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neutron-stars-collision · 3 years

Text

The Art of Inversion

Neil x Reader

Chapter 27 - Keeping Your Head Up

Masterlist; Chapter 26

Summary: Sleepless nights and plotting the way forward. You and Neil finally talk about the approaching battle. The conversation provides the spark for action.

Warnings: 18+ (not so implied content, if ya know what I mean); swearing.

Author's Notes: Here we go, earlier than I expected because who said that uni should be more important than fanfiction. This one goes through the whole spectrum of human emotions and I'm not even sure what's going on... but here it is. And I'll hope you'll enjoy! Let me know what you think?

P.S. Yes, Stalsk is soon. Yes, I'm terrified. How about you? :)))

Once the last arcs of light disappeared from the night sky and the troops started to disperse, one look exchanged with Neil was enough to help you decide. You led him through the ship’s quarters, hands holding tightly in the unspoken promise. Whatever happened during the aurora only confirmed what you knew from the previous night. There was no question of giving him up. One does not give up on the love of their life. Simple.

As the door to your cabin closed, both of you knew what had to happen. Neil wound his arm around your waist, pushing you against the wall. No space left between your bodies as your gazes met:

“I love you,” a whisper leaving his mouth reverence and certainty.

With the pulse pounding in your ears, you took the words off his mouth with a kiss. Hunger and need betrayed by your eager hands, grabbing hold of his sweater and pulling him down. In response, Neil kissed you harder, lips bruising, teeth tearing the skin to make you understand. Soon it became a duel of passion, each desperate to push the other off the edge. To stake the claim. Mindless of time and caution, you tugged at the clothes and stole the breath from each other’s lungs. Minutes passed, but it was never quite enough. Never satisfied. Only once the lightheadedness made you feel close to passing out from the lack of oxygen, you broke the kiss with a gasp. Your eyes opened to see Neil gazing back at you with a grin on his face. He glanced at your mouth as you licked off the saliva, chasing the taste for that second longer. Then, lost in the daze, you leaned forward, resting your forehead against his chest.

“What?” he gently cradled your head, pulling you closer into the strange hug.

With words missing, you took the additional moment to catch your breath and piece together a response:

“It’s... this is good. I don’t want it to end” a shy smile which he could not even see.

Still, the truth. Your idle hands ventured underneath the clothes, settling on the belt loops with the thumbs grazing over his sides. The warmth of the skin, a vivid reminder about the previous night. Something within your reach.

“It won’t. I’m never letting you go again,” confirming the words he tightened the hold, “Do you want to pick up the conversation or...” Neil trailed off, something in his voice arousing curiosity.

You raised your head, noticing the hint of a smirk on his lips. And the sparks in his eyes.

“Or?” courageous fingers ghosting over his stomach, bringing out sharp inhales.

You were never someone who paid too much attention to men’s musculature. It was never on the list of ‘requirements’ or expectations. And yet, as you carefully brushed your fingertips over his firm abdomen, that spark of satisfaction was there. And attraction, never waning since you first laid your eyes on him.

“We could continue with this...” ignorant of your thoughts, Neil searched your face with hints of hesitation in his eyes, “But only if you want to. I wouldn’t want you to think that all I’m here for is…” the deepening frown made you snap out of the reverie and shut him up with a finger against the mouth.

“Neil,” firmly, yet with a playful smile upon your lips, “You’re telling that to someone who just considered fainting if it meant extending that kiss,” your grin widening upon the shock on his face.

And then he grinned, cupping your cheek and brushing the pad of thumb over your lower lip. Drawing out a sigh with ease that not that long ago would have embarrassed you. Now there was no reason to hide it.

“Fair point” Neil smiled lightly, gaze distant showing you that he still had some things to say, “It’s just that…”

His eyes met yours a helpless plea. To understand, to chase away the worries and doubts. He did not need to ask for that.

“Yes?” you picked up the conversation, fingers running through his hair.

The gesture both a comfort and a way of reminding him of where you were. Of what you could give him if he only agreed. Judging by the way he leaned into your touch, it did work. After a beat, he met your gaze again, words pouring out with desperation and self-directed bitterness:

“We’ve lost so much time because of my stupidity. And I feel like it’s running out. If there’s not much left, then I want to give you all I’ve got” the earnest look stealing away the remains of breath from your lungs “And words can only go as far. Some of what I feel can’t be expressed like that, it’s...” trailing off, he faltered as though uncertain.

Oh god. It felt almost surreal to understand. That he would be questioning your desire to have sex again after all the confessions and admitted truths. That he would worry about going too far. As if that was not exactly what you wanted. All because he cared too much about your issues with being this close. Idiot. Ignoring the need to stop his silly doubts with a kiss, you tilted his chin and made sure he could see the longing in your eyes:

“I don’t need much convincing to agree for a repeat of last night. Only an idiot would’ve said no to all that… pleasure” simply, just as letting your free hand bravely brush over his crotch.

The answering gasp was more than promising. You could see the resolve breaking as he tried to level the breathing. Fingers taking hold of your shirt, toying with the material. Knuckles brushing over the skin on your stomach. The internal conflict close to a resolution. A favourable one. Only…

“You’re not tired?” the blue eyes full of concern and unmeasurable yearning.

Too good. With heart close to bursting from the amount of love, you took that as the cue to be brave. To be honest and show him the extent of need ravaging through your blood:

“I am. But I want you” purposefully meeting his gaze with an unguarded look, “I want to feel your hands on my body. To make love with you, knowing that you’re mine,” you observed as he swallowed hard, hands grasping onto your waist underneath the shirt “To feel you inside me” the conclusion whispered as your courage wavered.

Because that was a first. Explicitly stating wants and desires were never a forte, with the insecurities and anxiety making you forgo every attempt. Until now, with Neil, who was stunned into silence. His eyes darkened almost imperceptibly as the words sunk in. He understood.

You barely had the time to register when his lips crashed against yours in the kiss to put every single one before it to shame. This time there was no moderation, no slowness in any of your actions. Hands barely had the time to catch up with the needs as you both fumbled around with the clothes. A casualty – the cup of tea abandoned by the bed sent tumbling onto the floor. But you have not even noticed, too occupied by Neil, his skilful hands and breathtaking moves.

Logic of your closeness startling in its simplicity. Without needing to ask, he made sure you were ready, consent chased at every stage with something as straightforward as eyes searching yours, looking for that nod. For the spark, that told him what you wanted. And then, as he allowed you to have everything once again, gazes locked and held. Love passed with each sigh, shudder and moan. Faster and harder, seeking that familiar rush. Confirming what you both knew already. Never enough. Hands worshipping every inch of your body as you drove him to the edge and over, following suit. This time you did not bite back on words that settled on the tip of your tongue. With every single instance, the three words rolled off with more ease. That moment not any different, the I love you whispered as he offered you the necessary release, sealed with a kiss and explosion of pleasure. Nothing came close. Nothing ever would.

***

The quietness of the moment right after was astonishing in its tranquility. Neil pulled you back down to lie next to him on the bed with your head propped on his chest, the heartbeat a constant white noise bringing peace. With those careful hands caressing your skin, there was no place for insecurities. Only the overwhelming feeling of completeness, as if now when you knew that your heart was safely his, everything else has sunk into the background. That, of course, was an illusion, one that had to be shattered pretty quickly with the reminder about the topic you were yet to discuss. But it could wait. Just a little longer.

“Not a bad way to finish off the evening,” the low murmur tinted with a playful edge.

Of course. Despite the warmth spreading through your body, you grinned, arms embracing him tightly, even if only to show agreement. It really was. And yet…

“Was it still that good? Like you said, in the morning-” the eternal need for validation speaking up before you could properly gather the thoughts.

Thankfully, Neil sensed what was coming before you did. He sat up, dragging you with him.

“Christ, you-” the exasperation betrayed by the heavy sigh, “If I need to tell you how amazing it was every time we have sex, then I will. Keep that in mind” he observed you closely, taking in the spreading blush and deepening shock “My love” an addition followed by a bop on the nose.

Just like that. Without giving you time to react, he laid down again. This time you seemingly had a choice, no arms holding you close as if to show that you were free to suffer the doubts alone. As if. With a quiet huff, you settled back on the bed facing him. The lack of touch felt strange.

“I’ll take that as a warning” stubbornly, you met his gaze, awaiting nothing but satisfaction.

Rightfully so. The infamous smirk graced his lips as he stared at you fondly. Maybe it was time to abandon the uncertainty. Maybe you really got that lucky.

“You should,” as though he too was missing the contact, he reached out to stroke your cheek slowly, “And yes, it was still very much mind-blowingly good. Splendid. Terrific” with each word, the blush was darkening.

Neil’s smugness growing exponentially. Too much.

“Okay, stop,” ignoring the sudden desire to punch him, you chose the puppy-eyed look instead, “Please,” placing your hands on his shoulders if only to assert the dominance.

The sudden flash of darkness within the blue eyes was unexpected. And fascinating.

“Make me,” a whisper accompanied by his touch trailing down your stomach.

That was a challenge you gladly accepted. Using the moment of stagnation, you rolled over to trap him beneath you. His eyes swept over your chest, hands settling on your waist, making everything easier as always. It was not difficult to lean in and shut him up with another breathtaking kiss, with teeth catching that frustrating lower lip showing him why it was unwise to test you. The answering groan and tightening grip were good enough confirmation. And also, a perfect moment to let go and let him suffer alone.

The offended look on his face - absolutely delightful. You waited patiently as he got over the initial shock and wound his arm around your waist once again. From the wistfulness on Neil’s face, you could tell that he was not done:

“Now I know why I’ve always been so drawn to you. You’ve got quite the skillset” the meaningful look giving more confidence than anything ever “And, mind you, I might be catastrophically in love with you but that… no wonder we couldn’t keep our hands off each other” accentuating the meaning, he cupped your face once again “You’re unforgettable. Wonderful. Extraordinary. And mine” the litany closed off with happiness in his eyes “Which is why I’ll start counting my blessings” a kiss on your forehead finishing the speech.

You met his gaze with a gaping mouth. What on earth… That amount of affection expressed just like that was overwhelming. The only thing that could be done was to hug him tightly and hide from the fond look by burying your head in the crook of his neck. The warmth of your bodies slowly lulling you back into the peaceful illusion of safety. Into believing that the drama was truly beyond you. Only one last issue circulating your brain, nagging at the thoughts and creating ‘what ifs’ that needed answering. Maybe…

“I’ve got one more silly question before I’ll be quiet for eternity” your whisper broke the silence with the husky timbre.

You felt Neil’s low chuckle before you heard it. His hand stroking your back without a stutter. As if that was second nature. As if he always knew how to touch you but held back. Until now.

“Go on then,” you raised your head in time to see a happy grin, “Miss silly questions,” fingertips skirting over your profile, stopping at your mouth.

The ghost-like touch, parting your lips just because it was possible. Because casual intimacy was no longer out of bounds. Ignoring the sudden onrush of feelings, you chose to use the rare courage to your advantage:

“Are you my boyfriend now? Is that what I should call you?” blurting out the questions with deepening blush and increasing embarrassment.

Too clingy. What if he wanted to keep this casual, without labels? And you just messed it up? Like everything in your life. Before the sabotage could take over, a familiar hand tilted your chin up. The blue eyes, searching yours, looking for clues towards the extent of self-inflicted damage. Whatever he found was enough to call for a soft kiss, followed by a cheeky smile:

“Boyfriend, partner... husband, whatever you want darling,” the wink almost making you brush over the words.

Almost. Your brain froze as you remembered the meaning of the terms used. The ridiculousness of it all taking away the last bits of reason.

“... We’re not married,” staring at him as though he has officially lost it, you stated the obvious.

Only the answering grin was not that obvious. Or the way he took hold of your hand and kissed your knuckles, all the while maintaining eye contact.

“Are you sure about that?” the arched eyebrow adding the final blow.

There was no end to the shock as the absurd of everything caught up. The laugh could not be contained anymore, giggles interrupting whatever you could want to tell him. The happy look in his eyes, making everything even worse. Only once you could catch your breath again, an expression of exasperation the only thing passing through your throat:

“Jesus Christ… Neil” a hint of warning.

Mostly to stop being so bloody charming. Even with spite, it was difficult to find flaws in that beautiful face. Or to stop the constant flood of affection whenever your gazes locked. He looked completely unbothered, amused by your reaction.

“You knew what you’re signing up for,” a shrug showing no remorse whatsoever.

He did have a point. Still.

“Yes, but… I hate you sometimes,” the words triggered by the eternal frustration, “You with your perfect eyes and jaw that cut through my defences. And let’s not even mention all that smooth talk” ever so casually, you traced the outline of his jawline.

Catching the hints of something darker in his expression, you felt the need from before return. Making you cling closer to him, find a temporary fix for the addiction in the way you fit together. Legs entwined; comfort brought by something as simple as the possibility to share the pillow with him. Or the option to get lost in his gaze, let his hands explore all the curves and edges. Everything that you could offer.

“And yet,” the simplicity of his answer was enough to make you grin.

Distractedly, you let your fingers skim down his chest, watching with fascination at how easy it was to treat him as yours. The naturality of the conversation and the variety of responses to keep up the banter. Effortless. Before you found the right words, Neil traced the path down your thigh, creating the tiniest sparks of electricity.

“My most humiliating defeat,” you admitted with a feigned disappointment painted on your face.

That seemed to be the bait he needed. You observed with satisfaction the way his eyes lit up. The cheeky smile back on his lips. There we go.

“You didn’t seem humiliated. Just now,” hand getting dangerously close to the space between your thighs “More like… satisfied” Neil shifted forward, closing the gap between your faces “By me” a low whisper before he captured your lips in a kiss.

A hard one that deepened the bruises and showed you why you had no choice but to give in. Why resting within his embrace was where you were meant to be. You let the feelings consume you whole, clinging even closer to him, arms holding him tightly, letting the breathlessness roam free. The only cue to end the kiss came from Neil, who has run out of oxygen and ended the contact with a sharp gasp. He did not let go, however, extending the hug for at least five minutes, during which you both savoured the moment. The quiet only disturbed with the sounds of your breathing and the synchronised heartbeats, marking the passage of time. It would be easy to fall asleep like that, feeling safe and loved. Finally important to someone. Finally his. But you knew that the things needing talking over would catch up eventually. And so, with the heart getting heavier and the body aching for more, you let go and disentangled enough to meet his eyes again. Nothing but affection there. It was that overwhelming love that prodded the next reflection:

“Sometimes I can’t quite believe you’re real” you let yourself stare a little longer, taking in his infatuated gaze and ruffled hair.

His beauty always startling in its harshness. The angles and sharp edges capable of shattering a heart. You knew that best of all. And yet, with the blue eyes that always showed a myriad of feelings, he was not intimidating, only absolutely fascinating. Someone you could admire for hours and would never have enough. Now, with your curious glance reflected and gentle touch caressing your temple, the luck felt almost immeasurable. Because how could you get this fortunate?

“I am, all yours to touch... and do whatever else you want,” the response bringing the confirmation.

It was that simple. The darker glimmer in his eyes told you as much. You hoped the smile was a good enough answer, for there were no words. Neil acknowledged your speechlessness with a timid smile, as though he too needed time to get used to the new dynamic. To the honesty and unrestrained confessions passed between you to make up for the lost time. The longing in his gaze was enough to let you know that it was time. That you could not stall anymore.

“Tempting…but…” you let out a long exhale and forced out the serious tone, “We should talk,”

One look in his direction told you he understood. The smile wiped off his face in an instant, the frown replacing the previous shyness. With the sudden need to make your circumstances a little bit more bearable, you got up and took hold of his t-shirt abandoned on the floor. Without thinking too much, you slipped it on and turned back to face Neil. An answering grin was a needed reassurance. You observed as he put on the boxers and settled back next to you, instantly drawing you into a half embrace with an arm placed over your shoulders and a hand resting on your thigh. It was all the comforts you could hope for beginning the difficult topic. Nothing to hold you back now. One look at him was enough to permit you to start. Alas…

“Every second I’m falling harder in love with you, and there’s no end to it,” the opening sentence getting out without a stutter as you stared at his fingers idly tracing patterns on your bare skin “I might not understand much-” watching with horror as he opened his mouth to protest you closed it with hand placed over his lips “No, Neil, let me say it” firmly, gaze held to show the determination; after a beat, he nodded and you resumed “I don’t understand much. Probably a quarter of what you know since you’re the smart one here, but... I refuse to give up before we try to make it work together. Let me help you” you could see the conflict brewing in his eyes, thousands of worries passing through his face; one last thing to say “I like to think that there’s a reason why I’ve been brought into this. That I’ve got a bigger role to play than being your lover” you whispered the word shyly, as if almost unsure if it was the right one.

It seemed correct, but… With growing uncertainty, you watched as Neil’s frown deepened. Then he seemed to consider something with eyes closed as though needing to block you out of the picture. That did not help the anxiety. Before your heartbeat could kick in with the elevated speed, he faced you again with new emotions painted all over the features. Most obvious of all – hesitancy. And then…

“You’re much more than that,” a long inhale as though that could give him courage, “You’re… You could be my- We could-” he faltered, the blue eyes looking anywhere but at you.

With your mind starting up the sirens for the world-ending kind of emergency, you could only blurt out the straightforward questions:

“What? What are you trying to say?” your voice wavered, betraying the chaos within.

It was that one false note vibrating through your vocal cords that made Neil calm down a fraction. Finally, he met your widened gaze, and after an extended second of soul-searching, he responded:

“I want to marry you… even today,” oh “If you’d want that, of course,” a hurried addition, with eyebrows knitting together and teeth nibbling on the lower lip restlessly.

Oh. Christ. Now nothing was stopping your pulse from picking up the tempo. The blood rushed into your cheeks as the words sunk in. That was far from anything you expected to hear. Now or ever. From him or anybody else. The sight he presented at the moment told you that there was no point in doubting the authenticity of the proposal. No one would look this terrified because of a lie. With words missing, you could only let out a half-hearted laugh:

“Don’t be ridiculous,” the forced lightness bouncing off his rigid resolve with the speed of light.

He took your hand in his, thumb brushing over the knuckles. Additional regard given to your ring finger almost thoughtlessly. It was hard to remember about something as basic as breathing as you stared at him, pondering his very next sentence. An explanation, hopefully.

“I’m serious. I need you to understand how much I love you. More than I can express and enough to know that I want to spend the rest of my life with you” the earnest look stunning you into silence with his beauty.

The confession needing at least two business days to be processed and understood. But there was no time for that. The part of your heart that has fallen in love with him circa New York ready to abandon logic and say yes. No matter the approaching battle, the lack of reason or sense in any of this. But that voice had to be silenced. For now.

“Neil… You can’t- It’s been less than a day since we-” you stumbled over the protest, failing to piece together a coherent argument.

Because it was both a yes, and a no. Yes, I want to marry you. Not now. Not yet. Not with the world on fire and uncertain chances of survival. But how do you say that?

“I know, but I’ve been feeling like this for months. And everything that happened showed me that I’m right. I need you” your internal monologue got cut short by Neil’s response, “But if… if you don’t want me like that, it’s alright. I-” it was the sudden insecurity betrayed by the stutter that alerted you.

You could not allow him to doubt your feelings like this. Never again. Following the instincts, you clamped your hand over his mouth again, cutting off the horrifying ramblings.

“Shut up,” you met his gaze and replaced the hand with your mouth, kissing him slowly, “I want you, exactly like that. But I want to have a future with you, filled with so much love and understanding that it will make my heart ache” the meaningful look focused only on the man inches away from you “That’s why we need to work together. So, one day if you’ll still feel the same… you’ll ask me properly, and I’ll say yes” the breathless addition costing you blush on the cheeks and a flash of anxiety.

The best answer you could offer hanging in the tense silence. Hesitantly, you looked at him again, searching for a response. The knowledge that he understood your plea and was willing to accept it. As your eyes locked, Neil smiled, the expression brightening up the mood in an instant. Maybe it would be alright.

“That might have been the most poetic rejection I’ve ever heard,” he murmured, and before you could comment on that, captured your lips in a kiss.

Gently showing you that he understood. Deepening the contact, making the reality catch up. It was real. He wanted you, and not just now. Loved you enough to marry you if the universe allowed. That was a prospect good enough to fight for. An idea to fight off the doubts and worries. Because no matter what your brain had to offer in exchange, it could not compare. Ending the kiss, on a contented sigh, you rested your forehead against his. Taking an additional moment to level the breathing and stare into the eyes that have seen the inside of your soul and accepted it.

“You took me by surprise,” the nervous grin appearing on your face on its own accord.

Neil mirrored it, fingers cupping your face and stroking your cheek tenderly.

“Sorry…” a kiss on the forehead “Since I woke up today and looked at you… it’s been on my mind. The idea that you’re the one, and I need to let you know somehow. An obvious way would be to make you my wife” an overwhelming wave of fondness passing through the system at his words.

Neil’s wife. That sounded good. Hopeful. A label you would be proud to have one day. Final confirmation of your love. That was the needed spark to steer the conversation back on the right track. You leaned in once again and laid a small kiss on the corner of his mouth.

“Will you let me help you?” the simple question as you forced the seriousness once again.

This time he looked less nervous. Instead, you could see the battle playing out within his gaze. Fear and worry most prominent, close to tipping the scales and engulfing his mind within their shadow:

“I understand your logic… and why you want to go with me,” the diplomatic tone making you frown, “But… I don’t think I’ll be able to survive losing you. If something went wrong and you’d- I can’t let that happen” steel-cold resolve you knew from those disastrous meetings where this topic was the ultimate hot spot.

Now, technically, the issue of holding back was out of the way. Now neither of you had to pretend that you cared less; that there was anything else at stake but your feelings towards each other. Still, the fear of another argument was settling in the pit of your stomach as you aimed to answer with necessary determination:

“That goes both ways, Neil,” your comment causing him to look up with a surprise, “You need to understand that we’re both stubborn idiots who won’t let go. The best we can do is compromise” the softer tone needed to persuade him somehow.

You observed as he swallowed hard, your hand still within his grasp, now clutched tightly. As if he was afraid you would disappear if he relaxed the grip. Finally, he raised his head once again and met your searching gaze. Panic. Denial.

“But what if-” the words coming out strained, broken.

You did not like where it was going, and so you interrupted the supposition:

“What if what? There’s a reason why TP sent me those materials. Why he thought it’s crucial we know about the lock, and we prepare for it” the urgency crept into your voice, disrupting the illusion that you were the calmer one.

But how can one discuss something this important emotionlessly?

“Maybe they’re meant for me. So that I can go in there, open the gate, and leave” Neil’s answer made you snap up with sparks of passion burning in your eyes.

What you found on his face made it worse. It was that same resignation from before. As if he had no other choice but sacrifice himself. As if that was the only option, and he did not even want to consider alternatives. Why? Ignoring the desire to slap sense into him, you urged the reason to fight alongside you and put on the most definitive of voices:

“But what if something or someone stops you?” the question tearing through the fragile reality as you faced his conflicted look, “You’ve got reasons to come back now. Don’t you dare give me that same self-sacrificial crap” mindless of your need to stay strong, a single tear trailed down your cheek.

It fell perfectly onto your joined hands, making Neil look up sharply. His forehead creased with a new dose of angst as he reached out to wipe the wetness from your cheek. Taking a moment to stroke your neck then, gently caressing the skin as if it was necessary. As if the time was running out.

“Maybe this… maybe it’s all we’re meant to have. Those few days and-” the heartbroken look he gave you was enough to call for drastic measures.

Impatiently, you took hold of his free hand and grasped his chin to force him to meet your gaze:

“No” certain, no place for bargains, “I won’t give up on you without trying. You’ve made yourself essential to me, you’ve given me something else to… to be” you faltered, more tears streaking down your face; words needed but missing “I can’t let you take it away like that” a sudden stroke of anger adding inspiration for the very next argument “And why? Because ‘what’s happened happened’? That’s just another way of excusing inaction” with fascination you saw him flinch.

You have hit the right spot. Now it was the question of persisting. Of making him understand how ridiculously he was acting. How selfish it was to get himself killed in the name of philosophy. The wrong one, at that.

“It’s not. It’s an expression of fate in the mechanics of the world, not an excuse to-” he recited the words as though he knew them by heart.

As though it was his credo. Bullshit.

“Do nothing?” you completed the sentence with an arched brow, “And what is it that you’re planning to do?” biting edge unplanned but helpful.

If only to see him hesitate. No scripted cue for this question.

“Save the world. For you,” the candid answer taking you by surprise, “Because this the only way I can assure your survival” Neil stared at you with startling emptiness.

It was not exactly unexpected, but still. The fact that you mattered that much, the lengths he was willing to go to for your sake. Fuck. Overwhelmed with love and fear, your heart begged to be released. It thrashed within its cage, pulse pounding in your ears as you forced the brain to work. To tell him how wrong he was to think you wanted a life that did not guarantee his presence.

“The trouble is I don’t want to live in the world without you in it” that straightforward; making sure he held your gaze before continuing, “Listen to me. We will devise a plan, the best we can come up with, and then we’ll go in there together. I’ll cover you and help you escape after the job is done” you outlined the most reasonable of options and added upon his silence “It’s that simple,”

The conversation slowly draining the remains of energy in your body. You wanted nothing but to curl up in his embrace and sleep, forget about this whole mess, even if for a few hours. But you could not have that yet. Not with Neil offering yet another counterstrike:

“It’s everything but simple,” more worry in the stormy eyes, “I don’t know if I can do it… if I can let you…” he trailed off, the unspoken concerns making him interlace your fingers securely.

That called for the final defensive.

“Do you trust me?” you dropped the question with a neutral tone.

The answer hoped for but never taken for granted.

“Yes,” he did not stumble, the word rolling off his tongue with ease.

A rare surge of hope blooming in your chest.

“Then trust me on this too,” raising your joined hands to your lips and kissing his knuckles, “Together we can come up with something brilliant, I’m sure of it” a tentative smile to sign off the sentiment.

You did not know it was the gesture or your words that did it. You saw him waver, teeth nibbling on the bottom lip showing you the depth of the internal struggle. And then his eyes softened.

“You’ll need to be careful. I can’t risk losing you,” refusing to look at you, attention focused on your hands resting in the space between your folded legs.

It felt strange to know that you were this important. But it also explained everything, helping you find the solution to his worries and a way out of the stalemate.

“I know. I love you, and I’ve no plans of dying until we’re both ready to go. Together” you could only grin at his shocked expression, “So?”

You knew you had won the moment he cracked a tiny smile:

“…Okay… but only if you promise me that if things get nasty, you’ll leave. Without putting up a fight,” waiting for your response, he gazed into your soul, careful touch running up your thigh.

That seemed like an acceptable condition. One that offered space for maneuvers. One that could be argued with later.

“I promise,” the whisper opening up a space to lean in and kiss him.

Sealing your fates, confirming the beliefs. A final opportunity to show him why you were willing to do anything to save him. And vice versa.

As the kisses evolved into cuddles and the simple need to find comfort in each other, the tiredness caught up with you both. Another yawn interrupted the comfortable silence. Your hands were idly resting over Neil’s heart, the steady rhythm helping you calm down after the eventful day. He kept on stroking your hair, fingers tangling in the strands and smoothing them down. The repetitive movement easing you in, bringing a needed break from the stress and anxiety of the past weeks. As your eyelids felt heavier with every passing breath, a final question had to be asked:

“Can you stay with me?” the sudden timidness not fitting in with the intimacy of the situation.

And yet. Any voices of uncertainty got extinguished the moment you looked up at Neil and met his bright gaze:

“As if you think I’d leave. Don’t be silly,” the sheer audacity of your question causing his grin to widen, “I need to make up for all those lonely nights somehow” voice lowered to a whisper, gentle touch trailing up your arm, soothing and promising.

Good enough to succumb to and let go already. However, that need for water was stronger, causing you to smile apologetically before untangling from the complex web of limbs and standing up. His eyes followed your movement like a hawk, smirk forming on his face as he took in your dishevelment. As you stretched, the hem of the borrowed shirt rode up, exposing the glaring lack of underwear. The rare rush of confidence was strengthened by the look in his eyes. Suddenly being seen did not hurt that much.

“That you do” taking a sip of the water, you asked, “Can I keep the t-shirt?”

It was just a simple black shirt, good enough to sleep in, engulfing you in the additional dose of that ‘Neil smell’.

“Of course,” an appreciative nod, distracting you to glance at the abandoned phone, “You seem to like me shirtless… which I’m not complaining about,”

The comment was enough to make you turn back, however. Obviously. Taking in his satisfied grin, the urge to slap him was back. That, though, could turn your peaceful evening into something else. Something that perhaps was best left for the future.

“I just generally rather like you, Neil” the retort dropped with perfect disinterest.

No one messaged you, which was bound to be counted as a win. You got a far as making sure the phone was on mute, and you were ready to join him back in the bed when Neil’s question made you turn with widened eyes:

“Can you check my phone, please?” there was nothing suspicious in the way he asked.

As if it was nothing. But it was not exactly nothing. With trembling hands, you went through his notifications. Nothing remarkable or worth mentioning. It was when you faced Neil again after a minute that you noticed his taxing gaze, analysing your every move. He acknowledged your startled look with a serious smile:

“I can see that shocked face, and I’ve got one thing to say to your mean brain - I’ve nothing to hide from you” the emphasis placed on the right words “You can go through my texts if you want to test that” a passing glance at the device you still held in your hand.

Now that was too much. The idea itself triggering the reservoirs of worries. That you were too possessive. That the insecurities were getting ahead of you. As though burned, you put the phone down:

“Christ, no, sorry,” covering your face with your hands for a beat, “I don’t know why…”

Why what? Fuck knows. Looking for comfort, you glanced at him helplessly. Maybe with time, it would get easier. Maybe.

“It’s alright. Come here” Neil had no doubts as he extended his hand towards you in the simple invitation.

He need not say it twice. You switched off the remaining lights and took his hand, letting him pull you into a hug. The whispered reassurances and affirmations followed as you settled for the night. Carefully, you placed your hands over his heart and the scar on the side, mirroring night from another place and another time. As you closed off the day with a final breathless kiss, it was astonishingly effortless to realise that it was where you were meant to be. His lips glided over yours with tenderness reflected in the way he pulled you closer. Finally, you exchanged another confession and closed your eyes. Joined hands resting in the space between your heads like a beacon of hope. Someone to hold on to.

***

The initial sleepiness lasted for about three hours. After that, your brain switched back on, no longer satisfied by the presence of Neil’s steady breaths or the anchoring touch reminding you of the new circumstances. With every minute, it was harder to focus on falling back asleep. Instead, you were forced to go over the various what-ifs and worries centred around the battle. Thoughts of locks, guns, and bullets elevating your pulse and warming up your body in the familiar signs of an upcoming anxiety attack. Overwhelmed with the flood of ideas, you opened your eyes. No salvation in the darkness. Only the warmth of the embrace acting as a reminder to breathe. With a spark of fondness, you realised that Neil pulled you even closer throughout the night. His hands have slipped underneath the shirt. The touch comforting yet also warm enough to be bothering the heightened emotions. You had to get up and cool down. Only that was easier said than done. With his tight hold, it was difficult to untangle, and the first attempt got stopped with half-asleep Neil clutching you with stubbornness, refusing to let go. Despite your heart desperately clinging to the comforts of the position, you decided to take it slow. You raised your head and watched him for a short moment, involuntarily smiling at the peacefulness painted across his features. The relaxed forehead, long eyelashes falling on the cheeks, and strands of hair splayed on the pillow like a crown of gold. Beautiful. Leaning in, you placed a fleeting kiss on his temple, then another one on the cheek, lips brushing over the corner of his lips in a ghost of a touch. Message simple – sleep, it’s alright.

It worked, for he relaxed his hold enough for you to get up from the bed and trod over to the window. The coldness of the room waking up the senses, moonlight spilling over as you glanced at the horizon. Nothing but the ocean and the starry skies. No salvation to be found there. Unable to let go of the worries, you sighed heavily and pressed your forehead against the glass. There was hardly any point in trying to go back to sleep. That train has left the station. Your hands trembled lightly, betraying the anxious energy stored in every single cell of your body. Needing to get out somehow. Briefly, you considered putting on clothes and slipping out to let the cold air calm you down. But that could only help for a brief moment. You needed a better solution. A way to shut down the qualms. How was an entirely different question.

Your nervous internal ramblings got cut short with the unmistakable rustling coming from the bed behind, followed by:

“Why did you leave?” Neil’s husky voice enriched with the sleepy drawl causing a smile to spread on your face.

With the permanent warmth seeping through your chest with the reminder that it was finally your reality, you turned back to face him.

“I can’t sleep,” sheepish admission completed with a small shrug, “It’s fine though, I can-” as you sat down on the mattress, Neil silenced you with a hand taking yours and lacing the fingers.

“What’s wrong?” he seemed more awake now, the familiar focus back in his eyes, “And don’t tell me it’s nothing because I’m not buying that,” the disclaimer placed with a firmness that still startled you.

Supposedly it was time to get used to being seen like this. Right through, no bullshit allowed. Terrifying and endearing. Because for once you were understood. Accepted.

Taking an additional moment to collect the thoughts, you brushed the hair away from his forehead. Careful touch making Neil shut his eyes and lean into your palm as you traced the sharp edge of his cheekbone.

“I can’t stop thinking about the lock… All of the what-ifs and plans are starting to drive me insane,” you admitted quietly, not stopping the tender caress, “It’s like whenever I try to go back to sleep, the thoughts just keep rushing in, and there’s no end to them” the dejected note causing Neil to open his eyes and meet your tired gaze.

His brow furrowed, hold over your hand tightened as though he wanted to reassert his presence. A reminder that you did not have to deal with it alone anymore. In response, you squeezed his palm and rested your head on his shoulder.

“I know the feeling well,” a kiss on the top of your head, “Maybe we should make use of it,” the hopeful edge kindling curiosity.

“How?” somehow, it already felt a little bit better.

As though being able to share the troubles could make your heart less heavy. Because he was there and willing to fight the demons away with you. That was enough to assure you that he was the one. He had to be.

“Let’s go to the bridge and start planning. You won’t sleep and, frankly, knowing you’re feeling like this, I won’t either, so what have we got to lose?” the explanation simple in its directness.

For a moment, you wanted to argue, to tell him to go back to bed and let you deal with this one your own. Because it was selfish to drag him along at 3 am to brainstorm over the filter coffee and A0 format blueprints. Yet the moment your eyes met his, the protests died on your lips. Everything you saw in his gaze told you that there would be no bargaining over it. That he was bound to follow you into the bridge and start the planning right now if it meant you would be able to sleep and calm down. You could only show how that realisation felt through a kiss that strengthened every single feeling twice fold.

***

That is how you have found yourself slouched over the terrain maps and Sator’s compound blueprints with the old-school ticking away the early morning hours on the opposite wall. This early (or late?), the bridge was bathed in the glow of the dawn spreading throughout the eastern horizon. It was incredibly cold, the biting chill causing you both to huddle at the corner of the large table with pullovers zipped up and mugs clutched in your hands. The adorable pinkish tint on Neil’s cheeks and tips of his ears were almost good enough to suffer.

Quickly you established the main points needing covering: the area separating the drop-off zone from the epicentre and tunnel leading inwards, the ten minutes you would have for the whole job, and the potential fuck-ups. With your directions, Neil drew the simplified plan of the terrain on the blackboard, and you attempted to figure out the optimal time needed to cross the distance while inverted. That turned out to be a rather inspiring conversation…

“How fast can you run?” standing at the head of the table, Neil threw a glance at you in passing.

With a grin, you noticed that he managed to get a blue marker stain on his chin. The desire to get up and deal with that distracting you from answering the question. Long enough for him to glare at you offendedly. Riiight…

“Not as fast as you… with all those legs, but I’ll manage” you eyed his slender form with a glimmer in your eye, noting down the exact route to cover.

Tough, but manageable. You were definitely not going to back out now. Not a chance.

“All those legs?” Neil’s clueless tone made you look up with a wide smile.

Cute. One would think someone this gorgeous would be vain. Not this one, however. You stared at him, fascinated by the confusion visible in his face. There was only one way to show him. You got up and crossed the space in two strides, stopping half a meter away, a wicked grin on your lips.

“Legs for miles, sunshine,” one more taxing look directed at him, slowly slipping over every single inch of his body.

Ending the scrutiny on his face again, you closed the space and cupped his cheek. Taking in the widened pupils and parted lips.

“Blimey,” a longer exhale, timidity highlighted by the deepening blush and disbelief in his voice, “Is there a part of me you’re not crazy about?”

As if. Perhaps it was the mix of anxiety, sleep deprivation, and unbelievable luck that made you braver. You placed your hand around his neck to get proper leverage and make him bow down slightly.

“…nope,” the poker face easily achieved before you kissed him on the marker smudge, “Do with that what you will,” a wink as you made sure to press your body against his in a clear message.

And then you strolled back to your chair. As though nothing happened. After all, it was time for work… and a little bit of fun.

Your punishment for the provocation came not long after when Neil came back to the table to help you figure out the best way into the epicentre. Busy with the blueprints, you only noticed his presence once you felt a teasing touch run up your spine, followed by lips trailing kisses down the nape of your neck. However far the collar of your pullover allowed. Involuntarily you shuddered, the reaction instantaneous as you grasped the edge of the cold table to keep focused.

“Neil-” a half-whine exposing the frustration.

Mistake. He must have knelt on the floor behind your chair, for the next thing you felt was the warm breath causing goosebumps all along your neck and throat. He pressed another kiss to the spot right under your ear. The specially chosen one always resulted in thighs clenched tightly and warmth spreading down your veins.

“Don’t tell me you thought I’ll let that pass” the whisper confirmed your suspicions.

One glance at Neil told you he was rather proud of himself as he mirrored your wink from before with a satisfied smirk.

“Rude,” you rolled your eyes, huff added to the drama.

Perhaps mission planning could be interesting like that. Perhaps. As though following your line of thinking, Neil leaned in once again and pressed a kiss to your throat. His hands sneaked around your waist and between the thighs for a split second. Enough to make you groan.

“Is it now?” he chuckled and got up before you could utter a sound, “So… which entry do you propose, miss?” leaning over your head, tone strictly business.

Just like that. Bloody bastard. There was nothing else to do but sigh heavily and begin to plot revenge in the quiet of your mind. That could be rather pleasant.

You decided on an entry point, separate from the tunnel used by the splinter unit just in case. Whatever that case might be. Around five o’clock, when the whole of the room was bathed in the mellow sunlight and the few fucked up seagulls were desperately trying to fight over a fish on the line of your eyesight, you yawned for what felt like the hundredth time and glanced at the sofa longingly. It seemed like now, after over two hours spent planning and talking about nothing but the bloody lock (and the possibilities of your relationship), anxiety has started to die down, leaving nothing but the worst of energy slumps. Neil must have caught your worsening state, for, suddenly you felt a careful touch on your shoulder. He drew you into a half hug, lips pressed against your temple in the soft kiss. You relaxed in his hold instantaneously, the sense of peace finally palpable and within your reach.

“You can go lie down,” he murmured, gently steering you towards the settee, “We’ll go over the obstacles we need to prep for now, but I don’t need you at the table for that” with a small smile, Neil pushed you down to sit.

“Thanks,” you grinned at him, the expression carrying over the rest of what you could not say just yet.

It was too easy to prop your head on the armrest and listen to him ponder on the various ways your mission could be hindered. So easy that you did not even realise when sleep has won over everything else, and you have given in to dreams with Neil’s steady voice fading into the background.

***

When your consciousness has once again reached the surface, you have noticed two things at once. A presence of a duvet you have been covered with that was not there previously, and a blinding light shining right at your face. Slowly, you opened your eyes, squinting at the brightness, and took in the surroundings. The bridge. Early morning. The steady sound of the keyboard typing. Neil. An unauthorised smile welcomed itself onto your face as you stretched out the stiffness from the nap on the sofa. One look at the clock was enough to let you know how badly you have fucked it. 7:30. No more, no less. One question needing answering… why hasn’t he woken you?

You sat up, quietly folded the duvet, and glanced at Neil still slumped over the plans. He had his head propped on the hand, hair falling over his eyes, and fingers restlessly typing out the document. Next to him, there was an unfinished coffee and a half-eaten protein bar. With a flash of gratefulness, you noticed that apart from fetching the blanket for you, he also remembered to eat.

It was that affection and fondness that prompted you to sneak up on him and use up some of the many vengeance scenarios you have thought of. In a smooth move, you have covered the distance and threw your arms around his neck. A startled yelp he let out, only giving more conviction that this was the right maneuver.

“What-” the beginning of the question cut short when you kissed him on the neck.

Slowly savouring the taste of his skin, you placed your hands on his thighs, relishing in the feeling of the muscles tensing underneath the clothes. It was easy to become addicted to this kind of power. The rush of courage prodding you to graze your teeth over his skin. The answering groan and slight head tilt giving your more space for exploration, nothing but approval.

“Why didn’t you wake me up?” giving him a breather, you asked the question.

There was no reason to acknowledge it in any way. He would understand you were sure of that. Before he could answer, you picked up the activity, trailing kisses down his neck, giving additional attention to the pulse points and spots that made him fidget in the chair.

“Could never,” the hoarse whisper complemented with his hands covering yours, “What are you doing?” the hint of uncertainty causing a wicked smirk to spread across your lips.

A teasing answer on the tip of your tongue when the unmistakable sound coming from the airlock shattered the moment.

“Well, well, well… good morning, lovebirds,” the familiar Cockney accent broke the silence with an impish edge tinting every syllable.

There was no point in fooling yourself that they have not caught what you have been doing. Still, with cheeks burning red, you took a definitive step back, away from Neil and faced the rest of the team with an awkward smile:

“Hi,” the word came out quiet, raspy voice bringing out even more embarrassment, “We’ve um…” you trailed off, gaze helplessly slipping over Wheeler and TP.

No help apart from a knowing grin on her face and an inquisitive look in his dark eyes. The pronoun you have used ringing out in the space. We. Correct, and yet strange. Because you knew that after a show like this, there would be no more pretending. Everything out and clear. But maybe that was better… Your increasingly more hectic thoughts got interrupted by the sound of the chair scraping the floor.

“Couldn’t sleep. So, we decided to start the planning. For the lock,” Neil finished your sentence and added an explanation on a long exhale.

Unable to deny yourself the pleasure, you glanced at him briefly. He took a step closer, throwing you a reassuring smile. His cheeks were still flushed after your earlier ministrations, hair ruffled and begging to be arranged. Maybe later.

“You’re one entity now?” the shameless staring got interrupted by another cheeky question by the squad leader.

Oh christ. Resisting the urge to facepalm, you fought hard to find an answer.

“No, but… I’m going in with Neil. To help and cover” the truth had to do.

After all, it was what Ives wanted from you. The final decision on the state of things. A way out of the impasse. A sleepless night seemed worth it. One look at the soldier told you the decision has surprised him. He turned to look at Neil, directing the next question at him:

“Alright… and you’re all prepared for that? No more drama?” the emphasis given to the last three words brought back all the traumatic meetings from mere days prior.

No more drama. At last, there was no reason to feel the fear rise at the mention of the war council. Maybe the worst was truly beyond you?

“Yes, we’ve talked it over” Neil confirmed your thoughts with resolution.

On its own accord, his hand brushed against yours, the gesture not escaping the attentive gaze fixed on both of you.

“Doubt that’s the only thing you did,” the comment whispered low enough to be caught by the three of you stood close.

Your face reddened as you understood the connotations. On the one hand, it was nothing to be ashamed of. On the other, the part of you that always hated being seen like that was close to lashing out. However, your boyfriend had your back.

“Ives,” Neil uttered the warning, shooting you a worried look.

That was enough this time, luckily. Without a shadow of remorse, Ives grinned and strolled over to sit at the head of the table. Nonchalance personified.

“Mind sharing what it is that you came up with?” he arched his eyebrow in an open invitation.

Alrighty. You glanced at Neil, a silent question on your lips instantly understood, and answered with a nod of the head in the direction of the whiteboard and your abandoned plans.

As TP and Wheeler took their seats around the table, you both took hold of the papers and arranged them to prepare the presentation. Then a short eye contact was enough to kick it off:

“We’ll go in” Neil uncapped the blue marker and drew two dots on the board.

“Inverted,” you added, gaze sweeping over the audience.

So far, comprehension has seemed to be maintained.

“Yes. We’ve figured out that 4 minutes might be enough to cover the distance from the drop-off zone” drawing the line indicating your route, he motioned for you to pick up the compound blueprint.

“And get into the hypocenter. Via this tunnel,” exchanging a small smile, you took hold of the paper and pointed at the alternate entrance.

“Different to the one you’ll be using in case something went wrong,” he explained, “Then I’ll pick the lock and open the gate” quiet confidence you have missed hearing tinting the sentence.

Maybe it could work out just right.

“While I make sure he’s safe and sound,” complementing his sentence, you took that one step closer to Neil.

Emboldened by the dynamic you have easily fallen into, you shot him a confident grin and placed your hand on his shoulder.

Suddenly being watched did not feel half that bad. As though he was following your logic, Neil winked at you and finished the presentation with a telling shrug:

“And we exit,” you enjoyed the way his eyes glimmered with conviction.

For once, it felt like it was not just you who wanted it to work. Perhaps the conversation made an impact on how he saw things. And now he was willing to fight for your future. Together. The sudden need to take his hand got interrupted with a neutral question coming from Wheeler:

“What if someone stops you?” the poker face masking the hints of concern you knew well.

“We can discuss that now” Neil grabbed the list he composed during your nap and opened his mouth to speak.

Not for long.

“Have you been rehearsing that?” Ives’s question made all of you snap back to him in an instant.

The witty smirk gracing his features was a cause for concern. Because you knew well what he meant. Feeling the wave of embarrassment wash out the bravado, you struggled for an answer:

“No… that’s just-” biting on your lip in search of words, you barely registered what happened.

“Chemistry” Neil smiled assuredly and took your hand in his without missing a beat.

As you faced him with wide eyes, he raised your palm to his lips and kissed the knuckles in a gentlemanly fashion.

That was certainly a memorable way of announcing your relationship. Probably better than a Facebook status. Then you did not have Neil befriended on that. Did he even have an account? For whatever reason, your tired brain decided to treat those types of issues as most important of all, fixating on bloody Facebook of all things.

“You alright?” the tightening hold on your hand combined with the worried undertone in the question made you drop the pointless thoughts in a second.

As you met Neil’s gaze, you mustered another smile and squeezed back his hand. The company did not matter he was everything you could see anyway.

“Yep, sorry. Just knackered,” you whispered the assertion, refusing to acknowledge the ridiculous questions.

However, judging by the scepticism in his face, you knew it was not getting brushed off eternally. The sound of a throat being cleared pointedly made you both turn back to the audience with apologetic smiles.

“Hate to interrupt your little conversation, but I think we should use your head-start and try to complete the plans” Ives stood up from the chair and strolled over to the blackboard.

Marker in hand. Things still needed looking into if you were to make this mission successful on all fronts. Sleep and tiredness would have to wait.

“Sure thing” you passed the soldier a weary nod and sat down on your chair with a quiet groan.

Sofas were not the ideal places to nap. Note to the future self. Before you could do as much as glance at the documents again, a passing remark made you look up with eyebrows knitted:

“Congrats, by the way,” Ives threw the words with a telling wink directed at you and Neil.

Does the torture ever end?

“… Thanks?” the frustration seeping through your tone as you added, “It’s not like we’re getting married or anything, though”

“Yet,” the husky voice on your right chimed in with just the right amount of cheekiness.

Naturally. You glared at Neil sharply, any intent or purpose forgotten once he met your gaze with that familiar affectionate look in his eyes. Might as well…

The next few hours were spent on making sure every part of the plan and the tactics made sense and fit with the rest. It meant more filter coffee (fifth cup? More likely than you think) and more marker smudges all over your hands and arms. On the chin, too, if you ever got too lost in staring at the blonde bastard to your right. Which did happen. Often.

The cause of your death was the assigned job of drawing out the tactics on the large block of paper spread across the table. It was well past noon when you had finished half of it, and the pounding headache only seemed to increase with each second spent on staring at the red and blue lines and dots covering the piece. Stuck with the especially tricky part of indicating your two special task units on the plan, you let the frustration boil over with one simple curse, breaking through the dam:

“...fuck me-” the rest of the sentence, saturated with even more annoyance, was never meant to be heard.

“I am,” the two words invited themselves into your intended message.

Your eyes widened as the culprit confidently approached your workstation and gave you a little pat on the head. What the fuck? From every available expletive, you knew in a few different languages nothing seemed to come to mind in the outrageous moment.

“Neil, I swear-” that had to do as you made sure to show him the extent of fury through the look in your eyes.

You did not even dare glance at the others, knowing that this was quite the scene. Hilarious.

“What? Everyone knows anyways” the feigned innocence in how he batted his eyelashes at you only increasing the frustration.

He did have a point they knew. Especially after something like this. Still.

“That’s not an excuse,” the steel-cold voice doing nothing against the playful sparks in the blue eyes.

It was in the way Neil pushed himself closer to you that you knew what was coming. The ultimate finale to your early morning banter. Showdown. He caught the bottom lip between the teeth and glanced up at you through the dark eyelashes. Nothing but allure personified.

“Am I gonna be punished for the disobedience?” he overenounciated the words with a challenging tilt to the tone.

All of the annoyance was gone, the prospects opening up with his question. Mirroring him, you nibbled on the lower lip, letting the permanent desire back into your gaze. It was easy when faced with someone like Neil.

“... perhaps,” the word whispered with the promising wink.

And a pat on the blonde head, for good measure.

You need not turn to look at the company to know who facepalmed at that.

#tenet #tenet fanfic #neil tenet #neil tenet fanfic #neil tenet imagine #neil tenet x reader #neil x reader #robert pattinson #the art of inversion

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sunflowersteves · 4 years

Text

Unforgivable || ch. three

Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚: Your life with Natasha seemed like pure bliss until the team mistakes you for an agent gone rogue.

Author’s note: Here’s the last part! I’ve loved this journey trip of angst. I hope you all enjoy! Imma do a little extra with a smutty honeymoon ;))))

Warnings: angst, fluff!, swearing, angsty plot, basically the whole team is a dick

Main Masterlist

Previously:

Now you had to make a choice. Forgive Natasha or never see her again? On one hand, you wanted to be back in her arms again. Smelling her shampoo and kissing her temple all while that passion and love fill your stomach. But on the other hand, the Avengers had threatened you and your life. Natasha thought they were right. Natasha believed them, believed that you used her for information.

Although, you know you’ve already made your decision.

Natasha had been holding up in her room ever since she took you to the bus station. She knew she needed to keep her distance from you but she couldn’t help but sulk. She also didn’t want any confrontation with the team, she was still super pissed. Honestly, she would probably break each of their fingers right now.

She realized that you were it for her. You were the light of her life, the sunshine that shone through her terrible days. She remembered how after particularly hard missions, you wouldn’t ask and question. You’d immediately run a bath and take a loofah, gently rubbing up and down her skin.

Sometimes she would stare at you in awe, no one has ever done that before. Most of the people Nat has been with, they’d just brush her off. You on the other hand would pamper and comfort until she was happily smiling.

Natasha would just stare blankly in front of her, the darkness of her past haunting every movement she took. You could always tell when a mission went bad or it uncovered some dark secrets. You would wrap your arms around her waist and just hold her there while she softly cried into your arms.

Normally the two of you would spend time making dinner together, laughing, and dancing around in the kitchen. However, on the days that the two of you would need each other, one of you would make the other their meal.

You always made sure to have Nat’s favorite dish ingredients on hand. You’d stir the pasta around with a fork and the pesto sauce was poured on top. On days that were particularly bad, you would feed her yourself. You’d wrap the fork around the noodles, “Open wide, sweetheart.” Tears would always prick her eyes at your gentle voice and open her mouth, watching her chew it all down.

On good days, the two of you would cuddle and watch as many movies as you could. Her favorite to watch with you was horror because you’d jump in her arms and she’d coo at you until you were no longer scared. Sometimes you would go to parks and swing together on a swing set. Nat would bring a picnic basket with both of your favorite snacks and you’d endlessly tease each other.

Natasha had never realized how much she loved you until you were gone. Sure, she was aware that she was in love with you but not hopelessly so in love that she never wants to spend the rest of her life with anyone else but you. A couple of tears escaped down her cheeks, a full sob running out of her mouth.

All she felt, as she was curled up in a ball on her bedroom floor, was heartbreak. The depth of her stomach would twist and turn as she kept thinking about you running away from everyone. Her organs felt tangled in one another and she felt like her lungs were collapsing in on her. She was drowning. Drawing in the sorrow that was the loss of the love of her life. She was drowning in the anger and disappointment of herself and her friends.

She believed their word over yours. The ones who made the mistake of thinking you were from Hydra. She should’ve trusted you. She should’ve immediately run after you, assuring you that she believed you.

But she didn’t. She didn’t run after you and envelope you into her arms. She let her friends spoil her mind into thinking that you manipulated her.

A light knock at the door disrupted her thoughts. Was it you? Had you given a tiny ounce of forgiveness? She lifted herself up from the floor and pulled open the bedroom door. “Clint.” She sighed, her stomach plummeting to the ground. She almost slammed the door in his face but he kept his foot wedged.

“Nat-”

“I don’t want to hear it, okay?” Nat sat back down onto her bed, pulling her knees up to her chest. Heavy sobs raked over her body and her shoulder flinched as Clint tried to comfort her. He did it again but this time she let him, Natasha’s wails were compressed with hurt and sorrow.

He pulled her into his arms and rubbed his hand back and forth. “I am so so sorry, Nat. I’m so sorry that we made you believe that she was a double agent. I should’ve looked better into it. This isn’t an excuse but I’m going to be honest with you. I’m in love with you, Natasha.” Her eyes snapped towards his, a gasp leaving her mouth. Her tears had slowly stopped and it slowly turned into rage.

“So that means you can just shove her away as you did? It means that because you love me, you get to drive others away?” She tried to get out of his hold but he only seemed to hug her even harder. He shook his head at her question. Sure, he was in love with Nat but he genuinely thought that you worked for Hydra.

“When I saw how happy you were, my whole world crashed. When you were introducing us to your girlfriend, I mean, I was jealous to the point of trying to find dirt on her. So when I found that file, I wanted it to be true.” She sighed, the anger was still coursing through her veins at each word he spoke but she kept quiet. Nat knew that he wasn’t done with what he was saying.

“But then I saw how hard this hit you. The pain and suffering and desperation that this whole situation made me realize how dumb I was being. I want you to be happy Nat,” He turned to look at her face, her eyes flickering between his. “Again, none of this is an excuse for my actions. I just want you to know my side. If it helps, I had all of us go apologize to her and explain your side.”

Her whole body perked up, she grabbed onto Clint's shoulders, “What? What’d she say? Is she oka-”

“I’m not going to lie to you Nat, she looked hurt. But she seemed to understand your side of the story. We also want to make it up to her, if you two decide to rekindle.” She nodded, a couple of tears streamed down her face as she thought about the heartache you were going through. She knew how hard you took things sometimes.

“What about you, Clint?” He waved his hand up dismissively, assuring her that he’s going to be fine. “I’ll be okay. I’m still very much in love with you but I’ll be okay. I’ll move on,” A bright smile caressed his lips at the thought of his plans tonight. “I even have a date with this really cute girl named Laura.”

The two of them giggled and talked a bit about what she was going to do to try and win you back. However, if you wanted space she'd give you that in a heartbeat. Clint eventually left to get ready for his date leaving Nat back alone in her room.

She was contemplating running in your arms right now or just letting you think over things, so she could contact you.

But what if you were thinking the same? What if you were waiting for her to react?

Oh, fuck what if’s, Nat thought. She could sit there all day wondering what you would do and how you react. Why doesn’t she just get up off her ass and ask you? Worst comes to worst and you slam the door in her face. Although, that’s still an answer.

She picked herself off the bed and grabbed her things. She ran out the door to try and run down the long hallway but was stopped by a body slamming into her. She immediately went to see if the person was okay but then she froze.

There you were, right in front of her. Your hair was framed perfectly around your face, your tear-stained cheeks were wet but Nat couldn’t help but see how adorable you looked. Sunshine had radiately off of you despite being in a very big predicament. Your clothes were rushed to be put on and your shoes weren’t even tied.

“Nat-”

She interrupted you but launched herself in your arms, screaming almost at the top of her lungs. “I am so so sorry! I shouldn’t have believed them. I should’ve come running to you. I’m so sorry. I will do anything, and I mean anything if it means you’ll give me a second chance. But also if you want me to leave, I’ll-”

You immediately shushed her, stroking her bright red hair. “I’m not going to leave. I love you, Nat. I love you so so much. I can’t see spending my life anywhere else but with you.” Large sobs from the two of you filled the air. Her grip on you was tight like you were going to disappear if she let go.

“I’m not going to forgive you easily though. We have a lot to work on and a lot to work on with the Avengers but I’m willing to give it a shot.” She held you even tighter before, and you let go of her hold just a bit. Your heat ached as a whimper left her mouth but you quickly filled her reassurance with a light, feverish kiss.

Three years later

“Tony, if you don’t shut the fuck up right now, I will stab you.” Tony was all choked up to see Nat in her wedding dress near the altar. Tony just rolled his eyes at Nat and kept sobbing to himself. “I will cry all I want.”

Now it was her turn to roll her eyes, “Just don’t fuck up the wedding photos.”

Wanda was next to her in her bridesmaid dress and a small bouquet. The music started to play and the chatter died down. A gasp left her lips as you came into view, your dad having his arm locked around yours.

You were utterly beautiful. Your white dresses pooled largely around your feet, the flowery patterns had skated up and down the dress. Your veil was covering your face but Natasha already knows that you were the most beautiful person in the world.

You walked down the aisle and your dad let go of you, walking towards Nat with a fit of giggles. She lifted up your veil and gasped, her heart swelling with love and adoration.

The ceremony went on, saying the ‘I do’s’ to each other and holding hands. The smiles never left your faces. If you were being honest, you forgot about everyone else in the room. The only thing you could stare at was her in her wedding dress.

“You may now kiss the bride.” Natasha didn’t waste any time and she pounced on you. She grabbed your face and pressed her lips against yours. The chapel erupted with glee and shooting at the two of you officially being married.

Her hands snaked around your waist and your nose occasionally bumped. Her tongue tasted like honey, light fireworks erupted in your stomach at the feeling of her around you. She moved her head back, the two of you panting and the cheers still roaring in your ear.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Natasha Romanoff: @natasha-danvers

Unforgivable: @messuhp @dark-heart-no-soul @jenny-song @kangerland @izalesbean

Permanent Taglist: @hailmary-yramliah @kitkatd7 @captainchrisstan @angstysebfan

340 notes · View notes

smol-and-grumpy · 4 years

Text

Something Just Like This - CH39

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: Dean Winchester, mobster boss. He’s a little cocky, a lot ruthless and more often than not, short tempered. But he’s also, Dean Winchester, a war veteran and hero who suffers under a shit ton of PTS. He met her in a bar and thinks it’s fate that brought her to him. Little does he know why she’s really here.

Warnings: NSFW, all the fluff, a healthy amount of angst

WC: 5025

A/N: THIS IS IT. THIS IS THE END. And what a wild ride it was. Thank you all for giving this story a chance. For reading it to the end. I’m not going to lie, I am a little sad that it’s all over now. I hope you enjoy this last chapter.

SERIES MASTERLIST

Dean walks her through the mass of people, shouldering his way across the dance floor with the breadth of his shoulders. They part for him easily. It’s like he’s still got that vibe of authority around him. People respect him, people listen to him when he talks, people are looking up to him. She’ll never get used to that, because even though Dean can be acting all though, he’s really just the softest when he’s with her.

It’s when they walk out into the parking lot that she has to ask, “Where are you taking me?”

“You’ll see.” He says, looking back and there’s a huge smile on his face.

He walks to his car, opens up the door to let her get in and she hesitates, “You’re the best man, I don’t think you should be leaving now.”

“It’s over, we ate, we drank, people can have a good time without me,” Dean explains, “Besides, Cas knows and he’s okay with it.”

“But the bride didn’t throw her bouquet yet.” She doesn’t know why she says this, she doesn’t even know if they all are throwing flowers because she’s really never been to a wedding before.

Dean’s eyebrow climbs up his forehead, “Do you want to catch the bouquet?”

“I don’t know?”

“You don’t like flowers.”

“Yeah, but still.” She crosses her arms but decides to get into the car.

He closes the door, walks around and settles in before he turns to her, “Baby, you don’t need a bridal bouquet.”

“Are we there yet?” She asks, because she can’t even see.

Dean had taken off his tie and blindfolded her with it before they set out on their journey, asking first if she trusts him and of course she does. So now she’s sitting in the dark, with no sense of orientation whatsoever.

It feels like they’ve been driving for hours already.

“You just asked six fucking minutes ago.” Dean growls beside her.

“But we’re not there yet!”

“No.”

She sits back, tries to relax.

After a while, though, she asks again, “Dean, are we there yet?”

“Jesus, baby, just be patient!”

“I don’t like surprises, is all.” She mutters under her breath.

Dean chuckles, “I know. But you’ll like this one, I promise.”

She nods, leans her head back before she opens her mouth again to speak but Dean cuts her off.

“I swear if you ask me one more time if we’re there yet, I’ll turn the car around and we’re going back to the wedding!”

“Wow,”

He laughs then, “I always wanted to be able to say that for once in my life.”

Y/N must have been sleeping by the time they arrive. Dean’s nudging against her face, pokes at her cheek with his index finger.

“Are we there yet?” She mumbles groggily, almost forgets that she still has his tie around her eyes.

Dean chuckles, leans closer, kisses her. She doesn’t see him, but feels him. Thinks that maybe she’d like to do that one time in bed. Having him wrap one of his ties around her eyes so she wouldn’t be able to see but only feel.

He doesn’t take the blindfold off yet, though, and it’s somehow exciting but at the same time she’s anxious about it. Can’t help it. She really does not like surprises.

She hears him getting out of the car, a moment later the door on her side opens and he scoops her up.

“Hold tight,” Dean whispers and she does, wraps her legs around his body as he closes the car door before he gets something out of the trunk. From the way he’s breathing, it must be their bag.

He walks her along a path, feels him going up little steps and then another path. There’s jingles of keys as she feels him fishing out something from his pants. And then she hears a turning of a key, hears an opening of a door. A click. Switching on of a light probably, because it gets brighter, and then he drops her down and positions himself behind her, his hand on her shoulders.

Dean lowers his head and whispers next to her ear, “You ready?” His big hand squeezes her shoulders, rubs up and down.

“I don’t know,” She whispers back, “Should I be?”

Dean laughs into the back of her head, leaves a little peck before his fingers unknots her blindfold.

It comes off and she blinks, lets her eyes adjust to the brightness of the light above them.

Y/N’s standing in the entrance to a house, the walls are white around her, and there's a stairway that leads up the stairs to the second floor.

“Look,” Dean says, turning her a little to a drawing he framed and hung up on the wall next to the door. It's her drawing, the one with both of them together plus Cuddles and Bubbles.

She has tears in her eyes, can’t help it.

“Come on, I take you on a tour. It’s not finished yet but I sped up and got all the things done we would need to be able to start living here,” Dean pulls her along and she can’t even open her mouth to protest. Not that she wants to.

They walk through the door and stand in a kitchen, it isn’t fully equipped yet but there’s a fridge and two stoves that they can use. The kitchen isle is still wrapped in packaging.

“This is where you’ll spend most of your time.” Dean presents the kitchen to her, says it with a straight face.

She elbows him in the rip.

“Ouch! What was that for?” He wraps his hands around her, kisses her temple.

“Oh, you know,” She says and they stand there, with Dean’s arm around her. “Once this is finished, it’ll be beautiful.”

“Come on,” Dean says, drags her into another section of the house. He shows her the dining table and there’s a terrace to the back. They step out to it but it’s already dark and she can’t see a lot. She still remembers it from the listing though, remembers that there’s a huge yard, a meadow that drops to a pond. She’s sure that the view’s amazing by daylight.

Dean stands behind her again, wraps his hands around her middle, hugging her from behind. “Look up.”

She does, looks up to see stars in the sky.

“We can see stars from here. Imagine sleeping out on the porch, looking up to the sky, how does that sound?”

“Amazing,” She says, because it really truly is.

“Now, let’s go to the bedroom.”

She gasps dramatically, “Dean, I’m not that easy!”

He snorts so loud, she thinks he choked on his own saliva for a hot minute. He picks her up after, throws her over his shoulder and goes in, mentions the living room in passing. There’s already a couch, a TV’s still missing. Dean climbs up the stairs, his hand on her thigh and ass and he spanks her twice, making her yelp up with a laugh.

Y/N sees everything upside down when she turns her face but the nicest view is actually Dean’s ass in the fitting dress pants. Can’t quite take her eyes off of it. She spanks him too, for good measure.

Dean just growls and she’s hanging from his shoulder until he walks along the landing to the last room to the left.

Dropping her down on the bed, he follows, propping himself up on one elbow on his side as he watches her take in the room.

It’s painted white with a heavy wooden closet and bed frame. There’s an adjacent room, which she thinks is the bathroom.

He’s still on the bed as he watches her get off it to walk over to the window. The room overlooks the meadow.

She turns back and smiles before she peeks into the bathroom. She tries the switch and the room lights up.

There’s a big window and an equally big bathtub.

“The bathtub’s the first thing I installed in here.” He’s standing at the door, head leaned against the door frame.

She’s surprised that Dean sees the bathtub as their thing too. She loves bathing with Dean, doesn't really want to admit that she never liked bathing before she met him.

“Is it big enough for the both of us?” She asks but knows that it is. It’s bigger than a normal tub, but not as big as the tub he has in his apartment.

Dean walks over, squeezing her arm in passing, “We can test it.”

They’re sitting in the dark in the tub, have turned off the lights because the stars are shining in the skies, they can see it when they look out of the window. Dean leans the back of his head on the ledge, her head’s on his chest. His fingers stroking her in the warmth of the water.

“How are you feeling?” Dean asks, his hands coming up to massage her shoulder, her chest.

Y/N leans into the touch, her hands stroking his thighs on either side of her body. “Good. Great, actually,” She says, and adds, “Thank you for showing me.”

“You’re welcome.” Dean chuckles, his big hands come around her body, laying one hand on her stomach. “Can you imagine living here? With me?”

Y/N still think it’s cute how he asks. On one hand, he shows her all this as if he’s made the decision for both of them already but on the other hand, he’s afraid that he might have gone too far so he opts for asking.

“Only if it’s okay with you.” She answers, because, yes, of course she wants to live here.

“Oh, I’m more than okay with it.” He smiles, as he sits up a little, making her sit up with him, and places kisses along her shoulder. “I was thinking of a room for your art. You can decorate it yourself.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. We can move in as soon as today. Living and working on finishing it.”

“That sounds really good.”

Dean’s hand travels up her stomach, cups her tits in his big palms, fingers twisting at both her nipples and she has to bite down her bottom lip as not to moan too loud. “They delivered the bed two days ago. Thought I’d never get it on time.”

“On time for what?” She turns around in his grip, braces her hands on either side of his hips and goes in for a kiss, soft and slow. She breaks it before it could get too hot. “Dean Winchester, have you been planning on taking me here to seduce me?”

He smiles, bright and white, “Is it working? I even tested the bed to see if it creaks.”

She’s about to go in for another kiss but has to stop when she hears it. Has to hold herself back from laughing. “How did you test it? Did you get on the bed and wrestle around on your own?”

“Hey, don’t judge!” He’s laughing himself, his hand comes up around the back of her neck and pulls her in for a kiss.

Dean spreads her out on the bed, deliberately leaving the lights out and the blinds open. The light from the stars is enough to wrap Dean up in a glowing light when he’s standing at the foot of the bed.

My god, how did she get so lucky again? He’s looking like a goddamn full course meal when he’s standing there, naked, watching her watching him.

He strokes himself with one hand, and she’s about to move a little to see better when he stops her, “No. Stay. Spread your legs baby, I wanna memorize how you look with the light.”

Y/N’s blushing. Is thankful that he won’t see that.

“You’re goddamn beautiful.” He whispers.

And it’s probably another agonizing two minutes until he comes to the bed and crawls towards her on all fours until he’s shouldered between her thighs.

He kisses her thighs, one side then the other, nibbles and sucks at her flesh, moves closer to the place where she wants him most, but he’s stopping short, does the same thing all over again until she’s almost dying of anticipation.

“Dean!” She wriggles her hips and he has to hold her down.

That little shit just chuckles, “What do you want me to do? Tell me.”

“I want your mouth.”

Dean looks up, raises an eyebrow, “Where do you want my mouth?”

“Oh god,” She props herself on the elbow, and Dean’s laughing because he just loves to get on her nerves, too. “I want your mouth on my pussy, Dean. Want your talented tongue licking and sucking at my clit, want you to get your tongue as far into my pussy as it would go and fuck me with it. Make me come and drip my juices all over your face. Please?”

Dean’s expression changes from playful to serious. He loves when she talks like that, it turns him on and she knows, uses it against him sometimes, like now. And she thinks Dean was not prepared to hear it, was not prepared how he might have just tortured himself with his question.

“Fuck, baby,” He mumbles before he licks a broad stripe up her folds. “You’re already so wet. Tastes so fucking delicious. So sweet.”

He dives in then, spits and licks and sucks like her pussy is really that good. Like he couldn’t be happier when she lets him eat her out. His beard is scratchy, prickles on her sensitive skin but she welcomes the burn. It’s so good.

Dean lowers his face, buries his nose into her folds and his tongue in her pussy.

My god, his tongue is massive, so wide and long and it already stretches her when he licks into her and fucks his tongue as deep as he could go without suffocating between her thighs.

He comes up for air, works his tongue around her folds, sucks in her clit as his hands make their way up her body. He toys with her tits, slaps on them and twists her nipples while he shakes his head and hums with her clit between his teeth.

Y/N’s hands fly to his head, grips at his short hair, pulls him in further without even wanting to but she’s on the edge, ready to fall off a cliff.

“Dean,” His name makes it past her lips in a quiet sobbing moan while her back arches, pushing herself against his face.

She closes her eyes, breathes hard and she swears, she sees white dots flying around behind her eyelids.

After a while she starts to laugh while Dean’s still cleaning her up down there. She clasps her hand over her face and laughs wholeheartedly.

Dean comes up and she looks down, sees his face shining in the light. “Good?”

“My god, yes.” She giggles, her hands go down to cradle his face, thumbs brushing away at the wetness in his beard and face as she pulls him up to kiss him.

One of her hands goes between them, searching for his dick she thinks she has to work back up to it’s erected state but to her surprise, she finds it hard and it’s hanging heavy between his legs, the tip’s weeping wet.

She doesn’t know how he does that, how eating her out for so long and chasing after her pleasure is something he really and truly enjoys, something that turns him on so much that he’s still fucking hard he could pound a nail with it.

Y/N strokes him while he kisses her and she tastes herself on him. Dean has to break the kiss but he leaves his forehead on hers. “Go on, do that and I won’t be fucking you tonight.”

And she does want that, wants him to fuck her, wants to feel him, so she lets go, “How do you want me?”

“You let me choose?” He’s laughing.

She grins and nods, “Yeah.”

Dean kisses her again before speaking, “The floor length mirror didn’t arrive yet so I guess you’ll be riding me tonight.” He turns on his back next to her. “Come on, hop on cowgirl!”

Laughing, she straddles him and teases him a little by grinding her pussylips over the length of his shaft. It feels so fucking perfect already. He helps her by gripping her hips, pushing and pulling her.

Suddenly, she feels his hands coming down on her ass, spanking her hard enough to leave a mark. “Baby, seriously you want me to fuck you or not?”

She has to laugh at that and gives in, her hand picks up his dick, positions it to her entrance and slowly sits down on it. She can see him biting down on his bottom lip, the frown sits on his face. She works it in deeper, sits down lower until he bottoms out.

“Oh god, you’re so deep,” She moans, resting her hands on his chest and Dean’s taking deep breaths to even out his excitement.

Pausing, she takes deep breaths herself, is close to losing it because his dick always hits the right buttons on the inside of her.

“Goddamn it, baby, can you move? I’m dying here.” Dean growls low and dark, he’s gritting his teeth.

She starts to bounce up and down, slowly at first but then she gets faster. Dean spanks her ass once, twice, leaves his hand on the flesh of her ass cheeks, kneads it while he helps her bounce.

“Jesus, you’re so beautiful up there with the light. I could watch your tits bouncing around all night.” His hands come around her body, palms cupping her tits to emphasize it.

“Choke me,” She breathes out in a whisper, but Dean hears her nonetheless because his hands come around her throat, pressing down, cutting off her air supply.

Y/N starts to ride him harder, faster, chasing her orgasm that’s so close.

“That’s it,” Dean breathing hard himself, is trying actively not to come before her. “Ride through it, baby. Keep on riding. Good girl, you’re doing so good. Christ, you feel so fucking perfect.”

“Dean, I’m—”

“—I got you, baby.” Dean whispers, pulls her down until they’re chest to chest, wraps his arms around her and starts to fuck up into her, chasing both their release for her and for himself.

“Look at me, baby,” Dean pants through gritted teeth, urges her to stop burying her face in the crook of his neck.

And she does, braces her hand on the side of his shoulder, looks at him, the tip of their noses touch. “Dean,” She says, feels that familiar tingling feeling crawling up her spine and her eyes cross for a brief second.

Dean smiles at her, pulls her in for a kiss as he comes deep, bottoming out as deep as his dick could go.

They lie in the dark, her head on his chest. She listens to his heart beat while he strokes her back. It’s only when she’s shivering that he peels her off him, slips his soft dick out which makes her flinch. He lays her down and covers them both with a blanket.

She has her head on his shoulder, draws an invisible drawing on his chest. They’re both almost falling asleep but then something hits her. “Bubbles!”

Dean chuckles, “Don’t worry. Sam will go feed her.”

“You really thought this through, didn’t you?”

He kisses the top of her head and pouts, “It’s like you don’t even know me.”

Y/N smiles at that before she goes still. Her heart picks up speed because there’s still something that she wants to get off her chest but she’s afraid of how Dean would react.

“What is it?” Dean asks and really, how does he fucking do that? She didn’t say anything yet.

She sighs, “I have to tell you something, promise not to be mad?”

He turns on his side, hovers above her. “I never get mad at you.”

She knows that but still.

Dean doesn’t say anything, just watches her, a little crease between his eyebrows.

“Well,” She starts and breathes in and out before continuing, “Do you think the house will be finished in about nine months time?”

“Why such a precise number?” Dean frowns some more.

She doesn’t say anything, just keeps on staring at him, waits for him to put two and two together, hopes he’s not that dense when it comes to taking hints.

The crease between his eyebrows grows deeper, and then there it was, the realization that hits him like a freight train. His lips form an ‘o’.

“I’m not sure because I haven’t done a test yet but I’m four days late.”

He smiles before leaning down to kiss her eyebrow, her nose, her lips. “Why should I be mad about it?

“I don’t know? Maybe you don’t want a baby now that you have freedom. Maybe you don’t even like kids. Mayb—”

Dean kisses her again, cutting her off, it grows so hard she thinks he’s bruising her. They break off for air, and Dean leaves his forehead on hers. “It’s true, I never wanted a baby. At least I never wanted one in my former life. But I would want one with you. Hell, give me a hundred.”

She giggles at that, “There’s no way I can birth a hundred babies. You gotta find someone else for that.”

“But how? You’re on birth control.”

Y/N shrugs, “I guess the many painkillers were contra productive and I don’t know. I took it regularly. But it could also be that I missed a day or two, I really can’t remember. Are you mad? Maybe the mistake is on me?”

“‘M not mad. And it’s not you. No contraception is 100% effective. You don’t have to be a genius to know that.” Dean pecks her nose, gets out of bed and picks up his pants from the floor. He gets back into them before searching for his shirt, gets into it and buttons it up.

“Where are you going? You leaving me?”

He finds it, pulls it over his head, and comes around, leans down to place a kiss on her forehead. “Relax, I’m gonna go get a test.”

“Dean, it’s past 1AM.”

Dean shrugs, walking out of the room but calls back, “There’s food in the fridge. And you better drink a lot because you need to pee. No falling asleep, you hear me?”

She rolls her eyes.

“Stop rolling your eyes!”

How does he do that?

It’s more than an hour later when Dean gets back with a bag full of tests.

She eyes him, “Do you want me to pee on all of them?”

Dean sits down, takes off his shoes. “Actually, you can pee in a cup and we can use that pee for all the tests.” He says, “I let them explain it to me.”

“Oh my god.”

“What? He asked if I knew how it works and I said I actually didn’t, so he started explaining and it was actually really interesting.” Dean says with a straight face as his hands go under the blanket, searches for her feet to pull her to the edge. “Now move your ridiculously cute butt to the bathroom and pee into the cup I bought.”

“We’re really doing this. Now?”

“Duh,” Dean scoops her up, walks her to the bathroom, the bag still in her hands, and drops her down before he walks out. “Just peeing, no testing yet!”

She rolls her eyes.

“Would you please stop rolling your eyes!”

They’re sitting on the floor in the bathroom with their backs leaned against the tub. She still has a blanket wrapped around her and watches as Dean unpacks a test.

“Okay, we have to dip that into your pee for five seconds. You ready?”

“No.”

“Jesus, Y/N!”

“I can’t. You do it.” She clasps her hand over her face.

Dean breathes out, “Fine.” He grumpily takes the cup and dips the test into the pee, counts to five and takes it out, pushes the cover over it until it clicks.

“What now?”

“Now we wait.” He says.

She lays her head on his shoulder, and Dean starts to shake the test. “It’s not a Polaroid, Dean.”

“Maybe it’ll be faster like that, you shush your mouth.”

They both start to laugh but soon the laughter dies down when Dean turns the test to read.

“That’s a plus sign, no?” He asks and she can literally feel the blood draining from her head.

“I feel nauseous.” She mumbles, and starts to fan at her face with her hands.

“Baby,” Dean drops the test and cradles her face with his palms. “Look at me,”

She lets her hands fall to her side, opens her eyes. “I’m—”

“—It’s okay,” He’s soft voice soothes her as he kisses her chin, her lips. “I got you, okay?”

“I’m— ..wow.”

“Yeah, I know.” Dean says and she can feel his hands shaking too. “Shall we try another one? Just to be sure?”

Y/N could only nod.

The second one comes out even more positive, if that’s even possible and she has tears in her eyes. Yeah, sure, she always dreamed of having children, but it’s too early, isn’t it? Things only start to fall into place now.

Dean lays his arm around her shoulder, strokes her head when she leans it on his shoulder.

“I need a drink,” She mumbles.

“Yeah, me too.” Dean agrees but doesn’t get up, knowing that she’s not allowed to drink anymore for the time being.

“We’re going to be so lost. I can barely take care of myself.” She chuckles but it’s not even funny anymore.

Dean has to smile at that. “Can’t lie, I’m terrified. But we’re gonna get through this together, don’t we?”

“Yeah.”

“We can ask Cas and Anna for advice and we watch and learn from their mistakes.”

She snorts out a laugh at that.

“I think I now have even more reason to do this,” Dean stretches out a leg to fish something out from his pants pockets and holds it out to her.

Y/N shakes her head as she sees that it’s a box, “No, Dean. No, you don’t have to. I’m not expecting you to, just because I’m pregnant.”

“I know, but I want to.” He says, “Just, don’t judge when I don’t get on my knees alright? I think they’ll give out if I do.”

She has to chuckle at that, and her eyes are getting wet.

Dean opens the box and she cries even more. She was expecting something big and over the top where she will have to tell him that it’s too much, that he should tone it down but it’s just a simple white gold ring with one single strong diamond, which is just perfect, really.

Dean clears his throat, he sniffs too, “I actually wanted to ask you earlier. Before you left me. Had planned it through. Was about to ask you to marry me after the coup but you were gone.” His voice is a little shaky, “And when you came back, I wanted to make sure you would want to stay. And I think for the past week, I thought about asking you again, had actually planned to do it tonight in our new house. So, no, it’s not only because you’re pregnant.”

“Dean,” She wants to say more but she couldn’t, she can’t form words in her head.

“That’s my name, yes.” He jokes and she punches his arm with a laugh before she starts to sob again.

“I love you, Y/N. I want you here with me. I want you to be the first thing I see when I wake up, the last before I go to sleep. I want you to drive me nuts,”

She raises her eyebrows a little, “Even when I can’t decide on what to buy when we go groceries shopping?”

“Even then,”

“You want me here, even when I steal your blanket?”

“Yes,”

“Even when I can never decide where we want to eat out?”

Dean snorts out a little laugh, “That actually annoys the fuck out of me.”

“Even when I annoy the fuck out of you? You still love me?”

“I want you to annoy the fuck out of me. I want you. Period. You understand? I want to be the last person who kisses you,” He pinches the bridge of his nose, “Wait, that sounds terrible, like a threat or something. What I’m actually trying to say is, you’re it. This is it for me and I don’t want anything else. I would give up everything I have as long as I can keep you in my life. And now I wanna ask you, if you’re okay with it, can I keep you?”

She weeps into the palms of her hand and Dean pulls her close, laying her head on his shoulder. He places a soft kiss on the crown of her hair.

When she doesn’t answer right away, he goes on, “Like there’s really zero pressure. I don’t want you to feel like you have to marry me. Not at all. We can just take it one day at a time. We don’t even have to marry at all if that’s not what you want. It’s just a way for me to tell you that you’re it. You’re all I want.” His voice is shaking a little too, “What do you say? Huh?”

“You’re an idiot,” She chuckles between tears.

“I know,” Dean grins a little.

She nods, “Yes,” before looking up and hooking her arms around his neck, presses her wet face to his to feel his lips against hers.

Dean smiles into the kiss.

Y/N realizes that she never needed much in life. She never wanted or could imagine herself having a fairy tale ending. All she really wanted in life, she realizes, was something just like this.

FIN

You can read the sequel here: Sky Full Of Stars

#something just like this #dean winchester #dean winchester smut #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fan fic #dean winchester fan fiction #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean x reader #dean x you #nathalie writes

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sevenincubistolemyheart · 3 years

Text

Lightened Shadows Chapter 2

AU: Final Fantasy 4

Tag list: @xsunnyhoseokx @otomehideout-indecentconfessions @file-missing @risefallrise

Rating: M

Potential Triggers: Pretty descriptive fantasy violence this time around(boss fights will hopefully always be this well written; I’m real proud with how the scene came out so I hope you like it).

Pairing: Ever-evolving :)

Genre: Drama, Romance, Angst, Fluff, Hurt & Comfort

Length: 6.2k+

The air was cool from the little you could feel thanks to your armor but you knew it’d heat up quickly thanks to the sun. Thankfully, it hadn’t risen too much given how early it was.

“Shall we stop in town first?”

Yoongi stopped you as you turned in the direction towards where the cave you needed to go through waited with a gentle hand on your arm, your armor clanking at the contact.

“Hm? Didn’t you say you already got provisions just this past nightfall?”

He smirked sheepishly and shrugged.

“I may have forgotten in the midst of the men celebrating my victory in our spat. Apologies. Shall we?”

You nodded, barely holding back a sigh.

‘As if I don’t feel bad enough. Now I have to go get supplies and probably scar a few children in the process with my intimidating appearance. Spectacular.’

You entered the quaint little village just diagonal to the castle gates and looked around, trying to go through the brief list of what you needed in your mind.

‘It should be a short expedition; 2 days at most, 3 if we stop to pitch a tent after delivering the ring to get their explanation once you entered the village.’

You were sure you wouldn’t be welcome there for long. The town of Mist was known for little else than their reclusive nature and had never been particularly fond of those that hailed from Baron, so perhaps best you purchase one just in case they wouldn’t let you stay at the inn as you feared.

Yoongi led the way to the item shop and offered you a wave as he ran off somewhere; probably to attend to some last-minute errand he’s forgotten about.

“How can I help you today, my Lady?”

It was a quick transaction; you luckily had plenty of gil to spare thanks to the 500 gil provisions the King’s guard had insisted you take, along with 5 Potions and a Phoenix Down should the worst come to befall one of you in battle. You bought one more Phoenix Down for good measure in addition to that Tent and exited looking around to see Yoongi’s distinctly teal armor. He’d always hated that ugly green the other Dragoons were forced to wear, so he’d had Jin help him create his own armor once he'd been promoted to Captain.

Having experience building airships was surprisingly helpful in creating armor that could withstand some damn mighty blows apparently.

You exited the shop looking around for Yoongi carelessly as you walked through the town, trying to not draw any attention to yourself; only to look down in surprise at a sudden banging from your armor being hit repeatedly. A small boy was there, angrily pounding on your armor with tears streaming down his face.

“You took my Daddy away!! I hate you!”

A wince graced your face behind your mask and for once you lowered it, kneeling to the boys’ height and gently restraining his hands firmly in your own. You had no choice but to take many people to the guards if they happened to be foolish enough to run into you. It had been one of the ways you’d rose in rank so quickly; catching criminals. But...it never made it any easier to see the carnage left in the wake of your actions.

“...I’m sorry. I know there is naught I can say to soothe your pain, but all I can do is apologize. I had a duty to fulfill, and I did as was necessary.”

The child sniffled, but the hatred once in his eyes had died down to a mere simmer.

“You don’t seem so mean. Please miss...I just want my Daddy back. Mommy said he’s served all his time; can’t you get him for me? I promise I’ll work doubly hard to ensure we’re never poor enough to have to steal again!”

He seemed so proud, puffing his chest out, and as you released his hands he placed them on his hips in a show of how strong he could and would be.

A glance upwards saw his Mother suddenly rushing towards you both and the woman was on the floor on her knees, hands, and head both level to the ground at your feet.

“Please Lady Captain! Forgive my boy! He means no harm!”

Your heart clenched as you stood and the boy seemed distressed, seemingly coming to the conclusion that you were leaving as he grabbed onto your arm.

“Miss, please! His name is Raisoro. Even if it's not today please at least look for him when next you return to the castle!”

You noticed Yoongi waiting as the crowd parted and knew you'd have to make this quick. He'd never been good with this kind of situation.

You nodded resolutely, meeting the boy’s eyes.

"I swear it on my role as a Dark Knight…"

You met the mother's eyes too as your gaze softened behind your visor and you helped her to her feet.

"And as someone who also loves another. I will check and return for you once I next visit the castle. I have a mission to do before that so it may take some time but-"

"Thank you Lady Captain! You're so gracious!"

The mother was barely holding herself together at your words and you squeezed her hand briefly before you pulled away after a ruffle of the boy's hair and made your way to Yoongi who was looking on in solemn understanding.

"...Dare I ask?"

"The boy's father has been in prison past his sentence, caught stealing food for his family. I promised I'd check once we got back."

Yoongi glanced at you from his place beside you as a chuckle escaped him.

You felt your cheeks heat and huffed defensively.

"What's so funny!?"

He shrugged with a fond smile as he shook his head.

"Still too kind for your own good is all. Could have been a lie, an attempt to steal money, or a ploy to stir up rebellion in the town against the King starting with you by using a young boy but you responded so genuinely that even if that's what it was it backfired miserably."

He snickered a bit more, a rare sound to be sure for most but you enjoyed it nonetheless even as you blushed.

"It's my job as Lady Captain. I may serve the Red Wings but the townspeople are my concern too. I guess it probably seems silly since you're of the Dragoon branch, only responsible for protecting the castle and monster patrol.”

His laughter died but you caught the amused smirk at his lips.

“All the better for me. People can be complicated whereas fiends are useful for little more than target practice and exercises to bring my jumps to larger heights.”

You shoved him playfully with a roll of your eyes.

“Alright hotshot; that’s enough bragging. Did you do your little errand? I want to check in with Hoseok’s Mom while we’re here. You know how worried he can get about her when he gets stuck at the castle healing overnight.”

Yoongi seemed to hesitate at that but reluctantly nodded and let you lead him to the small house towards the center of the village where Hoseok’s mom had received her own home after Hoseok had received his white cape as proof he was a Baron White Mage. You knocked on the door and after a moment it swung open to reveal Hoseok’s mother. You smiled kindly, mouth guard already lowered out of respect even as she glared at you disapprovingly.

“What do you two want!?”

“I just wanted to check in on you. Hoseok wanted to ensure you were eating enough and healthy.”

She huffed irritably and leaned against the doorjamb as Yoongi shifted uncomfortably beside you, causing her gaze to briefly shift to him before going back to you.

“I’m doing just fine; no thanks to you. His Majesty’s recent behavior troubles me. I heard you and your boy there have been doing some just terrible things, under his orders or no. All I want is Hoseok to be safe from such gory acts and that’s your job as his lover.” The glare she gave Yoongi did not go unnoticed by you and you noted the way his whole body tensed and his mouth went in a firm straight line. “And that goes for any kind of hurt. Have I made myself clear?”

You maintained your amicable smile even as it felt like you’d just been speared through the heart. Your voice was unbearably soft as you responded, cursing the way it wavered.

“O-Of course madam. I will protect him till my very last breath if I must. I would happily absolve any pain he has experienced or will in the future if I was only able, so he wouldn’t have to shoulder an ounce of suffering.”

She nodded and raised her chin in superior pride at your answer before she nodded curtly.

“Good. Ensure your feelings forever remain so stalwart; as do your ideals or the world may lose one Dark Knight.”

With that, the door slammed shut, and the sting of her obvious distrust bordering on rejection cut deep as you all but stumbled away with Yoongi hot on your heels as you made your way through the little alcove at the back of the village to the river where you knew no-one would be.

You were barely maintaining the lid on your emotions but at the sight of your glassy gaze, Yoongi couldn’t withhold his ire and hissed through gritted teeth as he clenched his fists.

“Who does she think she is talking down to you like that!? Hoseok and you have been together for how many years now? 3?”

He snarled as he whirled to grip your shoulders unintentionally being a bit rough, not that it made a difference thanks to the armor guarding your shoulders, careful to avoid the spikes.

“She even dared to imply you of all people would be unfaithful. After everything you’ve been through with Hoseok and me, it just-”

He inhaled sharply to try and gather himself and his eyes rushed to yours at your watery giggle.

“Is something humorous?”

He certainly didn’t find any amusement in this.

You smiled weakly.

“I just find this all morbidly ironic. I told Hoseok just last night how cowardly I was and it seems even his mother agrees.”

Yoongi wrenched himself away from you with a hiss, eyes narrowing.

“You? A coward? That is comical.”

“I knew you wouldn’t understand. I obeyed His Majesty’s orders without a second thought. I harmed innocent people-”

“Except they’re not innocent. You seem to be forgetting that. His Majesty explicitly said they knew too much of the Crystal and its secrets-”

“And what gives him the right to decide that!? It’s not our culture or our way of life!! We’ve been focused on technological advancement rather than the power of the crystals for decades...why now does His Majesty seem so intent on them!?”

You covered your mouth in horror at the treasonous words that escaped your lips, and Yoongi had gone eerily still as well before he quickly looked around for any potential eavesdroppers.

Seeing none, he lowered his voice and frowned seriously at you once again placing his hand on your shoulder. You could see the weight of your words had made their mark from the grim look in his eyes. So it troubled him too. You always knew he was a good actor but his emotionlessness towards this subject, in particular, had admittedly made you feel isolated in your beliefs. Sure, you’d heard the rumors, but they hadn’t been raised by His Majesty as you had. Their opinion simply didn’t hold the same weight as Yoongi or Hoseok’s would. In any case, Yoongi’s low drawl of your name made your eyes lock onto his.

“They were deceitful and thankfully His Royal Highness caught it in time before they began a rampage against the whole Blue Planet. Let us be grateful for that and move on. Yes?”

Hesitance shown in your eyes but you swallowed back the bitter taste of betrayal on your tongue and nodded. No time to wallow in any case; you had Hoseok to get home to.

“Enough talk. Let us depart for Mist."

Yoongi finally seemed appeased and he watched as you raised your mouthguard once again though he didn’t comment on it as you both exited the little alcove at the back of the town, only for Yoongi to bump right into a familiar girl.

“June! How’re things?”

You easily put on a mask of ease, though at the younger girl’s giddy grin you found it wasn’t difficult.

“Oh, it’s been just peachy! You know Jin...always working! But he came home last night so to reward him I’m baking him his favorite pumpkin pie for when he finally wakes up.”

“He still hasn’t awoken? It’s only a little past dawn but I’ve seen him working well past this just last week…”

Yoongi mused and you saw the twist of a smirk on his lips when you shot him a knowing glare.

June huffed at that, shaking her head in disappointment.

“I’m gonna wring that old man's neck one of these days, mark my words! He works too hard...we’re not that hurting for gil.”

Her last phrase was little more than a mumble but your hand was already reaching for your gil pouch before you could even consciously think. As if anticipating your movements though, Yoongi took a step forward, hand already outstretched with a small pouch, filled to the brim and neatly tied off.

At June’s wide-eyed hesitance, Yoongi cut her off as she opened her mouth, no doubt to refuse.

“You’d best take it before a pickpocket does. I’ll remain standing like this until the gil is taken.”

His voice was a low rumble, despite his words as he clearly wanted her to have it, not some thief, and all three of you knew even should he keep his word like you knew he would, he’d merely reclaim his gil and find some other way to give it to the family, perhaps by smuggling it into Jin’s biweekly wages.

June finally took the pouch, and you felt a little misty-eyed as you watched her throw her arms around Yoongi, taking the Dragoon Captain by surprise and making him stumble and fumble to return her gesture of affection with an awkward pat on her back.

“Y-Yes yes of course, now just release me, will you? People are staring.”

He grumbled, and you were sure without his mask he’d be red as a beet by now.

Yoongi grew serious, however, and gently caught June’s hand as she went to run off after thanking him profusely.

“I want you to be sure you go right on home and hide that somewhere nice and secure. Only take what you need and then return to the markets. I don’t want you being targeted for fraternizing with the likes of us. And…” He hesitated but finally handed her something else you couldn’t see as he stepped into her space as he abruptly tugged her into a proper hug.

“Take that as well. Use it only if you must.”

He mumbled something else by her ear and then just as quickly pulled away. June looked flustered as well, a little nervous and as Yoongi rejoined you, you side-eyed him with a hint of mirth in your gaze. You were positive he could feel it and eventually after a minute of walking towards the exit he hissed only once you’d both been alone for several minutes.

“What?”

You offered a simple hum.

“Hm? Oh, I’m just recalling a certain Dragoon mocking me not an hour ago for being too kind. Yet here you are, giving away money I know you’d been saving up for that new lance you wanted. You even gave her a weapon by the looks of it.”

Your voice quieted for that last part as you drew closer to him to whisper and he merely sighed in resignation at that.

“Of course you noticed. Always so knowing, aren’t you? June deserves to eat. Did you not also happen to notice the flatness of her gil pouch? You know how much they’ve been inflating prices.”

You blinked at that in surprise.

“The item shop charged me the same rate as always. I had no idea…”

Yoongi snorted at that, cool and sarcastic.

“Of course they would. You’re the King’s guard dog, they know better than to draw your, or my ire. But the townspeople? They are not so lucky. There is a reason people like that family who pleaded with you have had to turn to stealing and they are but one of many.”

“And here I thought I was knowledgeable on the way our people were treated...how do you know all this?”

Yoongi shrugged.

“My men have families here; unlike the Red Wings who’re typically born into the military, the Dragoons have always been expected to be enlisters. The practice may have died some with the passage of time but it is still a thing of the present and I asked a few of them to report to me. I pay them a little extra on the side and they know I’m not a turncoat despite being close to His Majesty. You’re the first one I’ve told, actually and I know well enough you’re as good for your silence as I.”

This new information made dread sit heavy in the pit of your stomach. First a degradation of the King’s morality, and now even Baron’s shopkeepers were turning against civilians? You froze for a moment and swallowed nervously. Your King. He was your king still. The just and firm but kind man who’d raised you into the woman you had become. Deep breaths. All would be forgiven and explained when you returned. You were sure of it. Yoongi had said so and he was always right. You just had to have faith. You and Yoongi reached the gate and you looked to him as you ensured your armor was tightened and your sword scabbard ready to give you access to your sword at a moment's notice.

He too had done his checks and nodded at you, mouth now in a stern frown as he readied himself with grim determination for the journey ahead.

After a shared nod at one another, you both stepped out into the overworld and began making your way to the Cave of Mist.

The monsters had been gradually growing more and more feral as the years had gone on. Now they were violently beyond reason, willing to strike at a moment’s notice; including those who didn’t pose a threat. You remembered a simpler time where more docile monsters had been used to train even children, including yourself, Yoongi, and Hoseok. Now, it was a risk of death every time trade happened. Perhaps it was a good thing tensions were so high between the nations nowadays.

In any case, Yoongi and yourself were trained to fight and take out even the most intelligent of monsters thanks to being taught the ways of the sword and lance respectively by your King. Yoongi also had his father for a time to fall back on before he perished. Most monsters seemed to catch onto this and kept their distance from you both, but those either too foolish or too hungry to care still attacked. You remained unscathed, your armor keeping you safe from a particularly volatile Sword rat, the purple beast expelling it’s sharp spines your way. Even bringing up your shield, a few broke through your defenses and you couldn’t help your wince as they made contact with a harsh reverberation as they hit your chest and legs.

Yoongi took a risk and threw his spear at the beast and thankfully it cried out in pain before finally going limp. He retrieved his weapon and shot a smirk your way, and claimed you’d owe him a drink once you returned to Baron.

That was the only incident you had come across until you reached the cave itself. Since most monsters knew better than to start a fight with you both, you hoped those dwelling within the Cave of Mist would have the same ideas.

Oh, how wrong you were.

The larvae and eyewing moths inhabiting the cave were particularly irritating. The moths liked to blind you and the larvae loved to use slow, only prolonging their inevitable deaths. Blind was always a pain to deal with; you both being melee attackers and all. Sure, spell casters and mages were affected as well, but oftentimes they could locate the monsters or other teammates thanks to locking onto their energy if they were fast enough. No such luck here.

Still, you managed to take them out. However, something strange had occurred, twice now which was not to your liking.

A voice had called out to you, ghostly and ominous, ordering you both to return whence you came. It had no discernable gender, but the lilt underneath the words made you guess it may have been female.

Could this be the Eidolon you’d been sent to slay?

Despite the constant feeling of being watched, the journey through the cave was not a difficult one and you sensed no malice from the entity. Not until you reached the cave’s exit in any case.

“You are not welcome beyond this point, swine of Baron. Return to your castle and leave this place in peace.”

You frowned at that, ring sitting heavily in its own dedicated pouch at your hip and the image of Hoseok’s worried face in your mind.

“We can’t do that. Please, I beg you allow us refuge. We have a mission we must see through!”’

“As do I. I take it you mean to refuse my plea then?”

The voice had gained an aggressive but defeated edge and Yoongi stepped forward, all cocky indifference.

“We have given you your answer.”

“...Very well. Then you leave me with no choice. Forgive me.”

With that, the mist that had not aided your journey in the least began coalescing and you both drew your weapons in preparation.

A pink scaled dragon had appeared in front of you, and you and Yoongi could both sense the difference in power compared to the weak monsters thus far. You’d used up what little Eye Drops you’d had in stock, and now only had 2 Potions after healing at the slightest injury earlier, thinking you’d had plenty. Luckily you still had both Phoenix Downs should one of you fall unconscious before the other.

You shared a look with Yoongi and he nodded in understanding, before hopping up and continuing to move from rock to rock, trying to get as much height as possible to come down all the harder on your enemy. Not one to be left out, you turned your attention to the battle, knowing full well you were the only remaining target, and steeled yourself, letting dark energy surround you as you carefully fed just enough of yourself into your attacks to power them up while not causing too much physical damage to yourself.

It still made you wince and caused an off sensation within your soul whenever you chose to use Darkness but the King always said the payoff would be worth it if the enemy went down.

Said enemy roared in frustration and swung a large claw at you which you barely managed to dodge before slashing, watching as darkness coated the wound you’d left, seeping in and making it hurt all the more. Your eyes widened in surprise as before you could hop back the creature snarled and jumped, shoving you to the ground with its claws and holding you there as its face lowered towards your vulnerable frame.

Yoongi couldn’t have chosen a better time to come, slamming down onto the back of the beast, spearing the Eidolon with as much force as he could muster. You watched as blood gushed, ignoring the confusion that hit you at seeing the substance to instead take its momentary preoccupation with Yoongi as it tried to bite him off of its back to get ahold of your sword and stabbing its foot to make it release you.

It let out a wail of pain, and you knew you were close. Yoongi deftly hopped off and dragged you out from under the creature, tossing you a Potion before he unleashed a flurry of passionate slashes to keep the monster engaged and focused on him. You quickly slammed your mouth guard down and chugged the bitter liquid with a gag and a grimace, feeling the physical aching and the toll on your soul both fade as you regained full lucidity.

You shook off your daze and felt the power of Darkness fade as fast as it had arrived. Better not to use it twice in one battle and from the way the beast had slowed it seemed the battle was finally coming to an end.

Yoongi was holding his own quite well; he’d always been the more nimble out of the two of you what with having to find the perfect openings to Jump and all and he’d already managed to push the creature back some so you could recover in peace.

“Shall we finish this?”

He asked gruffly, panting.

You nodded, but as you went to strike now that it was cornered it suddenly...dissipated into mist?

Well, that just wasn’t fair.

“You will pay for that…”

The ominous threat was made good on and you gasped as a snow-like substance slowly fell around you and Yoongi. You fell to your knees at the freezing cold that enveloped you. Damn. This was why you loathed magic attacks. No matter what armor you wore it mattered not.

You saw Yoongi go down out of the corner of your eye and lunged with a cry of pure, unadulterated fear as the monster came into existence once again and made as if to strike him.

Claws raked across your back and again, your armor or no, you felt the impact and the pain shortly after, even with the adrenaline coursing through you. You were both going to die entirely if you didn’t do something now.

You tossed a Phoenix Down over Yoongi, knowing it’d take a moment for the bird of resurrections feathers to revitalize his life force once again, and stood defensively in front of him. A snarl turned your face to something ugly and you hissed at the monster.

“You want him? Then you’ve got to get through me first!!”

Your cry clearly met its mark as the creature roared in ire at being provoked and you neatly dodge rolled to avoid being hit as it attempted to catch you in its claws, scrambling for your item pouch. You shoved the last Potion’s contents down your throat before you let the power of Darkness surround you one final time, ready to sacrifice whatever was necessary of yourself to ensure Yoongi survived. He wouldn’t have much HP left - that Phoenix Down would only get him conscious and all it would take was one good hit for him to go down permanently. Just as you narrowed your eyes in concentration and went to swing downwards, Yoongi let out an abrupt shout and finished his final Jump; using the last remnants of his own power to finish the battle once and for all before you had the chance.

The creature roared, in agony this time, and you watched in cold satisfaction as it collapsed to the cave floor in defeat.

Without so much as a look at the monster that had nearly killed your closest friend you ran over to Yoongi and forced his arm over your shoulder.

“What are you-?”

“Don’t pretend you aren't barely hanging onto consciousness right now you idiot. I know how Phoenix Downs work. It may revitalize you but it’s only enough to get you off the floor unless you also have a Potion or more on hand.”

You began trudging to the cave’s exit, squinting into the dusk.

“We’re making a tent for the night, understand? We’ll go to Mist at first light. You’re in no condition to do anything right now besides recover. I’ll take watch after tending to your wounds and you’ll go right to sleep.”

Yoongi chuckled under his breath until he was forced to cough in pain and you frowned in annoyance at him briefly as fresh air greeted you both. It was a welcome change to the musky cave scent you’d both been stuck with for the past many hours you’d been stuck there. That damn mist had definitely cost you time and from how dark it was outside, you’d been there at least half a day. You'd made good time, if nothing else.

“What’s so funny?”

“You can be such a parent sometimes. I’m fine. Being knocked out happens in fights sometimes. Besides, I managed to save you, didn’t I? I’d say I recovered just fine.”

He muttered cheekily, his voice gruff from being drawn unwillingly out of his unconscious state earlier.

You grumbled at that.

“I had it under control. And anyway...it’s dead. That’s all that matters. The only thing left to do now is to give this ring to Mist and see what they make of it. Surely one of them must know, else his Majesty would not have sent us here.”

You gently set Yoongi down onto a grassy hill you’d found, spotting Mist awaiting you both at the bottom. You were a little winded from carrying his weight; like it or not you were smaller and still weaker than him when it came to straight strength. A quick glance around made you relax a little as you sat down as well, taking off your helmet and letting yourself gulp in the fresh air with relief. It really had felt stuffy in that damn cave. Yoongi meanwhile was stripping himself of his armor, and you nodded down towards where a stream flowed steadily into the town.

“Don’t be afraid to go wash up a little if you’d like once you feel well enough to stand. We can go at dawn as well if you’d prefer, given we’ll be sleeping outside tonight and all.”

Yoongi leveled a glare towards Mist and grumbled as he ran a hand through his messy locks, brushing away the dirt from the cave clinging to his undershirt and pants.

“It’d be nice if we could just go rest at the inn but I know that’s an impossible venture. Say…”

He winced as he examined a few of his wounds, mainly scrapes, and bruises but he had a nice long gash on his arm and head bled a bit as well, most likely from when he’d fallen unconscious.

You could feel your own body aching but tried not to dwell on it, instead rummaging around your item pouch and grabbing a small loaf of bread you'd stashed away and a handkerchief Hoseok always made you carry. A small fond smile twitched onto your lips at the thought of him and you removed your helmet to see better.

Yoongi had turned his gaze to you curiously, expecting you to stay in your armor in the case of monsters but you sighed at his inquiring gaze as you stood and merely walked over to the log he was sitting on, kneeling in front of him and beginning to dab at his bloody forehead.

"Silly Dragoon. When will you learn to stop putting yourself at risk huh?"

You pushed the bread into his hands, with your free one continuing to dab at his wound gently.

"Eat. It'll help you recover faster."

"But what about-"

"I'm not the one who got knocked out."

You yelped as he suddenly grabbed your face and tilted your head to meet his steely brown gaze.

"...You'll eat half or I won't so much as touch it."

You groaned as you smacked his hand away, grumbling at him as you uncorked the only Potion you had left and spilled a little onto the cloth to dab onto the cut on his head, the ghost of a smirk tugging at your lips as he let out a hiss of pain and clenched his hand into a fist.

"You're such a child sometimes. Fine, you big baby. Just eat, will you? Honestly, sometimes I wonder if I should've picked up White Magic as well just to make up for your recklessness."

Yoongi eyed you over the bread as you sat back and sprawled out on the soft grass and nibbled at your half.

"Don't act like you're the paragon of strategy. I saw how you were going to foolishly put yourself in a critical state to try and take the Eidolon out. Armor off. I know you're injured too and we still have ¾ of this Potion left."

His eyes narrowed with a little playful sadism and you knew he was looking forward to tending to your wounds as well.

You smiled with a tinge of nervousness and shook your head.

"No, I'm fine rea-"

"I will come over there and tug it off myself."

"Y-You're too weak to!"

You challenged in disbelief, calling his bluff.

His eyes sparkled again and a cheeky grin now adorned his lips as he moved to stand, causing you to squeak and scramble away from him as you fumbled with your armor.

"A-Alright alright! Sheesh!"

His low voice snickered in amusement as you blushed and reluctantly tugged off the heavy armor pieces. They'd been dented something awful in that fight; you’d need to get it fixed at a blacksmith once you got back to Baron. Still, you had to admit having the added weight off of your tired body was a welcome change.

You were indeed injured as Yoongi and yourself had both noted and you winced at the gash in your side, not having noticed that the Eidolon must’ve managed to graze your side with its claws, fairly deeply. Your black t-shirt was tattered, barely sticking to your body from sweat and a bit from the blood as well. Your head was pounding too, the cool night air alerting you to just how hard you must’ve hit your head as you went down.

“Come. Shirt off; that looks deep.”

You jumped a bit in surprise at Yoongi’s voice right by your ear, turning to frown at him over your shoulder.

“I can take care of it myself Yoongi, you should rest.”

He stared you down until you caved with a huff and shucked off the remnants of your shirt. You made a good choice wearing your more flexible undergarments for activity today in anticipation of fighting. Made this all much more bearable, but Yoongi was resolutely focused on your wound in any case even so. You knew he wouldn’t lay down, let alone sleep until he knew you were at least taken care of. It warmed your heart that he cared for you so.

That warmth faded to a whimper as gentle fingers brushed along the wound assessing the damage.

“Apologies. Hm...Come. I want to clean this with water first. It’s deeper than it looks. It’s a good thing I brought that extra shirt with me after all.”

You felt a little woozy truth be told, but you were still trying to keep yourself together. Yoongi had been knocked out after all. He had to be in worse shape than you. You had to be strong for him.

Yoongi wasn’t buying it though. His gaze locked onto the way you swayed and when he saw you stutter a step as you went to start moving towards the stream nearby, he was quick to grab his shirt and rush to your side where he steadied you with a warm hand on your upper arm.

“Idiot. How did you not notice you were losing this much blood?”

You laughed weakly, through the dizziness as Yoongi helped to guide you to the water.

“Adrenaline is a powerful thing, as Hoseok says. I didn’t even feel it until you made me take off my armor.”

Yoongi growled at that, frustrated as he rushed to clean the wound, uncaring as you flinched at the icy water against your skin.

"Well, we'll have to pray my actions are enough to keep you from meeting an early demise. I know you're strong but even you are Mortal."

The wound now as clean as it could be without magical help, Yoongi reached over for the Potion at his side and poured ¼ of the contents over the wound itself making you yowl in pain.

He was too focused on his task to pay much attention, however, pouring the other ½ of the bottle onto his shirt which he pressed tightly to your side. He frowned seriously at you.

"Hold it there, understand? I'll be back in a moment; I have to grab your armor piece. It'll hold the fabric tightly against the wound for the time being."

You meanwhile were trying to cope with the unbearable stinging. The wound had been deep indeed. You could feel the Potions remnants trying to stitch your body together, to slow the bleeding. It was working, however slow, but Ashura above it hurt.

Yoongi returned after a time and you were surprised to see he was holding another Potion in hand.

"How-?"

He frowned coldly as he crouched at your side and you registered he was now fully adorned in his teal armor save for his helmet which he'd taken off once he saw you.

Your suspicion was confirmed when he wordlessly pressed a familiar earring into your hand.

"You bloody idiot!!!"

Your voice was a poisonous whisper, not wanting to draw any sleeping monsters as you scowled at him and he numbly handed you the Potion.

"Drink."

You shook your head.

"I can't believe you went back to loot that Eidolon Yoongi. What if you'd awoken a monster and-"

Your voice cracked and Yoongi sighed heavily as he saw angry tears make your eyes glassy. You could be so overemotional. You wore facades well around others but he and Hoseok had always been exceptions. You had no need to worry over him.

"I'm here, alive and well, am I not? My wounds are light enough that a good night's sleep will be enough. But yours are more serious. I’m not risking losing you for the sake of your pride. Now drink or I’ll make you.”

His voice lowered an octave at his last sentence and you glowered at him one last time before tossing the Potion back, wincing at the disgusting taste, but sighing in relief as your wound knitted itself back together, speeding up your body's cell regeneration a bit. It was no Hi or even X Potion, but it had sped the process up enough to be sure your body would be fully healed by tomorrow, and at least the bleeding had stopped. A touch of your head and you noted the tingling sensation had faded. Hopefully, any injury you had there had ceased to be as well.

Yoongi had busied himself with attaching just the armor for your side into place so that the Potion soaked fabric would be held against your skin but he turned his gaze to you as he stood and stretched, once again discarding his armor.

“Well; that’s enough excitement for one night. I’m going to go rest until we have to rise at first light. Call if any particularly threatening monsters arise.”

You also stood, your own armor halfway back on as you gently called his name.

“Yoongi!”

He paused, halfway up the hill. His hair was mussed from his rush to loot the Eidolon for your benefit; his long blond ponytail trailing behind him. Long hair has been a part of Dragoon culture for nearly as long as the profession itself had been. It was as characteristic to the culture as the Monks wearing it short, braided, or not at all. Yoongi had mentioned his father had explained that it was a demonstration of the freedom Dragoons symbolized and always fought for. He turned to look at you and his perceptive brown eyes locked onto your own.

You smiled kindly, gaze sincere.

“Thank you. I know I can be…”

You sheepishly rubbed at the back of your neck.

“A bit difficult sometimes. I appreciate it, and you.”

Yoongi scoffed but you could now clearly see his cheeks turning red in embarrassment before he whirled to finish his journey back towards camp to hide it. You still caught the fondness of his tone though, despite the playful words.

“Always so soft…”

You watched until you could no longer see him and turned back to your armor, finishing putting it on and tugging your darkened helmet over your head once more. Luckily the night was still with the only sounds you could hear being the stream beside you and the chirping of harmless bugs. The twin moons were both full tonight, illuminating the Blue Planet brilliantly.

Nevertheless, you decided to do a quick perimeter check deciding your newly healed body could use the movement. It was a peaceful night and you heard the faint crackling of torches as you neared the entrance to Mist. You couldn’t help your curiosity as you watched a young girl run to the river, bucket in one hand and a cloth handmade doll in the other haphazardly sewn together.

She seemed panicked and you faintly heard her voice carry to where you stood just beyond the tree line.

“Agh I can’t believe I forgot to restock!! Mom’s gonna kill me!!”

She finally managed to get the bucket full but you winced sympathetically as in her rush she tumbled over the bucket and sent water spilling everywhere; soaking her to the bone. Just as you debated emerging to help, an older woman with the same hair and eye color ran out of the town and up to her, a worried frown on her lips.

“Jenjia just what do you think you’re doing!?”

Her voice was much quieter you noticed thankfully; it would’ve probably been bad if any fiends had been awoken earlier.

The girl, Jenjia as you now knew her, looked sheepish and beamed nervously up at her mother, clasping her hands behind her back.

“I’m sorry Mom, I just realized we didn’t have any water to boil! You like to have your tea at night with Daddy and I forgot when playing with Cheryl earlier…”

She scuffed her worn looking loafers on the ground as her mother shook her head.

“Well then that’s a day well spent, isn’t it? I’d rather have my daughter home safe and sound than a cup of tea Jia. Your father will feel the same. Leviathan will keep our water flowing clean until tomorrow to refill the stores. Come along now; I’ve already put some beef stew on the stove and I’d rather it didn’t get cold.”

Your heart warmed at the gentle interaction even as a bitter twinge you didn’t want to acknowledge made your chest hurt. You had His Majesty, and that was enough. You never would’ve found Yoongi or Hoseok without him. You turned away as you recalled Yoongi and the girl grabbed her Mother’s hand to be led inside.

Best you were on your way in any case; it wouldn’t be good if Yoongi woke to find you missing, or if a monster snuck up on your camp.

The rest of the night watch passed uneventfully and Yoongi awoke, as he usually did, at first light.

You offered him a capful of water from your flask and he drank it gratefully. You’d used up all the food last night; you really should bring more than simple bread next time. Honestly, it had just slipped your mind...this was why Yoongi and Hoseok typically took care of provisions. You always managed to miss something.

You fiddled absentmindedly with the new earring Yoongi had presented you with last night. It was common practice within Baron to claim trophies from particularly tough monsters and wear them as badges of honor. Typically; you felt pride in a kill and yesterday your mind had been preoccupied with panic and anger but now that it was the next morning you felt no joy, no sense of victory, There had been...no malice or hate that you typically felt from monsters. And it had bled too. It was...odd.

Still, Yoongi had risked his life to get it for you, and King Odin would surely be pleased with the sight of it upon your return. Best to keep it on for now.

You jumped as a pair of armored hands abruptly clapped in your face and offered a weak smile to Yoongi as he held out his hand to help you up.

You grasped it, and he easily pulled you to your feet.

“How are you feeling?”

You couldn’t help the worry seeping into your tone but Yoongi waved you off.

“I told you last night I’d be fine and I am. I feel fit as yesterday before we’d even departed. Rest can often be even more healing than a Potion or Cure spell. Now then, shall we go? I’m sure you must be exhausted and the sooner we return home the sooner we can get you some much needed and deserved rest.”

You nodded at that, and after making sure you both had snuffed out the fire and that your weapons and armor were properly set you began your short trek to the gates of Mist.

It was a tiny village you knew, unlike Damcyan, Fabul, Troia, or Eblan there was no castle, and even Mysidia was more bustling and lively than the few houses dwelling here. It was humble to be sure, but there was a peace and a sense of sincerity here that you doubted you could find anywhere else.

You fingered the box holding the ring in your pocket, a bit nervous now that you were here. Baron and Mist had never had particularly good relations. You prayed that the King asking for their input would establish a rapport and help you maintain a good relationship. You lowered your face visor, figuring being able to see some part of you that was human behind your demonic looking armor would help put them at ease.

As Yoongi and you both entered the village you noticed the civilians within already began side-eying you distrustingly and couldn’t help but wonder if word of Mysidia had already spread but quickly reminded yourself that that was impossible. After all; Troia was the only neighboring kingdom and they would’ve had to have taken an airship here just to inform them. A general lack of airships besides Baron aside, Troia was always neutral anyway and pretty much entirely isolated.

Guess tensions with Baron really were high then.

You suddenly noticed a woman approaching you and recognized her as the mother from last night. Her daughter clutched at her skirt, observing you with curious if shy eyes. You smiled at her while Yoongi offered a respectful nod to the mother.

“Good day ma’am we were just-”

His words were cut off by your pained yelp as you ripped the now searing box that held the ring out of its pouch. You’d been so preoccupied with calming down the young girl you hadn’t noticed the rising temperature until it was near scorching.

“The ring!”

The box was rustling wildly of its own accord as it hit the ground, and Yoongi frowned deeply in confusion only to roughly pull you back several feet as he too jumped back.

The woman too had shoved her daughter behind her and was examining the box before recognition lit her eyes.

“This is-!”

Boom

The box exploded open and Bomb monsters hidden inside didn’t waste any time as they began setting fire to anything and anyone they could. In seconds the village was burning and the smell of burning flesh was everywhere. You could do little more than watch in horrified shock as smoke already was causing your eyes to burn at the spot the woman had just been. That initial violent opening of the box had scorched the poor woman...and her daughter you noted numbly, where they’d stood. The girl-Jenjia you reminded yourself, she had a name- all that remained of her was her doll, slowly burning away to nothingness in front of your very eyes. Suddenly, an abrupt realization hit you.

The bombs were carefully not targeting Yoongi and yourself.

You shook violently as words escaped your lips in hushed horror, taking in the carnage caused in the wake of your visit. It had to be a mistake, it had to. Yoongi would be truthful with you. You must’ve missed something. This wasn’t happening.

“This is what we were sent to do?”

Yoongi looked around with detached and grim determination.

“He wished this village torched.”

Tears streamed down your face and evaporated just as quickly, whether from the flames and smoke or the horror and disgust coursing through you; who could say? You trembled with rage and clenched your fists so tightly your already dented armor creaked a bit more from the force of it.

“But why?”

You raised your head to the sky and let out a guttural raw of pure primal agony.

“Why!?!”

Yoongi remained silent beside you, but you could feel the tenseness coming off of him in waves. This upset him too, you were sure. You numbly looked back down at the ground and it took you a few moments to register a new sound amid the now silent town besides the crackling of the fire and the creaking of buildings as they collapsed in on themselves. Destroyed in mere minutes.

A young boy sobbing.

You grimly raised your head and began walking towards the sound hearing Yoongi’s steady footsteps beside you.

You came across a mint haired boy, hysterically gasping over a woman’s body. Luckily the child was beside the only water source in the town; a small pool which seemed to have kept the Bombs at bay.

As Yoongi and you approached, he clung all the harder to his mother, not even noticing both of you. You barely managed to make out the words between his heart-wrenching sobs.

“Mother you can’t die! J-Just because your dragon did!!”

Yoongi’s eyes suddenly lit with understanding behind his visor and you turned to him in confusion as he nodded to himself.

“I’ve heard of their lot. Men who can conjure Eidolons...Summoners.”

It suddenly hit you and you mumbled to yourself as it all seemed to come together.

“Then the dragon we slew...was...his mothers?”

The boy gasped at the sound of your voice and turned to glare fearfully at you and Yoongi making you wince as you met his gaze behind your visor in reluctant admission of your guilt. He stood in an attempt to appear more intimidating even despite the tremor in his voice showing how petrified he was just underneath the facade.

“You...You’re the ones who killed her dragon!?”

You swallowed the bitter taste on your tongue as you pleaded with the boy. Moon above, he couldn’t be more than 10.

“Forgive us. We’d no idea this would happen to your mother.”

It sounded exactly what it was. Weak and pathetic. There would be no forgiveness. Not for this. Nor for Mysidia.

You forced your gaze to his deceased Mother and sent up a prayer. As if that would help him now.

Yoongi looked around and finally spoke up, tone matter of fact.

“His Majesty sent us to eliminate every last one of these people.”

Your legs finally gave out, unable to take the weight being placed upon you.

“No…”

Yoongi frowned as he looked down at you, assessing your condition before he began to move towards the boy with grim determination.

“Foul work to be sure. But we’ll need to kill the boy as well.”

At that you lunged, just before he reached him, hopping to your feet and pushing against his chest plate in horrified desperation.

“Yoongi!!”

Up close as you were, you could feel his breath on your skin, could hear the hateful sense of begrudging duty in his tone.

“It’s him or us ____!”

You pushed him with all your might, making him take a step back even with the weakness coursing through your shaky body.

“He’s a child!”

You turned to look down at the still sobbing boy who was too preoccupied with trying to wipe his tears to pay attention to you both.

“You’d betray your King?”

Yoongi’s voice now held a note of finality,

You turned to fully face him, clenching your hand into a fist and drawing it close to your chest.

“Betray him? Any King who’d wish for this is no King of mine!!”

You snarled, harshly swinging your arm out in a subconscious show of disgusted frustration.

Yoongi smirked at you suddenly and you found yourself startled as he scoffed in humor.

“Hmph. I thought you might say that.”

Your eyes searched for him just behind your visor as you grew hopeful.

“Then…?”

He looked off into the distance for a moment and then turned to you with sharp determination.

“I owe his Majesty much but not so much I’d soil the Dragoon’s name in his.”

He planted his spear down with finality.

Your eyes widened and you stepped closer to him in excitement.

“Then you’re with me?”

He made sure to meet your gaze and wordlessly nodded twice in support before he turned, this time towards the destruction, and walked past the boy as he spoke, looking out at it.

“Baron’s army is the mightiest in the world. Our flight means nothing if we remain alone; we must treat with other nations, share what we’ve seen…”

He hesitated and then turned to look at you once more.

“And Hoseok, he must share our flight.”

Your tone softened in affection for him and you nodded, stepping closer.

“And he will. Thank you.”

He turned away for a moment and mumbled to himself.

“...I’m not doing this for you.”

You didn’t hear him and tilted your head.

“Huh?”

Yoongi ignored you however and turned to nod towards the boy.

“Quickly, we mustn’t linger here! What of the boy?”

You didn’t even hesitate.

“We take him with us.”

After hesitating a moment you approached him where he was still crouched protectively over his mother’s body as Yoongi watched uneasily but stayed where he was.

“Come, it’s not safe here! Take my hand.”

You asked gently, holding out your hand to the boy.

He hopped away from you with a glower.

“No!!”

Yoongi growled low in his throat at that.

“We’ve no time; use force if you must!”

He joined you as he ran over and Jimin cowered away in fear disguised as anger.

“Stay away!”

You held out your hand as Yoongi and you both froze.

“Wait!”

The child began running in earnest and Yoongi and you both followed, hot on his heels when he suddenly curled in on himself with a choked sob.

“Leave me alone!”

He suddenly screeched as blinding white light surged up from beneath his feet and you could feel the magical energy emanating from him. Yoongi had faltered but you kept running, refusing to be responsible for the death of another child. If he harmed you so be it...you deserved it anyway.

“I HATE YOU!!!”

You felt the earth shake violently and you glanced up to see a massive Titan made of pure earth. The Eidolon raised its hands, your eyes widened and you lunged curling your arms around the boy as you crushed him protectively against your chest as hard as you could just as he fell unconscious from exertion. You felt the Titan’s hands come down onto the Blue Planet’s surface hard and your body flew into the air.

If you were to die then so be it, but let this child survive at least.

He need not share the payment for your sins.

You slammed against the ground hard several times, but curled your body inward all the more around his tiny body in spite of the pain, praying your armor would be enough to absorb the impact as you finally, mercifully joined the child in unconsciousness.

A/N: Welp, I hope those that actually read this series enjoy it; I’ve only gotten one rambly review on AO3 that inspired be to keep posting this so thank them if you enjoy this series and I’m not talking to myself. Anyway! Onto fun notes about this chapter! :)

I find Yoongi’s characterization and his relationship to Reader to be one of the most fun parts to explore thus far for me this chapter as well as how they fight together in a serious battle. I also delved into status effects some as well as the various uses of Potions! Expect more explained uses of items and such as the series goes on! Yoongi’s look hair wise in Daechwita perfectly fits both the OG character Yoongi is based off of(Kain Highwind). Luckily it hit me as I was going through mvs, trying to decide if there was anything that matched Kain’s lucious locks and there it was!

Also yay!! Official intro for Jimin! I know he’s never had mint hair before but I just had to include the nod to the OG game after doing Yoongi’s so...please bare with me. These are the ones I felt most fit what I was imagining.

Hope you all enjoy and please leave feedback it’s a huge motivator for me! Much love hope ya’ll are enjoying the influx of content from me lately! <3

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ilkkawhat · 3 years

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Any tips for first time writers? Specifically any tips and tricks for writing CSI stories and the Nick/Greg ship? Trying to stay in character and make the story interesting like a show episode instead of a boring text procedural is hard.

lmao as someone who is forever insecure about my own writing when it comes to keeping the characters in character, I think something to keep in mind is that you may view a character differently than someone else--and sometimes those views align with others, and most of the time it's better than what's presented in canon, and it can be really difficult to get confident about that, but I think that creating anything, even if it's not just writing--drawing, giffing, photo edits, etc, you do know and love that character enough to bring them to life under your hands and it's something that's just so like, poetic about keeping these characters alive, even if the show offed them or the show is cancelled, in these works (honestly the song "poet" by bastille says this best imo) and you may end up discovering parts of yourself as you explore these characters in depth, you'll learn more about them, too, and the more you write, the more confidence you will gain

but be weary of the validation trap (says someone who falls into it literally every time I post a fic)--do not rely on comments and feedback to let you know you're doing it "right." the fact that you're getting thoughts into words onto paper is good enough, and you are good enough and even if you don't end up sharing it, you still did something special that nobody else has done before, and that, is amazing!

I'm not gonna lie, a huge weakness of mine that I feel I've known ever since I started writing CSI fic is that I really don't do well in making cases for the CSIs to work on--and even when I do, the case is usually forgotten by the end of the fic and I end up just kinda focusing on the emotions between the characters and describing their feelings and actions the best I can and unfortunately the plot sometimes suffers because of that.

I guess it really depends on what you want out of your story--do you want a really intriguing case and basically make an episode of CSI, or do you want to kind of bend out of the procedural drama, and just write something fluffy like Nick/Greg going on a roadtrip or something actiony like them getting into some sort of trouble? (as I often do lmao)

Something that does always help me when I do decide I want an actual like, "plot" to the fic beyond just playing around with the characters and making them do things or experience things is that I'll make myself a very flexible outline--which I will admit, at times, does kinda drain the fun out of the actual writing part but I found that I'll try to write chapters/fics in segments in this way, like I'll have the start of a fic, and then when I feel like I need to break but want to write what I got going next, I'll have something in brackets like: [Self deprecation at home/drinking, evil Nick in the mirror?] (for agony), and sometimes maybe a bigger summary, and sometimes less to just kinda remind myself of what I wanted to accomplish with a fic

BUT know that there are gonna be things that pop up sometimes. twists that come to you halfway through a fic--or if you're lucky, you'll find that your reader friends will kinda give you a twist to add in (my fic Last Breath is the greatest example of this--I originally was gonna do like, 12 chapters but then @dannilea said "HEY MK GIVE NICK AMNESIA" and then the fic got doubled in length lmao) so don't feel confined to any sort of outline. go with the flow, go with what feels right for you.

I know it's a lesson I'm still learning myself, but do not pressure yourself with these sorts of things. there are no deadlines. you're not doing anything wrong. if you don't like something you wrote? don't delete it (i've deleted so many things--fics, my entire blog, old art and gifs I did and it's one of my biggest regrets that I carry with me and god...it just hurts) but don't be afraid to tweak, re-write or rework if you need to--I know ao3 has an option where you can even say something is a "remix" of another work if you write a fic and then somewhere down the line, decide to expand on it or change it up? (I think it's meant for that at least, I haven't done that sort of thing....yet)

and that's another thing--you'll always be learning new things as you keep writing. I've been writing since I was like, twelve years old. Had a long ass depressive gap (though I did still write some things, just not...as intensely as I used to) before I came back to the CSI fandom (which I never felt I contributed to before, when I joined tumblr I posted some caps but that was about it, it really wasn't until 2018 that I started giffing and writing and three years later lmao here we are!) and there are just hard lessons you do learn--like I said, the validation trap and pressure and all of that

but motivation wise, something I've been (trying) to do is write at least 100 words per day. Doesn't have to be a specific fic, doesn't have to be anything I intend to make a fic, but just...getting the words flowing. But again, no pressure, because I recently had another depressive bout and went 33 days without writing and it climaxed to me having another mental breakdown swearing I was never gonna write again and damn near deleting everything and giving up.........only to start writing again the next day (and full disclosure, I did have a friend helping me literally every day with that and if they read this, I hope they know how forever grateful I am that they convinced me to keep going and I would not actually be here without them)

You will need to recharge, you will need to be mindful of outside stresses that may be impacting your creative energies. And sometimes, you can try doing things not relating to writing at all. Make a playlist of songs that make you think about the fic; if you can, draw or make photo edits of the fic. find a friend to bounce ideas off of--so many of my fics were enriched by that, I can't even begin to list them all lol.

But above all, again, just know that what you're writing is unique to you, nobody else will be able to write the way you do, and that is just...so special. writing can be difficult, it's exhausting, it's a thankless job at times but when those words start clicking together and your fingers just keep typing/writing, you'll just kinda get this like, rush like nothing I've ever been able to match.

and lmao I know you said specifically CSI and Nick/Greg and feel like I got sidetracked--but the great thing about CSI is I feel like you'll have excuses to put them in situations given their line of work, but like I said before, you can bend out of the genre a little bit. Have Nick and Greg go on a vacation, or make an AU (even something as wild as a sci-fi AU--honestly Specimen Stokes is the most fun I've had in writing the past three years) or if you do want to stick to canon, and don't want to make a whole new case or elaborate on the details--play with an established episode. If there was a Nick focused episode, what was Greg doing and vice versa? Did they talk about things afterwards, or did something happen leading up to the episode that made them act a certain way around each other?

I'll honestly find inspiration also just watching the episodes--something I've been doing in these past few months of my rewatch is making little ficlets about the episode, like I wrote one about Nick and Greg post 6x02 elaborating on the breathplay that Greg hinted about earlier in the episode, or I made a revenge fic for 14x12 where that douchey abusive husband went after Nick, etc. So sometimes it helps to dive back into canon and play in that sandbox too

I hope these tips can help get you started and honestly, don't feel obligated to agree or do any of these things I listed above. We all have different ways of going about writing, and it is just one big learning process and something I don't think I'm ever gonna perfect or master in any sort of way--(not to say I think I'm the worst writer in the world but I just...try to humble myself and not believe I'm the best or better than anybody else cause that's part of the validation trap, you get those ideas in your head and then it can destroy you when you realize you're definitely not)--and there will be times you get heavily discouraged, but...you just gotta keep going. keep pushing. find outside encouragement, but don't rely on it. practice a lot of self care and don't pressure yourself to finish or share or write more than you think you can. just...let it come, and enjoy the ride

I honestly feel like I'm one of the least qualified to say all of these things, but I really do hope it helps and hey, you already got one cheerleader, me, who will be excited to read whatever you share!

#writing #(does this novel of advice count towards my word count goal 😂 jk i already hit it)#mk talks

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viostormcaller · 4 years

Text

JSE Fic- An (Almost) Unhappy Birthday

AN: I know it’s a day late and the drawing I originally planned isn’t done, but I had to post SOMETHING for the sad dad’s birthday, so I settled on something I know for sure I’m good at. And hey, late is better than never! This took me SO long and I swear I cried every time I read through it to edit it. But I’m really, really proud of it and I hope you guys enjoy reading it just as much as I did writing it!

((TW: Alcoholism, suicidal ideation))

Chase sat in the back of his car, splayed out across the seats. He stared out of the windshield from where he was, watching the wind rustle the low-hanging branches on the trees that lined the sunlit street. He didn't know whether to be grateful for the pleasant weather or wish for rain to better match the mood. Luckily, it wasn't hot enough to need the AC, so he had that going for him, he figured.

He sighed, running a hand down his face before allowing his arm to fall limp against the leather seat. He looked over to the bottle beside him. It was half-empty. He never drank and drove -- he wasn't stupid -- so he would only pull out the bottle when he was in the forest, at the cairn he made in honor of love lost. But today… he didn't care. He didn't plan on going anywhere. He just wanted to sit and drink and do nothing else until the day ended.

He'd been paying attention. He knew what day it was. April 11th. His birthday. But he didn't plan on celebrating. What the hell was there to celebrate? His miserable existence? Chase scoffed and rolled his eyes, shaking his head bitterly. No, all he's known since the day he was born was pain and heartbreak and suffering. He tried to be that ray of sunshine he wanted to be, he really did. And despite everything, he succeeded, for a time. But the day he lost his wife, lost his kids, lost everything… it all went downhill from there and only got worse as the years went on. His best friend is in a coma, has been for three years now. Chase already resigned himself to believing Jack was dead. And for a time -- nine months exactly -- Henrik was gone, too, leaving him with nothing but Jack's channel and the job to take over while the YouTuber was out of commission. He had no one to turn to, not really. And sure, Marvin was watching over him, protecting him, but… he wasn't a therapist. He wasn't about to bug Marvin with his problems. That wasn't his job. His only job was to keep Anti away while Chase recorded, while he wore Jack's name. And forget about Jackie -- hell knows where he went. Hadn't heard from him in years. So he turned to whiskey to ease the pain, and while he still had hope left, visited Jack as often as he could.

But you all already know this story, don't you?

Chase wrapped his fingers around the familiar neck of the whiskey bottle, keeping them there and making no moves to pick it up. He laughed to himself, absentmindedly wondering how much whiskey it would take to get alcohol poisoning. He glanced down at the paper bag on the floor of the car, seeing that same, familiar cap peeking out, this one new and untouched.

Today, he planned to find out.

It's not like anyone would fuckin' find me, anyway, Chase reasoned. No one can see through my windows, and I haven't heard from anybody in fuckin' forever so it's not like they'll be checkin' up on me. Chase felt himself tearing up again as he pulled the bottle close, unscrewing the cap. The familiar smell hit him, strong as ever. A strange comfort, for sure, but the only comfort he had left.

"Down the hatch," he whispered. He was just about to press the bottle to his lips when out of the corner of his eye he saw his phone light up. Not a second later it began to buzz. Chase sighed, screwing the cap back on and setting the bottle down. He picked up the phone with reluctance and read who was calling.

Henrik. Of course he was.

Chase debated on just letting it ring, just ignoring the call. He didn't exactly feel like talking. All he wanted to do today was (quite literally) drink himself to death in peace. He wondered if Henrik would even care, if he would even think to call back if he didn't answer. Would he come looking? Would he be worried? Chase sat and debated and pondered over this, and by the time he went to react, the vibrating had stopped and the car was silent once more. Chase tossed the phone aside and slumped back against the seat, blowing his unkempt hair out of his face.

Would Henrik miss him if he was gone? Of course, Henrik's saved his life before, but things were different now and he knew that he hadn't exactly become the easiest person in the world to deal with since all this happened. He wondered if Henrik would care, or if he would be glad to be rid of him, of someone who's just become a nuisance. He went to reach for the bottle again when his phone lit up once more. A glance told him that it was Henrik calling back. He didn't make any moves to pick up the phone, just letting it ring and ring and ring until it stopped. No use ruining Henrik's day with the same depressing bullshit he always spews. Just because he wasn't happy didn't mean Henrik had to be unhappy, too. The man already suffers enough.

Though he refused to touch the bottle, just in case he changed his mind.

Once more the phone lit up, the generic ringtone filling the still air of the car. Chase didn't move, just staring off into space and stewing in his thoughts. And once again, the phone eventually fell silent.

Though a second later, it lit up again. This time, it was a text message. And then there was another. And another. And Chase finally gave in and picked up his phone, reading the messages -- all from Henrik, of course.

Henrik: Chase?

H: Chase are you okay?

H: Answer me please

Chase unlocked his phone and stared at the messages. A moment later a new one came in.

H: Please tell me you are safe. Please.

Chase couldn't help but feel bad. He didn't want Henrik to worry, that wasn't his intention. His thumbs hovered over the keyboard, unsure of what to say. Finally, a final message came in.

H: Chase, please do not tell me you did what I think you did. Please, answer me!

Chase's heart was in his throat and a pit opened up in his stomach. He began to type out a short, two-word reply when he was interrupted. Henrik was calling again. He let out a breath to calm his nerves. No way he was ignoring him now. Out of all the things Chase was, what he wasn't was an asshole. He slid his finger over the answer button and held the phone up to his ear.

"Yeah?"

"Chase! Oh, danke dem Herrn oben. Chase, I am so glad you are alright. I was so worried about you, my friend! I thought… I thought something had happened to you!"

Chase chuckled humorlessly. "Don't worry, I'm okay."

"Were you busy?"

"I was…" Chase sighed. He was going to say he was driving, but he didn't want to lie to him. It would be wrong of him to make him feel foolish on top of scaring him half to death. "I'm sorry. I… didn't wanna bog you down with my bad mood. Just because I'm always sad… that doesn't mean you should be, too."

"Oh, Chase…"

Chase grimaced. He could practically see the pitied look on the doctor's face.

"Chase, you know that I am always here for you, yes?"

"...yeah," Chase answered reluctantly. Though everyone always says that, yet no one ever stays.

"You may not believe it," Henrik continued, "but I like helping you. Nothing worthwhile comes easy, you know."

"...so you're saying that I'm hard to deal with?" Saying that out loud caused a sharp twinge to resonate in his chest.

"Ch-Chase, no! That-- that is not what I am saying at all!"

"It's whatever, Henrik. I…" Chase sighed. "I know what you meant."

There was an awkward, strained silence between them before anyone spoke again.

"What was it you were even calling me for?" inquired Chase.

"I, um… I wanted to take you out for dinner tonight. You know… for the occasion. Like we used to do."

Chase bit his lip. Right, like they used to. Only it used to be him, Henrik, and Jack. He quickly wiped away the tears that threatened to spill.

"U-uh… n-no thank you, Henrik. I'm… I'm good."

"...Are you sure?"

Chase's heart lurched at the blatant disappointment in Henrik's voice. "Y-yeah, I mean… I'm not really… not really in a state to be goin' out anywhere…"

"Have you been drinking?" Henrik asked curiously.

"Huh? Oh, no, no," Chase answered honestly. "It's not that, just… I don't have any clean clothes and I haven't showered in… a while. Tch, much less fuckin' brushed my teeth."

"Oh, is that all?" Chase could hear Henrik laugh over the phone. "Well, those are an easy fix! You can clean yourself up at my place, and I have plenty of clean clothes for you to wear. We do wear the same sizes, after all. Come on! What do you say?"

Chase sighed. He had no excuses now. And hey, maybe it was for the best, he figured, if he spent his birthday with someone rather than alone. Plus, the whiskey he bought will still be there by the time the day is over and he's back to living out of his car. He can still do what he planned to, even if it's a day later. So he could take today to make his last meal with his closest living friend a good one.

"Alright," Chase decided. "Text me your address and I'll be over in ten."

"Oh, great! Yes, I will do that right away. See you soon, Chase!"

"Yeah, see you soon, Henrik."

He let Henrik hang up the phone, keeping it in his hand until the text message came in with Henrik's address. As he waited he couldn't help but grin to himself, recalling the sheer excitement in Henrik's voice. It's been a long, long time since he's heard him that excited. Though, to be fair, there was nothing of late that would ignite such excitement, not with everything going on. As soon as his phone buzzed and lit up, Chase moved to open the door and step out of the car. He opened the driver's seat door and turned the car on, rolling down the windows to remove the towels he'd draped there as makeshift curtains. Once the back passenger door was shut, his "curtains" laying bunched up on the back seat, he finally got in the car, buckled his seatbelt, and entered Henrik's address into the GPS. As he began to drive off, he was thankful he held off on drinking. He wouldn't be driving to see Henrik right now otherwise.

It took Chase about a half hour or so to reach Henrik's house. He always loved how big it was. Of course, doctors make a lot of money and Henrik was a doctor of more than one degree, so he was, needless to say, doing very well for himself.

And, of course, you can't exactly get evicted from a house you bought if you leave for nine months.

Shaking the thought from his head, he stepped out of the car and headed up the steps to Henrik's front door. Just looking at the exterior of the house made him feel gross. Henrik's place wasn't a mansion, exactly, but it was a really nice house. Very clean and well-kept, which Chase was not. Not currently, anyway. Suddenly he was really looking forward to that shower. He raised his hand and began to knock.

Chase could hear a faint call of "Coming!" from behind the door, and not a moment later the door swung open and Henrik was standing there, arms outstretched and eyes sparkling. Chase gratefully accepted his hug, biting down hard on his lip to keep himself from crying. It's been so long, too long, since he'd gotten a hug from anyone. He didn't realize just how much he missed it. How much he needed one.

"Oh, it is so good to see you, my friend!" Henrik beamed, squeezing Chase lovingly. He then pulled away, stretching out his palm to welcome him inside. "Come in, come in!" he ushered.

Chase headed inside, hearing the door click shut behind him. A sense of what Chase could only describe as warmth washed over him. Of course, he'd been over to Henrik's place many times over the years, but this time it felt… different, somehow. He couldn't place why.

"House looks great as ever, Henrik," Chase smiled.

"Oh, why thank you!"

"New table, I see?"

"Oh, yes," Henrik headed over and stood by the kitchen table. "Yes, it was time for a new one. The other one was getting old."

"How long have you even had that for? Almost as long as you've had a house you've had that table."

"Yes, it has been years. It was bittersweet, letting it go, but… in with the new, out with the old, as they say!"

I'm sure he said the phrase backwards, Chase chuckled to himself.

"Now, while I am in the kitchen, can I get you anything before you take your shower?"

"Uhh… no, I think I'm good. Thanks, though."

"Oh, is nothing. I will grab you a change of clothes. Wait one moment."

"Righty-o," Chase replied.

"Oh, um, feel free to take a seat. You do not have to stand around. Go on, make yourself at home! I will be right back." With that, Henrik ducked out of the kitchen and headed up the stairs to his room.

Chase just nodded to himself. With how dirty he was (or at least, how he felt he was), he didn't feel all that comfortable sitting on the couch. He didn't want to dirty the new table either, but wood could be more easily cleaned than fabric, so he opted to sit at the table.

He agreed with Henrik on how bittersweet it was to let go of his old dining table. He didn't realize how much he missed the familiar squeak the chair made as he sat down until it wasn't there anymore. But he knew that, with time, this chair, too, would become worn with use and have its own signature squeak.

Though Chase knew he wouldn't be here for that.

He sighed heavily, resting his head in his hand, his elbow propped up on the table. He could feel that familiar ache blooming in his chest, threatening to swallow him. He sighed again and shivered, teeth chattering even though he wasn't cold. And then he yawned. He hadn't realized just how tired he was. Of course, sleeping in the back seat of your car every night meant you never slept well. And even before that, he was always tired, always worn down. But that's what a hopeless life will do to you, he knew.

Before long he was pulled from his thoughts, hearing footsteps bounding down the stairs. Henrik came into view, a bundle of neatly folded clothes in his arms.

"Here you are, Chase," Henrik said, handing him the pile of clothes. "The bathroom with the shower is upstairs."

"Mm, yeah. I remember. Thanks, Schneep."

"Is no problem at all! Now, go wash up. I will be waiting in the living room."

"Yeah, alright."

Chase headed up the stairs, one hand cradling the bundle of clothes and one hand remaining firm on the hand rail. It may have been forever since he'd been here, but he knew the layout of the house like the back of his hand. He could see Henrik's room at the very end of the hall. On the right was his office, and on the left was the bathroom. He ducked in, not hesitating to turn the shower on and get undressed.

Chase could have cried, feeling soap and hot water enveloping him for the first time in what felt like ages. He gave everywhere a good scrubbing, running fingers through his now-untangled hair, letting the hot water hit his body, taking in the smell of steam and body wash. He regretted all those times he didn't have the energy or motivation to shower, swearing that he would never take it for granted ever again.

Though, he remembered that it was going to be his last. That same melancholy opened up in his chest again and he sighed, movements slowing as he mulled that over. It was almost funny, how easy it was to forget his plan. He scoffed to himself, knowing that that probably meant he wouldn't have the balls to follow through with it when the time comes.

He decided he'll see what happens when that moment arrives.

For now he stepped out of the shower, drying himself off with the towel Henrik had laid out for him. He pulled on the fresh pair of boxers Henrik gave him alongside his clothes, and--

Wait.

For the first time, Chase took a good look at the clothes Henrik gave him. He stood, befuddled, mostly surprised that he hadn't noticed. Did this man really just give me a suit? Chase questioned. What the hell kind of restaurant is he taking me to?! Whatever it was, it was going to be fancy, clearly. Chase wasn't sure he was ready for all that, but it was too late to back out now. He sighed and looked around the bathroom. Now that he was clean, he realized just how awful his breath tasted. A glance at the sink allowed him to find a clearly new toothbrush and a tube of toothpaste laid out side-by-side, as if put there on purpose. He knew it wasn't Henrik's -- his toothbrush was in a little plastic cup by the faucet. This new toothbrush could only be meant for him, then, since Henrik lived alone. Chase headed over to the sink, thinking that the smarter idea was to brush his teeth before he got dressed, just in case he spilled toothpaste on his suit jacket.

He chuckled to himself as he brushed his teeth, remembering the time he did that before a date with Stacy. Hardly anyone noticed, but god did he feel ridiculous the entire time. He could only laugh now. It was funny that, at one point, a toothpaste stain was the only thing he had to worry about. Something that mattered so little at the end of the day.

And now look where he is, what's happened to him since then.

He shook his head to clear it, pulling himself back into the moment. He brushed his teeth well, rinsed with mouthwash, spit, and wiped his mouth. As he breathed in, he could feel how cool and minty and fresh his breath was. Brushing his teeth was another thing he wouldn't take for granted.

Chase looked up, staring at himself in the mirror. The first thing he noticed was his eyes, deep, purple rings around them, no doubt from constant exhaustion. He shook his head. I look like a raccoon, he thought bitterly. As he did this, he watched his hair flop back and forth. He brushed it out of his eyes, thankfully staying in place because it was still damp. He needed a haircut; it was far too long for his liking. But he could deal for tonight.

For what felt like the billionth time within the last few hours, he pulled himself from his thoughts. He went to get dressed, slipping his arms through the sleeves of the white shirt and buttoning it up. Next came the pants, which he pulled on and tucked the shirt into. Then came the tie -- which had been hidden underneath the shirt -- and finally, came the jacket. He looked himself over in the mirror. He looked… good. He actually looked good. He couldn't help but smile and puff out his chest a little. Of course, the pants were a tiny bit big, but he knew Schneep had a belt he could borrow. He was a little surprised, though; he figured he would have gained weight thanks to all the crap he's been forced to eat. But at the same time… it was rare for him to have much of an appetite nowadays, so he ate a lot less than he used to. Maybe that was why, he figured. But, no matter. He threw his dirty clothes into the hamper on instinct, though after doing so wondering if that was the best thing to do. He wasn't sure if Henrik was willing to wash his clothes. He'd have to ask later. For right now, he headed out of the bathroom and down the stairs.

Henrik gasped when he saw Chase, hands flying to his mouth and eyes sparkling. He looked like a proud father. Even more so, since in the time Chase showered, Henrik seemed to have also put on a suit of his own. "Oh, Chase, the suit looks so nice on you! Does it fit okay?"

Chase couldn't help but blush, looking away sheepishly. "Uh, y-yeah, it fits fine. Gonna need a belt, though."

"Ah, no problem. I definitely have one lying around. I will grab it for you."

"Thanks. Um…"

"What is it?"

"What kind of restaurant are we going to, exactly?"

"Oh, um…" it was Henrik's turn to look sheepish. "I, um… Well, I know it was a bit of a, how you say, ballsy move to do this, but… I made reservations for a nice restaurant downtown. I passed by it sometime last month and knew from the very moment I saw it that I had to take you. I remembered your birthday was coming up, so I figured the timing was just right and made reservations over the phone as soon as I got their number."

Chase couldn't help but feel touched. Touched, and really guilty that he'd originally declined. Henrik must have noticed it flash briefly on Chase's face, because he was quick to reassure him.

"O-oh, it would have been alright with me if you did not want to go. I know I did not tell you beforehand so you would not have known. And I could have easily canceled, anyway. No need to worry about that."

Chase just nodded, looking away. Finally, he drew in a breath to speak. "I… I dunno what I did to deserve you, man, but… seriously, thank you. This… this means a lot to me. It really does."

"Aw, is no big deal. I would do anything for you. And I know that you deserve to have a good birthday, one that is not spent in the car all alone and drinking yourself away."

Chase flinched a little when Henrik said that. He knew he probably didn't mean anything by it, but… that was exactly what he had planned to do, quite literally. It was impossible, of course, but he couldn't help but wonder if Henrik knew more than he was letting on, if he read him so well that he knew that that was his plan. He shoved the thought to the back of his mind, instead just chuckling nervously.

"Uh… what time is the reservation for?"

"Six-thirty. It is…" Henrik glanced at his watch. "four o' two now, so we have about twenty or so minutes to kill before we should head out. You know how traffic is."

"God, do I," Chase agreed with a roll of his eyes.

Henrik patted down on the spot next to him, beckoning Chase to come sit. Chase obliged, sitting himself down next to Henrik. He sighed pleasedly -- it had been so long since he'd been on a couch. Yet another thing on his list of things he wouldn't ever take for granted.

And so the pair talked and caught up, and Henrik nearly forgot about the reservation entirely until he just so happened to check his watch and saw that they were two minutes past the time they should have left. Henrik shot up with a curse in German, hurrying up the stairs to grab a belt for Chase, and then coming back down and putting on his shoes. As Chase was buckling his belt, Henrik set a pair of black dress shoes identical to his own over by Chase's feet, mentioning that they were for him to wear. Chase nodded, pulling them on, and as soon as they were both ready they hurried out the door and into Henrik's car.

The ride was pleasant, thankfully the lessened traffic saving them a bit of time. The pair talked and laughed and joked the whole ride through -- they were halfway to their destination before Henrik remembered to turn on the radio. They arrived at the restaurant just as the sun was setting. It made for a pretty sight as they both stepped out of the car.

The restaurant was prettier, though.

It was dimly lit and very, very classy. For one thing, the carpet leading to the check-in counter was red, and the nearby rope partitions were gold with red rope, so that was the first indication of how high-end this place was. Chase looked around in awe as Henrik went up to the ornate, wooden counter -- there seemed to be ornate wood everywhere -- and stated his name and the reservation. And soon Henrik was beckoning Chase along, effectively pulling him from his trance, as a waitress guided them to their table. Chase couldn't help but feel giddy as the waitress set the menus down at a small booth seat meant for two people. Chase always loved the booth seats. He wondered if Henrik remembered that when making the reservation.

"How do you like it so far, Chase? Is nice, yes?"

"This place is… wow." Chase was breathless. It's been so long since he was somewhere this fancy.

"Well, let us hope the food holds up." Henrik noted.

"Oh, for sure," Chase nodded, agreeing.

The waitress came by, asking for their order of drinks. Henrik and Chase both got the same thing -- Diet Coke. Chase wanted a glass of wine to fit the mood of the place, but decided he wouldn't have any alcohol since Henrik couldn't have any. In the meantime, the pair looked over the menu.

"Have you decided on what you want to eat, Chase?" Henrik asked.

"No idea," Chase answered. The menu was so… expansive. He was having trouble deciding. It had been so long since he'd ordered from a menu like this, on top of that. He didn't even know what he was in the mood for. He was thankful, however, that on today of all days he had an appetite. It was probably because he didn't eat breakfast, but still. Well, he at least knew what he didn't want, which was a hamburger. He's eaten enough of those.

"Hm… I think I will get…" Henrik hummed, adjusting his glasses as he looked over the menu. "Well, the veal parm looks good. Maybe I will get that."

"Mm, I still need longer to look, I think," Chase responded.

Just then, the waitress came by, dropping off a small loaf of bread and a tiny ramekin of butter, as well as two small plates -- along with their drinks, of course. Chase and Henrik thanked the waitress as she passed by.

"That smells so good…" Chase commented. It took all he had in him to keep himself from drooling. He was so hungry.

"Ooh, I am definitely having a piece. I assume you want one as well, Chase?"

"Yes, please."

Henrik smiled, cutting Chase a piece first and spreading butter on it, placing it on one of the plates and passing it to him, before cutting himself a piece of his own. Chase thanked him gratefully, picking up the bread and taking a bite and--

Oh.

Chase felt his eyes well up. One hand squeezed into a fist and he took in a breath through his nose as he chewed. Do not cry, Chase, he willed himself. Do not cry. It was just… so good. The bread was warm and lightly sweet and the butter was salty but not too salty and melted perfectly on the bread and god, he'd forgotten entirely what it was like to eat real food. He'd missed this desperately. All he'd known these past few months was cheap dollar-menu cheeseburgers and unsatisfying, tiny breakfast sandwiches.

"Are you okay, Chase?" Henrik asked, brows knitted in concern.

"'m fine," he spoke through a full mouth. He realized how impolite that was and swallowed. "I'm fine."

Henrik nodded, watching as Chase took a moment to compose himself before going back to eating. He understood, of course, after all he'd been through. He certainly wasn't judging him for it, but he did worry. And he wasn't oblivious. There were a lot of little hidden cues he's picked up on. From the scare over the phone this morning to how hopelessly sad he looked up until he got out of the shower, he knew that Chase needed him now more than ever. And Henrik would be there for him, he swore, until his dying breath. It's what Chase needs, and it's what he deserves.

Despite knowing what he wanted, Henrik had gone back to absentmindedly flipping through the menu. He spotted the salad section and perked up.

"Oh, Chase, did you want to order a salad with your meal?"

"Oh, yes please. I desperately need one of those. Something healthy for once after all the junk I've been eating."

Henrik laughed at Chase's response. He's gotten so mature over the years. At one point he'd gawk at getting a salad, and now he's completely on board with it. Henrik felt a strange sense of pride swell up within him at that.

The waitress came back over finally and asked each of them what they wanted. Henrik got a house salad with Italian dressing and he decided on the veal parm. Chase got a wedge salad (Henrik was sure it was the bacon bits that enticed him) and a steak with grilled vegetables on the side. Chase swore it was the most adult meal he's ever ordered at a restaurant -- usually he doesn't go for steak, but this time he felt he should get one. Just because. The waitress marked down their orders, thanked them, and left, heading to wherever the kitchen was, the pair assumed.

"Are you enjoying yourself so far, Chase?" Henrik asked.

"God, yeah," Chase nodded enthusiastically. "I'm probably gonna say this a bajillion times, but seriously, dude, thank you so much for taking me here."

"Oh, you are very welcome, Chase!" Henrik beamed. "It makes me happy to see you happy. And that is all I want. I just want you to be happy."

"God, dude, stop it, you're gonna make me start cryin' again!" Chase laughed, wiping his eyes. He seriously had no idea who blessed him to have a man like Henrik in his life, but he knew for certain he'd be nowhere without him.

Actually… without Henrik, he'd, quite literally, be dead. If Henrik wasn't in his life, who would have saved him? He doubted another doctor with his level of expertise and deft of hand even… existed. He owed this man his life and more. He wished there was a way to properly repay him, but there wasn't anything bigger than life itself he could give.

He'd definitely have to think of something.

For now, though, he spent his time enjoying Henrik's company. They talked about everything under the sun, they joked and laughed, and before they knew it, their food had arrived. It was funny how quickly time passed when spent with someone you're close to.

"Ooh, this looks delicious!" Henrik exclaimed.

"It looks like a lot," Chase commented, staring at the massive wedge salad and the huge steak. It was… very intimidating, to say the least. "No way in hell am I finishing all of this."

"Well, eat what you can and take the rest to go. Just… save room for dessert, hm?"

"Oh, duh. Like I would pass up dessert!"

Henrik laughed, shaking his head as he picked up his utensils and began to eat. He hummed pleasedly -- the food was very good, indeed! He'd definitely remember this place. Maybe all of them could go, once everything is back to normal and Jack is awake? That was a bittersweet thought.

Chase looked between the salad and the steak, trying to figure out which beast he should tackle first. He chose the steak, because he already knew what salad tasted like, but every restaurant makes steak differently. He picked up the steak knife, cutting off a piece and sticking it in his mouth.

As soon as the steak touched his tongue, everything hit him all at once. This wasn't just a measly piece of warm bread. No, this was real food. An actual meal. Something he hasn't had in months. All he'd eaten was fast food once or twice a day, if at all, depending on if he was hungry or not. And one of the things he missed the most was being able to go in his kitchen whenever he wanted and make himself something to eat, something he liked that wasn't just the same few things every day. Even when he was so depressed that he couldn't eat, he'd at least have something in the cabinets or fridge ready for him when he could. But he didn't have that anymore. He had no idea when he'd have that again. For another few months, maybe even longer, after tonight this could very well be his last true meal. After all of this, it was back to his normal. Back to suffering and drinking in the back seat of his car with the towels covering the windows so no one could see him crying, or in the forest by the little rock shrine he made with the picture of his ex-wife and youngest son placed delicately against its base.

He didn't want to live like that. He didn't want to suffer anymore. And yet… he had no choice. This was his life now, whether he wanted it or not.

"How do you like your food, Chase?" Henrik asked without looking up. After a moment too long he didn't hear a response, but he did hear Chase sniffle, which caused him to look up. At first, his brows furrowed in confusion. Chase was staring off into space and--

Wait.

Wait, shit, Chase was crying.

"Chase? Chase, what is it? What is wrong, my friend?"

Chase, hearing Henrik's voice, was pulled out of his trance. His breath hitched and he swallowed what was in his mouth.

"F-fuck…" He realized he'd started crying, though now he couldn't get himself to stop. "Fuck," he repeated, his voice nothing more than a shaky whisper. He propped his elbows up on the table, his hands holding up his head as he kept his head down. He grit his teeth, trying to hold back his sobs as best he could.

Henrik quickly rose, moving to sit besides Chase and pulling him close. Chase shivered, crying a little harder now. "Shhh, shh, shh, shh, shhh…" Henrik soothed. "I am right here. Let it out, Chase. You are okay."

Chase held on tightly to Henrik, weeping into his shoulder. He was trying his hardest to make himself stop -- especially since a fancy restaurant is not the place to be bawling your eyes out -- but more tears just kept coming. Especially with Henrik encouraging him to let it out. It was helping, sure, but… not in the way he wanted it to.

A waitress who just so happened to be rushing by glanced over at the pair and paused. She knew she was in a rush but she couldn't help but be concerned -- someone crying in a restaurant (who wasn't a child, anyway) wasn't a normal sight.

"Is he okay?" asked the waitress.

Henrik quickly looked up, turning towards the voice. "Hm? Oh, yes, my friend, he… he is fine. He is just… having a moment." he explained. "Um, he… has not had a proper meal in very long of a time, and the world has been very unkind to him, so I decided to treat him... you know, for his birthday, because it is the one day he deserves to be happy, if he cannot be every day."

"Oh… I see."

Chase swore he would never stop crying at this rate. He just held tighter onto Henrik. This man's compassion, his kindness… it was too much for him to handle sometimes. Or, rather, most of the time.

"But do not worry!" Henrik reassured. "He will be okay. With time, he will. He always bounces back. He just needs this moment, right now."

"You're a very kind man," replied the waitress. "This world needs more people like you."

"Oh, I am just doing what any logical human being would do," Henrik dismissed. "When someone needs me, I am there. Is my job as a doctor, and as a friend. And I want my friend here to know that."

"What are your names?"

"My name is Henrik," he answered, "And my friend's name is Chase."

Chase wanted to greet the waitress properly, or at least say something, but he was still trying to reel himself in.

"Well, it was very nice meeting you both. And, Chase? Stay strong, okay?"

Chase nearly broke down entirely right then and there. He managed to get out a shaky, teary "thank-you" before the waitress left. Henrik kept hugging him tight, not letting go, allowing Chase to recompose himself. And soon enough, his crying slowed into hiccups, and then he was just sniffling and wiping his eyes and Henrik was guiding him to take deep breaths to calm himself.

"Are you okay, Chase?" Henrik asked, his voice gentle, his tone similar to the one he used for younger patients but a lot more… personal.

"Y-yeah… I… I th-think so…"

"Good, good. Do you want to head to the restroom and clean yourself up a bit?"

"Yes, please," Chase nodded. He wanted to blow his nose more than anything at this point.

With a nod, Henrik got up from the booth and Chase followed right behind him. They headed for the restroom, finding it eventually, and Chase went to blow his nose and wipe his face. His eyes were still red and teary, but he felt calmer now. After a few more deep breaths, Chase washed his hands and both him and Henrik left to return to their table.

They found their food had cooled a bit since they left, but it was still warm, at least (aside from the salads, obviously), instead of burning hot. Henrik continued to eat his food, and Chase… he ate reluctantly at first, worried he'd start bawling again. But after a few bites he found he was fine. It was just that first bite that threw him for a loop, he figured. And so he relaxed and allowed himself to enjoy his meal.

"It's really good," Chase spoke up, his voice meek.

"Hm?" Henrik looked up, hearing Chase speak. He then registered what it was that he said. "Oh! Is it?"

"Yeah, it is. It's… the best thing I've had in ages." There was that melancholy again, boring a hole in his chest. He forced it down.

"I am glad to hear it. Very glad." Henrik gave Chase a warm, heartfelt smile. Chase returned it, but it wasn't as bright or as wide as it should have been. He was still feeling pretty down, Henrik could tell. He did expect, however, that an experience like this would be a bit overwhelming for Chase. His only hope was for Chase to have a good birthday, one he could look back on with contentment or even bittersweet joy instead of resentment or sadness or regret.

Chase decided to take a break from eating the steak, moving instead to tackle the salad. It took a little effort, but he managed to get a good forkful of it.

"Fucking vegetables, thank god," Chase muttered to himself.

Henrik, who had been sipping on his soda when he heard Chase's comment, quickly clapped a hand to his mouth and ducked his head away as he tried his hardest to control his laughter and willed his body to swallow the soda that hadn't already gone up his nose.

"What? What's so funny?" Chase asked through a full mouth, a small smile beginning to tug at the corners of his lips.

Henrik swallowed and started to cough, laughing in between breaths. "F-fuck, I-- I am sorry, just…" he coughed some more before clearing his throat. "That made me laugh very hard."

"Oh, what I said about the salad?"

Henrik nodded, already going back to giggling. Chase snorted.

"I mean, you know how fuckin' long it's been since I've had a fuckin' vegetable, man? Not even a baby carrot. Like, I need my greens, bro!"

Henrik was trying so hard and failing to contain his laughter. And seeing Henrik laugh made Chase laugh, too. And then they were both laughing and trying to reign themselves in so they could get back to eating before their food got any colder.

The rest of their dinner was spent laughing and joking and talking, with Henrik feeling relieved that Chase seemed to be in mostly good spirits again. Their waitress came over and offered boxes for their unfinished food; Henrik said yes, while Chase said that he had nowhere to keep it if he did. Plus, he wasn't one to just casually eat leftover steak, anyway. So the waitress brought back over a box for Henrik, and with that, all that was left for them to do was wait for the check.

Or… so they thought.

The pair were kind of just looking around in content silence when they heard it. Clapping, a lot of clapping, all in unison. They didn't pay much mind to it at first, until it grew louder. Closer. Chase and Henrik looked at each other in confusion. And suddenly they were surrounded by a dozen waiters and waitresses, and one of them was carrying a monster of an ice cream sundae, complete with brownies and fully-lit sparklers sticking out of the top. They set it down on their table and began to sing the restaurant's "happy birthday" song to Chase. They all cheered when they were finished and then dispersed, but not before Henrik caught the glance of the waitress who checked up on them earlier. She winked at him. Henrik knew immediately this was her doing. He looked over at Chase, watching him with that warm, parental gaze and gleaming eyes, and he saw Chase was tearing up again, but they were happy tears this time. And Henrik swore, this is the widest Chase has smiled in a long, long time.

"Ho-ly shit," Chase laughed. "Dude… you gotta help me finish this. There's no way I can do this on my own."

"Oh, with pleasure!" Henrik agreed.

"Yeah, grab a spoon!"

They both blew out the sparklers first before digging in. They hadn't planned on actually getting dessert here, but this sundae was far too good to pass up. Chase swore it was the best ice cream sundae he's ever had in his life. Henrik could easily agree. They never did end up finishing it, but they got a good way through before they both threw in the towel, at least. Finally, their waitress dropped off the check. Henrik, who was the one paying, immediately took it. He was pleased to find that the dessert was on the house, but the note written in pen at the very bottom is what made him smile.

"Aww…"

"What?" Chase asked, trying his hardest to fit one last bite of brownie in.

Without a word, Henrik slid the bill over so Chase could read it.

"Our entire staff wishes you well! Stay strong, Chase!" There was a little smiley face at the end.

For the third (and most likely not the last) time that night, Chase's eyes welled up. He bit his lip, smiling wildly. He really, honestly and truly was touched. They didn't have to do all that… and yet they did. That meant more to him than they would ever know. He took that copy of the receipt and folded it with care before sticking it in the front pocket of his pants. He'd stick this somewhere in his car, he decided. Somewhere where he'll always see it and remember this moment, remember those people who cared when they didn't have to.

Henrik paid for their meal, making sure to leave a very generous tip, and the pair got up and finally headed out, saying goodbye to the staff members they passed by and thanking them as they left. The night air was quiet and calm, albeit chilly. Chase felt that surreal feeling he always got when he headed into a building during the day and didn't come out until dark. He sighed when he got in the car, buckling his seatbelt and getting comfortable. Henrik did the same, just sitting there for a moment before turning the car on.

"Dude… even though I was a crybaby the whole time, that was the best restaurant experience I've ever had."

As much as Henrik wanted to validate him and say that he wasn't being a crybaby, that he was having valid emotions as a person dealing with trauma, he held off. Now wasn't the time for a therapy session. "They are getting a very good review, I will tell you that much!"

"More than worth the money, definitely," Chase agreed. He let his head hit the headrest with a sigh. "I am so full…" He realized then how long it had been since he felt full. Another contender for the "stuff Chase will no longer take for granted" list.

"Mm, agreed… I feel like I will be full for days. Weeks, even."

Chase snorted at that.

"Ready to head back?"

"Yes, please."

With a nod, Henrik started the car and off they drove, traveling down the highway. Thankfully there wasn't as much traffic now that it was getting late. Chase turned on the radio and on the way home they belted out stupid song after stupid song, laughing the entire time.

It was funny how much being with Henrik made him forget, Chase thought. He'd forgotten all of his troubles, his worries, and his plan. They would come back to haunt him, he knew, but right now, in this moment, none of that mattered. It was just him and Henrik, making the best of the time they had.

It didn't feel like any time at all had passed when they arrived back at Henrik's house. As soon as they got inside, though, they both shrugged off their jackets and kicked off their shoes with a sigh. Chase went to go sit on the couch, but Henrik stopped him before he could do so.

"Uh… Chase, could you… come to the kitchen for a moment?"

"Hm? Oh, sure." He did as such, though as soon as he saw Henrik duck into the fridge, he paled a little. "Oh, god, you didn't."

Henrik made a knowing face. "I, uh… wasn't expecting to have dessert at the restaurant," he explained sheepishly.

"Hen, I can't fit another bite into me. I'll explode."

"Pfft, do you think I am eating any of this now? Definitely not!" Henrik said with a laugh. "But… it is your birthday, and I did not want to go the day without singing "happy birthday" to you."

"Ah, gotcha. That I can do."

"I will grab the candles and get the lights. You go sit."

"Okay, will do."

Henrik did exactly that, grabbing the candles he bought and stuck them all into the cake -- one for every year Chase was alive. Quite a lot of candles for one cake, but he managed. Judging by the box, Chase knew it was a bakery cake, and his point was proved when he saw the words written in cursive on the top. It was a very nice cake, covered in vanilla frosting and with bright, primary colored sprinkles coated around the sides. It was decorated with red icing drizzling around the top edges and his name was written in blue. And then the candles were lit and the lights were dimmed and Chase was peering at Henrik's candlelit form through the darkness of the kitchen.

"Happy birthday to you,

Happy birthday to you,

Happy birthday, dear Chase,

Happy birthday to you!"

Chase smiled, making his wish and blowing out his candles. He imagined his kids beside him, helping him out, and there was a longing pang in his heart. He didn't know what to wish for this year. There was so much he wished was better that it was hard to choose just one. So he wished for a better life, if not for him then for the others. He wished for things to get better and for it all to return to normal… whatever their "normal" was before all this happened.

Henrik smiled, turning the lights back on. He pulled the candles out of the cake, tossed them, and then closed the box and put the cake back in the fridge. They could have some tomorrow, he reasoned. Then, he turned to Chase.

Right. Time to come clean.

"Chase?"

"Hm? What's up?"

"Um… I… I must confess something to you," Henrik admitted.

Chase felt a twinge of worry at his words. Was it something bad? He hoped not. "Which is…?"

"The reason I wanted you to come over was… because I have a gift for you."

A gift? "What kind of gift?" Chase asked curiously.

"It's upstairs. Um… it's supposed to be a surprise, so I will take you to it. Take my hand, close your eyes, and follow me."

"O-oh, uh… okay." He almost hesitantly took Henrik's hand and held his other over his eyes, allowing Henrik to carefully guide him up the steps. He was led a good way down the upstairs hallway before Henrik stopped. Then there was the sound of a door being opened.

"You can open them now."

Chase opened his eyes, looking into the room, and his hands slowly went to his mouth.

It was Henrik's office, but… his desk and file cabinets were no longer there. Instead, it looked like a bedroom. A very well-furnished one, at that. A bed, nightstand, desk and chair, cabinets and drawers to store stuff in, familiar posters taped to the walls...

"It, um… took me a few months to move and reorganize my things to the lab downstairs and furnish this room how I wanted it to look," Henrik explained. "I wanted to tell you sooner but it wasn't ready until recently. But anyway, um… this… this will be your room from now on."

His room, his mind echoed. That meant… no more living out of his car. No more junk food every day. No more sleeping in the back seat and waking up sore. For the first time in months, he had a home. A roof over his head. A warm bed.

It was finally over. He was no longer homeless.

Chase fell to his knees, burying his face in his hands. His breath hitched and he was crying, sobbing, reveling in the utter relief of knowing that he didn't have to return to how he was living. He didn't have to suffer like he was anymore.

For the first time in months, he was thankful he was alive. And for the first time in months, he didn't want to die.

Henrik crouched down besides Chase, rubbing his back in slow circles, although he couldn't help shedding a few tears himself, on behalf of his dearest friend.

"Happy birthday, Chase," Henrik said finally, his voice low and gentle in Chase's ear. "And welcome home."

Those final words only made him cry harder.

#alcoholism tw #suicidal ideation tw #jacksepticeye #chase brody #dr. schneeplestein #vio stormcaller #also i swear i still cant spell restaurant properly on my first try after all of this :')#ALSO also i started crying again while going back in to edit all the italics so now i need to go wipe my eyes again lmao

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firemblem-fics · 4 years

Text

Smitten Kitten [3]

one | two | three | four | finale

-> Pairing: Felix x Female!Reader | Hybrid!Au (mostly platonic idk)

-> Words: 1.6k

-> Warnings: Cursing, A Literal Karen, Mentions of Abuse (not too in depth, but still there), Manipulation, a Slightly Suggestive Conversation

-> Genre: Fluff, Crack, Some Angst

-> Summary: You never wanted to be involved with hybrids. They were risky and had too many rules for you. But what will you do when a little black and white cat that you take in turns out to be the very thing you steered clear of?

-> A/N: so I made two FE3H oc’s and also have gotten back into drawing so I was wondering ... how would y’all feel if I wrote and also posted some of my drawings and stuff here? it would give y’all more content and I’d probably be inclined to post more often lol anyways enjoy

“This is fucking stupid-”

“Stupid? Felix, you lied to me.”

You were livid. First this fuck-ass cat shows up in your life, worms his way into your heart even though you swore you wouldn’t get a hybrid, and then brings all kinds of trouble with him. If you weren’t already so attached to him, you’d just let the people- Doug and Karen- take him. But you couldn’t. You cared too much.

“It’s not that big of a deal.”

“It’s a huge deal! You told me that they didn’t want you, not that you ran away. Do you know how this can affect me keeping you? They can take me to court or something and get you back.”

“But you signed the papers, I’m yours.”

Your heart fluttered, but you ignored it. “You’re mine, but you also belong to these people. I can’t just take you from them, but I can’t let you go back to them if they were that bad to you- were they even bad? Or did you just not like them? Did you lie to me about that too?”

Felix’s eyebrows furrowed. “I don’t like them because they were bad. Look at ‘em. They don’t love anything except for the gold around their necks, especially not me. I was literally put in cat shows to earn money. If I ever got below first place, they’d…”

He shuddered and sat down on the edge of your bed. You leaned against the door, arms crossed. From the other room you heard talking. Ashe probably saw your front door open and came to investigate.

Felix couldn’t look you in the eyes. You looked so hurt. Not even angry- just hurt. “Please don’t make me go back.”

You sighed and dropped your arms. “I don’t want you to go back, Fe. But I- I don’t know what else to do. They’ve obviously got more money and if they take me to court they’ll win for being ‘better equipped’ to care for you.”

“But they’re not.” His voice was growing desperate. “You are. What if- what if we can prove the center that you’re better than them? Courts don’t deal with Hybrid ownership, the facilities do. Nancy does.”

At that moment, the door creaked open. Two red ears appeared first, then a mop of red hair.

Sylvain grinned and walked in, closing the door and throwing a wink Felix’s way. The cat bristled.

“Give me your phone.”

“I’m not cheating, I swear.”

“We’re not- fuck you, give me your phone, Sylvain.”

The dog practically whimpered and handed over the phone. Felix had a Cheshire grin as he unlocked it. Typical Sylvain to not have a password despite all the dumb shit on the phone. You tapped your foot impatiently, anxious for Ashe who kept the two other people occupied.

“So, what are you planning?”

“I’ll go back with them, but I’ll keep this phone. I’ll- I’ll take those audio messages and send videos and shit when I can. I’ll just have to be careful.” This was the most Felix had ever talked to anyone. His voice was shaky, despite trying to desperately hide it.

“Absolutely not. Felix, you're not going with them! Who knows what they’ll do-“

“I think me dealing with their shit for a few weeks will be worth it if I get to spend the rest of my life with you.”

Your eyes widened and so did Felix’s. He flushed a bright red after realizing what he said. Sylvain cracked up.

“I- I mean, as an owner. You don’t do those things, that’s all. I just-“

“Nah, nah, it’s alright, you little smitten kitten~” Sylvain still smiled. “We catch your drift.”

Felix huffed. “There’s no drift to catch! Fucking drop it! Drop the drift!”

He stood up and yanked the door open, scaring the shit out of Ashe. You followed him quickly, grabbing onto his sleeve as Sylvain went back to Ashe’s side.

“You don’t have to do this, we can find another way.” You whispered. Felix could clearly see your absolute distress at letting him leave.

He held your gaze and let out a sigh. “I’ll be okay. You and Ashe just keep a lookout for my messages.”

With that, Felix tugged his arm out of your grasp and walked to Doug and Karen. He didn’t say anything, just looked down at the ground, his head lowered.

Submission.

That wasn’t the Felix you had come to know. Felix was loud and didn’t take shit from anyone. To see him suddenly reduced to something resembling a kicked puppy- the irony- was borderline heartbreaking.

You couldn’t help but tear up as the door closed. Sylvain whimpered. Ashe, who was silent and confused the whole time, whipped around to you.

“What the fuck is going on?” He seethed. “You didn’t even put up a fight-“

“Take a chill pill, Ashie.” Sylvain went behind Ashe and began to massage his shoulders. Ashe slapped his hands away. “We’ve got a plan.”

“A plan? Y/N, listen, you’re not Claude. You’re not Yuri. Your little plans never work the way they should.”

“Just give this one a chance!” You practically pleaded. “Felix has Sylvain’s phone. He’s gonna send updates and videos on what they’re doing. Hopefully they’ll be enough to convince the facility that Felix is better off with me.”

“Or not! If you don’t remember correctly, the lady fucking hated Felix. She’d probably do whatever she can to make sure he suffers.”

“Maybe the fact that we’re fighting to get him back will prove that we care more than the others-“

“-who literally came to your door and wanted him back. I’ve got no doubt they’ll fight too.” Ashe sighed. “This will only work if they really do something.”

At that moment, your phone pinged. The notification was from Sylvain’s phone. A video from Felix.

You opened the message and pressed okay, shushing Ashe and turning up the volume. Felix was in the backseat of the car while Doug and Karen sat up front. The angle was shitty and the phone was extremely shaky. Felix was trying to hide the phone from them.

“Felix Hugo, what the fuck were you thinking? Leaving like that? After all we’ve done for you?” Karen’s voice was shrill and loud, not even hiding her anger.

“After all you’ve done for me? You’ve done nothing-“

“Shut up! You’re ungrateful. We’ve fed you and housed you. You’re lucky someone even does that for a dumb cat like you. You’re practically feral- unlovable!”

The camera shook a little harder at that word.

Unlovable.

Your heart clenched, but there were still a few more seconds to the video.

“I can’t believe you thought a girl like that would even care about you. See how easily she let you go? She didn’t really want you. See, Felix Hugo? See how worked up you’ve gotten me?”

Doug’s voice cut in, silencing Karen’s annoying distress. “Just wait until we get home. We’ll deal with him there.”

You were probably shaking even more than Felix at this point. ‘Wait until we get home’... you didn’t even want to think of the implications of that.

The video was pure manipulation. But… to some, it may not be enough to make them question Felix’s safety.

Unfortunately.

You texted back, “Just a little more. In about two days, we’ll contact the facility and try to get them to hear us. I’m so sorry.”

“You’re trying your best. Just… try faster.”

“Miss you already.”

Seen.

Hanging your head, you looked up at the two boys. You shrugged and turned off your phone. A few more days, you said. Could you even handle that? You were already so used to his presence. To have an empty household again was something you didn’t want.

Even if it was full of Felix yelling… it was kind of endearing. He was always angry when Ashe and Sylvain were around. It makes sense why other people would be put off by his personality. But he was just…

Defensive.

Felix had walls up that were practically impenetrable. Could that excuse the rude, borderline abusive words he said to others? No. He could only apologize and do better from that. But he wouldn’t get better if he was with Doug and Karen.

You put your head in your hands and began tearing up. “I just want him safe. With me.”

Ashe and Sylvain exchanged glances.

“Yeah, you want him with you. To be with you. To… share your bed, in a literal sense, right?” Sylvain’s eyes held a sly glint in them. You raised an eyebrow.

“What are you on about now?”

“You and Felix. You want him to be with you. You want to be with him…”

“What?”

“Do you have feelings for him? You wanna fuck that cat?”

“Wh- I don’t want to fuck a cat! He’s… he’s more human than cat. Hybrids are just people that can turn into animals…”

Sylvain rolled his eyes. “Hybrids are people that can turn into animals, have ears and a tail, go into heats, all that shit. You don’t want to deal with an angry feline in a heat-“

“Is that why you’re neutered?”

“I’M NOT NEUTERED. FUCK YOU.”

You just sighed and checked your phone again. No check from Felix, even though it hasn't even been five minutes since the last message. You were just scared.

Ashe got up and began to cook dinner for you, deciding that you weren’t fit to do it tonight. You protested, but ultimately complied as Sylvain laid his head in your lap in hopes of an ear scratch.

That night, you tossed and turned. It was weird without a little cat body at the foot of your bed. You couldn’t help but think of worst case scenarios, spanning from just not being able to get Felix back to rather… unsavory ideas of what could be happening to him now. You finally settled down and forced your eyes shut, hoping that your dreams would be better than your thoughts.

They weren’t.

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aerynwrites · 4 years

Text

Liberation - IX

Chapter 9 - The Bird

Author’s Note: It’s Finally here!! I’m so so sorry for the long wait, In all honestly between school and work and just life in general i got so busy and just didn’t feel like using what little free time i had to write. But, I fiannly got this chapter done, and I think this is one of my favorite chapters so I hope you all enjoy it as much as I did!! As alwasy I LOVE hearing from you guys and what you thought about the chapter, it means a lot. Enjoy! 💖

Word Count: 5.1k

Warnings: Slight PTSD? mentions of blood, violence, near death, cursing, angst and fluff.

Part 9/? - All Chapters (Full list)

///

Din has never died before, has never really even been close to death, but right now – as your fragile form went limp in his arms and your head lolled jarringly to the side – he assumed this is what it felt like to die. His heart freezing in his chest, the breath being sucked from his lungs, and the dreadful and haunting cold seeping into his very bones.

“Kid? (y/n)? Wake up – Cara, Cara get over here!” he called frantically, his swift footsteps halting as he takes in your terrifyingly still state.

He watches through his visor, blinking away the cold sweat that is dripping into his eyes, as Cara turns on a dime and rushes over to him and takes in the sight of you, limp in his arms. She quickly comes over and her gaze snaps up to his, eyes silently asking him what she needs to do. He shifts you in his arms to better support your head and nods his helmet towards you, unable to ask the one question he fears the answer too.

Did you just die in his arms?

Cara’s lips set into a firm line and she gives him a curt nod, quickly holstering her blaster and places two shaking fingers to your neck, checking for a pulse. Din watches in anticipation, his heart - that just a moment ago seemed still – beating frantically in his chest as he looks over Cara’s face. He sees her lips tug into a frown and his heart plummets, waiting for the inevitable news.

She’s gone Mando, I’m sorry.

But Cara’s eyes widen slightly, and she stands abruptly, looking to the Mandalorian with shock and a small bit of hope in her eyes, “She’s alive, her pulse is thready but she’s alive.”

Mando doesn’t wait another second before he is rushing past Cara and continuing on their path towards his ship. You were alive, but from what Cara said, you were barely alive. He had to get you on the ship and back to the village if there was any chance of you surviving.

Even though the crest was less than a mile away, it felt like the journey there took days before he and Cara were rushing up the ramp to the ship. He hesitated as he neared the cockpit, looking from your form in his arms to the shock trooper beside him.

As if Cara sensed his thought she nodded and took the pilots seat, “You stay with her, I’ll get us back to the village,” she said firmly, firing up the ship and lifting it into the air.

Din leans his back against the wall nearest to him and slides to the floor carefully, you still in his arms. He shifts you so you are sitting up a little more in his grasp and brings one of his hands up to press his cloak firmly into your injured side, putting pressure on the wound in some desperate attempts to keep you alive. You don’t stir at the motion, still completely unconscious from your ordeal and Din feels a lump form in his throat.

“Don’t leave me kid, not yet,” he whispers desperately, head falling back against the wall as Cara navigates you all to safety.

-----

Omera walks from the small hut you and Cara had been sharing, wiping her crimson stained hands on her apron as Din approached her with frantic steps, “Is she-“ the words die in his throat before he can say them and he stays silent as he stares intently at the dark haired woman.

Omera gives him a small but terse smile, “She’s alive,” she begins, and Din lets out a large sigh, his shoulders visibly relaxing.

“Thank you, I don’t –“ Omera raises her hand, silencing the Mandalorian as she gives him an uncertain look.

“I said she was alive but-“ she stutters, her eyes searching the space around her as if looking for the right words, “we don’t have advanced medicine here. You’re lucky you had what you did on your ship or else I don’t even know if she would be alive right now,” she says seriously, “The next few days are crucial. She’s not out of the woods yet.”

Din stayed silent, taking in the gravity of the woman’s words before nodding curtly, “Can I…” he trails off, his question left hanging in the air between them.

Omera gives him a gentle smile and turns to the side, gesturing to the small shelter, “Yes. She’s not awake. I don’t know when she will be, she suffered severely, so it could be a while before she comes too.”

Din nods in understanding before walking past the woman and into the small home. The curtain falls shut behind him as he enters, and the afternoon light is the only thing illuminating the room. He takes in your form, lying peacefully on the small bed, sheet pulled up to your chest and arms resting at your side. If Omera hadn't told him otherwise and he wouldn’t have noticed the shallow rise and fall of your chest, Din would have thought you were dead. Your skin was uncharacteristically pale, and your breaths were coming out in shallow pants rather than long even breaths. Your body was fighting to keep you alive and Din’s entire being crumbled as one single thought raced through his mind.

This was all his fault.

The guilt he has been harboring since he had left you here on Sorgen seemed to spread within his chest even further as he took in the sight before him. Even though Omera and the other women who had been attending to you had cleaned away the blood and grime, the evidence of your torture was still clear. The dark black and yellow bruises adorning your temple and jaw, your split lip and brow, and the angry red marks around your wrists screamed of your abuse. Din took in a shuddering breath as he pulled up a nearby chair to the side of your bed and took a seat, leaning back slowly.

He had left you once. He wasn’t planning on doing it again.

----

You thought death would be more peaceful.

Instead, you were plagued by vivid flashes of your enslavement and your days held in captivity. Your torture was replayed over and over again along with less familiar images of Din spitting insults at you.

Those hurt the worst.

His burning words of hatred, and vile insults thrown your way as the image of him leaving you behind replayed over and over again, torturing you worse than when your captor was beating you. However, you did receive some reprieve when your eyes fluttered open for the first time and you realized that you were in fact alive. Your conscious state was brief. Just long enough to see Omera and Din rush over to you, saying words you couldn’t hear past the cotton in your ears before darkness and terrifying images consumed you once more.

From there on out, your flashes of consciousness felt more frequent. But you felt like you were drowning, fighting to stay afloat in the inky blackness that consumed your vision and kept you from fully awakening and seeing the world. When you did wake however, you managed to snag flashes of the world functioning around you.

Omera and Winta telling you stories. Cara telling you about her day and the brawls she won at the local cantina. Even some of the locals came in to say kind words or pray over you. But your favorite flashes were of Din. He never said much, you would just wake long enough to see him messing about in the hut or sitting next to you working awake at something with his knife. However, when he did speak it was often in, what you assumed, was his native language. You obviously couldn’t understand what he was saying, but one word he often repeated.

Verd’ika.

this word played over and over in your black blanketed mind among the flashes of nightmares you experienced, and it seemed to ground you. You had no way of knowing how long you had been unconscious, you just knew that you felt yourself getting slowly stronger and the nightmares faded, until one moment you peeled your eyes open and blinked rapidly in an attempt to adjust to the bright light streaming in through the windows. The first thing you noticed was the familiar sight of the woven wooden ceiling above you. You were still on Sorgen, and back in the village. You let out a relieved breath at the realization before your ears picked up sound of scraping stopping abruptly next to your head. You turned your head to the left slightly and your eyes landed on the familiar beskar clad figure sitting rigid in a seat next to your bed. You immediately try to sit up but cringe at the dull ache in your side letting out a surprised gasp.

Din instinctively reaches out to nudge you back down, but you flinch at his quick movements and he draws his hand back as if he had been burned. Blood rushes to your cheeks, and you lie back down, still looking at the Mandalorian.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, voice strained from days of disuse.

Din shakes his head, quickly reaching down beside him and producing a cup of water, offering it to you slowly, as if afraid to scare you again.

You take the cup gratefully and sit up slightly, careful not to jar you injured side, and down the whole cup in a few gulps.

Din takes the cup from your hand and sits back, hands returning to work with what they had been doing before, “You shouldn’t be the one apologizing,” his voice is surprisingly even, despite the emotions swirling within him as he watches you rest back against the pillows once more.

You swallow thickly, “If I had been more careful – more observant – I wouldn’t be in this mess,” you try to reason, “I didn’t tell them anything you know. They wanted to know where you and the kid were and I-“ you paused to take a breath, your mind running faster than your mouth could produce words, “I didn’t tell them anything I swear. I didn’t tell them anything Din, I promise I wouldn’t tell them where you were,” you felt tears start to pool at the edges of your vision, “You have to believe me I swear –“

“Stop!” Din’s modulated voice pierced the air and interrupted your frantic rambling, “Just stop.”

You sniffled pitifully but stayed silent and watched as Din’s hands gripped the items in his hands, a knife and a small piece of wood, before setting them aside and letting out a long sigh, “Why do you keep telling me that?” he breathes, incredulity seeping into his words.

You look at him questioningly, “What do you mean?” you ask slowly.

He pauses for a moment, seemingly debating his next words before he speaks up again, voice quiet and less sure this time, “What’s the last thing you remember?”

Your eyes flick around the room as you try and find an answer to his question, racking your brain for the last clear memory you have. You finally scrunch your brows together and look back to Din, “I uh…I think it was when you brought me out of…wherever I was. I remember the sky, but everything is so –“ you wave hand around in the air flippantly, “foggy I don’t remember much of anything after the man cut me loose,” you admit quietly and turn your head to look at Din once more, “Why?”

Din leans forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees and hands clasped together, “Because the only thing you would say when we found you was that you didn’t tell them anything. And you just said it again, just now. Out of all the things you could have said or done…why was that it?” he asks, genuine concern and curiosity lacing his words.

You look away from his intense stare and instead turn to look out of the window instead. You knew why you said those things, you just weren’t sure if you wanted to admit it. Your fingers idly played with the sheet wrapped around you as you took in deep steadying breaths, trying to keep the tears at bay as you finally spoke.

“I didn’t want you to have another reason to hate me,” you whisper, so quiet you weren’t even sure if the man next to you had heard.

But he had. And he shot straight up and went rigid as the words met his ears.

“What?” he breathes out incredulously.

You felt tears start to fall from your eyes and slip down the sides of your face, dampening your hair on the pillow beneath you. Your body shook with silent sobs and pain blossomed in your side at the action. But you managed to speak through the tears, voice wet with emotion.

“You hate me!” you cry, “You have to, that’s the only reason I could come up with as to why you left,” your voice was shaking now and you gripped at the sheet tightly while the other hand wiped furiously at the fat tears falling from your eyes, “My parents hated me and the sold me, and then I found you and I must have fucked up somehow to make you hate me and leave me too!”

You weren’t even thinking straight at this point, all of your pent-up emotions from the past, however long, were coming out all at once and you didn’t know what was coming from your mouth. Din sat in stunned silence.

You thought he hated you?

That couldn’t be farther from the truth. Din had never felt these kinds of emotions before. A strong and almost innate need to protect you, keep you out of harm's way, and also try and show you what it was like to have a halfway decent parental figure in your life.

Parental figure? Is that what this was?

Din hadn’t put a label on it before. At first, he had mainly just felt a sense of sympathetic pity for you, a rookie bounty hunter. But as your time together wore on, he felt like he needed to be there more, help you and guide you. So, the insinuation that you thought he hated you? Din didn’t know what to do.

“I don’t hate you.” he says finally, voice firm and to the point as usual.

Your red rimmed eyes glance over to him and your sniffles start to slow, “Then why did you leave? After everything I told you – my past, about my parents selling me off – why did you turn around and do the exact same thing they did? You left me.” Your voice cracked on the last word, and Din felt his heart clench painfully in his chest.

“I didn’t – I don’t-'' he stumbled over his words grasping for any sense of anything that would keep him grounded, help him form his jumbled up thoughts into words, but he just ended up sighing and sitting back in his seat. He wasn’t used to this. These emotional confrontations are not things he knows how to deal with. He knows how to hunt, stalk, and kill. Not talk.

You’re still looking at him expectantly and so he finally forms some sort of answer, “I didn’t know what else to do. This place is safe, you could have a safe and happy life here with Omera and the other villagers. With me and the kid, its constant danger, looking over your shoulder, restless nights. I thought I was doing the right thing.”

“But why didn’t you ask me?” you question, “I was happy. But only because you and the kid were here. You guys are –“ Family? That’s what you wanted to say but you pause, unsure of if you were ready to say those words out loud just yet and shook your head, deciding against it before continuing, “I was happy with the way things were.”

Din doesn’t say anything right away, but you see him nod and take that as an understanding. You let out an exhausted sigh and shift slightly in bed, resting your head into the pillow and rubbing at your eyes, slightly irritated from crying.

“How long was I out for anyway?” you ask, changing the subject.

Din let’s out an inaudible sigh, silently happy with the change of topic. This conversation was leading down a road he didn’t want to go down at the moment.

He relaxed slightly before picking up his earlier abandoned items and returned to carving away strips of wood with his knife, “You’ve been out for about two weeks, give or take.”

Your eyes widen, “What? How? Do we need to leave, is it safe?” you ramble out, mind racing with questions.

Din stops his work and shakes his head, “We’re fine. We have patrols at all times, and we haven’t had another hunter since I returned,” he begins, “As for the how, you were in rough shape kid. You –“ he paused, the terrifying memories from weeks ago rushing back, but he shakes them away, “I was almost too late.” He offers.

You swallow thickly at the meaning behind his words and return your gaze to the ceiling. You had almost died. Some asshole in the woods had taken you and almost killed you, and the only reason you were alive is because Din came back for you. you once again felt tears gather in your eyes, but they didn’t fall, and they weren’t tears of sadness. They were tears of gratitude and happiness. Din has been the first and only person in your entire life to care about you, and it didn’t seem to hit you until just now. He had risked his mission, his and the kid’s safety, to come back for you, to save you. And that meant more to you than anything in the entire galaxy. You took in a deep breath before letting out a shaky sigh.

“Thank you,” you breath, your gaze flicked back to the Mandalorian and you gave him a small smile, “For saving me.”

Din looked up from his work at your words, but he couldn’t help the bitterness that swelled in his chest at, what he thought, was misdirected gratitude. He was the reason you were lying there on the bed. He was the reason you were tortured and almost died in his arms. Yet here you are thanking him for ‘saving’ you when he was the reason you needed saving in the first place. He wanted to tell you these things. Tell you that you had no reason to be thanking him, to tell you that he was the last person who deserved gratitude for anything. But he bit his tongue, and instead nodded his head and returned to his work.

“Of course.”

You roll your eyes at his short and to the point response - Same old Mando. Your eyes fall to his form again, and you suddenly remember the words he had muttered to you in your slightly unconscious state. A foreign language to your ears.

“What were you saying?” your voice breaks the peaceful silence, but Din doesn’t stop his work or look up.

“What do you mean?” he asks.

“When I was out, I would sometimes have these like...flashes of consciousness –“ you begin, “and a couple times I heard you saying stuff in, what I assume is another language, and…”you paused briefly when you say him tense up slightly at your mention of catching him talking to you, but you decide to continue, “and you kept saying one word a lot…verd-verdecka- ver…”

“Verd’ika. It’s Mando’a.” he says simply.

Your brows perk up at this information, your curiosity peaked, “Is that like the Mandalorian language?”

Din nods, “Yes, they taught it to me when I was a foundling. I-I don’t know much since I didn’t grow up on Mandalore but…” he trails off, scraping more intently at the wood in his hands.

“What does it mean?” you ask, “verd’ika.”

The word rolls clumsily off your tongue and Din can’t help but chuckle and correct your pronunciation, but he doesn’t answer your question, his posture queuing you into the fact that this conversation is making him uncomfortable. So, despite your curiosity, you drop the subject and instead gesture to the items in his hands.

“What are you doing anyway?”

Mando stills his ministrations and turns the small piece of wood over in his hands before opening his palm, displaying the object to you. your eyes scanned over the chunk of wood and you realize that it is the makings of a crudely carved bird.

You look from the whittling project then back up to Din and give him a wry smile, “Since when do you whittle?” you ask curiously, a twinkle of humor in your eye.

He lets out an exasperated huff before snatching his project back defensively, “Well, someone has to watch you and I wasn’t going to sit here and do nothing all day,” he mutters.

You let out a small laugh shrug your shoulders, “To each their own I suppose. It didn’t look half bad though.” You say earnestly.

Din sets down his work on the small table beside your bed and moves to stand, “Yeah, yeah,” he says jokingly, moving to the side of your bed, “Now since we have some daylight to kill, we should get you up and moving. Omera said you’d need to build your strength.”

You chuckle at his not so subtle change of topic but smile and nod. You were ready to get better and get off this planet. As much as you loved the villagers, this place held too many bad memories.

The rest of the day was filled with short yet exhausting walks. Your injury had healed considerably since your treatment, especially with the help of what little bacta spray Din had on hand. But it was still somewhat painful to do any extended period of activity. So after several laps around the krill ponds, a dinner break, and a few more stops to see Omera and Cara – who worried over you like two mother hens – Din walked slowly back to your hut keeping a constant eye on you until you sat on the side of your bed gently, letting out a tired huff.

“Well that was exhausting,” you chuckle, shifting to lay back into the mattress, pulling the covers up and over you.

“You need to rest,” Din’s voice spoke, returning to his earlier post in the chair next to your bed, “We’ll do it again tomorrow.”

You let out an exaggerated groan, “you’re a slave driver I swear to the maker,” you tease, “I almost died, can I not have a break?”

You see Mando tense at your words and you feel a pang of guilt shoot through you, the implication behind your word choice hitting you, “I was just joking Mando. I know I have to get my strength back,” he seemed to relax at your words and he picked up his wood project once more, settling back into the chair.

You furrowed your brow and waved your hand at him, “You don’t have to babysit me. Go get some rest, take off your helmet for probably the first time in weeks, you need rest too you know,” you urge quietly.

Din shook his head, not stopping his work, “I’m fine, I’ve been taking shifts with Omera and Cara. I don’t mind,” he says genuinely.

You rolled your eyes but didn’t push the subject and instead settled into your bed, exhaustion weighing down your limbs and drawing your eyes closed. You quickly fell asleep to the light breeze of Sorgen and the comforting sounds of Din’s blade scraping wood.

-----

The musty smell of your prison fills your nose and your eyes snap open. Taking in your surroundings frantically. You feel your heart slam against your ribcage as you’re met with the terrifyingly familiar eyes of the man who bought you, your ‘master’ staring back at you menacingly. Your brain is trying to make sense of the situation.

You were in your cell on Sorgen, suspended from the ceiling once more, but the man who stole your childhood from you is here too?

You can’t help the scream that rips from your throat as you see him lift up a large bucket the tangy smell of acid burning your nostrils. But before the liquid can meet your skin, the man disappears from your vision and is replaced by your captor from two weeks ago. His hot breath fanning over your face.

“Looks like the Mandalorian never came back for you-“ he clicks his tongue, “A shame really. I was hoping you would lure him here, but it looks like he doesn’t care enough about you to even come save you.”

His harsh words cause your heart to sink. What was happening? Was everything a dream, did Din never come back to save you?

Before you could come up with an answer the man doused you in a bucket of ice cold water, and you felt yourself falling through the air, only to land roughly on the ground, blades of grass slipping between your fingers and scraping your knees.

“Your parents were right to sell you,” a familiar modulated voice fills your ears and you quickly shift to sit on your heels, looking up confusedly at the towering Mandalorian above you.

“What? Din what are you saying?” you ask, tears filling your vision.

He lets out a bitter scoff, “You heard me. You’re worthless. A burden. It’s no wonder your parents sold you off. Why do you think I left you behind?” his voice is filled with venom as he stands threateningly above you.

“Din, that’s not true you said –“

“Well I lied. You were right, I do hate you. you’ve been nothing but a burden since I picked you up on that planet all those months ago,” he seethes.

And as if his hateful words aren’t enough already you see multiple figures of the people you know surround your shaking form; Cara, Omera, your parents, Din, all shouting hateful words towards you.

“Worthless!”

“Stupid girl!” “Can’t even fight your way out.” “Pathetic – a burden to everyone!”

Your breathing is erratic as you finally pull your knees to your chest slapping your hands over your ears in a desperate attempt to drown out the scathing voices, but it did no good. It’s like they were coming from inside your head.

“Stop it, stop!” you wailed.

“STOP!”

------

You shot up in your bed a shrill cry of desperation ripping from your throat as tears stream down your face and a cold sweat makes your clothes stick to your skin.

You see Din startle from his position in the chair, seemingly asleep before your cries woke him up. He quickly came to your bedside and before he could ask what had happened you threw your arms around him, ignoring the pain in your side, and buried your face in his shoulder, sobs wracking your body.

You felt his hands hesitantly come to rest on your back, obviously unsure of himself in situations like this, before he slowly started to rub your back, “Are you okay?”

You shake your head, “I’m sorry – I’m so sorry,” you manage to push past the tears, words coming out in a shuddering mess past your uneven breaths.

“What? What’s going on?” His voice was thick with concern.

“I was back there,” you sob, “And all of you w-were yelling at me calling me a burden, and worthless-“ you choke out, “Please don’t leave, please – ‘m so sorry.”

Din felt his heart constrict in his chest as your violent sobs and wet cries met his ears, whatever had happened in your nightmare had clearly shaken you, and from what he gathered from what little you told him, he knew why.

He held you closer to him, “It's okay kid, I’m not leaving. It’s okay,” he assured, voice quiet.

You didn’t say anything, but your cries had stopped, and your sobs were reduced to sniffles, as you stay wrapped in the man’s arms. He was suddenly hit again with the realization of how much of a kid you still were. Unsure of the future and terrified of being left behind again, and he felt his blood boil at the fact that you had to endure this. You didn’t deserve this. These sleepless nights and traumatic memories.

He sighed, and his attention was once again drawn back to you, who’s sniffles had ceased, and breathing had evened out.

You were asleep again.

He gently returned you to bed, and pulled the covers up over you, your peaceful expression a dramatic difference from your demeanor moments ago. But he revels in the momentary peace you are hopefully experiencing in your slumber and returns to his position in the chair, watching over you until morning.

-----

When morning does come, you wake up alone. Your eyes adjust to the pale morning light quickly and you sit up slowly, looking around the small home. You immediately notice that Din is absent, and you remember your nightmare from last night, but also his calming words after. Maybe you had weirded him out, you weren’t oblivious to the fact that Din was a man of few words and terrible comforting skills. The second thing you notice is the small wooden carving on your bedside table, Din’s earlier project now complete. You slowly reach over and take the light-yellow object in your hand, fingers running over the smooth surface of the carved wood. He had actually done quite a good job with the small figure. It fit in your palm and was no bigger than your hand and small enough to fit in your pocket. Your eyes scanned carefully over the figurine; it was in fact a bird, but Din had added beautiful spread wings to the head and body you had seen earlier. It’s small beak and eyes were delicately carved along with the feather details on the wings. You ran your fingers over the carving lightly, taking in every ridge and bump until you came to the bottom and felt an unfamiliar etching.

You turned the wooden figure over carefully and your eyes widened at the words inscribed on the bottom of the bird, and you felt tears burn at your eyes as you took them in.

Verd’ika

‘little soldier’

///

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honeylikewords · 3 years

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Let's see . . . How about: gets jealous the most; gives unprompted massages; and makes the other eat breakfast for Harvey Dent, if that's okay!

Absolutely! With greatest pleasure and joy!

Prompts are from this list!

Gets jealous the most:

It’s not exactly becoming of Harvey that he’s as viciously jealous as he is, but little can be helped to assuage it; Harvey is a flawed man, and one of his deepest-running vices is a tendency to be possessive. What he loves he clings to with an iron grip, and his Id, Harv, runs red-hot with a vibrant, raging tendency towards covetousness, towards guard-dogging.

It can be cute in small, harmless doses-- at times, Harvey can come off almost sweetly clingy, whining that his beloved is “mine, all mine, and don’t you forget it”-- but it can also ebb into something that drives him to be frustrated and insecure, frightened that some better-looking, better-behaved man is going to steal away what one half of his mind has determined is “his” and what the other half has determined he can’t possibly deserve.

This dichotomy lends itself to some pretty destructive thought cycles (Harvey ruminates particularly on a fear of abandonment and rejection, worsened by his conviction that his ugliness forever impedes his sweetheart’s ability to truly love and desire him) and Harvey suffers terribly under the weight of these ideas running rampant in his head. It doesn’t make him feel good to be eaten alive by jealousy-- envy is unflattering and painful regardless, but grows worse when it festers in unspoken and unresolved darkness-- and it certainly doesn’t make his beloved feel good, either.

It’s flattering to be wanted, sure, but jealousy is often more about insecurity or mistrust, and it hurts her to feel like Harv and Harvey don’t trust her loyalty enough to believe she wouldn’t just abandon him. It hurts to feel like he doesn’t believe her when she says he’s handsome and that she loves him, deeply and truly, and is both romantically and physically attracted to him. It hurts to think that he is in such a self-contrived cycle of pain, and hurts to think that he values himself so little that he feels the need to be jealous at all.

But, thankfully, as it always does, candid conversation eases the tension. When Harvey sits down and opens up to his beloved (after a substantial series of needlings and proddings and coaxings to talk to her about his anxieties), he conveys his frustrations: he gets jealous so easily, and that jealous stems from fear that he’ll lose her. He knows that it isn’t healthy and it makes him even more angry and afraid to know that, which builds and builds on itself--

And she listens to him, attentive and careful, as he lets it all pour out.

Once he has exhausted the depths of his concerns, he lets her speak her mind, and hears her side of it: to begin, she asks Harvey directly if he ever believes she’d cheat on him.

Both sides of him unanimously, and without a second thought, snap “No.”

“Right. So you know, in your heart of hearts, that I’m not that kind of girl, right?”

“Of course.” Another unanimous agreement between the halves.

“So you have nothing to fear on that front. Completely moot. Now, I know I can’t just tell you to believe me and expect that to work,” she says, taking his hands, both the burned and unscarred ones, and gently rubbing her thumbs across the crests of his knuckles, “But I want you to know that I never, ever lie to you, Harvey. And I really do promise-- I swear to you, even-- that I love you more than anything in this world. And I find you unfathomably attractive.”

He snorts out through his nose and rolls his eyes, part derisive and part shy. Harv’s lead, it seems. Looking down at their coupled hands, he tries to avoid eye contact, afraid that if she looks too deeply into his eyes, she’ll see the vulnerable man hiding behind them, waiting on the edge of his seat for her every word.

“But it’s not just about you being handsome, Harvey. It’s about you being someone I care about.”

One of her soft hands cups his cheek-- the marred one, he notes-- and he can feel her coast her fingertips along the harsh jut of his cheekbone, brushing over gnarled flesh and taut skin. His eyes close and he leans into her touch, weak to her attentions.

“I care about you. And I promise you, I won’t leave you. I’m here for the long run. I’ll stay for as long as you want me, as long as you’ll have me. Do you understand me?”

Something in his chest rumbles, low and raw and growing steadily louder, rising up his throat until it’s a full growl, and he opens his eyes, both of them flashing with an intensity she’s grown familiar with. He furrows his heavy brows at her and puts his scarred hand over hers, pressing it to his skin with intent.

“I’ll always want you,” he states, voice clear despite the harsh, grating rasp now tinged on his voice. “I’ll have you as long as you’ll take me.”

She smiles, then, and his heated intent gives way to melted devotion, utter affection; if only she knew what a smile from her means to his poor heart! If only she knew how tightly she has him wound around her little finger! She bends forward and kisses him, light and soft and too fleeting for the needs of either half of the man. When she pulls back, her smile remains intact, and she speaks quietly.

“You can always talk to me when you start feeling this way, okay?,” she notes, tone slightly bemused. “I don’t want it getting out of hand again.”

“Alright, alright,” he replies, feeling an embarrassed heat flush his face. “I’ll... try.”

“Good. Then I think we’ve arranged a deal, haven’t we, counselor? Does your party find these terms satisfactory?”

Harvey pretends to roll his eyes at the attempt at legal-speak, but finds himself smiling back at her nonetheless.

“Yes, we do,” he growls back playfully. “But with one additional clause.”

“Mm?”

“We ask that your party be open to amorous affections in the event of... the necessity of reassurance.” Harvey presses his forehead to hers, eyes locked. “My client finds these attentions to be particularly efficacious in the quelling of his... personal afflictions on the matter.”

“...You know, you can just ask for a kiss if you need one.”

Harvey laughs-- that distinctive, bright laugh, so warm and personable that it makes her melt every single time she hears it-- and squeezes her to his chest, mood lightened and eyes warm.

“But where’s the drama in that?,” he asks, voice restored a little. “Where’s the flair?”

“Clarity over theatricality, darling,” she smiles back.

He gets his kiss.

Gives unprompted massages:

Interestingly, both Harvey and his girlfriend are likely to do this, but with personal spins on it.

Harvey’s beloved likes to try and help him relax whenever he gets tense-- which, with Harvey, is pretty often-- and she’s noticed that when he spends a long time at his desk, hunched over papers or books or reading through huge files on his computer, his back and shoulders tend to clench up and leave him sore and aching, which is no fun for anyone. So, she takes the initiative to come check up on him in his office and run her hands up and down his bunched shoulders, pressing her thumbs deeply into the iron knots of his muscled back and tight neck, relieving some of that pressure.

She also tries to tempt him into taking breaks or coming to bed after a long day with such massages, though with those she tends to focus less on relieving the built-up pressure and more on rubbing his tender spots with soothing intent, lulling him closer to sleep and closer to going to bed at a semi-close-to-reasonable hour.

He is eternally grateful for these massages, and though he may attempt to give off some gruffness when she first approaches him and puts her hands on his shoulder, he always melts into it and often ends up groaning with relief as she tackles some of his sorest areas, like his eternally clenched trapezius or that little notch of muscles just below his shoulders. After a few moments, he’ll basically give up on work and just let her go at it, grumbling his thanks and periodically letting Harv slip in a few savory comments about how good she is at this.

On that note, Harvey himself is quite a physically attentive partner, and enjoys giving his beloved romantic, delicate massages to pay due diligence to the loveliness of her body and to soothe her needs. But those are usually planned and structured into his romancing, and thus don’t really qualify as “unprompted”: no, of the halves, Harv is the one most likely to start unexpectedly massaging at her, and here’s how he likes to go about it.

As the unrestrained Id of Harvey, Harv is just as physical a partner as Harvey, but with less interest in decorum or in pushing his intrigue away; when the mood strikes, or she’s just sitting there, looking pretty, Harv will saunter over and press his keen, strong fingers into her skin, rubbing deep, pressured circles into her flesh as he purrs to her about how she ought to let him take care of her every now and then.

“It’s only right,” he rasps, pleasantly drawing his solid touches over the aching portions of her lower back and spine. “You do so much for me, kitten, that it’s only fair I repay the favor; double, even.”

Harv especially likes to play with the small of his sweetheart’s back and her legs, if he can manage it; he likes to place her legs on his lap when they’re on the couch and start kneading her thighs and hips, knowing soreness can grow there, and then begin tracing all the way down to her calves, admiring their shape and how cute it is when he hits a sore spot just right and she sighs with joy, smiling that sweet smile up at him with an unspoken “thank you” in her eyes.

Plus, you know, it’s a hell of a mood-setter and Harv loves to get her in the mood.

Makes the other eat breakfast:

Harvey never used to eat breakfast. As a child, he missed a lot of meals and there wasn’t a great structure around meals or mornings at all, anyway, so breakfast never attained a spot in his mind as important, and remained that way all through high school and college. Even in grad school, Harvey never had more than a black coffee first thing in the morning; it even got to the point where he felt like if he ate at all in the morning, he’d be sick all day. Breakfast never meant anything to Harvey Dent.

And then, one day, it did.

When he started seeing his girlfriend, and particularly when they started spending mornings together and building a morning routine around their distinct needs, he noticed that she always made him breakfast, even if he said he didn’t want anything.

It was obstinate of her, and arguably even wasteful, but he never forgot it: every day, she’d at least slide him a piece of toast, a half a bagel, a couple sections of an orange. Something.

He’d pour himself a coffee and sit down and there would be a little saucer with something in it, usually matching whatever she was already eating. If he looked at her, she’d nod at the plate and then at him, finishing her own breakfast.

“You at least eat that,” she’d say, tone not broaching the possibility of argument. “I wanna see it gone.”

“Yes, mother,” he often snarked back, though never without an additional (but softer) “thank you.”

After those initial and quite humble beginnings with toast and bagels, she moved up to bringing him halves of grapefruits, small bowls of cereal, and the periodic fried egg on toast. After that foray came things like a pair of pancakes with some bacon, avocado toast (sometimes with egg, sometimes without), porridges like oatmeal with fruit, and whatever else she felt she and he both would enjoy in the morning.

Harvey became way more adjusted to eating breakfast, and did find that it helped him feel more fed and stable throughout the day. Feeling grateful, Harvey decided to be responsible for breakfast for both of them, and would often get up before her to start trying his hand at making omelets or breakfast cakes (he’s particularly proud of how his cinnamon roll-making skills have developed), and now takes great joy in setting down breakfast for her first thing in the morning.

But, at the heart of it all, she is the reason Harvey’s improved in that area: she is the constant force pushing him to do better and loving him even when he won’t love himself. She cares, and that care manifests itself in a million different ways; sometimes, it comes to him in the form of something as simple as a slice of toast.

Thank you so much! I really appreciate being indulged in writing about Harvey!

#messages #anonymous #loRD i need to STOP writing these at like. 5 am. i have to curb that impulse #but also its the only time of day when its genuinely quiet and i feel no greater pressing social responsibilities so >:o #anyway thank you for indulging me abt harvey it is an indulgence PURELY for me and thats just how it is babey #pleaaaaaaaaaaaaase dont let any of the diehard comic stannies find this ITS JUST MY GOOFERY POSTS #i would perish and die if i found out actual DC fans read this and were dunking on me but also like #comics are so changeable and consistent characterization is NOT something that exists in them so my version of harvey has every right to #existence and canonization as the most fanservicey edgy violent darklord kind of harvey so.#ya know how it goes babey. ya know.#harvey dent

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beckzorz · 5 years

Text

Dressed to Kill (one-shot)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x f!Reader Words: 9533 Summary: A wrench is thrown in your latest mission when the world’s best assassin interrupts your carefully planned hit. Now you’ve got to distract the Winter Soldier so your crew can carry out the objective. Just so long as you don’t get distracted, too... Warnings: NSFW (language, smut), 18+ A/N: Just in time, here’s my entry for @barnesrogersvstheworld‘s 3k challenge! Congrats Attie! 😘 My prompt was ‘through the looking glass’ (two people share a moment when their eyes meet across a glass barrier). This got a tiny bit carried away, but hopefully you don’t mind :3 Still trying to figure out how to write smut, so uh... let me know what you think!!! Hope you enjoy! xoxo

“Kasie.”

“Mm?” Kasie’s voice crackles in your comm device.

“Remind me why you made me leave the blanket in the car?”

“Discomfort builds character.”

“My character is plenty built, thank you very much,” you mutter. You shift on your elbows and add concrete to your list of least favorite surfaces to lie flat on. The lip of the building is just high enough to keep you from lying flat. Without the blanket or elbow pads, you’re suffering.

Well, discomfort for a couple hours is worth the payout. At least it’s warm out.

The building across the street is a posh hotel, and on the second floor there’s a ballroom stuffed with elites. Fancy drinks, fancy chandeliers, fancy jewels all sparkle in the night.

Kasie’s in the getaway car downstairs, you’ve got the gun, and all you’re waiting for is confirmation that the target’s inside. That’ll come from Luka, who’s ferrying hors d'oeuvres around the ballroom. You can make him out through your scope, even if he is a few inches shorter than most of the other men in the room.

But no word yet. No sight of the target, either, though you’ve got your binoculars trained on the door.

Then again, the party only started thirty minutes ago. And your target is notorious for being fashionably late.

You check your watch. Yeah, he’s not showing up for another hour at least.

Great.

“Hey Kasie.”

“For fu—what is it this time?”

“Remind me why we didn’t set up a camera so we could see when he left his house?”

Kasie just groans.

You grin, baring your teeth to the wind. If Kasie’s going to give you snark about the rooftop, you’re damn well going to give some back.

Snark or not, you tend to get chatty on missions like this. Up on a rooftop, all alone, there’s not much else to do. It’s not like you can read a book, and podcasts are right out. Kasie… permits it. You’re the best shot she’s found, with the exact same moral compass. Match made in heaven, really. Luka’s the one who doesn’t get to talk business. Of course, he gets to snack on hors d’oeuvres when he has to replenish his trays.

Lucky bastard.

Of course, the best missions are undercover. And since you’re the killer, you usually get the nicest goods. Fancy dresses, killer shoes (sometimes literally), swanky jewelry… A nice break from lying on concrete. Let’s see, which dress would you wear tonight?

“Fuck,” Kasie says. “Fuck fuck fuck.”

You sit up a little, scanning the crowd as your heart beats fast in your chest.

“What? What’s going on?”

“Winter Soldier.”

Your blood runs cold.

“Here?” you squeak. “Why?!”

“Who cares! He just went in the building. We gotta call it off.”

“No way! The payout—”

“No payout is worth a run-in with an Avenger, or did you forget that they’re on the other side of the law?”

“This isn’t War Machine,” you argue. You sit up, your binoculars trained on the door.

“No, this is one of the world’s best assassins!”

“I’m one of the world’s best assassins,” you mutter.

“Well you haven’t had a hundred years to perfect your skills! Get off the roof and come down now. This conversation is over.”

Kasie cuts the line.

You swear and slap the concrete—thank god you’re wearing gloves. Damn it, this was the best job your crew had gotten in months! Enough for a nice vacation—somewhere warm, tropical, where the only things worth killing were the fish.

And a worthy target, too. Rex Carston ticked off every box: human smuggling, embezzlement, chronically underpaying his lower-tier employees, tax evasion of the worst degree, multiple cases of sexual assault, blackmailing the victims… The list just doesn’t end!

“No,” you mutter, knowing full well Kasie can’t hear you. “This guy needs to die.”

You heft your binoculars back into place, eyes narrowed as you scanned the ballroom for the Winter Soldier. Ah—there, not far from the door. The crowd shifts, granting you a full view of him. He’s in navy blue. In… in a…

Three-piece suit.

You swallow. God damn. God damn. You’ve never seen him in the flesh before, and oh lord, even from across the street, through binoculars and a window, he’s a vision. The suit is divine, clinging in all the right places and with just enough give to make it hard to tell if he’s armed.

Well, you know he’s armed. That’s just common sense. But there’s no telling where.

God, what you wouldn’t give to go searching him right now…

You trail your binoculars back up to his face.

You freeze.

He’s staring at you. Eyes narrowed, lips barely parted—he can’t be looking at you, can he? It’s dark, you’re wearing dark colors, you blend in.

You lower the binoculars, ignoring the slight shaking of your hands. If you squint, you can just make his expression out. He’s… smiling?

Oh. He’s not looking at you.

You let out a slow breath between your teeth and settle back down on your elbows. This time, you watch Bucky Barnes through the scope of your rifle.

Ah, right. The safety is still on. Good. You follow him around the room with your eyes, watching as he snags a flute of champagne off of—gulp—Luka’s tray. Luka, bless him, looks wonderfully bland, but you catch Bucky studying him all the same. Of course, as seconds tick by, you realize he’s studying everyone. He’s more focused than you are, and you’re looking at the hottest guy you’ve seen since your trip to Cancun.

After a few minutes, your skin starts to crawl. Bucky’s not just mingling. He’s moving. He’s moving towards the window.

Towards you.

“Fuck,” you mutter. You sit up on your knees and grab the binoculars. Maybe, by some chance, he hasn’t seen the gun. Maybe he thinks you’re just watching.

You snort. World’s best assassin? Yeah, no, he knows exactly what you’re doing here.

He’s at the window now, facing the room. You can see a sliver of his cheek. Is he smiling again? Maybe. It’s hard to tell.

The comm device in your ear crackles to life.

“Where the fuck are you?” Kasie snaps.

You wince and throw the device away, eyes wide. Bucky is tapping out a rhythm on his thigh. Morse code, of course. You pull out your phone, open the translation app—yes, you have a Morse code translator on your phone, you’re a professional—and tap in his repeating message.

.--- --- .. -. / - .... . / .--. .- .-. - -.--

JOIN THE PARTY

Your jaw drops. You look between Bucky and your phone, sputtering.

Join the—what?! No, you are not going joining the party! You’re here to commit murder, not schmooze! The nerve!

You shove your phone back in your pocket, cheeks flaming. Kasie’s right. As always. What had possessed you to stay so long? He must have gotten a good look at your face…

“Fuck.”

Bucky’s turned to face you now, and he’s smiling again. Smiling! You can’t fathom why. What’s he even doing here? Shouldn’t he be off with the Avengers, defeating aliens or terrorists? What’s a swanky party got for him?

He takes a sip of champagne, eyebrows raised expectantly. He lowers the glass and draws his lower lip into his mouth. From here, with the binoculars, you can make out the blue in his eyes, the dimple in his scruffy chin, the plush pink of his bottom lip as he releases it from between his teeth.

Are your knees weak? It must be the concrete.

He’s still waiting.

How on earth are you supposed to respond? Sure, you’d love to join the party. Undercover missions are fun. But you’re wearing your boring stealth clothes, not a glamorous party dress.

You gesture at your clothes and shrug. Bucky squints a little, then nods in reluctant understanding. He tips his head at you, winks, and melts back into the crowd.

If your eyes weren’t glued to him, you’d’ve lost him in a second. As it is, all you can do is stare. Until you hear the crackle of your comm at last, and remember where you are.

Blood rushes in your ears as you disassemble your weapon, pack up your gear, and snag your comm device from where it had landed a few feet away.

“I’m coming, Kasie, I’m coming,” you say quickly, interrupting her diatribe.

You zip up your duffel and sit back on your heels for a last look at the crowd. There’s Luka, still blending in, and Bucky a few feet away, his eyes on the back of Luka’s head until he glances up towards you. His expression softens a little, though you don’t know if he can see you from his spot amidst the twinkling lights.

You finally scurry away, heart pounding. Down the dark stairwell, around and around until you spill out onto the street and hurtle into the back seat of the getaway car. Kasie drives off, shoulders around her ears. Her silence falls heavy, but you’re too distracted to care. All you can focus on is your rooftop exchange with Bucky Barnes.

What was that?

The smile, the expectant look, the way he bit his lip… Did you just have a silent moment with the Winter Soldier? God, what you wouldn’t give to have a dress, to go back there right now, march upstairs, and run your hand down his lapel. You can’t contain a shudder.

Kasie catches your eye in the rearview mirror, her lips pressed tight together.

“So,” she says, slow and low and furious.

“I’m sorry, okay?” You cross your arms and look away. “I got… held up.”

“He saw you!” Kasie explodes. She bangs her hand against the steering wheel; her dark skin is even darker than usual by angry spots high on her cheeks. “Minutes! Minutes, you idiot! What the hell were you thinking? What, did a flock of bats come and surround you? No! They didn’t!”

You rub your temples with a wince. You don’t have the heart to interrupt Kasie. She’s totally right.

“—saw you so know who knows what the situation’s gonna be with our mark!”

Kasie’s breathing heavily after her loud lecture, but she seems done. You frown at your lap. The mark?

Oh, right. This was all for a job. Getting lost in the Winter Soldier’s eyes wasn’t the point of the evening, just a distraction.

Your shoulders stiffen.

A distraction? You? A distraction?

You weren’t having a moment with the Winter Soldier. He was playing you! Reeling you in like a freaking fish. Your hands curl into fists on your knees, shame and embarrassment throbbing in your gut.

Of course Kasie is pissed. You’re the best shot she’s got, but every ounce of common sense dictates you sit the rest of this job out. Low profile doesn’t exactly mesh with ‘murder a billionaire.’

He was reeling you in the whole time. For some reason, the realization hurts.

Is he following now? You lean forward to peek at Kasie’s laptop in the passenger seat. No, there he is in the grainy live feed of the party. Slick as ever, and still thoroughly beyond reach.

God, if only you had a dress.

You’d show him.

—

Sure enough, Kasie boots you off the job to kill Rex Carston. You stay holed up in the hotel, alternating between moping and furiously daydreaming about what you’d have done if you only could have joined the party. Murder, absolutely. The target for sure, and the Winter Soldier half the time too.

The other half…

Well, let’s just say it’s a good thing Kasie and Luka are out of the hotel a lot.

It’s been a week now, and the target is still alive and kicking. Carston’s going to another event tonight, this time at the opera. Luka’s on point, with all the right equipment tucked neatly into his gray suit. No guns, but the usual tricky little things. A ring with a tiny needle, a device to wreak havoc with camera feeds, a tube of mints laced with—well, the toxins are beyond you, but it’s laced.

Luka sits in the other bed and rubs polish into his dress shoes. There’s a little pinch between his eyebrows as he works on the right toe.

“Wish I could go with you,” you say with sigh.

He glances up at you, eyes twinkling. “Too bad. If only you hadn’t sat in plain view of the Winter Soldier for ages.”

“He saw me right away,” you grumble. You flop down on the bed and cross your arms across your chest.

“Maybe,” Luka says. He angles his shoe in front of his face, checking for any lingering scuffs. “Maybe not.”

Kasie comes in from the bathroom. Her hair is teased up into a pompadour, but it’s the bright eyeshadow and killer contouring that draws your eye. She looks totally different from her usual down-to-earth self, which is entirely the point, but better than that she looks absolutely fantastic.

“Oh man, that looks so good.” You sit up and bat your eyelashes. “Kasie, when are you gonna teach me your ways?”

“Maybe when you regain my trust,” she says snidely. She grabs her deep red dress off its hanger and ducks back into the bathroom to change.

“You gonna wear a red pocket square to match?” you ask Luka.

“No, we go in separately, remember?”

“Can’t say I was paying full attention when you were making plans without me.” You stick your tongue out at him; he rolls his eyes. “I was kidding, anyway. I guess I’ll just suffer alone.”

Luka studies you, his close gaze a little disconcerting. “Why didn’t you just leave when she asked?”

“I—He—” You shift awkwardly. “I dunno, Luka! Maybe because he looks like sex on legs? If Kasie’d said he was wearing a three-piece suit before I coughs sight of him I woulda been prepared.”

Luka laughs.

Your cheeks burn. You flop down again with a blush bright enough to light up the whole city.

“Shut up, Luka,” you mutter.

He reaches over to pat your leg. “Don’t worry, it’ll pass. Tomorrow we’ll be home free.”

“Yeah, with giant piles of cash waiting for you and pennies for me.” You shake your leg to dislodge his hand.

“Eh, it’s the price of doing business.”

“A hefty price.”

Luka grins as he stands. “Don’t worry. You’ll get your island one day.”

—

Kasie lets you drive Luka to the opera.

“But for god’s sake, keep a low profile,” she orders.

So you take the subtle car, Luka beside you in his crisp suit and coiffed dyed hair, and drive through the downtown to the opera house. There’s a line of cars waiting to drop off their esteemed passengers.

You drum your fingers on the wheel as you wait for the line to inch forward. “Remind me why you can’t just get out here?”

“Appearances,” Luka says drily. “Would you have gotten out a block away?”

You don’t bother answering.

Of course you wouldn’t.

Another car drives off; you take your foot off the brakes and inch forward. You can finally make out the people going in. More gorgeous dresses, more fancy suits. Cocktail more than ballgown, to be sure, but it’s all good. It’s all great.

You sigh as you eye one tall man whose back is to you. A dark gray suit that does nothing to conceal a divine figure—strong shoulders, trim waist, legs for days…

And long brown hair.

Your heart skips a beat.

“Fuck,” you mutter.

“What?” Luka says. He cranes his neck a little, frowning.

“We need to go.” You turn the wheel sharply and bang a u-turn, glancing in the rear-view mirror once before the opera’s entrance is out of sight.

The man in the gray suit turns his head just enough for your heart to stop.

“The Winter Soldier,” you say, and Luka groans.

“Again?”

—

“Again?!”

Kasie’s still at the hotel—it’s only a ten minute drive, and the event doesn’t properly start for fifteen—and you’ve cornered her in the lobby.

“How did you not realize?” you hiss.

Kasie grabs your arm and drags you back to the elevator. Luka follows, eyes wide.

“He knows me,” he whispers. “I can’t go back there!”

“That’s why we left, dumbass,” you snap. You clench your teeth. “Kasie, we’re running out of time! Carston leaves town tomorrow!”

Kasie ushers you and Luka back to the hotel room. Once the door closes, she sits heavily on the closest bed, rubbing her temples.

“He must be on to us,” she says wearily.

You shift your weight, heat pricking at your face again. Was all this your fault? Or was this his whole reason for coming in the first place?

Surely an Avenger isn’t here to protect a man like Rex Carston.

But what’s the alternative? Why else is he here?

Does Carston even know the Winter Soldier’s been shadowing him? You and your crew know who Bucky Barnes is—a legend, a danger, maybe even a competitor—but he’s not Tony Stark. Is Carston aware enough about superheros to recognize one in plainclothes? Or is Bucky Barnes just another slick man in a suit?

“Did he see you?” you ask Kasie.

She shrugs.

“Well, we know he saw Luka and me,” you reason. “So unless you do the deed—”

“This isn’t sex,” Luka interjects.

“—we’re busted for sure,” you finish.

“And how, exactly, am I supposed to keep him off my scent, genius?” Kasie says. She sits back on her hands, eyebrows raised.

You look up at the ceiling with a frown. What might distract the Winter Soldier enough to keep him from looking too hard at Kasie? He was so observant at the event last week.

A smile slowly spreads on your face. You look back to Kasie, a feral grin firmly in place.

“Leave it to me.”

—

“Keep the change,” you tell your cab driver. He raises his eyebrows a little, but smiles nonetheless. You open the door and climb out of the taxi, shaking out your dress as you straighten.

The opera house isn’t that big, but the façade is gorgeous. You look up at it, not bothering to hide the delight in your eyes as you wander up the steps. You pass Luka’s ticket to the doorman, who ushers you inside with an appreciative once-over.

There’s a cacophony of sounds inside—a quartet playing in the corner of the high-ceilinged atrium, the crowd meandering along the sweeping, red-carpeted staircase, champagne flutes tinkling on their trays. A waiter appears at your elbow, and you grab a drink with little intention of drinking.

You’ve got a job, after all.

Still, appearances are worth keeping. You wet your lips as you scan the room, heart beating a little faster than before. You recognize an array of faces from the event the week before. Tonight attracts the same crowd, give or take some music lovers and cultural connoisseurs. But you’re not interested in any of them.

There.

Bucky Barnes is most of the way up the staircase, his eyes running across the crowd much as yours had been. It’s only been half an hour since you first saw him on the sidewalk, but the sight of him now, on display as if on a pedestal, still makes you swallow and clench your thighs.

“Excuse me, miss.”

You step out of an elderly couple’s way, tearing your gaze away from Bucky before he spots you.

Are you flushed? Your cheeks are warm. Hopefully your hastily applied makeup hides any sudden blushes.

A slight bustle from behind grabs your attention. Your eyes widen despite yourself—it’s Rex Carston, a pretty brunette draped on his arm. They’re an attractive couple. For all his moral repugnancy, Carston has a nice face, and his date is gorgeous. You fix your face into a smile and turn away.

And bump right into someone. Your champagne sloshes, dampening your fingers.

You step back, cheeks flaming as you check your skirt for any stray drops. “Excuse me, I—”

“Finally decided to join the party, huh?”

You freeze. Your eyes drag up the gray pants—my god, the thighs on this man—and over his broad chest until you finally meet the Winter Soldier’s eyes.

He’s smiling, his blue eyes dark as he looks you over. Your dress sweeps the floor, but the fabric clings tight to your torso and drapes lightly against your legs. You lick your alcohol-tinted lips and let a coy grin settle on your face.

“Well, I had to make sure I was dressed for the occasion,” you murmur.

“And don’t you clean up nice,” he says. He reaches out to tug the strap of your dress. Goosebumps linger in lieu of his fingers brushing your skin; heat flutters low in your belly when his voice lowers. “Fancy.”

You let out a slow breath, trying to maintain your composure. It’s a mission. You have a mission. This isn’t the time to lose your cool.

“You don’t look so bad yourself.” You step a little closer and run your free hand down his lapel.

Bucky’s eyes gleam with approval. He tucks your hand into the crook of his elbow and steers you towards the sweeping staircase.

This is the life. Escorted by a gorgeous man up a red carpet staircase, wearing a beautiful dress and killer—not literally, alas—shoes, a glass of champagne in your hand, the taste of it lingering on your lips.

“So,” Bucky says, casually, “what brings you here?”

“Sadly, a very boring answer,” you say. “Work.” You exaggerate a roll of your eyes, and he chuckles. You can feel his eyes lingering on your face, but you don’t look back. “What about you?”

“The very same.”

Ah, so he is here for work. If he’s being honest, that is.

“Of course,” he adds, “it hasn’t quite gone according to plan.”

“That’s too bad,” you say, heartbeat picking up. Does he mean you? You and your crew?

“Well, I’m not sure.” He adjusts his arm a little, giving you an even better sense of just how muscular he is. “Might be a good thing in the end.”

“Oh?” How?

“Mm.” He doesn’t elaborate.

You pause at the top of the staircase and discard your still-full champagne glass on a nearby table. You look over the crowd. Carston and his date are halfway up the stairs, and—you swallow—a familiar pompadoured woman is a few steps behind them. Kasie catches your eye for the briefest moment.

It’s a chilling reminder: you still have a job to do.

You turn back to Bucky, a fresh smile on your face.

“At least there’s tonight.”

“What do you mean?” he asks.

“Well, you don’t have to work tonight, surely.”

He bites his lip, eyes dancing. Are you getting lost in those eyes?

Maybe.

“Surely,” he echoes.

You head towards the doors into the theater proper, but Bucky grabs your hand and tugs you close. You steady yourself with a hand on his left arm. It’s solid as a rock.

“Not there,” he whispers. You shudder at the feel of his breath on your ear.

You pull back a little, eyebrows raised and heart beating fast. “There’s a whole show, Mr. Barnes. I wouldn’t want to miss it.”

“You won’t. Come with me.” He twines his fingers in yours and tugs you aside.

You let him pull you along, head swimming with his closeness, his strength, his intoxicating scent. He flashes his ticket to an usher at the start of a curving hallway, who hands Bucky two programs and unlocks a door twenty feet down the hall.

“Thanks,” Bucky says. He pushes you inside and shuts the door behind him, closing the rest of the world out.

You finally tear your eyes away from him. When you realize where you are you can’t help but gasp in delight. A box at the theater? This is more fancy than the ballroom from last week, and certainly more swanky than sitting in the middle of row J down in the crowd. The box is small, cozy, with five plush chairs angled slightly towards the stage. Red velvet drapes line the railing, matching the dark walls and the upholstered railing.

“Not too shabby, huh?” Bucky asks. He finally drops your hand.

“Not at all,” you agree. You make your way to the railing and peer out over the crowd. Bucky’s still at the back of the box, so you scan for Rex Carston. There—just coming in, with his date. You stiffen a little when you realize Kasie is right behind them. She’s scanning the crowd too, but Bucky materializes at your side before she spots you.

You tear your eyes from the doors. Cold focus settles through you, stifling the genuine excitement that had been building ever since Bucky took your hand. You aren’t here to enjoy yourself. You’re here to distract one of the deadliest assassins on the planet. If he’s looking at you, he’s not looking at Carston, or Kasie.

And now you’re alone with him in an enclosed room.

Great.

“So,” Bucky says. His voice is low, husky. Despite yourself, you feel it from your head to your toes. He leans on the railing beside you, his hand barely an inch from yours. He runs his other hand up your arm, leaving goosebumps in the wake of his touch until his clever fingers catch the strap of your dress.

You can’t breathe. He’s so close, so solid. The whole world falls away, leaving only him. You tighten your grip on the banister, knees weak as you stare into his eyes.

So much for the mission. Ten minutes and you’re utterly lost. World’s best assassin? You don’t doubt it in the slightest. A hint from him, and you’d beg him to murder you.

His eyes drop to your mouth. You lick your lips, heart beating wildly. What you wouldn’t give to run your tongue along his mouth…

“You here for me, darlin’?” he murmurs.

“Well, I’m not in someone else’s box.” You shift closer until your chest brushes his. “You here for me?”

“Might be.”

You open your mouth to respond, but his hand tightens around the strap of your dress. He yanks you away from the banister as the lights start to dim, his face darkening.

Bucky slams you against the back wall, pinning you with an arm across your throat. Your head rattles from the impact. You gasp for breath.

If your heart was racing before, it’s going at light speed now. Bucky’s pressed against you, his chest hard against yours. Despite the unveiled threat in his eyes, the position has your knees weaker than ever. Your skin prickles with every brush of his suit, with every panting breath. It’s so dark now that you can barely make out his glittering eyes, but there’s no escaping them.

“Are you here for me?” he growls.

You open your mouth, but how on earth are you supposed to answer? It’s hard enough to think while his scent floods your senses. Hard enough to form words with his whole body flush against yours.

What answer would even be honest?

“It’s complicated,” you manage. True enough. You wriggle a little, desperate for some relief from the pressure on your throat. The friction on your front sends sparks through you. Bucky growls again, wordlessly this time.

He steps back just enough to spin you to face the wall, then slams you back against it. Your cheek scrapes against the wall. You scramble, try to brace yourself against the wall, but Bucky gathers your wrists in one hand as the orchestra tunes up.

Terror grips your throat. Forget whatever fun you’d had flirting. The danger? It’s real.

You swivel your head, look for the shadow of his foot against the carpet, and slam your heel down on his toe as the first booming note starts from the pit. Bucky hisses in surprise, stepping back out of easy reach.

“These aren’t even my killer shoes,” you gasp, and then you feel a knife’s point pricking the small of your back.

You stiffen instinctively, ice flooding your veins, but Bucky’s already stilled.

“Did you just… crack a joke?” he asks.

You shrug a shoulder as best you can with both hands secured behind you and a knife at your back.

“I left all my fun things at home,” you tell him. Your voice is deceptively steady. “Humor is how I cope.”

A pause, and then Bucky snorts. The knife goes away. You slump against the wall in relief, tears pricking at your eyes. Your shoulders are starting to burn from twisting, but Bucky doesn’t let go of your arms.

The music is loud, shockingly so—weren’t they supposed to ease into it? The quick tension mirrors your current predicament perfectly, right down to the sensual strain of the strings.

“And what would you have done with killer heels?” Bucky says.

“A lady never reveals her secrets.”

“Is that so?”

Bucky pulls you back against him, trapping your hands at the small of your back. Your shoulders burn anew. He adjusts his grip; you gasp in relief. He squeezes your hip.

“How many secrets can a dress like this hold, huh?” he murmurs.

You shiver. Your core tingles at his husky voice even as your head spins. What happened to the threats?

His metal hand skates along your sides, searching for hidden tricks, but he comes up empty.

“Hm.” His hand settles just under your breast, his solid fingers drumming against your skin in time with your racing heart. Your nipple tightens painfully. His hand is so close, but so far. “Complicated, huh?” He drops your left hand and wraps your other arm around your hips, pulling you flush against him. He’s hard against your ass. “Think there’s a way to make this evening work for both of us?”

“Depends.” You swallow thickly, lust hazing your vision. You lean back into him and press your free hand over his. The metal is smooth and cool. “What did you have in mind?”

Bucky spins you in place and pushes you back against the wall. He pins your hands above your head and slips a leg between yours, his thigh pressed against your core. His grip is light enough that you could break free—does he trust you all of a sudden?

Even though you can barely see in the darkness, it’s clear his pupils are blown wide. He licks his lips, his gaze darting between your eyes and mouth. Did desire get the better of his common sense, too?

A light soprano cuts through the heavy silence.

Common sense? For fuck’s sake, who cares? Enough waiting.

You lean forward and kiss him hungrily. He responds with equal fervor, his lips hot and his tongue almost immediately tracing the seam of your lips. You let him in with a moan so sinful you give yourself shivers—or maybe that’s his hand suddenly palming your breast. Your nipples tighten. You pull your hands free from his lax grip and thread them in his hair with a sharp tug. Bucky breaks the kiss, breathing heavily, and tweaks your nipple in retaliation. You swallow a squeak of surprise, but there’s no hiding your reactions from him.

“Shh,” he says, a smirk tugging at his lips.

Bucky glances over his shoulder; you follow his gaze. From here, you can only really see into the few boxes across the way. The back of each is shrouded in shadow, and even the people sitting are all staring transfixed at the stage. Still, they’re right there.

“The audience isn’t for us,” you whisper.

“Too bad.”

He slides the straps of your dress off your shoulders and kisses his way down your neck, sucking a mark into your pulse point. You grind down on his thigh and stifle a moan, dress riding up on your hips. He pulls back to watch, biting his lip and steadying his hands on your waist.

“Are you really just gonna stand there?” You reach down, squeeze his thigh, casually brushing the bulge in his pants. “After all that buildup?”

“What, and miss the show?” He squeezes your waist, face alight.

“We’re both missing the show,” you point out breathlessly. You drag your core along his leg, every inch flaring the fire building low in your belly.

“Trust me,” he husks, “watchin’ you riding my thigh is a hell of a lot better than whatever nonsense they got goin’ out there.”

“Maybe I should charge for—mm—front-row seating.” You grab his left arm to steady yourself, still chasing that delicious friction. The metal doesn’t give, but you don’t care. All you want is relief.

“You’re the one getting seated,” he quips.

You groan and roll your eyes, pushing him back until you’re standing straight. You fist your hands in his lapel. His hands settle back on your waist.

“Shut up and kiss me, soldier,” you order.

Bucky obliges, crushing his lips to yours. You hum against his mouth, your annoyance washing away as desire licks along your skin. The straps of your dress dig into your arms. Why hasn’t he taken it off yet? The thought vanishes as Bucky sucks your bottom lip into his mouth.

By the time you pull back for air, your head’s in the clouds and your lips are swollen. You steady yourself, trying to keep your knees from buckling

“Hell of a mouth on you.” Bucky pushes you down to your knees—so much for staying upright—and unbuttons his suit jacket. He undoes his belt, yanks down his fly and lets his cock spring free. “Gotta put it to good use.”

Your brain short-circuits. Dear god, he looks like this and he’s hung? How the hell is he real?

You wrap your hand around his cock without thinking. Bucky hisses and braces himself with one hand on the wall and the other in your hair. His cock is thick, hot, heavy. There’s a bead of precum already leaking from the tip. You give an experimental, lazy pump of your hand. Bucky bites back a moan.

“Fuuuuck,” he rasps.

“Oh, you like that, huh?”

He scowls down at you, but there’s no malice in it, only raw desperation. You take pity and press a kiss to the swollen head, the taste of him heady on your lips.

“Bet you’ll love this,” you murmur, and you draw him into your mouth.

He groans, so loud you’re afraid someone will hear, but the whole world couldn’t get you to stop. You pump the base with your hand and hollow your cheeks over what easily fits in your mouth. He twitches, high-strung, as you hum around him.

Bucky’s hand tightens in your hair. You’ve barely begun, but he’s breathing fast, his cock pulsing on your tongue. Knowing he’s as desperate as you sends a fresh rush of heat between your legs. You slip a hand between your legs. The first touch on your clothed clit makes you shudder. You rub yourself through your dress, a flush pricking heat on your chest.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Bucky says, voice strangled. “You touchin’ yourself? All wet?” He pumps your head on his cock, his head falling forward when you look up, eyes watering from the stretch as his cock nudges the back of your throat. “God, a fuckin’ vision right there. Thought I was seein’ an angel up on that roof and here y’are, suckin’ on my cock in the fuckin’ opera.”

His filthy words in that heavy accent—it’s too much. Heat clouds your senses. It’s just him, his cock, your mouth, and that burning heat between your legs, licking at your brain, tightening your breasts.

You cup his balls, squeezing them lightly, scraping your nails gently on the sensitive skin as you blow him for all you’re worth. Anything to drive him wild. To make him take you. The hand you’ve shoved between your legs is no help at all, not when you know what’s coming. You’re consumed with desire, with heat. All you want is Bucky.

He’s panting, eyes almost shut. Your eyes have adjusted to the dark, so you can make out every detail of his face. Despite the blur from your tears, you’ve never seen anything as beautiful as Bucky Barnes halfway to heaven.

A tear tracks its way down your cheek as you bob your head a little further every time. He’s leaking steadily now. The taste is sharp, intoxicating. You dip your tongue against his tip, seeking more. Hungry for more, more, more.

Finally, he snaps. He pulls you roughly off his cock and falls to his knees before you, gripping the nape of your neck and slamming his mouth to yours. It’s brief, rough, needy. Can he taste himself on your lips?

Bucky shrugs off his jacket and tosses it aside. You make quick work of the buttons on his shirt. His hands are already back on you, on your hip, your arm, your ass. His lips are hot as he peppers kisses along your jaw, licking up the one tear still clinging to your cheek. Bottom button undone, you push his shirt open. God, what a vision—the thick muscles of his chest, the dusting of hair half-obscured by his leaking cock… He’s every wet dream you’ve ever had come to life.

Your eyes land on the scars spreading from his left shoulder. Bucky freezes when you trace them with a finger. You glance up at him, surprised. He’s staring down at your hand on his scars with something like trepidation on his face.

Ridiculous. Doesn’t he know how perfect he is?

You lower your head, holding his gaze, and trace his scars with your tongue. You press a gentle kiss to the juncture where the metal plates of his shoulder meet his skin.

“Beautiful,” you murmur.

Bucky growls, eyes blacker than ever. He yanks your dress down, freeing your breasts and immediately drawing one into his mouth. The air is cool on your burning skin, but the wet heat of his mouth is scorching. You can’t see. His tongue flicks a rapid beat over your nipple; his teeth graze your skin and his fingers dig into your ribs. You bite your hand to stifle your cry, your other hand flying to his shoulder.

Bucky pulls back, his lips detaching from your breast with a lewd pop. He smirks, all danger and delight.

“Beautiful,” he echoes.

He eases you down to the floor, hands skating up your legs to gather your dress around your hips. Your heart pounds with anticipation. The higher he gets, the slower he goes. By the time he’s closing in, you’re squirming, reaching greedily for his hands and mewling as quietly as you can. He chuckles low and delicious.

“Shh.”

He hooks his fingers in the waistband of your panties. You lift your hips so he can pull them off. They peel away from your crotch last. And oh lord, they’re soaked. You hadn’t realized just how wet you‘d gotten, but now that you’re bare, you can feel cool air on damp skin practically halfway down your thighs. Your dress is bunched under your ass, and you can feel your slick dripping down, pooling on the fabric. You can smell it too, heady and musky and surely enough to give you away. The looming threat of discovery makes you even wetter.

Bucky sits back on his heels. His pants are silky against your legs. He lifts your panties to his face and breathes in deep.

“All this for me? You shouldn’t have.” He tosses your panties aside and bends over you, his arms caging you in. His face hovers inches from yours. His cock is trapped against your stomach, scorching, his balls nestled between your spread legs. You rock your hips with a whine, seeking pressure, friction. You’re so wet and he’s barely even touched you.

“Patience, darlin’.”

A shake of your head. You grab his cock—he gasps, jerking in your hand—and push him down your body until he’s lined up with your entrance. He raises an eyebrow when you let go of him. You spread your legs and settle your hands on his arms.

“Virtue’s overrated,” you breathe. You dig your nails into his arms, one soft and the other solid as a rock under his sleeves. “Fuck me til it hurts.”

Bucky nudges his cock against your clit. You bite down hard to swallow your moan, clenching your walls against nothing. You glare up at him. He smirks.

“If you insist.”

He takes his cock in hand, smears his precum around the tip, and guides just the head inside you. You clap a hand over your mouth, eyes wide as he stretches you open. God, it’s delicious, but still so so far from enough. You buck your hips up, greedy for more.

Bucky gives a breathy chuckle as more of him sinks in. “So eager.” He pulls out until just the tip is in and shifts his weight on his hands. “Keep that mouth covered, darlin’.”

He slams his hips into you, burying himself to the hilt. Your eyes roll back into your head, eyelids fluttering shut as you clamp trembling hands over your mouth to stifle your cry. His balls nestle against your ass; his zipper scrapes against your inner thighs. But those sensations are nothing to the brimming fullness of his cock. It’s a long few seconds before you feel safe enough to uncover your mouth.

“Fuck,” you say.

“Yes, that’s the idea,” Bucky murmurs, dark eyes glinting. His cock twitches—on purpose? You can’t tell—and you hiss, your hands flying back to his arms and your feet scrambling against the carpet for grounding.

He glances over to the side. Your panties lie discarded a few feet away, a dark shadow on the floor.

“Think I oughta put those in your mouth?”

You shudder, tongue tied. There’s an idea—drenched panties in your mouth, your cries muffled, hands secure above your head—but no. Not now. You shake your head and find your voice.

“I’ll be good,” you promise. “Silent as the grave.”

Bucky ducks his head and kisses your breast. His cock shifts inside you as he moves; you clench your jaw, squeeze shut your eyes.

“Not that silent,” he says. He kisses the other breast. Thoughtful of him, really. “I wanna hear you come apart.”

You open your eyes, your mouth to respond, but then he pulls out and slams back in. Your head falls back, a silent scream parting your lips as he pounds into you. His cock drags against your walls; he hits your clit with every thrust. Fire licks at you, clouding your vision, tightening your core.

Bucky drops to his elbows, his chest crushing yours as he drops sloppy kisses on your face. You turn your head aside, baring your throat, eyes squeezed shut but stars still bursting in your vision. His lips trail down your neck, attaching to the same spot he’d marked up before. You fist your hands in his hair, moan into his ear.

Still he drives into you. It’s rough, dirty. You’re so wet you can hear him moving. Behind the blood pounding in your ears and the opera filtering in from the theater, you can hear his cock pumping in, out, driving into you relentlessly, taking you apart thrust by thrust. You can’t think. All you can do is seek more.

You hook your legs around his waist. He goes deeper in now—you aren’t prepared for his cock to hit your g-spot. Your moan is fifty shades of pornographic for the millisecond before Bucky hastily covers your mouth with his metal hand. He stills, head drooping on your shoulder. His hair is feather-light against your skin.

“Fuck, darlin’,” he rasps. “You can’t—fuck.”

But he hooks your legs higher on his waist, then returns his hand to your mouth, slipping two fingers in. You swirl your tongue around the cool fingers as he watches, eyes pitch black and a flush spreading down his chest. He pulls his hand away, runs it along your lips. He settles back on two hands.

“Ready?” he asks.

You exhale slowly, then nod.

This time, he sinks in slow. You feel every ridge, every vein, your walls fluttering over his cock. Bucky straightens his arms and looks down between you, watching as he disappears inside you. You look too, lips parted. His cock glistens with your juices, sliding in so fucking easy. He was made for this—you were made for this. You squeeze your walls around him as he bottoms out, vision going spotty as he brushes against every sensitive spot you have.

“Fuck—I’m almost—”

“Me too,” you pant. You push his hair back, tracing his brow with your thumb. There’s a light sheen of sweat on his face, mirroring yours. You stretch up and kiss along his jaw, letting the salty taste linger.

Bucky keeps fucking you tantalizingly slow. If you couldn’t feel his arms trembling, you’d think he was bored. But after a few more gentle thrusts, he sucks in a shuddering breath, sets his jaw, and snaps his hips into you again. He snakes a hand between you, rubbing tight circles on your clit with the rough pad of his thumb. White light bursts behind your eyes; your back arches, nipples dragging against his chest.

“Ah! Bucky! Fuck!”

You bite down on his shoulder as your soul shatters. Pleasure rockets through you, fingers to toes to nipples to clit, every last ounce of sanity sucked away as he fucks you through your orgasm, relentless and unending and so exactly right. The world buzzes with white noise, soundless ecstasy. You barely notice as Bucky’s pace stutters and he stills, cock pulsing as warmth spreads through you.

He collapses onto you, his breathing loud in your ear as you come back to yourself. You lift one arm to stroke his hair. It’s an effort. All your muscles feel like jelly. Your heartbeat winds down, slow, heavy, weighted down by Bucky lying prone on top of you.

Slowly, your senses pick back up on the world outside of you and Bucky. The opera is still going—a duet? No, it sounds like an ensemble piece. Soprano notes, a deep bass, sonorous tenors. None of it sounds half so good as his dirty whispers had. You can’t help smiling at the thought.

Bucky groans.

“You okay there, soldier?” you tease. Your voice is hoarse, barely audible over the music.

“Fuck you,” he says into your shoulder. He pushes himself off you with a grunt, rolling onto his back beside you. The sudden emptiness is jarring. You follow his face with your eyes, already missing him. “Damn. Damn.” He rolls his head to smile at you. His hair is plastered across his face. You grin back weakly.

“Is my hair as bad as yours?” you ask.

He snorts. “Prob’ly.”

A long note of music comes to a close, and the bubble shatters with applause. You look away and force yourself up, pulling your dress back over your chest and tucking up your knees as you look for your panties. Bucky snatches them up.

“Mine,” he says, smirking. He folds them carefully and slides them into his pocket

“Weren’t you immobile two seconds ago?” you snap. You shift to sit on your knees, mind racing as you neaten your hair. Sex coats your thighs. How the hell are you supposed to manage the rest of the night?

The rest of the night?

Cold recollection rushes through you. Your heart rate, so calm before, jolts back to life. Shit. You completely forgot about the mission. You stare at the banister, but from where you are, you can’t see a soul. Just Bucky. What’s happening with Kasie? With Rex Carston?

“What’s eatin’ you all of a sudden?” Bucky sits up and tucks his hair behind his ears. It’s a cute gesture. He’s cute, with his pink cheeks and his softening cock and his hard abs. “Did I too good a job distractin’ you?”

“Excuse me?” You bite back a snort. “Is that what this was?”

He shrugs, a smirk tugging at his red lips. He tucks himself back into his pants and zips his fly. “You aren’t shootin’ anybody right now, that’s for sure.”

“True enough.” You watch mournfully as he buttons up his shirt, then shake yourself out of it. Is he being honest? You study his face, but he’s still a stranger despite the mind-blowing sex. You don’t know any of his tells.

If he is telling the truth, it would be an awfully ironic coincidence. Both of you setting out to distract the other?

Well, it sure as hell worked.

At least, you didn’t think he’d gotten wind of the other half of your crew’s mission.

“You don’t get credit for that, though. It’s like I said.” You give up on the mess between your legs and shake your dress back into place. “I left all my fun things at home.”

“Oh please,” Bucky snorts. “We both know the fun things aren’t the real danger.” He pokes your arm. “You’re here.”

You poke him back. “So are you.”

He narrows his eyes, but he doesn’t answer. You grab onto the nearest chair and pull yourself up, looking across to the other boxes. No one’s looking, thank god. You settle into the plush seat—this really is the fanciest event you’ve been to—and look back at Bucky. He’s still sitting on the floor, stroking his chin and regarding you with a strange expression you can’t quite read.

“What?”

“Just thinking,” he says. He nabs his jacket from the floor and shrugs it on as he rises to his feet. “Mind if I join you?”

“Pretty sure this is your box.” You gesture to the seat beside you. He grabs your hand as he sits, pulling it into his lap and stroking the back of it with his thumb. You stare at him, surprised, but he’s already engrossed in the show. The tenor is singing a pensive aria; the words are indecipherable, but the hopeful melody echoes your own sentiments.

“Y’know,” Bucky says, “I feel like this is a missed opportunity.” His eyes flick to yours, and you turn to the stage, cheeks hot.

“Probably.”

“This act is at least another twenty minutes,” he continues. “We could be doing all sorts of things.”

A smile threatens, but you bite the inside of your cheek and try to keep your face still. “Probably.” You shift a little in your seat. Your thighs are still coated with evidence of your debauchery. Maybe he could lick them clean.

The two seats you’re in are behind three others. Between them and the banister, your lower half is fully obscured.

“Alright then,” you say, You hook a knee over the arm of your chair and give him a look. “Why don’t you clean up this mess you made?”

“Yesss.” Bucky dives to his knees, shoving your skirt back up over your hips. His hands knead your thighs, spreading them wider. He groans at the sight of you open before him. You shudder at his obvious excitement. “Fuck, darlin’, you’re a fuckin’ vision.”

You thread your hands in his hair, ready to smother him between your legs, but a disturbance from the audience cuts through the music, stilling you both.

“He’s having a stroke! Somebody call an ambulance!”

Bucky swears. His hands tighten on your thighs as he stares at you. You shrug, heart racing but genuinely confused.

“Shit.” He stands up, tugging your skirt back into place, and goes to lean out over the banister. You stand carefully and follow him, scanning the crowd for the source of the commotion.

Oh.

You fix your baffled expression on your face, but inside, you’re whooping with glee. Rex Carston is slumped in his front-row seat, head tipped back and eyes glassy even at this distance. His pretty date is hovering over him, hand pressed to her heart. An usher runs down the aisle as the music goes quiet. The crowd’s murmuring gets louder until you can’t make out any details.

A flash of deep red catches your eye. Kasie is sitting five or six rows behind the target, quietly talking to the old woman beside her. You can’t see her face, but she’s one in a crowd, too far to be an obvious target, too unruffled to draw anyone’s eye but yours.

“How the hell…” Bucky trails off.

You glance at him, eyebrows raised, confused still plastered on your face. It’s not all feigned—you have no idea how Kasie did it, but you sure as hell know she did—so it’s a little easier to maintain under the force of his glare.

“How the hell what?” you ask.

“You know what? Nevermind.” Bucky shakes his head and plops down in the nearest chair. “It sure as hell wasn’t you. Beyond that, god only knows. That guy deserved to die.”

Your heart skips a beat. You lean out again and watch as some EMTs rush down the aisle with a stretcher.

Deserved to die? So he does know who Rex Carston is. But—Bucky Barnes is an Avenger! What does he mean, deserved to die? He can’t wish people dead like that. Can he?

“That’s pretty callous for a superhero,” you tell him.

Bucky shrugs. “I’m not wrong.”

“I guess.” You sit beside him and clasp your hands together in your lap. You sneak a glance at him; he’s frowning at the stage, brow pinched adorably. You look away, gut churning. Adorably? He’s the world’s deadliest assassin, and he’s adorable?

You have got to get out of here.

“I need to use the ladies’ room,” you announce, standing. Your skirt sticks a little to your legs; you shake it out as best you can. There doesn’t seem to be any visible wet spots, at least not yet.

Bucky grabs your wrist before you can walk away. You narrow your eyes at him. He lets go. His tongue darts out to lick his lips.

“Come back?” he asks, softly.

Your face softens into a smile. You cup his face in your hands and bend to press a kiss to those pink lips, lingering as long as you dare.

“Wouldn’t dream of missing the show,” you murmur.

He smiles back, eyes crinkling. There’s a touch of sadness there, but you ignore it as you pull away.

You’re outside in minutes, the cool air nipping at your skin as you hail a taxi back to the hotel. You wrap your arms around yourself as you watch the opera fade into the distance, the phantom memory of the Winter Soldier heavy on your mind, on your skin. You trace the blooming mark on your collarbone, wondering how long it will take to fade.

—

About two weeks, as it happens.

Rex Carston’s death is widely publicized as a tragedy, a shocking thing in one so young, so seemingly healthy. A few liberal publications lambast him, with all his issues, and you read one as you sip on a fruity drink, legs stretched out on your towel as you lie in the sun.

Thanks to the last-minute switcheroo, you’d managed to get your fair share for the Carston job. Poor Luka got the short end of the stick, but you’d taken pity and gifted him the next room over in your tropical hotel. The island was everything you’d dreamed of: quiet, secluded, sunny…

Nothing to kill but the fish.

You shut off your tablet, setting it back in your beach bag with a sigh. The evening sun is just starting to hug the horizon, and your stomach is giving you hints to go find some dinner. But first, you lean back and close your eyes.

Water lapping at the shore, warm sun on your skin, distant gulls crying in the gentle breeze.

A shadow slides over you. You crack an eye open, expecting Luka.

Your heart skips a beat. You sit up fast, mouth and eyes popping open as you stare up at Bucky Barnes.

“Do you know,” he says, plopping down in the sand beside you, “how long it took to figure out where you were?”

“Uh, two weeks?” Your head is spinning. What’s he doing here? He’s not dressed for murder, at least you don’t think so—all he’s wearing is a pair of swimming trunks; his metal arm is bared for all to see. But there’s no one else close enough to hear, to see.

“Yeah,” he says. “Two fucking weeks.” He flicks some sand at you, and you yelp in surprise. “I thought you were gonna come back.”

“Sorry?” You cower under his glare.

“I was lookin’ forward to eating you out,” he grumbles. “Two weeks!” He shakes his head, and you can’t help but giggle.

“Such a struggle,” you tease. “How can I make it up to you, then?”

Bucky nudges you back to the ground. Your heart hammers in your chest. He leans across your chest, propped up on one elbow as he smiles down at you. He strokes your cheek, eyes softer than springtime.

“I’ve got a few ideas,” he murmurs. “But how about dinner first?”

You smile and turn to kiss the palm of his hand. “Sounds like a plan.”

#shotthroughtheheart3k #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #winter soldier smut #winter soldier x reader #winter soldier x you #winter soldier fic #bucky barnes x you #bucky x you #bucky barnes fic #becca writes

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omuse · 4 years

Text

life and death.

DATE: 15.03.2020 MUSE: DAEVA OF FAMINE WITH: FROLLO , SAMAEL ( @terrvrs ) , JULIAN ( @lcstbov ) , LILITH ( @whitesctin )

( tw: blasphemy , blood , injury , poison , torture )

it's hard to leave home, after over a week spent being by his husband's side, making sure he is alright, tending to his wounds — the horseman has trouble stepping foot outside the house, away from him, even if he is leaving samael in their children's care. the memory of not knowing where samael was, of him stepping away without letting daeva know — it's still fresh in his mind. the worry, the panic that washed over him. being the creatures they are, he hardly ever feels fear, but since the events that happened in the church, daeva feels on the edge, ready to do everything so that his family is in one piece, safe, healthy and happy.

and that consists of having samael within sight, holding him close, changing his bandages, putting on the healing ointment they had it made to help him heal. getting his lover out of his sight is something that squeezes the heart in his chest, but after he had made samael promise, daeva believes him, believes that he wouldn't leave- that he would keep his word. and just in case something urgent happens, daeva makes sure lilith and julian is there too while he is away. his family is together, safe, away from what daeva plans to do that day.

it's been brimming under his skin, the anger, the bitter feeling harbored for the priest. there had been more urgent matters at hand, making sure samael was healing well, that his family was in one piece, gathered in one place. and now that the storms have settled, daeva knows it's time. time to get revenge, time to show no one messes with his family, that no attempt to do so will go unavenged. at first, they are reluctant to let him go alone, but once he sets his mind to something, it's hard to change it, and he promises them he will be back soon, and this is something he must do.

he dons the sword given to him by chernabog, drenched in poison, one that's created to kill slowly, painfully. no swift death would be enough, no- daeva wants frollo to suffer, wants to make him regret all he has done, regret every excruciating second as he edges closer to death. and having learned the church is his stronghold, where he is at his best- daeva has his movements tracked down instead. it doesn't take long, with talented people working under him, famine knows where to head exactly.

it's an alleyway, a shortcut to the man's extravagant home. another proof that humility he pretends to have is a mere lie. he lives in an expensive part of the city, filled with sin behind closed doors- but daeva doesn't care about frollo's virtues or vices anymore. he's past the point of toying with his mask, making him squirm. no, all he cares about is making sure he is punished, that everyone knows not to mess with his family. daeva wants to make an example out of the man, and counts the minutes for his arrival, leaning against the wall as he waits, hiding in the shadows.

it doesn't take long before he hears the footsteps, of expensive shoes hitting the pavement, the man unaware of what's about to come. daeva moves swiftly, pushes himself away from the wall, his eyes filled with fire as he walks towards the man. "priest — did you miss me?" his eyes shift to gold, and he doesn't even grin as he pins him against the wall, forearm digging into the man's neck. this close, illuminated by the streetlights, the wrinkles on frollo's face are clearer, of age, of fear. he stands in front of daeva as an old man, without his followers, without any power to stand up to a horseman.

the horseman pushes the aura first, finding it hard to control it with the anger that bubbles up in his chest at the sight of him. seeing the man again, this close, it only brings back the memories of fear, of samael on the ground, choking on his breath as blood spills from his mouth. and that- that only fuels his fury, makes him push the feeling of gnawing hunger towards frollo, one that takes over the priest quickly. the man chokes on his breath, added with the arm against his throat.

"not so smug now, are you? without your pawns, your fooled followers- no one can help you now, can they?" when frollo opens his mouth to speak, daeva pushes further, not giving him room to speak, not wanting to hear his voice. "you've made the mistake of your life, priest. and i will make sure you regret it." his eyes grow more intense, one hand going to the man's hair to pull him down, bending his knees, daeva towers over his figure now.

"do you know what pain feels like, priest? or do you still think your god will protect you from it?" he uncurls his hand, and when the man attempts to run away, he pins him harder against the wall, tutting. "stay still — i'm not letting you go now, not until you beg." the horseman won't let him leave no matter what, but he wants to give false hope, so that he can tear it away just as quickly. his free hand goes to his belt afterwards, unsheathing the knife, enjoying the way frollo cowers in fear, tries to struggle in his grasp.

"careful- my hand might slip, priest." he spits out, knife moving up to the man's face, trailing the line of his jaw, his cheekbone, pressing against the skin, slowly drawing blood. "what can you afford to lose? an eye?" words leave his mouth slowly, and his hand grasps the man's chin now, knife sliding down to his lips. "maybe your tongue? so that you cannot spew lies anymore?" the thought is pleasing to him, but he shakes his head. "no, no, we need to hear you beg first."

the man is as stubborn as always, but the knife seems to have put some fear in him, and for that, daeva is glad- for the man should be afraid, for there is nothing that can save him now. "i have good news and i have bad news, which one would you like to hear first?" the knife trails down to the man's neck, pushing lightly when he tries to speak. and as if playing with his food, he refuses to give him the upper-hand, wanting to make him lose control over and over again, until poison spreads through his veins.

"i'll start with the good one... you won't die now." the ends of his lips turn up in a grin, a vain effort, amplified with the way his eyes glint. he trails the knife lower now, one arm going up to push at frollo's neck again, meeting him eye to eye. "want to hear the bad news?" the end of the knife pushes against the fabric of his shirt, slowly beginning to sink in. daeva revels in the groan at first, the way the man holds back. famine's head is tilted to side as he watches the pain on his face, wanting to elongate it as much as he can.

"the bad news is that- your god isn't here. you will die- slowly. painfully. and you will regret what you did with your dying breath." with that, he sinks the knife into his side, slowly, not aimed to kill, but to spread the poison in his system. it's supposed to burn, more than just the cut of the knife, the poison burns from the inside, tortures from within. the man finally screams, and daeva watches, slowly pulling back the knife from his body, letting him crumble on the ground. "have fun thinking of your sins, priest. no one will save you now."

and with that, he steps away, listens the way the man swears, voice laced with pain, face covered in sweat. it's not the injury that will kill him, but the poison, and for a moment, daeva wants to watch. for hours, watch him squirm on the ground, step on his wound, mock him in his dying moments. but no- he decides against it, wanting frollo to be alone, scrambling for help, trying to find a cure that's almost impossible to get. "see you in hell, frollo. i'll make sure you'll get special treatment down there."

turning his back, he leaves the alley, and begins walking home. it feels like a weight has been lifted from his shoulders, worry of what happened slowly easing off. even though it will never leave, daeva will rest better knowing the man is punished, crawling in pain as the horseman makes it back to their apartment. it takes him longer than it would have, but he likes the cold air against his skin, tension seeping away slowly but surely, for the first time in what feels like weeks.

when he makes it to their condo, his hands are covered in blood, but the smile on his face is genuine as he greets julian and lilith, briefly hugs them, tells them everything is alright, that they should both rest. soon after that, daeva walks upstairs to their room, to his husband's bedside. pestilence sits up, but daeva is quick to reassure him, leaning down, pressing a kiss against his temple. "it's done, love. it's done. he won't be bothering us now. i made sure of it." one hand brushes samael's hair back, and he presses a kiss against his lips, a soft, gentle one, the opposite of the person he was in the alleyway.

when he pulls back, he smiles again, and speaks slowly. "let me clean up, and i'll be back. you should rest. i promise i have everything taken care of."

#blood tw #death tw #blasphemy cw #injury tw #poison tw #torture tw #okAY i think thats all #i really rambled too much dfkjgh #「 m╰ daeva. 」#「 w╰ samael. 」#「 w╰ frollo. 」#「 w╰ julian. 」#「 w╰ lilith. 」#「 𝖺𝗇𝗒 𝖺𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗄𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙣𝙚𝙨𝙨╰ paras. 」

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cynicalkairos · 4 years

Text

Saturday Night’s Alright for Fighting

CHAPTER SIX

Word Count: 2432

Warnings: Language

Summary: Henry and Ted’s confrontation. How does it go? Does it turn out well? Or does it end with someone being hurt? Find out in the final chapter!!

A/N: Well, we made it. This is the final chapter of Saturday Night’s Alright for Fighting. Thank you so much for reading this fic. This was my first multi-chapter work. Enjoy!

Oh fuck.

It was truly the only thought that Henry could process. He repeated those words countless times, but even then, he couldn’t comprehend that the man that haunted his thoughts and dreams for the last week was standing in front of him.

Henry attempted to wrap his head around the possibility that Ted wanted to see him again after everything that he said and somehow it became a reality. Every one of his hopes and fears was coming true, terrifying him with the possible outcomes of this conversation.

Henry felt like he was in a hurricane, only now standing the eye.

He then took a moment to look at Ted, burning every possible detail into his mind in case him speaking resulted in the demolition of their relationship.

First of all, Ted was there. He was actually there. After about a week of separation and total isolation from one another, his heart swelled at the sight of him. All he wanted to do was to walk over there and hug him, but something held him back. Perhaps it was guilt or regret. Or it was fear for the potential outcomes of the situation. Henry decided that he would rather not think about that further.

Second of all, Ted…had no mustache? On top of all of the other surprises, Henry still found himself shocked. Despite how much he debated over the difference between having the mustache and shaving off the mustache in his mind prior to this moment, Henry couldn’t complain. Being with or without the mustache was a good look for Ted. Sure, he’d miss the rough kisses, but he couldn’t wait to find out how kissing without it would be like.

Either way, Henry was just glad to be in his presence again, mustache or no mustache. He couldn’t lie. He was nervous seeing the man he loved in person again. For the past week, he lived in the past, diminishing their relationship to fond, yet painful memories.

Fuck, Ted looks hot. Henry found himself thinking, immediately cursing himself for doing so. He couldn’t help it. Ted, standing there with his hair neatly done and his clothes styled and— well, clean for once, cleaned up nicely. Then again, Ted could be standing in pajamas with a hair in a style that looked like a rat’s nest and Henry would still be attracted— hell, in love with him.

On the other hand, Ted felt tears starting to build, seeing Henry in this state completely for the first time. Sure, Ted heard the yelling, cursing, the outright shouts of agony, but this was more than he ever imagined. Ted thought that Henry still took care of himself, moved on without him. Then the voice in the back of his head reminded him: Henry tended to drown himself in guilt. The sheer look of longing on Henry’s face broke his heart. The man he fell in love with was strong and able to withstand anything thrown at him, but the man in front of him fell apart because of him. Him and his irrational decisions.

With one look at Henry, Ted could tell that Henry had not cared about his presentation in the same way. The one physical characteristic that he never saw Henry acquire since when he met him was facial hair. Of course, Ted would wake up to some stubble, but Henry would always shave it off before leaving the comforts of their bedroom.

Now, Henry had an entire five o’clock shadow. It wasn’t thick like Ted’s was, but it certainly was there. It was completely black, unlike his stark grey hair. To Ted, he thought it was strange to see him with it, but the facial hair wasn’t a bad look for him. He asked Henry about his avid desire to always shave it off. Henry just said that he preferred having a smooth face in response. Seeing him with it now completed the idea that Henry had given up like Emma said.

Ted’s eyes drifted down, taking in the rest of his disarrayed lover until his eyes landed on the most prominent change: the cast. He remembered the crash that shook the whole house. At that time, Ted didn’t want to think about what might have happened to Henry, but now he realized that it was his hand. He couldn’t stop staring at it. The cast was signed and had drawings all over, but there was a gaping hole of plain white cast in the middle that his gaze could never drift from. And based on the way Henry gripped it, the pain must have been tremendous.

It was your fault. His thoughts echoed, causing the tears to start to flow down his face. You did this to him.

Henry went through all of the pain and suffering alone when Ted could have been there to help. Ted blamed himself for that. In fact, they both blamed themselves. Not each other. Ted heard Henry blame everything else but Ted for what happened. He saw the pain, regret, sorrow, and tiredness build up in his eyes.

“Does it hurt?” Ted asked quietly, only getting a nod from the other, taking a deep breath himself before continuing, “I’m—”

“Sorry? Welcome to the fucking club.” Henry completed for him, a tight smile forming on his face. He looked away, boring holes into the couch, before sighing and looking back at a speechless Ted. “I— uh, apologize...for that.”

Ted nodded, feeling his hands move to his hips, as he stood there trying to figure out what to say, what to do.

“Ted—” “Henry—” They both said simultaneously, looking at each other in a silent exchange as to who spoke first.

“You go,” Ted said.

“No, you.”

“No, no, it’s fine—”

“Ted, I insist—”

“Okay, I just wanna say—”

Henry looked away and clenched his jaw, a wave of pain surging up his arm. He was due for a second dose of medication, but he couldn’t live with himself if he lost this opportunity to make it up to Ted. To talk to him once more. To apologize.

“Hen,” Ted started in a soft, delicate voice, tears starting to brim his eyes. Damn it, Richards. Just had to pull this shit. “You sure you’re alright?”

Before Henry could answer, a sob escaped Ted. Loud and clear. A distinct inhalation of air that caused Henry to turn his head back over to Ted.

Henry saw Ted’s tears and an immediate look of concern appeared on his face. Ted’s crying got heavier and heavier as more blame and guilt resurfaced. He tried to brush it off, turning away so Henry wouldn’t see him cry. Ted hid his face with his hands, the sobs taking over him. Henry carefully walked over to Ted and stood in front of him.

He didn’t know what to do. His instincts urged him to hug him— hold him so that neither of them would be without one another again. His mind cautioned him, warning him against initiating any sort of physical contact.

Henry released the breath he didn’t know was holding and placed his hand on Ted’s shoulder. Ted’s eyes shot up at him, wide, red, and filled with awe.

What Henry did not expect was Ted crashing into him and wrapping his arms around him with a tight grip. While Ted buried his head into Henry’s neck, Henry stood there in shock. He didn’t know what to say or what to do. He thought Ted would yell at him and blame him. But Ted…did not.

Ted was crying into his turtleneck.

Ted’s tears were soaking his shirt.

“I’m so sorry,” Ted said in between sobs, holding onto Henry tighter and tighter. “I’m so fucking sorry. I shouldn’t have thrown away that shit. I shouldn’t have yelled at you. I shouldn’t have shut you out. I— I’m so fucking sorry.”

Henry couldn’t stop the tears forming in his eyes. He wrapped his uninjured arm around Ted and held him as tight as he could. For the first time in a week, he could say honestly that he did not care about the extreme pain in his hand from the pressure. At that moment, Henry wanted Ted as close as possible to him.

“I’m sorry too, Ted,” Henry said, the tears that he once hid away in private now out in the open for Ted and everyone else to see. “I shouldn’t have said any of that shit.”

Henry felt the low rumble of Ted’s chuckle against his neck before he said, “Ya weren’t wrong—”

“You shut the fuck up and look at me.” Henry pulled away from the hug just enough to look at Ted in his tear-ridden eyes. He placed his good hand on Ted’s cheek, caressing it gently. “You do not simply sleep and drink and bother me. If there’s anything that this week has taught me, it’s that I need you so fucking much. I tried continuing with my life as if nothing happened, but I… fell apart. You sit there and listen to me rant for hours on end. You make sure I leave the lab every once in a while to eat and sleep. I can’t believe that I thought for one second that a specimen was more important than you, Ted. You are the best thing that has ever happened to me. I don’t want to fucking lose you again.”

A small smile spread on Henry’s face as he attempted to wipe away the tears on Ted’s face. This was where he longed to be for what felt like forever. He felt like he was home like there wasn’t an alien invasion happening right now.

“I love you, Ted.”

At that moment, Ted froze. Did he just hear what he thought he heard? No, that couldn’t be. Henry couldn’t possibly love… him. Ted fucking Richards. That could not be possible. Ted’s heart raced at the thought. Of course, he loved Henry with all of his heart. He just didn’t want to fuck it up with Henry, so he never told him explicitly. But now, Henry just… told him that he loved him. Henry Hidgens loved Ted Richards. Ted still couldn’t fucking believe it.

A big smile spread across Ted’s face out of sheer happiness. He never thought there would be a day when someone would say that to him.

“I love you too, Henry.”

Henry looked in between his eyes and his lips unconsciously. “Can I— Is it okay if I—”

“Henry Hidgens, ya better kiss me or I swear to—”

Ted was interrupted by, you guessed it, Henry kissing him. The initial contact was tentative, each one making sure that the other man was still there. Then, once Henry moved his injured hand to wrap around Ted’s torso, Ted deepened the kiss and pulled Henry closer to him.

The kiss felt right. Like everything was back where it should be. Henry never believed the idea that two people could “fit” together perfectly, but, at this moment, he realized that being apart made him cherish how greatly Ted fit against his chest and his hips, how seamlessly they moved together, how they made each other feel whole again.

Henry pulled away sharply as the pain built enough to overpower the adrenaline. He gasped and winced, clenching his cast. Ted stepped back, scared to even think that he might have caused Henry more pain.

“Pain meds?” Ted asked quietly, getting a few quick nods in response. Ted led Henry to the lab, where Ted sat him down before going to look for the small, orange bottle.

Henry watched Ted open various cabinets and drawers, working diligently but hastily. Before the… the incident, he would fling open every possible option, but now, he worked efficiently. Ted finally procured the bottle and opened it, giving Henry two white pills.

“Here,” Ted offered. “Do you need—”

Henry quickly swallowed the pills dry, earning a shocked look from Ted.

“Water— Nope, guess not. Okay,” Ted stammered, clearly anxious about this entire ordeal.

“Ted, it’s fine. I’m fine,” Henry assured him. Then said,

“It’s not your fault.”

Ted felt tears brimming his eyes once more, threatening to flow relentlessly. He knew Henry was right, but, deep down, he couldn’t admit that to himself. Ted started the argument that caused Henry to get angry and make himself angrier, which led to him storming out and Henry fucking up his hand. It was all his fault. And he constantly reminded himself that.

“I— I know.”

Henry sighed and took Ted’s hands as best he could. “I never blamed you.”

Ted’s gaze never lifted from the cast. “And I never blamed you.”

Henry smiled and stood up, reaching over to the counter next to him and holding out a marker. “Ted Richards, would you give me the honor of…signing my cast?”

Ted looked at Henry completely shocked, before taking the marker carefully. He knew that it had to be something meaningful, something to remind Henry that Ted is always there for him. Ted did not want to fuck this up.

He opened the cap and wrote gently and deftly, leaving thick, black strokes behind.

Henry looked down to see “Ted loves you” in big block letters in the center where the white whole used to be. The void that was once there was now filled with love and joy. The space that reminded him of one of the worst times of his life was gone and replaced by an outrageous feeling of happiness.

“Good,” Ted whispered. “Now, ya can never forget me.”

“Not that I ever could, my dear.”

“You’re too kind.”

Henry watched curiously as Ted took his good hand and pulled it up to his lips, giving it a chaste kiss. “Can I have this dance, babe?”

Henry found himself giggling of all things and nodded before Ted promptly led him to the open space in the middle of the lab. Henry wrapped his arms around Ted’s waist the best he could and leaned his head on his shoulder. Ted did the same. Both of them held the other tightly, not wanting to let go ever again.

They gently swayed. Back and forth. Back and forth.

Even though they didn’t want music, it certainly wasn’t needed. The two of them moved together without even needing a beat.

As they turned around, Henry looked up to see Emma looking at them through the crack in the door.

He smiled and mouthed a small “Thank you,” resting his head back on Ted’s shoulder.

Emma chuckled and closed the door, letting them enjoy this moment.

#tedgens #professor hidgens x ted #professor hidgens #ted richards #ted tgwdlm #emma perkins #emma tgwdlm #snaff tedgens #the guy who didn't like musicals #tgwdlm

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