sit down kind of talk, and before you say whatever, I want to assure you that you have my total confidence. Nothing you say will leave this room if you don’t want it to, okay?”

Though Grace couldn’t feel it, she could see the relief flood to Morgan’s face. Or, at least, that's what she thought it was. At Morgan’s insistence that she take a seat, she followed her to the seating area, opting for the desk chair. She took it out from its nook carefully, sitting down. Her hands in her lap, Grace pressed her nails into her palms and looked up as Morgan spoke. She regarded the cat lightly, watching the way it ran its head into Morgan’s arm. “Oh.” She blinked, “I mean, if it does--” She wasn’t sure if anything would happen if more people knew about it. Before White Crest, she kept it to herself mostly because she was afraid she’d be seen as a freak. In White Crest, she kept it as a secret because she was worried she’d be regarded as some kind of spy-- as if she were invasive. “Sure.” She smiled instead. She watched the black cat’s tail flick back and forth before looking back up to meet Morgan’s eyes. “It’s not really anything big.” Not like Nell, not like Regan. It’s not important, Grace wants to say. “But it has me…” She chewed the inside of her cheek, “wondering.” She admitted, feeling heat come to her cheeks. “What you are.” It sounded harsh and she winced, “I--” She might as well come out with it, “I can feel… people, their emotions.” She shifted in the chair, “but I can’t feel you.”

Morgan’s first reaction was, is that all? Wasn’t carrying a sense of other people’s feelings a good thing? Something the world needed more of? But Grace’s distress was as real as her embarrassment, so maybe Morgan didn’t understand how that all worked well enough. It probably made crowds overstimulating, at least. But then Grace finished and Morgan tensed, enough that Anya sensed it, glowered, and leapt to the floor to find something better to do.

“Oh.” Was all Morgan could think to say. It was the limits of human magic all over again. She was never allowed to forget about them for long, no matter how much she tried to build up her own limited connections to the world. “That must be...I can see how that might be distressing.” She searched for more words. Tepid silence soured the space between them. “You know it’s not you, right? The reason your power doesn’t work on me. You’re not sick or anything. It’s me.”

Grace watched as the cat skittered across the floor, its paws closing around a toy that resembled a mouse, but was blue in color. She looked back up to meet Morgan’s gaze as she began to speak. Even though she couldn’t feel her, she could see on her face that there was something there-- was it unease? Grace had been good at reading facial expressions, but she also noticed that Morgan had excelled at not giving much away. She ran her fingers through her hair, her hand coming to a stop at her ear where she began to fiddle with her earring. When Morgan finally explained that it wasn’t Grace, but whatever it was that she was, her eyebrows furrowed. She wasn’t sure how that could be the case. “What do you mean?” Grace asked as she dropped her hand into her lap, the flower dusting her black skirt. She wiped it away idly, dropping her gaze. “Do you have some kind of protection from it?” She wondered if that was even possible, but there had been a lot to surprise her about the world she was now in.

Morgan couldn’t stop herself from snorting bitterly. “Never thought of it that way. I mean, I am immune to pretty much all kinds of human magic, including yours, I guess. But considering I used to be a witch, that doesn’t usually feel like a form of protection.” Morgan stilled and exhaled slowly. The root of that hurt was still in her, no matter how she pulled and cut at the stem in her mediations. She was starting to wonder if it would stay in her chest for the rest of her long days. “But this fact about my body, my energy, has saved me a couple of times.” Briefly, she considered simply telling grace what had happened. Just the truth, almost nine months ago on April 20th, she was standing on the sidewalk on Main Street getting ice cream with her best friend, and then she wasn’t. She was on the ground, and she bled out there and died there and on April 21st she woke up for the last time. Because her best friend was a zombie, and they didn’t want to watch another person they loved die for good. Morgan swallowed thickly, “This might be a terrible idea...” she muttered. It had certainly backfired with Dakota. “But would you please take my wrist, Grace? You know how to check for a pulse, right? You know the difference between a slow one or a faint one, right? And at the morgue, you know what a corpse with no pulse at all feels like, right?”

Used to be. Grace focused on those words. Was it possible for somebody to lose their powers? Morgan kept saying human, so did that mean…? Grace thought for a moment, attempting to understand what Morgan was trying to imply. She had a look of thought on her face, as if she were reliving something-- maybe the reasoning? Grace hadn’t realized that all of her life, she had checked to ensure that the emotions she felt from others matched their body language. Grace fiddled with the hem of her skirt, bunching the pleats together. Morgan’s question caught her off guard, and she looked up to meet the brunette’s eyes. Her gaze fell down to her wrist, outstretched. Grace felt something in the pit of her stomach, and her throat suddenly grew dry. Whatever it was Morgan was implying, Grace wasn’t sure she liked it. Still, she had to give Morgan the benefit of the doubt-- allow her to explain herself. Grace slid out of the chair, closing the distance between herself and Morgan and tentatively reached out to touch her fingers to the woman’s wrist. She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding and pressed her fingers down. The absence of a pulse was noticeable, and though Grace didn’t often worry about people being brought into the morgue who weren’t actually alive, she knew to look for one all the same. Fear and confusion coiled in the pit of Grace’s stomach and she snapped her hand back, holding it to the center of her chest. “You don’t…” She swallowed thickly, “you don’t have one.” She looked up to meet Morgan’s gaze, eyebrows furrowed. “Why?”

“Because almost nine months ago, I was getting ice cream with a friend and found myself in a fatal accident a few seconds later. But my friend saved me, with magic of their own.” Morgan spoke softly and evenly. No alarm, and, as far as she could help it, no emotion. She didn’t want to go to pieces like she had after Dakota ran away from the museum. These things simply were; they didn’t need her to cut through them and feel that fresh darkness all over again. She unsnapped the leather cuff she wore to cover Remmy’s bite mark and showed it to Grace. “My body is, in most ways, dead. And the way I was taught it, human magic needs the current of life in order to connect with the universe. I’m outside of that now, so your magic can’t reach me. I’m held together and talking to you because of the magic of the undead. And really strong zombie antidepressants.” She gave a wet laugh, hoping to diffuse the tension, but her faith in the gesture was minimal and she did not bring her eyes up to read Grace’s expression. “I understand if you want to go. It’s a lot. Please don’t feel like you have to come up with an excuse,” she added.

Grace stood still in front of Morgan, the sound of her own heart that much louder in her ears. The lack of Morgan’s pulse was evidence enough that she was telling the truth. Why would she lie? Because Grace wouldn’t be able to tell? She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, the uneasiness growing in her stomach. It made her skin crawl. The way Morgan shifted made Grace jump slightly and she watched as the brunette pulled away a piece of fabric. A bite mark stared up at her, and though she could hear Morgan’s explanation, she wasn’t sure if she could make sense of it. Grace was silent for longer than she would have liked to have been. Morgan had proven to be nothing but kind to her, even on their first meeting when Grace had been a mess. She stared down at the bite, and she felt that the longer she looked at it, the more it felt unreal. Grace didn’t look up until she spoke again. “I don’t...” She took a step back. The bite was real and her inability to feel Morgan was real-- the lack of pulse, too. She ran a hand over her face and backed up against the wall, leveling her gaze with Morgan. “I’m sorry, I don’t--” She wasn’t sure she could comprehend what was happening. Accepting that Regan had been a banshee had been easy, and so had accepting Nell as a witch, but this? Morgan was saying she was undead, a lifeless individual, but she was so full of life, so how could that be? Grace swallowed back the bile that rose in her throat and she glanced towards the kitchen, the ingredients for the pie that wouldn’t be made scattered across the countertop. “I’m sorry, I just.. I think-- I think I need a moment.” Morgan didn’t deserve silence or ignorance. She deserved kindness, but Grace was afraid that she’d show more fear than anything else in this moment. “I should go, I’m-- I’m so sorry.” She headed towards the door, her heart pounding in her ears as she collected her shoes. She wanted to stay, wanted to tell Morgan that she didn’t think any differently, but that wasn’t necessarily true. Grace was afraid. For the first time, she was rightfully afraid, and why? Morgan had done nothing but express kindness to her, but even for Grace, there was only so much she could handle.

Morgan nodded mutely and kept her gaze fixed out one of the many windows at her prickly bushel of witch hazel growing out of the frost as Grace stumbled away in fear. It was said that the herb had the power to heal almost anything, even a broken heart; that you could take the branches and use them to douse for water, or the way home with the right enchantment. But Morgan had taken enough herbs apart and put them back together to know better. Some pains couldn’t be escaped and some detours needed to be traveled and endured. “It’s okay,” she said softly, trying to soothe herself even more than Grace. “You can go. I’ll finish up here.” She held herself, shivering even though she was beyond alive concepts like ‘hot’ or ‘cold.’ She kept her eyes on that bushel of witch hazel for a long time, until the timer on her phone went off and she marched herself back into the kitchenette to finish the pie. There were no such things in this world as magical cure-alls or salves for fear, or grief. But stars above, sometimes Morgan wished there were.

#deadication #wr grace #wr chatzy #wr grace chatzy #car accident tw #wickedswriting

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agent-cupcake · 4 years

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Beastie and the Bard

Fire Emblem Three Houses - Dimitri x Reader (Chapter 1)

Here it is, folks. Chapter one of my horrifically self indulgent reader insert fic where we can all collectively love Dimitri together. As is only right. Please enjoy.

Prelude in C Major Opus 1, No. 1

Centered in the very heart of Fódlan within the expansive range of the Oghma Mountains, buried deep behind lush forests and the foggy pass of Magdred Way, Garreg Mach Monastery loomed above the world from its sea of clouds, the stately towers and ancient architecture acting as stalwart sentinels for those below.

Upon first glance, you were enchanted. Upon second, enthralled. After that, it was only a matter of trying to distinguish which things you loved the most. Perhaps it was the way the grass that blanketed the area was so green and vivid, flourishing in spite of the passing seasons of cold. Maybe it was the enclosing lines of formidable stone walls your wagon passed on the way up, dotted by towers, topped by parapets, and washed in browns and grays by time’s ever turning hand. Or, possibly, it was what laid behind them that your heart was taken in by. Bustling civilian towns surrounded the monastery, markets and housing districts built on tier-like shelves along the climbing slope in a haphazard sprawl of civilization. Only about half of anything seemed to have been done with any purposeful design, but the people were lively and energetic, their intermingling voices and calls and the chaotic track of daily life creating a lovely sort of song to accompany your nervous anticipation.

A zigzagging road cut through the center of it all, leading up to the main gates of the monastery itself. Beyond that were the spire towers of the monastery, a place so old and established that the buildings seemed to have grown out of the mountain directly.

Garreg Mach Monastery was, simply put, beautiful.

You couldn’t say exactly what you had expected - how could you build up a mental image of a place when it was so different from anything you’d ever known? - but you knew that it surpassed whatever fantasies you might have been able to conjure. A musician’s life was built upon romantic comparison and clever use of words, but there was nothing quite like Garreg Mach that you could think to liken it to. In some ways, it brought to mind the hidden castles pictured in the illustrations of your childhood fairy stories, a place of wonderment seated up in the sky. In another sense, the grand structures invited thoughts of the daunting military fortresses in Rowe territory called Arianrhod, a place of protection and great strength.

Then again, it was unlike any of that. Garreg Mach was a dream come true, a place you’d been longing for since your youth, made even more wondrous because you were not here to simply admire and gawk. Aside from being the central location for Fódlan’s religion, the Church of Seiros, Garreg Mach was an academy specializing in the art of warfare. Perhaps it was odd that a monastery would be the host for a school well known for teaching students in the ways of the physical and logical aspects of battle, but upon seeing the place for yourself you felt no need to question the combination. Like the complementary entwinement of harmony and melody, or the pairing of bread and butter, it was something that made sense.

The market area at the very top of the mountain had a festival-like air to it when you finally arrived. Temporary stalls boasting toys and trinkets were erected alongside weapon racks full of silver and steel, the next tent over featuring mannequins dressed in heavily accessorized and stylized academy uniforms to lure in young students with the shine. Somewhere, something was being roasted, the enticing scent rolling in with the hundreds of other smells filling the square. And beyond all of it was Garreg Mach’s front hall. The wagoneer who had charged you two pennies for a ride to the top of the mountain pulled his small wagon to the side of the entrance gate where horses were hitched and wagons left so as to not further congest the busy market square.

Slinging your lyre case across your back using an invention of your own design with a thick leather strap crossing your chest, you jumped to the ground. Once your feet were planted, you luxuriously stretched your arms above your head, relieved to finally be finished with your travels.

Despite yourself, a shiver slithered down your spine. Although the weather was extremely mild in these parts of Fódlan, especially since it was only barely the new year, the altitude lent an extra bit of cold to the air. You were grateful for the warm blazer of the academy uniform, but perhaps regretting your stylish choice for stockings rather than leggings. Only somewhat. They were awfully cute, after all. A covered yawn invited the chilly late-morning air into your lungs, making you aware that the oxygen was far more thin than you were used to. It was something you had been warned of, but not quite expected.

“Are you ready?” Finnegan, the aged wagoneer, asked as he rounded the wagon, allowing the grooms to deal with his unhitched roan horse.

“Yes, sir,” you replied, smiling brightly and filled with renewed energy that had you bouncing on the balls of your feet with anticipation, and to fight off any clinging touch of that chill. With every movement, the case of your lyre tapped your back, a counterbeat to that of your heart and feet.

Finnegan laughed as he unloaded your trunk from on top of his boxed goods. “You oughta be saving that kind of talk for the knights, I’d say,” he told you in his odd accent, although he wore a friendly smile. At first glance the man had seemed quite gruff and intimidating, what with his sun aged face and wide brimmed hat casting deep shadows over his rugged features, but person’s character was something you felt you had to learn by more than just looking at them. Besides, he was the only one to offer to drive you to the top of the mountain rather than making you walk, which counted for a lot considering how late you already were in arriving to the academy.

“If that was the case I’d have to insist you call me ‘Lady’,” you told Finnegan primly, maintaining a serious look for just a moment before it split into another grin. “But, Master Finnegan, I don’t believe in such things.”

Finnegan laughed again, shaking his head in bewilderment. “If you say so, young miss,” he said.

You crouched to lift your heavy trunk. It was like you filled it with rocks, although you knew it was more accurate to say it was filled with trees, considering how much paper was packed away. One never knew how many books they’d need while training to become a hero.

“Er, would you like some help with that?” Finnegan asked, looking somewhat concerned. “I reckon if you sent for someone they could fetch it for you.”

Despite the weight, you didn’t feel strained as you stood up. Between a year and a half of intensive training and the natural strength lent to you by the Crest imbued in your body, you hardly blinked at the weight. It was rather impressive, really. Just a year ago you probably would have collapsed beneath it.

“It’ll be all right. I got it this far, after all,” you told him playfully. Finnegan still looked doubtful. Worried, maybe? But he didn’t argue, for which you were grateful. Even in this small way, he trusted that you weren’t too weak for the task. It bolstered your confidence. “I suppose this is farewell, then.”

“That it is, young miss.”

“Well, then… Good luck with your trade, Master Finnegan,” you said. Then paused a moment, something occurring to you. Carefully, you balanced your trunk on one knee to free a hand, a most precarious position. It was fine, however, as you only needed to retrieve a handful of small things. Coins. “Here! As a… Tip!” you said, holding the money out over the flat surface of your trunk.

“A tip, young miss? That’s not necessary, it was only a short journey,” Finnegan said, eyeing the coins doubtfully. You realized a second late it was a rather sizable sum to most people, especially for a tip. But even to you, hailing from a rather poor family by the standards of nobility, a pocketful of coin was all but worthless. You offered them up more insistently, afraid your precarious hold on your trunk would fail and unwilling to back down.

“For your smile and good company, then,” you told him. Finally, thankfully, he took the coins. You were happy to see it made him smile. Indeed, his face didn’t look even half as scary when he smiled, even if his teeth were crooked. It gave him character. “Goodbye, Master Finnegan. I’m happy to have met you.”

“Likewise. Good luck to you, young miss,” Finnegan said, tipping his wide brimmed hat.

And that was that. Perhaps there were more words you wanted to say, but you knew it was only prolonging the inevitability of having to venture into the crowd all by yourself. Finnegan himself was little more than a stranger, but he was relatively more familiar than what was to come. From here on out, it was only you and the world. Or, you and the academy. There had never been a time in your childhood that you had thought you’d be in a position of such grand freedom, or that such a thing would feel so precariously tilted, like you were balancing on the edge of a ledge and ready to fall any moment.

But you’d already come this far, and anxiety wasn’t the only thing making you jittery.

Weaving among the market square with your trunk making each step just a tad more cumbersome, you made your way towards the sweeping monument that was Garreg Mach’s entrance hall. There were as many people as there were on the spare occasion you went out into the streets of Fhirdiad, but these people were far different from those crowds. Energetic. Enthusiastic. Clean. There was no anger in the shoulders that bumped yours, and nobody cursed at you if you accidentally stumbled into them. It was what you’d always hoped the world would be, in a way.

Careful with the steps considering you couldn’t see them over your trunk, you finally got to the large doors. They were open, revealing a grand entrance hall swarming with even more people and activity and noise. Not even bothering with a steadying breath, you entered the fray with awe-filled eyes and parted lips, amazement filling you at the magnitude of it all. Just as you had thought while approaching, Garreg Mach was amazing. Fulfilling and surpassing any dream you could have ever had, more wonderful than any place you’d ever been. Truly without a parallel, Garreg Mach was -

Too busy gawking at your surroundings, you almost ran right into somebody.

“Watch where you’re going, girl!” the person snapped. You nearly fell in your skidding steps backwards, but managed to keep your balance after a bit of stumbling. Heart racing from the near catastrophe, you peered over your trunk to see who you had almost knocked over. A woman. She was dressed in the robes of the Church of Seiros with her graying hair in a rigid knot atop her head. Her bespectacled gaze was piercing, and you were certain her thin face had more wrinkles than skin.

“I’m so sorry!” you exclaimed, shrinking beneath the weight of her glare, so similar to the intimidating look given to you by many of the tutors you’d had growing up. The woman neither accepted or rejected the apology, but you were certain that her lips tightened in disapproval, encouraging more words to tumble from your mouth apologetically. “I couldn’t see you over my trunk, and I was just a bit distracted because I only just arrived and it’s all so grand! But I really am sorry, I hope I didn’t hurt you or anything, I-”

“Name?” she interrupted brusquely, using a snappish tone of someone who was utterly certain of her command over your obedience. She was right. You gave your name to her quickly, without hesitation. From behind those narrow spectacles, she scanned the pages in the leather bound logbook she held.

“From Fhirdiad… Of low, noble birth… Oh, Imperial mother?” she muttered as she made a note with a charcoal pencil on the page, seemingly speaking to herself. You weren’t sure if you were meant to respond, but she saved you by raising her arm into the air, withered skin and church robe flapping with the movement. At her cue, a young man cut through the surrounding crowd and jogged up to the two of you. She didn’t even look up at his approach.

“Another student?” he asked, dark eyes flicking from her to you.

“She is,” the woman flipped to a different page in her book. “Bottom story room. It seems that there’s several available on the far end.” She made a mark on the page.

“Got it,” the young man said. “I can take that.” He motioned to take your trunk, which you’d nearly forgotten you were carrying while speaking. Just a year ago, your arms probably would have been trembling and weak by now. “You want me to take that, too?” he asked, pointing to the lyre case on your back. Your hand rose to touch the smooth shell of the case instinctively, protectively.

“No, thank you.”

He didn’t argue, nodding before sauntered off with your trunk, the retreating image of his back eaten by the crowd of students.

“Do you understand the Officer’s Academy system of organizing their students?” the woman asked.

“Yes, there are three houses,” you replied, repeating information you had rehearsed many times. “Since I come from Faerghus, I’ll be in the Blue Lions house.” Your sword instructor had graduated from the Blue Lions as well, a source of great pride for him. The severe woman nodded.

“Yes. Your house leader this year is Prince Dimitri, the heir to the Kingdom’s crown.”

Your stomach tightened, but you nodded. It was surreal to hear it said aloud, but expected. Even you, far removed from local gossip and noble politics, had heard that Prince Dimitri would be attending the Officer’s Academy. Although you’d often thought of him as being years your senior, his idol status elevating him to something far grander than your own limited existence, he was the same age as you.

“You’ll be expected to complete registration before class begins the day after tomorrow, although I recommend making time for it today so you may receive your official room assignment and key,” the woman continued. “Any further questions can be answered to your house leader or professor.”

“Understood,” you agreed automatically, a response instilled in you through the brute force of too many frightening authority figures.

“That’s everything, then,” she said, snapping her book closed. “If you continue ahead you will find the common rooms where I’m sure you will be able to locate your house leader for further questions. It is, of course, expected that you will behave in a fashion suited to a student at the Officer’s Academy at all times.” The pointed glare made you shy away, but you nodded. She gave a single, curt bob of her head in acknowledgement. “Now, please excuse me, there are other students who require my attention.” She did not wait for you to respond, leaving you standing alone without even a goodbye or good luck. Using your excellent judgement of character, you decided you didn’t like that woman very much.

But, being alone gave you a moment to pause and catch your breath, studying the crowd of students around you. They were nearly as interesting as Garreg Mach itself. They were wildly varied in terms of appearance and disposition, hailing from all parts of Fodlan, but they all wore uniforms just like yours. They’d come to Garreg Mach for the same reason as you, to learn the art of fighting and battle. Most of them would be noble, or at least extremely wealthy. Both, sometimes. Not that it mattered. Your dream had nothing to do with nobility or wealth, or even to do with other people. That didn’t mean you couldn’t make friends, though. You’d never had a friend from the Empire or Alliance. Well, really you hadn’t ever had a friend at all. The idea that you would was frightening, but exciting.

Even more frightening, yet exciting, was the fact that you were about to meet someone you had spent most of your life idolizing. Oddly, the idea invited far more nerves than anything else. Prince Dimitri was no longer your idol, and he hadn’t been since you crested the cusp of childhood, but he was still royalty. The genesis of your dreams of knighthood and heroism.

After a bit of uncertain mental back and forth, you decided to gather the guts to ask someone where you might find your house leader, realizing how easily you could get lost when you made it past the great entrance hall and into the expansive space beyond.

Blue cape, the first student said. Blond hair. Likely hanging around the common rooms. Or the dormitory, another chimed in. Wait, hadn’t you heard that the house leaders were leaving today? He was already gone. Oh no, claimed another student, they hadn’t left yet. Yes, he could have sworn he just saw the Blue Lions professor hurrying past. His face oddly pale, too. A bit weird, don’t you think?.

So began your first journey around the huge and confusing labyrinth of Garreg Mach. Not only did you know next to nothing about the layout, but you weren’t even entirely certain if the one you were looking for was still here. According to some sources he and the other house leaders were already gone. After a certain point, you were ready to admit defeat and settle for locating the rest of your class, until you saw the back of a head with cropped golden blond hair. Beneath it waved a cape so blue it seemed to make every other color less intense.

Anticipation spiked in your heart. Nerves. Fear. Excitement. It had to be him. Somehow, you were certain of that.

On feet sore from the strain of breaking in your new school shoes, you hurried towards the figure. “Excuse me!” you called, drawing the gazes of the other students in the main hall. Right back where you’d begun, actually. You’d made so many circles around the monastery grounds you probably should have felt dizzy.

Luckily, the man in blue paused, turning his head back towards you curiously.

It was strange. As was only natural considering how long it had been, the prince looked completely different, yet you felt an instant pang of recognition. It was really true. It was him. You came to a stop a few feet away, breathing heavily from a combination of all the running and thinner air and uncomfortably aware that there was a sheen of sweat on your brow. Not exactly the best impression, but you managed a nervous smile regardless.

“You’re the house leader? For the Blue Lions?” you asked, a hand on your cheek in a vain attempt to cool it. You should have used his name, but somehow you felt too embarrassed to say it out loud.

“I am,” Dimitri responded slowly, curiously.

“You’re awfully difficult to find, you know,” you said with a breathless little laugh, trying to play off your nerves. Realizing immediately after that it sounded an awful lot like you were criticizing him, you quickly added, “But I’m not upset! It’s just that grounds are so big and I kept getting lost and I was told to talk to you before anything else and… Oh!” You stopped rambling and took a deep breath. It was easy to convince yourself that the only reason why your head was spinning was the altitude. You introduced yourself with a bow that was only slightly awkward due to the weight of the lyre case on your back. Ladies curtseyed, but your new position dictated that a bow was more appropriate. Recognition filled Dimitri’s eyes at some point during your drawn out introduction, curiosity being replaced by understanding.

“So you’re the late arrival. My apologies for not being there to greet you. Please allow me to welcome to the Officer’s Academy. I am Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, crown prince of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus” he said, bowing neatly, the movement carefully controlled with perfectly stiff posture and grace. “Although, while we’re here, I’m simply a fellow student. Please feel free to address me informally. It’s an honor to have you in our class.”

“The honor is all mine,” you replied, only mostly flustered by his elaborate introduction, but smiling at his welcome all the same.

“Do you have any questions about life here at Garreg Mach, or your role as a student?” Dimitri asked, his voice polite and earnest, eyes the same startling shade of powder blue as you remembered. It was a color you spent much of your youth attempting to put to song, but seeing it again, you realized you’d never gotten it quite right. “I haven’t much time, but I would be happy to answer them.”

You didn’t even know if you had questions or not, you couldn’t remember what you had been thinking before finding him other than frustration at being lost and anticipation at seeing him again.

“You’re going somewhere?” you asked instead.

“The leader’s for each of the three houses are going on an expedition together so we may become more familiar before classes start,” Dimitri explained. “My most sincere apologies for such a short greeting, but I imagine we’ll be back tomorrow. If you have questions in the meantime, I don’t doubt that the other Blue Lions students will be of great help in answering them. I believe you can find them in the common room.”

“Oh… All right! Thank you, Your Highness,” you said, bubbly despite the nerves. Or perhaps because of them. You couldn’t help but note that your voice was just a touch too high to be considered normal. “And, um.. Good luck!”

Dimitri surveyed your enthusiastic smile before giving you one his own, an expression that didn’t reach his famously blue eyes. Not that it looked false, really. It was a smile that made you aware of one of the largest differences between your first meeting and this one. All those years ago, you had both had your fathers at your side.

Men who were now dead.

“Thank you. I will endeavor to do my best.” Dimitri bowed again. Then, with a vaguely militaristic step, he turned and left through the large doors. They allowed afternoon sun into the grand entrance hall, warm and golden, slanting slightly into your eyes.

After a beat of standing there uncertainly, you turned on your heel to leave. Your thoughts lingered on the meeting. Seeing as you had only met Dimitri the once, it came as no great shock that he wouldn’t remember you. A starry eyed girl would always recall her meeting with a prince, while you were just one of the hundreds to him. Mostly, it was just surreal. For years after that meeting, Prince Dimitri had something akin to a storybook character come to life. An object of your childhood fantasy, not a person. Meeting again, you were made aware that he was just a man. An orphan with weary eyes.

Shaking your head, you tried to cast out the prince from your mind altogether. Dimitri was far and away from being the reason you had worked your heart out to come to the Officer’s Academy, even if once upon a time he had been the inspiration. You were now a woman, free of such childish idealism. Adult idealism was much different.

For one, these ideals were going to be realized, of that you were most truly and absolutely certain.

Prelude in C Major Opus 1, No. 2

Garreg Mach was a mystery. You realized that pretty soon after getting lost for the third time. The old stone walls and large buildings were filled with a thousand little details and secrets just waiting to be discovered. It reminded you of the months directly following your move to your father’s estate when you were younger, before you knew everything it had to offer. It was a mystery that you wouldn’t be able to solve so quickly, but by that night, you at least knew the cast.

You first met Annette, the incredibly friendly and clumsy sorceress. Despite her tiny frame, she toppled you right onto the ground with her in her mad dash attempt to pull you to meet her best friend Mercedes. Mercedes, Annette’s best friend and white magic sorceress, greeted you with a smile so warm you felt it in your heart. She bandaged Annette’s scraped knee with a patience that led you to believe she’d done it many times before while they told you about the School of Sorcery in Fhirdiad, a place you’d heard of but never seen.

Then there was Ashe, the adopted son of Lord Lanato of the Gaspard Territory you had traveled through on your way to the monastery. His easy smile and soft green eyes invited an instant sense of trust, and it seemed that the both of you had similar goals and dreams. He was infectiously enthusiastic about the both of you trying your very best.

Ingrid was chivalrous and proud. You only properly met her when another member of the class named Sylvain approached you with flirtatious intent, only to be promptly scolded by the virtuous blonde. Old friends, she explained while Sylvain rubbed the back of his head where she’d smacked him, along with His Highness and Felix. Felix had a hard stare and intimidating aura, but he did smile while teasing Ingrid about her excitement over the food at Garreg Mach, so you doubted that he could be that bad.

Dedue you wound up meeting by accident, as he hadn’t been in the commons room. Actually, you met him in the greenhouse. The giant of a man had been tending to the flowers within. You only recognized him based on description, although it would have been impossible to mistake him. Prince Dimitri’s vassal and a man of Duscur. He didn’t say much to your introduction, and his gaze was intimidating and impossible for you to read.

Duscur was the country razed to the ground after taking the blame for the King’s assassination some years back. You didn’t know a lot about the tragedy that had taken place, or any of the events leading up to it, aside from that it had resulted in Dimitri’s father’s death, as well as the death of many others. There were many people who whispered about how bizarre and inappropriate it was for Dimitri to have chosen a man of Duscur as his vassal, although you found it hard to believe that Dimitri would trust someone of rotten character. Besides, you’d never seen such large hands be so tender with something as delicate as flowers.

By the next morning, you had a basic knowledge of Garreg Mach’s layout. Basically. At the very least, you got from your room to the mess hall and then to the baths without much trouble.

By the afternoon, you learned that the house leaders were back in the monastery.

A half hour later, you were told that there had been bandit attack that had nearly killed all three lords. To much fanfare and relief, they were accompanied back to the monastery by the mercenaries who saved them, a man named Jeralt who used to be a Knight of Serios and his son.

Jeralt’s son introduced himself as Byleth. You’d heard whispers among the students that called him the Ashen Demon, a moniker he’d picked up while doing mercenary work. To you, he didn’t look very demonic. His expression was perfectly serene, uncaring. Lacking emotion entirely, it almost seemed. But he was attractive, what with those dark blue eyes and messy hair, and very polite and softspoken. And he’d saved Dimitri. Besides, everyone was talking of how skilled he was in battle.

You liked him. How could you not?

An hour and a half after meeting the man, the Blue Lions were all gathered together and informed that Byleth was to be your new professor. Apparently, the other one had ran away in fear when the bandit attack happened, which had become a mere footnote in the excitement of Professor Byleth’s arrival and sudden hire as a teacher. A cowardly man you’d never meet, it seemed. Not that it mattered much. Who better to teach you to be a heroic knight than someone with actual combat experience? Your newly minted Professor Byleth didn’t seem to be too concerned one way or another about the entire affair, his dark eyes measuring each one of his new students in turn before wishing you all a good night.

The next day, classes began. And such was the start of your education at Garreg Mach Officer’s Academy.

#dimitri alexandre blaiddyd #dedue molinaro #felix hugo fraldarius #sylvain jose gautier #ashe ubert #annette fantine dominic #mercedes von martritz #ingrid brandl galatea #dimitri #dimitri x reader #my writing #fire emblem three houses #FE3H #dimitri alexandre blaiddyd x reader #beastie and the bard

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frozenartscapes · 4 years

Text

“Edelgard? I just had a thought about the battle plan for tomorrow and I was wondering if-”

When Byleth had entered the Emperor’s tent, she hadn’t expected any surprises. The pair had grown comfortable enough with each other that one of them wandering into the other’s tent at any time during the day was common. More often than not, there was a plan that needed discussing and they had both long surpassed any social barriers between them.

It was late, and Byleth had wandered in so engrossed in her thoughts that she hadn't considered the possibility that the Emperor might be preparing for bed. Not until she had already entered the tent.

Edelgard hadn’t gotten very far - only just able to remove her crown before Byleth walked in. And that wouldn’t have been very shocking in itself if it hadn’t been for one tiny thing:

There were still horns on her head.

Byleth frowned, tilting her head slightly as she tried to figure out how things were different. Edelgard was frozen in place, watching Byleth in silent terror like a deer staring down a hunter’s nocked arrow.

“They’re...real,” Byleth said slowly, stepping forward to get a better look, plans for battle forgotten.

Edelgard gulped anxiously and carefully nodded, still refusing to blink as Byleth approached. Sensing her fear, Byleth diverted her course slightly, and reached for the pieces of the crown Edelgard had set on the table before her. Byleth inspected them closely, and noticed there were loops and clasps that would fit perfectly around the horns, giving the illusion of a completely forged object.

“Are they...really gold?” Byleth wondered aloud, glancing at the curved, graceful growths that still looked like solid metalwork.

“They’re...um... Yes, mostly,” Edelgard stammered, shyly avoiding any eye contact, “They darken...near the tips. I use gold leaf to... Maintain the illusion.”

“But why? Why go to all the trouble of pretending they’re a crown?”

Edelgard didn’t respond, instead wrapping her arms around herself tight.

“Where did they come from, anyway? I... Unless I really hit my head, I don’t remember you having them back at school...”

She could see Edelgard’s grip on her arms tighten. “You...remember when I told you about...the experiments?” she uttered, squeezing her eyes shut, “They...never officially concluded. Any time Those Who Slither in the Dark found something they believed might be beneficial to the war effort, they...would call me in.”

Byleth felt something unpleasant settle in her gut. “And...you went?”

“I didn’t have a choice.” Edelgard’s haunted voice sent a shiver down her spine.

The Emperor drew a deep breath, and after a moment was able to compose herself. “It was about two years into the war, shortly after Father died...” she explained quietly, “They had something they thought would change my minor Crest of Seiros into a major one. They never told me any details but they mentioned something about finding it in the abandoned monastery.” She dared a glance in her mirror, wincing away from the sight almost immediately. “It didn't work as intended,” she continued, “I gained a little more strength, a slight improvement in the use of light magic, but otherwise... It seemed like another waste of time. But just before I was allowed to leave, I received a headache so awful I thought my skull had just been cleaved in half. I blacked out from the pain, and when I woke up...”

Byleth stepped closer and ever so gently reached out and ran a hand along one of the curved horns. It was smooth, and cool to the touch. And despite the gold appearance, she realized instantly that it didn’t feel like metal - it was strong, but too light.

“And...so you hide it because...”

“Because I don’t want people to know what I truly am,” Edelgard finished sadly, “For the same reason I hide all my scars. No one can know that I am nothing more than an experiment, a lab rat, a...a freak.” She swallowed the lump in the throat, pulling away from Byleth and putting distance between them. “A monster,” she whispered.

Byleth was silent for a long time, long enough that Edelgard thought grimly that the Professor was agreeing with her. But then: “I like them.”

It was a quiet admission, but it stunned her nonetheless.

“You what?”

“I like them,” Byleth said again. Simple. That simple, Byleth tone she uses whenever she states a fact. “I think they’re cute.”

“Cute?” Edelgard sputtered. She felt heat rising from her cheeks all the way up to her ears, yet she still spun around to face Byleth to challenge her about her absurdity. “I’m most certain there is nothing about these things that is cute!”

“I disagree,” Byleth said with a shrug, “They suit you. They make you look strong.”

“I...” It was rare that the Emperor of Adrestia was at a loss for words but it would seem this former mercenary of all things could stump her. With the simplest things.

Byleth approached her again and reached for one of the horns. Edelgard stood still and quiet as Byleth took a fingernail and scratched away a bit of the gold leaf, revealing the true colour underneath. The tip of the horn was dark brown, almost black in colour, and it faded into a light gold that almost matched the fake colour. There wasn’t much of a metallic sheen, and she could see why Edelgard chose the gold leaf. Still, she found herself longing to see what the Emperor looked like without any disguises.

“The black tip reminds me of bull horns,” she stated, mostly just making a comment to herself. She then looked to Edelgard, completely oblivious to the fact that the Emperor was trying very hard not to combust on the spot. “Have you ever thought about maybe using them in battle? I bet you could knock someone out pretty effectively with them.”

“I am not charging anyone like a bull, Professor.”

#another fic about el having real horns #because i'm honestly surprised there aren't more #what with all the monster symbolism and stuff #fe three houses #fanfic #edelgard #au ideas

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