#like they’d be the worst with the sweetest smiles!! but | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

rocketrhap3000 · 8 months

Text

suffocate me with your love

summary: as requested by this anon, reader overhears bucky complaining about how clingy she is but doesn’t hear the full story, causing her to distance herself from him and unintentionally breaking both of their hearts

warnings: reader deals with some self loathing stemming from childhood fears, a few swears, this is pretty angsty but i promise there’s a happy ending

a/n: thank you for the request! as i said, this is such a personal topic for me and writing this was so healing to be honest. i hope it can bring some comfort for anyone else who’s been told they’re too clingy or attached. you are loved and you deserve love 🤍

main masterlist here

The little white cat on your lap lifts her head and stands up in alert when she hears the front door click open, signaling your boyfriend's arrival back to his apartment. Next, you hear Bucky’s footsteps tread softly over where you and Alpine have cozied up on the couch in the living room, and before you know it, he’s falling down beside you, careful not to crush the cat on the couch with you.

“Hey, Buck,” you giggle as he leans into you.

“Mm, hi,” he murmurs back. “Missed you today, Sweets,” Bucky breathes as he wraps his arms around you, holding you to him.

“Missed you, too,” you sigh back, loving how safe and secure you feel in his arms.

It’s been almost four months since Bucky officially asked you out. Before that, the two of you tiptoed around each other for nearly a year, starting when you first moved into the apartment next to his in the Tower, when you became a part of the science and research team with Banner. Bucky is the sweetest man you’ve ever met, and you have always felt safe around him and loved by him.

However, you have an underlying fear that you just can’t seem to shake, even though you’re extremely happy with Bucky. As a child, your family constantly told you how clingy and desperate for affection and attention you were. You couldn’t help it, though, no matter how many times they told you to stop being so attached. You just crave affection and closeness with those you love, and that includes Bucky, now. He’s never given you a hard time about it, though; in fact, he’s always reciprocated your touch and affection. He’s never once made you feel too clingy or attached, and you always feel loved and cared for by him.

“How were my two girls today?” he asks as he pulls away enough to just settle at your side instead, and you smile as you watch Alpine climbs right into his lap.

“Good,” you smile bashfully, resting your head on his flesh shoulder and leaning into him.

“Have you eaten dinner yet?” he asks, softly rubbing your arm with the hand that’s wrapped around you.

“No,” you murmur, trying to get as close to him as you possibly can. “Was waiting for you. What are you hungry for?”

“Anything you want, Sweets,” he smiles and kisses your temple.

This right here? Absolute bliss.

~♡~

Later in the week, you go to visit Bucky and Sam after their training session with some new recruits. He’d told you they’d be done around noon, and he offered to take you to lunch afterwards. Going out with Bucky always filled you with such unbridled joy, one like none other. Something about being with him just made you so giddy, like a little girl with a school crush.

You smile to yourself as you hear Bucky’s familiar chuckle voice off the halls as you make your way to find him. But when you pick up the conversation between him and Sam, your stomach starts to churn.

“God, I need a break from her,” you hear your boyfriend’s voice come from the kitchen, immediately grabbing your attention.

Who is “her”?

“Don’t even get me started,” you hear Sam scoff his reply. “I saw her practically up your shirt the other day and I felt the urge to swoop in and save you.”

Your brain automatically goes to the worst case scenario. Sam had walked in on you and Bucky cuddling in the common room watching a movie the other day. Is that what he’s talking about?

“Why didn’t you?” Bucky playfully yells. “Man, I thought she’d get the hint by now. She literally won’t leave me alone. It’s like she’s a leech or something.”

Your heart begins to race and tears begin to burn at the back of your eyes. He has to be talking about you, surely. You know you’re so clingy; he’s just been hiding how annoyed he’s been by you, just to save your feelings.

“Have you told her?” Sam asks.

“No,” Bucky sighs.

“Why the hell not?” Sam laughs.

“I don’t want to be an asshole, you know? She’s annoying, but I still don’t want to hurt her feelings,” Bucky explains.

“It’s not being an asshole to tell her you need your space, man,” you hear Sam reply.

“I do need my space. And especially from her. She’s suffocating—” you hear him say, and it’s the last thing you hear before your throat closes up, your ears start to ring, and your eyes blur with tears as you run down the hall back to your apartment.

Time seems to freeze as you make your way to your place, shutting and locking the door as tears stream down your cheeks.

Your biggest fear has come to pass.

Your wonderful boyfriend, someone you love more than anyone in the world, thinks you’re too clingy, just as your family had said all along.

You’re annoying.

You’re suffocating.

This is your worst nightmare.

What you don’t realize, however, is that Bucky wasn’t finished. And after you’ve run off in silent tears, he clarifies what you should have stuck around to hear.

“Especially since I have a girlfriend! I get that I’m assigned to train her, but Alexis needs to know I’m uncomfortable with how touchy she is both inside and outside of training. Plus, she knows I’m dating (Y/n),” Bucky reasons.

“The whole team knows, Buck. You guys look like lovesick puppies whenever you’re together and you can’t keep your hands off each other,” Sam laughs.

“Then why can’t Alexis take a fucking hint?” Bucky cries out with a laugh.

“Have you talked to Nat or anyone else about it? I’m sure they’d talk with her. I know I will if you want me to. We could even switch her with someone else so you won’t have to work with her anymore,” Sam offers.

“That would be great, honestly, man. I’d be in deep shit with (Y/n) if she saw the way Alexis gets with me. And my girl is the last person I want to hurt. I love her, Sam,” Bucky admits.

“Whoa,” Sam smiles. “You guys have only been together for a little while. You already sure about that?”

“When you know, you know,” Bucky shrugs. “She’s the love of my life. I think about her every moment. I never wanna be apart from her.”

If only you would have heard all that.

~♡~

Weeks pass and you grow increasingly distant from Bucky by the day.

You no longer stop over at his apartment to wait with Alpine for him to get back from trainings. You spend more time in the lab with Banner, and when Bucky asks if you need some time off, you politely decline. You no longer go to bed with him for sleepy snuggles; instead, you retreat back to your apartment after the few minutes of time you have together in the evenings.

You dodge his kisses and pull away from his hugs. You don’t cuddle up to him on the few evenings you do spend with him, and you don’t initiate any touch with him whatsoever.

It’s so hard not to give into his touches and kisses, but it’s genuinely what you think Bucky wants. For that reason, you don’t see just how hurt he’s been by the absence of your affection.

~♡~

“So, how are things with you and the lady lately?” Sam asks, nudging Bucky’s shoulder with his own as the two men sit at the counter of the bar together.

“Really?” Bucky scoffs after swallowing his sip of beer.

“Yes, really,” Sam replies with a chuckle of his own. “If I don’t ask, you won’t tell me anythin’. I gotta know what’s going on in your life, man.”

“Okay,” Bucky chuckles again, then lets out a sigh. “I don’t know. Like I’ve told you before. I love her. I think she’s incredible. But if I’m being honest, recently I get the feeling she’s not really into me anymore.”

“What do you mean?” Sam asks, taking a swig of his drink. “She looked pretty comfy cozy in your lap at last month’s meeting," he teases.

“Well without giving up too many details…” Bucky rolls his eyes and winces as he struggles to word it tactfully, knowing just how embarrassed you would feel if you found out Bucky was telling Sam these details of your relationship. “She used just to be a lot more affectionate.”

“She always has been,” Sam agrees. “She’s such a sweet person.”

“I know. But she’s completely stopped. And without any apparent reason, too. Can’t remember the last time she even kissed me. I just… I don’t get it, Sam. What am I doing wrong?”

“Dude, I don’t know her like you do. But maybe just lay off for a little bit? Maybe it will prompt her to start things on her own if she wants them again.”

“Yeah,” Bucky nods slowly, thinking of just how difficult it will be if he decides to withhold his affection from you for a while if you don’t explicitly ask for it. “Yeah, that seems like it could work.”

But even though Bucky has accepted his advice, Sam notices as his friend’s demeanor changes. His already small smile starts to fade as the thought of you sitting at home alone while he’s out with a buddy crosses his mind, and something just tells him you’re not okay.

“Alright, Buck,” Sam sighs, waving down the bartender with one hand hand placing the other on his friend’s shoulder. “I can practically smell the smoke comin’ from your cyborg brain right now. Go,” he then nods his head at Bucky.

“But-”

“Go,” Sam insists with a smile. “Drinks are on me. I know you’re overthinking about your girl right now. Get home before your brain combusts.”

Bucky scoffs, amused at how well Sam knows him and thankful for the advice. He only hopes it will work, and that whatever tension there is between you two can be resolved.

He can’t stand not cuddling and kissing you like he used to.

~♡~

A knock comes at your front door just around eight, after you’ve already showered and changed into your pyjamas - ironically, it’s your boyfriend’s blue henley and a pair of his baggy grey sweats. You’d known Bucky was going out with Sam, so you expected to be alone for the rest of the night.

Toeing over the smooth panels of the wooden floor in your fuzzy socks, you leave your bedroom and head for the main door, nervous as to who may be there.

But an involuntary smile graces your lips when you open the door to your boyfriend, standing in the hallway with a beautiful bouquet of white roses in his hand and a box of your favorite chocolates in the other.

“Bucky,” you breathe, and even with things in his hands, he wraps his arms around your torso and brings you in for a delicate kiss.

“Hi, Sweets,” he greets after breaking away.

“What— uh, what are you doing here?” you stammer, suddenly becoming aware of how tightly you’re clinging to him and pulling back to put space between the two of you. “Thought you were out with Sam,” you say softly, stepping backwards to let him into your apartment, then turning around to head over to the living room.

“I… Well, I’d rather be with you,” he says, following after you. After a few steps, he catches up to you, and hands you the flowers and chocolates.

“What are these for?” you ask, accepting the gifts and admiring the roses with a small smile.

“Don’t need a reason to get my girl some flowers that are almost as pretty as her,” Bucky says, and you’d be swooning if you still weren’t so nervous about coming off as clingy.

Stepping over into the kitchen, you set the chocolate on the counter, then grab an empty vase to fill with water to place the flowers in. Bucky stands near you, watching as you fulfill the task, then setting the vase on your kitchen table, where all of Bucky’s flowers for you have gone.

Next, he grabs your hand as you bush past him to go back to the living room.

“Are you here to spend the night? Where’s Alpine?” you ask, dropping his hand as you sit down on the couch.

Bucky’s heart sinks and his smile falls. He thought you’d appreciate the little surprise, but now he’s convinced you’re just not into him anymore.

“I stopped to check on her right before coming to you. She’s good for the night if you want me to stay. Otherwise I— I can go back,” he says, hesitantly sitting down on the couch beside you.

“No, that’s okay,” you nod, relieved to hear that he’s here because he wants to be, and not because you’ve forced him to.

Silence falls over the room like a heavy, uncomfortable blanket. You’ve never felt this way being alone with Bucky before. You hate it. You want to snuggle up with him and have him hold you tight.

But you know that would be too annoying.

Too suffocating.

Those words echo in your head over and over again, until Bucky breaks the silence, pulling you from the spiral of your thoughts.

“Sweetheart,” Bucky mutters, reaching out to grab your hand. “Are you okay?”

“Mhm,” you smile and nod, pulling your hand from his, then scootch just a tad away from him.

“You’re just… You don’t seem like yourself lately. I’m worried, Sweets.”

“I’m fine, Buck,” you assure him, though he isn’t convinced.

“Okay,” he pauses generously before speaking up again. “Are we… okay?”

“Yeah,” you nod again, but Bucky finally builds up the courage to ask you directly what he wants.

“You’ve just been really distant lately. No more cuddles, hugs, kisses… no more movie nights or making dinner together. I’ve barely seen you this week, and I know you’re busy with Banner, but I miss you. I just… Are you… do you want to break up with me?” he asks, and your heart shatters into a million pieces.

“No, James,” you coo, finally reaching out to grab his hand again. “Not at all, Honey.”

“Then why haven’t you been as affectionate as you used to be?” he asks, voice shaking with nerves and heartbreak.

Another wave of silence washes over the room as you debate whether or not you’ll tell him the truth. You know you should, and against all the fear you’re feeling right now, you know it’s worth it to save your relationship with the sweetest man on the planet.

“I heard you talking to Sam, Bucky,” you say softly, removing your hand from his and casting your gaze to your lap.

“What, Sweets?” he asks with a small frown.

“I heard you talking… about me.”

Bucky doesn’t understand. When are you talking about? Did he accidentally butt dial you when he was with Sam tonight? Fuck technology, he thinks. What has he done?

“Tonight?” he asks nervously, but you shake your head. “Sweetheart, I’m lost. When are you talking about?” he asks, and you begin to dread having to explain to him what you overheard.

“In the kitchen. A few weeks ago. You said you needed a break,” you state, blinking to get rid of the tears that are blurring your eyes but instead one escapes, and rolls down your cheek, making your heartbreak evident to your boyfriend. “I heard you say I was too clingy. Annoying. Suffocating,” you wince as you speak the words that have been daggers in your heart since the moment you’d heard them.

Bucky’s jaw falls open and his face goes white as he watches you break down into sobs.

“Oh, (Y/n),” he sighs and shakes his head. “Oh my god. No no no,” he gathers you in his arms and kisses your head and cheeks and all over face.

“I never meant to be so clingy, Bucky. I’m sorry. They always told me I was too attached. I didn’t mean to bother you. I’m so sorry,” you sob into his chest.

“Sweetheart, no no no!” he quietly exclaims, pulling away from you and grabbing a tissue from the box in your coffee table to dry your stray tears. “I wasn’t talking about you!”

“You… you weren’t?” you ask shakily.

“No, sweet girl,” he assures you. “You could never be too clingy or too attached or too much anything. You’re perfect. I love your hugs and your cuddles and your kisses. I crave your cuddles when I’m gone away on missions. I wish I could bottle up your kisses and keep them in my pocket for whenever I need one. I love you, (Y/n),” he confesses, and your stomach floods with butterflies instead of sadness.

“I love you, too, Bucky,” you admit with a giggle through your tears, relief washing over you like a massive tidal wave.

“I’m so sorry you overheard that, and I’m so sorry you’ve been feeling that way for all these weeks,” he wraps his arms around you again, squeezing you tightly to him.

“It’s okay. I know I should have asked you sooner. I guess I just assumed the worst and I immediately shut down. I wanted to give you the space I thought you needed from me,” you whisper into the crook of his neck.

“I don’t need any space from you, Sweets,” he replies softly. “And I was most certainly not talking about you,” he reassures, then pulling away from you just enough to hold your eye contact.

“Who was it, then?” you ask hesitantly, though you know it’s not you.

“Alexis. That new recruit,” he begins, rolling his eyes, and you laugh at how annoyed he looks. “I was assigned to train her, but she’s got this weird thing for me. She gets way too close and touchy in training and continues with it even after training. I’ve asked her to stop, but she just hasn’t listened. I had to tell Sam about it; it was just getting too far,” he shakes his head.

“Oh, wow,” you frown, now feeling bad for Bucky as he’s had to deal with such unwanted contact with this recruit. “I’m sorry, Buck.”

“It’s not your fault, sweet girl,” he assures, leaning in to kiss you gently. “I just had to let Sam know. He’s gonna switch her out for someone else for me to train. Maybe even talk to Nat or someone who’s in charge of recruitment if it continues.”

“Good,” you nod and smile, eyes going wide in relief.

“Yeah,” Bucky also chuckles in relief. “I’m so glad we cleared this up."

"Me, too," you tell him. "I'm sorry for not telling you how I was feeling earlier. I feel like it would have avoided all of this."

"Probably," he laughs softly. "But I can't blame you for doing what you did. I can't imagine how you were feeling after hearing all that. I honestly didn't know what to do with myself when you started avoiding me, Sweets."

"Bucky, I'm so sorry," you give him a sad smile.

"No, I get it," he shakes his head and smiles, pulling you in closer, so much so that you're practically in his lap. "Now we just have a few weeks of cuddles to make up for, don't we?"

"Yes," you giggle as he feathers kisses to your neck and shoulders. "That we do."

"I love you so much, Sweetheart," he then whispers against your lips.

"I love you, too."

~♡~

thank you so much for reading! reblogs and feedback are so greatly appreciated and help out your fave writers more than you know 💘

Bucky taglist below, link in bio to be added :)

@lharrietg @enchantedbarnes @buchanansebba @verygraphicink @writing-for-marvel @marvelatthetwilight @jackiehollanderr @lets--be-honest @writerwrites @arabescapr @real-jane @mellyteddybear-blog @listenthemoose @lhharrysworld@mcufossilman @danireal17 @hallecarey1 @selluequestrian @engie115 @emi11ie @matchat3a @sonicisnotsober@balekanemohafe @mogaruke @seitmai @caplanbuckybarnes @midgardianminx @jesslove23-blog @dumb-fawkin-bitch @jessybarnes @pandaxnienke @alexxavicry @spideysimpossiblegirl @rach2602 @samlworld @nsuiswitch @thearieunhinged

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #avengers #marvel #mcu #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes angst #tfatws #sam wilson #sebastian stan

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astermath · 11 months

Text

nemesis

pairing: carmen berzatto x fem!reader

summary: you made carmen’s life hell in culinary school, except you had no idea. now he finds out you run a restaurant in Chicago, and he’s confronted with the emotions he projected onto you.

word count: 2.9K

notes: kinda got inspired by the lyric "I'm the sweetest girl in town so why are you so mean?" by lana del rey but this was prompted by this ask!!! anyway this starts off in carmy's culinary school era and then goes to somewhere around the start of S1. this will def get a part two!!

♡ LANDING PAGE ♡

warnings: cursing, slight mention of suicidal thoughts, angst

comment if you’d like to be added to the tag list for further carmen berzatto related content!

You were like the average person's depiction of an angel.

You were so incredibly good at what you did, excelling in every class they got, you were unanimously liked by everyone, always helping out your peers and taste testing, and for all he knew you probably fucking rescued baby polar bears in your spare time too.

You were perfect.

And he couldn't stand it.

Always saying good morning to him, with that sickeningly sweet smile, soft hands easily preparing the dishes he struggled to perfect. And that wasn't even the worst part. Because the teachers loved you too.

"Such an interesting spin on the use of this ingredient."

"I can tell you've really perfected this technique."

"What a unique combination of flavors..."

And they were right. Of course they were right, it's like you were a machine crafted in some kind of lab to outcook him in every way possible.

And it was stupid to be jealous, to almost hate you over it, because he was excelling too. But you were excelling more. His praise seemed worthless compared to yours, and he couldn't even dream of making the kind of connections you seemed to make with the other students.

So he grew to resent you. Even when he went to go work in New York, he couldn't shake the image of you standing in the corner of his kitchen, humming softly while chopping vegetables as you received all the praise he longed for. Some would say his hatred bordered on obsession, he would tell them it’s none of their fucking business.

Over the years, he’d managed to at least slightly shake the image of you in his kitchen, though at his lowest points, he couldn’t help but think of you. Of course Mikey was his primary motivation, but he couldn’t help but feel like possibly surpassing your success spurred him on too. But then again, what success? For all he knew, you quit cooking altogether, he hadn’t heard from you since he left for New York. That was, up until a few days ago.

It had been so busy already, and Carmen was spent trying to keep up with the pace of this business running on its last legs. He groaned into his hands, before going back to chopping tomatoes for his sauce.

“Hi! Can I just get a braised beef sandwich to go?”

Your voice made him flinch. He almost cut into his finger, that honey dripping sweet familiar voice sending a jolt of anxiety over his entire body. No way, no fucking way you were here, in Chicago, in the Beef of all places. He thought he must have hallucinated it, stressed out of his mind from the intense lunch rush they’d just had. But he had to know, he had to find out if you were there, setting foot in his establishment.

So he turned his head to peer over to the counter, and there you were.

Angel of the academy.

Arch nemesis of his nightmares.

Ordering a sandwich from his run down restaurant.

You barely looked any different, and the sight of your smile made his stomach drop. Or flutter. It did something to his stomach at least.

He was just going to let you leave, pretend like he imagined it so he could continue to live his life and believe you were out there pursuing anything besides cooking. But he couldn’t. He had to know, something deep inside him forced him to put his knife down and walk to the counter as you were heading to the door, and call out your name in questioning.

You turned, and when your eyes met he remembered how uncomfortable your eyes made him. How they’d make his face get hot, stutter, think about every mistake he’s made, like he was having an allergic reaction to your eye contact.

“Carmen?” Your voice was soft, unsure, as if you were coaxing a wild animal out of its cage.

Richie looked at Carmen, confused as all hell as to why his colleague was having a nervous staring contest with this random customer. “You know this chick or somethin’?”

He voluntarily ignored Richie’s question, getting from behind the counter and walking up to you. A part of him wanted to bolt, slam the door and tell the others to kick you out. Luckily for him, he’d become the more confrontational type recently.

“Holy shit, it is you!” A bright smile adorned your face, and he swore you were about to go in for a hug when you moved your arms, only to awkwardly cross them when he pulled away a bit. “What are you uh... Doin’ around here?” A stupid question, you were aware, but anything to make conversation with your long lost classmate.

The question made Carmen tense up. Although it was obvious he worked there, the Beef was not... In its prime condition, to say the least. He was a bit embarrassed to admit he owned it, but he wasn’t about to lie to you and make even more of a fool out of him in the long run.

“Makin’ sandwiches.” He sighed, looking down at his shoes for a moment, desperately trying to avoid eye contact. “So uh, what about you?”

“Ah, I run my own place like 25 minutes away from here.”

Ugh.

Of course you fucking did. Of course you, star student that you are, owned your own restaurant in Chicago. He bet it was running so well too, and you didn’t have to worry about half the shit he dealt with on a daily basis.

“Ah, wait, here,” You reached into your purse and pulled out a business card, handing it to him. “We’ve been up and running for only a few months, but it’s going pretty well!” You clutched your hands together, excitedly awaiting his response.

“Cool, cool...” He held the card, carefully reading over every letter. Sunrise diner... Huh. “A breakfast place?”

“You got it!” You chuckled, slightly nervous as you moved back and forth on your heels. You hadn’t seen Carmen in ages, and besides the added tattoos, he truly hadn’t changed that much. He’d matured, surely, but his demeanor remained the same. Curt, bold, something distrusting about it.

“If you want, you could uh... Stop by, maybe?” You fidgeted with the sleeve of your jacket.

Your question made him look up from the card, and a million answers ran through his mind. Did he want to? On one hand, he felt like if he spent any more time with you, he’d start feeling like even more of a failure than he already did. On the other hand, it wouldn’t be bad to scope out the competition, and who knows, maybe the place was shit, and he could sleep at night knowing at least both of your restaurants weren’t doing well.

“Sure, why not.” He shoved the card into his back pocket, crossing his arms. “I’m kinda swamped right now, but I’ll let you know. Maybe this weekend or something.”

“Sure, yeah, totally! My contact info’s on the card!” Your excitement almost made him distrust you even more. Were you planning something? Was this part of some elaborate scheme to drive his business into the ground? Either way, he’d find out sooner or later.

“See you around!” You waved him goodbye, heading outside as he stood there, no reply as the last thing that was heard was the jingly of the bell above the door.

Carmen took a deep breath, running a hand through his hair before turning back around, seeing Richie lean against the counter with a shit eating grin. “Ex girlfriend?” He asked, wiggling his eyebrows at him.

“Fuck off cousin.”

God, he wished you were just an ex girlfriend.

You were his biggest competition.

Usually when Carmen was up this early, it was to get some preparations done for the restaurant, or if he just hadn’t slept at all during the night.

But now he stood in front of your restaurant, and fuck, he had to admit, it looked good.

From what he could see from outside, the place had a very cozy feel to it. The theme was a mix of a 50′s diner and a casual breakfast spot, and from what he could tell so far, there was no lack of customers either. But that didn’t say much, maybe they were paid actors, right?

He entered and made eye contact with the barista behind the counter who offered him a warm “welcome” and a smile, before looking to the side and waving at someone in the kitchen. Not long after, you walked out, bright smile plastered over your face. He always wondered how you could be so energetic this early in the morning.

“Hey,” he said, hands in his pockets, “nice place.”

“Aw, thanks Carmy!” Your chest warmed at the compliment. “Saved a seat just for you, just follow me.”

He was seated in a booth just for him, and he had to admit, he liked this setup. He could eat his food in peace at least. The vintage feel of the leather cushioning of the benches was pleasant, and the jazz music playing made for a pleasant atmosphere. He’d almost say he would visit a place like this outside of work hours, if you weren’t the one running it.

He looked over the menu, noticing a wide array of breakfast sandwiches, pastries, milkshakes, and the usual coffee arrangement. Nothing too crazy, though he secretly wished he could have chosen something difficult for you to make.

He ordered an eggs benedict sandwich with smoked salmon, a coffee, and a cherry danish. Should be a pretty good test to the culinary quality of the place, he thought.

A waiter came by to drop off his food soon after, and he hated to admit his mouth watered at the sight of it. Everything looked so fresh, and the plating was very pretty too. But cuisine isn’t about how stuff looks, if it was, the Beef would have never existed, that was for sure.

He dug in with his knife and fork, and started eating. He sat through his entire meal in complete silence, simply going through the motions of enjoying a normal breakfast. The barista watched him with careful eyes, as if he was Gordon Ramsey and they were a shitty bakery on the verge of bankruptcy.

He put down his fork, taking a deep breath.

It was fucking delicious.

And every moment he’d spent enjoying it made him angrier and angrier.

So he got up, seemingly in a bit of a hurry, and stormed outside, the door hitting the wall with a loud thud when he exited.

You watched it happen from the doorway to the kitchen, face painted with worry.

“Carmen! Carmen wait!” You started to catch up with him as he walked over to the parking. He didn’t like it, you thought, no, he hated it, he hated it so much he couldn’t even dignify you with a moment of feedback.

Carmen’s face ran red as he could practically hear the blood rushing around his ears, hands starting to reach for his pack of cigarettes as you approached behind him.

“Please, just tell me what was wrong, I-I’ll change it, I can make you something new, off the menu, w-whatever you want, I--”

“God, do you ever shut the fuck up!?” He turned around, yelling loud enough to have you frozen in your tracks. His pack of cigarettes was squeezed tightly in his hand, crumpling the cardboard packaging under his grip.

You felt the paralyzing effect of his loud and furious voice, a cold sweat running over your body now. Before you could even open your mouth to say anything else, he stepped closer, and you didn’t even have the guts to back away.

“Every day in culinary school, you made my life hell! The one thing I have ever fucking excelled at, been noticed at, felt like I should have been alive for, you overtook me in!” His ears rang, and any noise besides his own yelling was muffled.

“You, with your perfect knife skills, endless patience, and your little angel fucking face, always at the back of my heels, the corner of my damn kitchen, making me feel inferior! And then-- then I finally get away from you, think I’ve got some direction in my life, feel a sliver of confidence in my abilities, and what do you fucking do!?” He points at you, finger just an inch away from poking into your sternum.

“You enter my city, my restaurant, and just come and remind me about how much better you’re doing! Because you love to make me feel like I’m worthless, liked I’m always 5 steps behind, don’t you?” He furrows his brows. “Tell me! Tell me that’s why you’re here, because you want to shit on my work, and make me feel worthless!”

You can feel his hot breath on your face, and your knees start to feel weak. You open your mouth, and the tears that had long been building in your eyes start to roll down your cheeks. The first noise that comes out of your mouth is barely half a word, strangled between the knot in your vocal cords that had formed out of fear. You swallow, and finally manage to speak up.

“Carmen, I-I’m... I’m so sorry...” You sob.

The person you’d looked up to since day one of culinary school thought of you as a bully. And you had no clue.

You knew Carmen didn’t like you, but you never knew he hated you this much. You’d noticed the tension in his jaw as you received good critiques, the strengthening grip on his tools when you got close to his station, the lack of eye content he provided when you did briefly talk. Just as much as you noticed his amazing instinct for flavor profiles, his ability to improvise, his insatiable urge to keep going.

It inspired you. So you kept going too. Even though deep down, you’d wish he acknowledged your work.

And now he did, he finally did, but not in the way you’d always hoped for. The man you’d always admired, who was awarded Chef of the Year the same year you considered giving up entirely, was currently inches away from your face, watching you cry.

His expression softened just a bit, and the surrounding sound of cars passing by and distant jazz music finally came back to him. You were sorry. So sorry. You looked like it too, hands clutching the fabric of your apron, shaking slightly, cheeks stained with tears. Shit. Shit, he’d really messed up.

“I-I didn’t... I didn’t know, I swear, I never meant to, I was just--” Your voice broke between sentences, “I was trying to keep going, keep holding on, and you were so... You inspired me, y-you’re...” You swallowed, looking to the side, afraid to face his scowl. “You’re the reason I settled in Chicago. I wanted to-- to work with you, or for you.”

You remembered trying to reach him, but he’d changed numbers, and with his severe lack of social media, trying to find him was damn near impossible. By the time you were ready to start cooking again, the year you heard he won Chef of the Year, you found out he was based in Chicago. You searched online, but to no avail. You figured your best shot was to try and start something in the city, and pray to whatever god would answer that maybe you’d cross paths again.

He stood still, head still reeling and processing what you were saying. This was new information for him, and that changed... A lot. You, the person he’d spent like half of his career trying to catch up to, admired him. He’d almost think you were lying if it wasn’t for the tears streaming down your face, he started to realize just how badly he’d acted out just now.

“I--” He started, taking a step back to get out of your personal space. “Fuck, I should-- I should go.”

You stood there, arms crossed, enveloping yourself and avoiding his eyes like a wounded animal. And the best thing he knew how to do at the moment, was flee the scene. He sucked at his emotions, hell, he could barely even handle his own, how was he going to help you after just cussing you out.

So he backed away, leaving to the nearest metro station to get out, leaving you alone outside.

Carmen got home that same day, back against the door as he sat on the floor of his apartment. He felt horrible, like there was a gaping hole in his chest, and he imagined you felt about a hundred times worse. He couldn’t believe what he did, all because he projected this horrible false narrative onto you, stemming from his own self hatred.

He sighed shakily, pulling out his phone and calling his older sister, Natalie.

“Hey, what’s up Carmy?”

“Hey Sugar-- uhm-- so you remember--”

“Are you okay?” She questioned, clearly worried at the shakiness of his voice.

“I’m fine, I promise, please can you just-- just send me the info for the therapy thing. Please.” He sighed. “I’m uh... I’m startin’ to believe I might actually need it.”

A pause remained for a moment, and he almost thought she hung up.

“...Bear?”

“Yeah?”

“What happened?”

tag list <3

@beebslebobs @thatone-brightstar @spr3id @deadandstill @777iii

#aster writes the bear #carmenmath #carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto fic #jeremy allen white imagine #jeremy allen white fic #the bear #carmen berzatto writing #carmen berzatto the bear #the bear fic #the bear writing #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto imagine

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guess-my-next-obsession · 7 months

Text

Sugar Daddy Chronicles, Part One/?

pairing: no-outbreak!joel miller/dave york/marcus pike x sex worker/sugar baby!reader

rating: E (18+ only, this is just filth, sex work, unprotected piv, foursome, anal, oral (f & m receiving), the boys use their words)

wc: 2k

a/n: i wrote this for the SWEETEST ANGEL IN THE WORLD @emilianamason and her birthday. te amo hermanita y feliz cumple !!! 🫶🏼

You’d met Dave by chance. During a short stint working as a bartender at an upscale bar, Dave came in looking as serious as ever in his expensive coat and suit—a prime target for a solid tip if you played your cards right. Thankfully, Dave turned out to be quite handsome and charming, his dark eyes and deep voice drawing you in until you no longer cared about the tip you were working for. All you wanted was him. When he took you home that night, he explained his recent divorce and inability to carry on something serious at the moment, and you accepted the fact that this would be a one night thing. But Dave had something else in mind.

“You come and see me when I call,” he said, dragging his lips down the line of your neck as he undid your bra. “I make it worth your while.”

“How?” you asked, your voice breathy and dazed.

“Anything you want,” he said. “Anything. Ask for it, and it’s yours.”

“Like…sexually?” you asked, earning a chuckle.

“Anything. Sex, money, jewelry, whatever,” he said.

And that was how your new career began.

It was just Dave for a while, but during a particularly long business trip of his, you found yourself wondering what it would be like to open your clientele up a bit, still keeping things incredibly selective, of course.

That’s how you met Joel, a gruff, single dad who owned a contracting company that had only just taken off after his fortieth birthday. Joel was an easy client. He knew exactly what he wanted from you, never pushed your boundaries, and always compensated you handsomely for your time together—not that the payment was even on your mind by the time he was through with you. Joel liked things rough most of the time—not so rough that he ever hurt you, but rough enough to leave a satisfying ache between your legs for a day or two after. And though he was rough, he loved taking the time to work up to it, telling you that he’d happily keep his head between your thighs for hours if he could, and you’d often let him.

Once Dave came back, he introduced you to a distant coworker and friend he met at a conference, Marcus, another government agent of some sort—he kept the specifics of his job discreet and separated from your arrangement, just like Dave. Marcus came to you for stress relief, and his favorite form of stress relief involved near-torturous teasing and edging until he couldn’t remember his own name. But Marcus was unlike Dave and Joel in that he liked the extra stuff that they didn’t: cuddling, kissing, conversation. He wanted to be your friend as well as your client, and who were you to deny those sweet eyes of his?

One night after a particularly athletic session, Dave had asked you who your favorite client was and why. Judging by the confidence in his voice, you knew he expected you to tell him that he was your favorite by a long shot, but truthfully, it was hard to compare them all. Dave was passionate and kinky, Joel was rough and giving, and Marcus was attentive and precise. All of them were your favorite, you thought.

“I don’t know,” you said, shrugging as you tugged your jeans over your hips. “Hard to choose. I’d need to…I don’t know.”

“Need to what?” he probed, watching you from his spot on the bed.

“Need to have you all in one place to judge,” you said, giving him a mildly embarrassed smile. “But that—“

“That’s a good idea,” he said, lifting an eyebrow. “I’ll win.”

You laughed at his confidence and shook your head. “Too bad we’ll never find out,” you said, pulling on your shoes.

“Why not?” You gave Dave a quirked brow. “I’m in.”

“I don’t think they’d be into it.”

“Why not ask? Worst thing they could say is no,” he said. You felt yourself start to melt at the idea of being surrounded by the three of them in bed, each of them competing to win you over and make you feel good. It was a good idea, but could you ever convince the other two?

Turns out, you could. And now you were laying spread eagle on a hotel bed recovering from two orgasms brought on by Dave and Marcus’ tongues. Dave now laid on your right, Marcus on your left, while Joel laid on his stomach between your thighs, pushing you over another peak.

“Fuck,” you cried, tossing your head back to give Dave access to his favorite spot on your neck, his hand cupping the weight of your breast while Marcus mouthed at the other, his hand on your thigh keeping you spread open for Joel. “You win,” you breathed, pushing his tongue away as you shook with every swirl of his tongue against you. “God, I don’t know if—“

“Uh-uh,” Dave tutted in your ear, sliding his hand down your stomach to circle your clit as Marcus and Joel switched positions. “We’re just getting started.”

“Mmhm,” Joel agreed, turning your chin to draw your eyes to his. “Still wanna show you how good I fuck you.”

“Not until I’m done,” Marcus said, pulling your eyes to him as he sat between your thighs, his fist wrapped around his cock as he dragged it up and down your seam. You shivered at the feeling of him against you, somehow feeling needy again already. “Can I? Can I fuck you, baby?”

“Yes,” you moaned, your head falling back against the pillows as he nodded and pressed inside you slowly, making you feel every inch. “Fuck, Marcus.”

“Mmhm,” he hummed, smiling down at you as his hands moved to the back of your thighs to push them up to your chest. “Feels good, huh?”

“Yes,” you moaned, your face wrecked with pleasure as he methodically found the perfect pace and angle to fuck you just how you liked, his natural attention to detail on display. “It’s so good, Marcus. Fuck.”

“Making me jealous,” Dave purred against your shoulder, leaving a love bite there. “Have I showed you how I fuck when I’m jealous?”

His words made you whine and arch your back, drawing Marcus even deeper.

“Shit,” Marcus moaned, his fingers gripping your thighs. “So good, baby.”

“You ready to share yet?” Dave asked, clearly growing impatient.

“You want Dave, baby?” Marcus asked, slowing his thrusts into a deep grind.

“Mmhm,” you nodded eagerly, biting your lip as you looked down at where Dave was stroking his thick length. “Fuck, yeah, I do.”

“You want both of us?” Dave asked, circling your clit as Marcus kept fucking into you slowly. “Marcus fucking your pussy, me in your ass.”

You whined and nodded, choosing to shove your nerves aside in favor of Dave’s sinful plan.

Marcus helped you up and took your place on the bed, guiding you onto his lap so that you could sit on his dick while Dave got comfortable behind you, coating his head with lube he must’ve brought along with this very thing in mind before pressing against your tighter hole gently.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he said, whispering in your ear as he kept you still on Marcus’s lap while he eased himself inside.

“Shit, it’s so much,” you sighed, trying to relax into the feeling rather than fight it.

“Need a distraction?” Joel asked, standing up on the bed at your side, his fist working his cock until it was leaking.

“You’re definitely the biggest,” you noted in a pant, earning scoffs from the two men inside of you. “What? You told me to be honest.”

Joel smirked down at you as you reached over and wrapped your fist around him only to find that your fingertips couldn’t touch.

“See?” you said, earning a grunt from Dave as he finally bottomed out inside of you.

“That’s not really what I care about looking at here,” Marcus said, his hands smoothing up your sides until he was cupping the weight of your breasts. “How about I watch you ride instead?”

You smiled and nodded, licking your lips and leaning in to take Joel into your mouth before lifting your hips to rock against both Dave and Marcus, all three men moaning in unison at your affect on them. It was intoxicating, being desired this much by these gorgeous men. So intoxicating, you thought, you might just have to make this a normal thing.

“‘at’s it,” Joel purred, cupping your cheek as you took him in deep enough to sputter. “Atta fuckin’ girl.”

“You like that, baby?” Dave asked, leaning over to whisper in your ear as he started to match your bounces with thrusts of his own. “You like how being told how good you are?”

“Yeah, she does,” Marcus chimed in, smiling at you as he watched you take Joel down your throat.

Your mind was mush, nothing but a string of muffled cries and whines and the lewd sounds of Joel fucking your throat coming out of you.

“Baby, I’m so close,” Marcus announced, his hands gripping at your waist to keep you still while he and Dave alternated sharp, quick thrusts into you, the pleasure trickling down into your thighs until your legs felt like jelly.

“Need you to cum for us,” Dave purred in your ear.

“Be a good fuckin’ girl and cum,” Joel ordered, his southern drawl deep and dark and delicious.

You pulled off of Joel right before you felt yourself slipping off into bliss, your hand stroking his slick shaft as you cried out, leaning back against Dave until it felt like you were on solid ground again.

“Can I cum inside you, baby?” Marcus asked, his voice as sweet and sinful as ever. “Look so pretty full of me, yeah?”

“Mmhm,” you agreed, thanking the heavens that birth control exists. “Cum inside me, Marcus, baby.”

“Shit,” Marcus hissed, his brows screwing together as he fucked into you selfishly, chasing his pleasure until it hit him like a truck. “Jesus.”

“Look at me,” Joel ordered, using a finger to tilt your chin up at him. “Wanna paint that pretty fuckin’ face.”

“Yeah?” you smiled, licking your lips. “Go ahead, paint it.”

Joel took his cock in his hand and stroked it, it’s slick sound filling the room along with the slap of Dave’s hips into your ass and his whispered promises of how he’s going to fill you up because you were “so fucking good for me”.

“Shit,” Joel grunted, his chest heaving and muscles flexing as he reached his peak. His tense jaw went slack as he watched his release paint your face, a moan slipping from his lips when you poked your tongue out to swipe over your lips to get a taste of him. “Fuck me.”

“You ready, baby?” Dave nipped at your shoulder before leaning back to watch himself cum inside of you with a satisfied sigh, as if this had been all he ever wanted in his whole life. “I don’t think it matters which one of us is best in bed. You’re clearly the winner here, baby.”

“Yeah?” you smiled, sated and sleepy as Joel grabbed a washcloth for your face.

“I knew that from the start,” Marcus said, combing his fingers up and down your thighs.

“So, how much is this meeting gonna cost us?” Dave asked, always one to get right to the point.

“This one’s on the house,” you said, letting Joel clean your face free of his mess.

“Not gonna happen,” Joel muttered, something equally strict and affectionate in his tone. “You earned it.”

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal smut #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #marcus pike x you #marcus pike fanfiction #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike smut

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separatist-apologist · 2 months

Text

The Sweetest Con

Summary: Nesta Archeron has been trapped in witness protection for the past five years, hiding a secret no one can ever learn. All she has to do is wait out the criminals back home determined to punish her and her sisters for a lie they told years before.

She can handle anything- even the new agent sent to keep her safe.

Read on AO3

Five years earlier:

She wasn’t used to Georgia’s humidity.

Nesta never wanted to get used to it. Standing just outside the little white house that now belonged to her, Nesta wiped sweat from the back of her neck. The town was small—no more than a couple thousand people, if that. No big buildings, no major downtown, and worst of all, no Chinese food. Not unless she wanted to creep closer to Atlanta and given that Nesta’s car was a piece of rusting junk built a full decade before she was born, she doubted she’d make it.

So much for being a hot shot lawyer.

Nesta dumped her bag just inside the white picket fence, ignoring the peeling paint and splintering wood. It was the kind of place Elain would have thrived in. With a sigh, Nesta turned her back entirely on the overgrown yard and began walking along the only road in the town to the center—aptly named Main Street.

There was practically no one out. A few older woman walked with looped arms down the sidewalks while a harried mother pushing a stroller made her way toward the only grocery store. Nesta made her way toward the marble carved library, taking the steps one at a time despite the unrelenting sun overhead.

The air inside was ice cold and empty save of two women who were quietly talking to each other. One of them—the red head—clearly worked there given she was behind the desk. The other sat perched on the counter, a book in her lap. They had been clearly talking with some animation though now that Nesta had intruded, the pair stared with wary suspicion.

Nesta hadn’t come to make friends. Lifting her chin with all the haughtiness her mother had instilled in her, Nesta marched toward the shelves lined with fantasy and romance and began reading the jackets.

She needed a distraction. All she could think about lately was what would happen if Rhysand ever found them. Surely he was irate…he’d be out for blood. They’d flat out lied, pointing the finger straight at the notorious mafioso and the feds, in their eagerness to put him away, had overlooked all the evidence suggesting otherwise.

But Rhysand would know.

And Nesta wanted to forget him. Mobsters lived short lives, besides—in a year, he might be dead and the whole thing over. She could keep herself busy for that long. So long as the library kept books on the shelves, Nesta could find something to do.

She brought them to the front desk where the red head and the dark haired woman waited. “Library card?” The woman’s name tag read Gwyn.

“No,” Nesta said, fishing out her new drivers license. Agnes Smith. Sure. That sounded real. “Here.”

Gwyn eyed it for a moment. “You don’t look like an Agnes.”

“Tell that to my mom.”

Gwyn began typing on her computer, glancing at Nesta’s ID. “Emerie,” the dark skinned, dark haired woman said with a friendlier smile. “I think you look like an Agnes.” Gwyn rolled her eyes.

“You should come by the general store,” Emerie added, glancing at the ID for Nesta’s address. “You moved into the old Brandon house.”

“Grizzly murder happened there,” Gwyn said seriously.

“Did not. He died of all old age,” Emerie said quickly. “It’s been run down for a while. I’d be happy to help you out.”

“Do you like women?” Gwyn asked suddenly and bluntly.

Taken aback, Nesta said, “Um…not really—romantically, anyway.”

Emerie sighed. “It was worth a shot.”

Nesta almost blurted out that she’d still take friends before she thought better of it. No need to be defensive or obsessive. “Where is everyone today?”

“It’s ten am,” Gwyn said.

“They’re at church,” Emerie replied when it was clear Nesta didn’t understand.

“But not you?” Nesta questioned.

Gwyn handed her ID back, along with a white library card bearing her pretend name. “We aren’t welcome.”

“Why?”

Emerie grimaced while Gwyn scanned Nesta’s book. “They think I’m a homewrecker…and Emerie likes women. Openly.”

“Fuck them,” Nesta said without thinking. It was the first smile she’d seen from Gwyn—a small, half formed thing, but a smile all the same. “We should start our own religion.”

“That sounds like blasphemy,” Emerie teased.

“It sounds like witchcraft,” Gwyn added, pushing Nesta’s stack of books toward her. “I’m in.”

Which was how Nesta found herself hosting brunch that Sunday with two strangers in a house that didn’t belong to her.

PRESENT:

“Who is that?” Emerie asked, sitting on Nesta’s front porch holding a sweating glass of iced tea.

“He’s not local at all,” Gwyn agreed, lowering her sunglasses to take a look at the tall, muscular man making his way toward Nesta’s gate. Wearing mirrored shades and a suit that was bursting at the seams, he looked like he was playing dress up as a cop.

His dark, wavy hair half pulled in a bun didn’t seem regulation, for one. But something about him seemed off somehow.

“He one of yours?” Gwyn questioned. Nesta had long since betrayed the secrecy she’d been sworn to, telling her friends everything but the most critical piece of truth in order to protect Feyre.

Nesta scratched her ear. No, this man was definitely not one of hers.

“Want us to stay?” Gwyn asked, likely thinking about the shotgun mounted in the back of her pick-up truck.

“I can handle him,” Nesta assured them. Gwyn and Emerie stood, leaving behind their cups to slip from the yard. Gwyn nodded at the man once, lips pressed into a thin line of disapproval. That left Nesta standing at the top of her porch steps wearing a butter yellow sundress, arms crossed over her chest.

“Ma’am,” he the man began as he approached, his expression unreadable. She waited, watching as he took off his sunglasses only for recognition to slam into her. Oh. She knew this man from pictures. “My name is Cassian.”

Rhysands right hand man. Nesta didn’t move, unwilling to betray she knew who he was. “What can I do for you, Cassian?”

Not even a fake name? Was he that confident she’d never done one google search? He had a mugshot, had appeared in the papers just enough times for Nesta to recognize him. They called him The Lord of Bloodshed thanks to his rumored job of handling the things Rhysand didn’t want staining his hands or his conscience.

And that man was standing at the bottom of her steps, armed just beneath his suit jacket.

“I’m here on behalf of your case,” he said like a pretty liar.

“Oh? Has something happened?”

“An indictment is coming. I’m to escort you back home once Rhysand has been charged.”

Liar.

Still, there was no reason to call him out on it. If Rhysand had found her, he must be still looking for her sisters. She didn’t believe for a minute he’d found Feyre—his bruiser would have pointed his gun at her by way of greeting had he. No, they were monitoring her.

And Nesta could watch them right back.

So she smiled, hoping she seemed innocent and sweet. “What a relief,” she lied, stepping to the side so he could come up. “I was starting to think I’d be trapped here forever.”

“Can I come inside?” Cassian asked, looking around her immaculate yard with interest. “It’s hot out here.”

“Better get used to that,” Nesta said, pulling open the screen door so Cassian could get the lay of the land. “Are you staying here?”

“If you don’t mind. The hotel is…”

Roach filled, she knew. People still went, content to carry out their clandestine affairs in filth so long as no one ever found out.

“I have a spare room,” Nesta told him. Cassian turned back for his own car—a brand new jeep that was laughably out of place in her little neighborhood. He returned with two bags slung over his broad shoulders, eyes hidden behind his glasses. The sun hit the golden brown of his skin, making it seem as if he glowed and tragically, Nesta thought he was a good looking man.

He’d kill her if she wasn’t careful…but attractive, all the same.

Nesta showed him to the smaller room she kept made up just in case Gwyn or Emerie wanted to stay the night, thinking the full sized bed didn’t seem big enough for this man. He had to duck beneath the doorway, putting him well over six foot three—maybe six six? He made Nesta, who stood tall at five nine, feel dainty by comparison.

“Should I call you Cassian, or…?”

“Cassian is fine,” he replied, sunglasses resting atop his head. “This is perfect, by the way. I promise you’ll barely know I exist.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Nesta said in a flirty voice as she eyed him. “I think it would be hard not to notice you.” He grinned, unaware that a real agent would have shut her down in seconds. “Well, Miss Agnes, I’ll do my best to keep out of your hair.”

Nesta offered him another smile, mind racing. If she survived tonight she assumed she’d survive as long as he wanted her to—and as long as she didn’t admit she knew what he was. That meant keeping it from Gwyn and Emerie, who wouldn’t be able to stop themselves from treating him like a criminal.

He thought she was prey, but Nesta Archeron was a survivor. A predator, just like this man. And she had lived in Georgia for five years—she had guns hidden all over the house. He didn’t need to know any of that, though. Nesta waited while he unpacked some of his things and peeked around her little house, mostly quiet as he cased her. Sitting on her sofa beneath a ceiling fan moving at top speed, Nesta heard him push open the back door and walk through the yard where she assumed he was testing the gate.

He messed with windows when he returned, pushing back curtains to peer out into the street. “You’re wide open out here,” he finally said with a frown on his pretty face. And he was pretty—sculpted and rough in a way that was hard to ignore. Nesta found herself noticing the green in his hazel eyes and the way stubble clung to his strong jaw. A slit cut through his eyebrow while faint scars littered his jaw and hands, betraying a man who knew his way around a fight.

He was fooling no one but himself.

“This is where you put me,” she reminded him, wondering if he understood what she was really saying.

“Maybe we’ll keep the curtains closed,” Cassian said, as if Nesta didn’t do that anyway. The sun was unforgiving and the only way to survive swampy summers was to try and keep things shady and cool.

“Do you want to take off your jacket?”

“I want to take everything off,” he admitted, shrugging out of what she had to assume was stolen. “Even my own skin.”

“That’s how I felt when I first got here,” she told him. He’d look back on all this and remember—he’d realize she knew the moment he stepped onto her lawn. “You get used to it.”

She was going to kill him, she realized. The knowledge slammed into Nesta’s chest violently, paralyzing her for a moment. She’d never killed anyone…but at some point she’d have to kill this man before he killed her. Cassian, for his part, was unaware of the slant of her thoughts. He must have already known when he came down that he planned to kill her just as soon as he was given the order. She doubted he intended to take her home…and if he did, it would be under duress.

That was future Nesta’s problem, though. For now, all she had to do was stay one step ahead of him. And that meant pretending like she believed every word coming out of his mouth and ignored all the obvious signs that he was a liar.

“Hungry?” she asked.

“Starving,” Cassian agreed. He vanished into the room she’d given him, leaving Nesta enough time to try and steady her nervous hands. By the time Cassian returned, Nesta was slicing up meat for the grill outside. There was absolutely no way she was turning on her oven.

“Can I help you with that?”

Instinct demanded she say no. She didn’t want Cassian anywhere near lighter fluid, for one. He looked so earnest and she was pretending, so Nesta nodded. “I haven’t seasoned it yet.”

“Leave it to me,” Cassian said with an easy smile. And she did, watching him from the corner of her eye while he seasoned her meat and vegetables. He vanished out the back door and when he returned, sweat glistened over his face. Nesta found herself standing there for a moment, staring as he pulled the rest of his hair off his face, biceps straining against the cuff of his t-shirts.

Cassian was heavily tattooed with black ink that crawled over his arms and up his neck, broken only by the sweaty shirt he wore.

“Why do people live like this?” Cassian asked, wiping his brow on his sleeve. “It’s horrible.”

“I keep saying it,” she replied honestly. “I would have preferred a colder climate.”

“Next time,” Cassian grumbled. “What are you doing now?”

“Cutting up fruit. Want some?”

Cassian picked a blueberry out of the bowl and popped it into his mouth. “How do you spend your time, anyway?”

“I’m the town lawyer,” Nesta informed him. “I work in a little office down on Main Street.”

“And when you’re not working?”

She shrugged. “I have friends…but I mostly read.”

He glanced toward her shelves of books in the living room, visible from the hall connecting the two. “Anything interesting?”

“Take a look,” was all Nesta could think to respond. Cassian didn’t take her up on her offer, turning instead to go check on the grilling meat. Had she not known who he was, Nesta might have thought the awkward environment was just because a stranger had invaded her space.

It felt almost normal.

Almost.

Because Nesta couldn’t forget a killer was sitting across from her, his hands soaked in blood. She kept coming back to it as they ate in relative silence. Why had Rhysand sent him here? What did he want with her? Nesta needed to figure it out.

And figure it out fast.

CASSIAN:

Nesta Archeron was beautiful.

Cassian hadn’t expected it. He’d seen a picture of Feyre only once and had kind of imposed her face on all three Archerons. Walking up to her house had been a surreal experience. For one, all Cassian could see was her tits pressed against the neckline of that sundress she wore. Holy fucking Christ, but Nesta’s body was something out of his most depraved fantasies.

But her eyes were something else. Icy blue and calculated, it was no surprise Nesta had survived five years out mostly on her own. Did she even know her sisters were guarded by federal agents while she was left to fend for herself?

It irked Cassian. Sure, he was grateful he’d been able to gain access to her life so easily, but surely someone was keeping their eyes on this woman? So the likes of him couldn’t just stroll into her home and do whatever he liked with her?

But after two days living with Nesta, Cassian learned that no one seemed to care if she lived or died. Which was just as well—because he was starting to care. Just a little, he told himself that second night as he laid in bed staring up at the ceiling fan.

His only job was to get her back to Rhysand in one piece once he’d tracked down Feyre and married her. Nesta wouldn’t even know until it was all too late and the feds would lose their pathetic case.

And then Cassian could go back to his regular life in a place that wasn’t drenched in humidity. How did anyone sleep? Even with Nesta’s air conditioner going at full blast, Cassian found himself shucking off his shirt and kicking the sheets to the floor in a desperate attempt at sleep.

Thinking the living room might be cooler, Cassian dragged his blanket with him to the couch where he found Nesta, half hidden in the dark with a piece of toast in her hand.

Her little night dress was enough to empty out his mind. Why was she so hot? Cassian could see every curve of her perfect body beneath the silken blue fabric and her hair was loose around her shoulders rather than braided in a crown atop her head.

He wanted to lick the salt off her skin.

He wanted to lick a lot of things, actually.

Cassian was fairly certain federal agents weren’t supposed to have sex with their charges—even if Rhysand was certain Vanserra had something going on with the middle Archeron. Cassian wasn’t anything close to a cop and fucking was his favorite thing to do.

“I ah..” Cassian rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly hyper aware that all he wore was a pair of loose shorts. Nesta was looking only at his face with a grim determination—as if she found it very difficult to do so.

You can look at any part of me you like.

Having sex with her would certainly pass the time.

“It’s hot,” Nesta said, flipping on a lamp on the side table. “I keep meaning to get someone out here to look at my AC, but…”

“I’ll look at it,” Cassian promised. “Before the sun comes up.”

“You’re handy?”

He was, actually. “I grew up with a single mom,” he said, flashing her a smile before making his way to the sofa. “We didn’t have a lot of money, so I learned how to do repairs.” Nesta tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. Unwilling to give her a reason to banish him, Cassian made a show of fluffing the couch cushions before stretching himself out.

“My shower doesn’t have hot water,” she finally told him.

Cassian grinned in the dark. “I can take a look at that, too.”

“I would appreciate it,” Nesta replied.

“Why don’t you make me a list? I’ve got nothing else to do all day and I feel like a freeloader sitting on your couch.”

That was true. Cassian was used to staying busy and suddenly he had nothing but downtime. It was tempting to go to the library and find his own books to read and treat the entire thing like a vacation. This would help build trust between them, he rationalized.

And Cassian liked having something to do. He liked being useful to people.

“I could do that,” Nesta said, still standing in his line of sight. Even in the dark, Cassian could see her nipples pointed through the fabric. He wanted to touch them.

“I’m here to help,” Cassian reminded her.

“Of course,” she said, her tone unreadable to him.

He nearly asked if she wanted to join him. It was on the tip of his tongue, but Nesta beat him to speaking, adding, “Well. Sleep well, Cassian.”

“You too,” he said, disappointment ribboning through him. It was absurd to think a woman like Nesta Archeron was going to crawl in his dirtbag lap.

Still, Cassian could dream. And he did, waking with a throbbing erection he had to discreetly handle in the freezing cold shower. Cassian hadn’t noticed it wasn’t hot given the air was miserable and he didn’t want to take a boiling shower for once. He could hear Nesta in her room listening to music, up with dawn just like he was.

He found tools out in her garden shed, unused and rusty. They’d likely belonged to the previous tenant, whoever they’d been. Still, they worked well enough for Cassian’s purposes. What she needed was an entirely new unit. Cassian guessed the old one was over a decade long and judging from the rattling, it was on its final legs.

He had money. A lot of money. Would she believe him if he told her the agency had decided to replace it? Nesta didn’t strike him as particularly stupid—if they’d never helped her before, she might not believe they’d help her now. He couldn’t live the way they had been, though, which was how Cassian found himself on the phone with the local repairman giving out his credit card details over the phone.

Nesta was gone by the time Cassian came back into the house, drenched in sweat and slightly sunburned on the tops of his arms. It was a relief to get into the basement and work on the water heater, and by the time Cassian finished, the service guys were there to replace Nesta’s air conditioner. It required them to turn the air off which was actual hell, though once it was back up, Cassian felt instant relief.

Nesta returned with a scowl on her face, dressed in a pencil skirt that made Cassian’s mouth dry out. How had Archeron managed to create her? Cassian had met him—he was nothing special. An unremarkable man in every way imaginable, including his appearance.

Nesta could have modeled. Could have had her face on billboards, her body in magazines. Had he met her back home, he knew he’d have dogged her steps hoping for just a look in his direction.

“Any news?” Nesta asked, sliding her keys and purse onto a side table. Cassian watched her kick off her heels and turn her face upwards toward the vents blowing cold air.

“Nope,” he said. What would Rhys do if he kept her here for a year? Kick his ass, likely. “Rough day?”

Holding up a cloth shopping bag, Nesta nodded her head while Cassian rose to take it from her. Inside he found an assortment of peppers, onions, and a rather nice steak he assumed she wanted to grill. Cassian had never grilled before he met her and found that he rather liked it. In fact, he liked the whole little game he was playing. Pretending to be the sort of man who had a house and a wife and a barbeque suited him.

In another life, Cassian would have thrived.

“I’m working on another divorce and her soon to be ex stopped by to tell me what he thought about me.”

“I hope it was to tell you you’re beautiful,” Cassian replied without thinking as he peeled stickers from the vegetables.

“No it wasn’t,” Nesta replied, her tone uncertain. “It was to tell me what a bitch I am.”

Cassian arched a brow. “Did you tell him to get fucked?”

Nesta chuckled. “Not this time…but I wanted to. He thinks if he digs his heels in, he can avoid this divorce but it’s happening either way.”

“This is why I’m not married,” Cassian said, reaching for a knife.

“Oh?” Nesta asked, an amused smile on her perfect face. “Is that the only reason?”

Cassian couldn’t help his grin. “I’m off-putting to women, of course.”

“There it is,” she said with a pretty laugh. “Want any help?”

“Get out of my kitchen, Nes,” Cassian replied, swatting her away. “Water’s fixed, by the way.”

The whole thing was warm and domestic. Nesta thanked him before sauntering off, hips swaying with each step. The only thing to temper Cassian’s hot blood was the hotter grill outside and a reminder that Nesta was off limits to him.

He was merely a guard meant to get her back home before the feds scooped her and her sisters back up again. Collateral, he supposed, for the game Rhys was playing with Feyre. Cassian was grateful for that, at least—if Rhys called him and told him to kill her, he wasn’t certain he could do it.

Cassian returned to find Nesta in a pair of tiny little shorts and a pink tank top. He wished she’d pull her hair down, still left in its braided crown, though in truth he could have stood at the backdoor and stared at her for an embarrassing length of time.

“What did I say about the kitchen?” he teased, setting his tray of meat and vegetables on the counter beside her.

“I wanted to make a little salad,” Nesta told him, showing him the bowl. “Do you even eat vegetables?”

“On occasion,” Cassian said with an easy grin. “I’ll eat whatever you put in front of me, though. I’m not picky.”

“Tell me about yourself, Cassian,” Nesta ordered once they were seated at her little wooden table.

“There’s nothing interesting to tell,” he replied. “Why don’t you tell me about yourself? I’ll bet you’re a lot more interesting than I am.”

“Oh, I doubt that,” Nesta murmured.

“C’mon,” Cassian cajoled. Nesta sighed, eyes narrowed with that suspicious look he was growing so fond of. Was there such a thing as love at first sight, he wondered? Cassian was starting to suspect he was under its spell. Under hers, anyway. Nesta relented, telling him little stories he figured were probably half true.

Cassian knew the right questions to ask, at any rate. Careful not to mention her family, Cassian asked her about everything else. Nesta spoke about going to law school and living in Georgia, mentioning two friends she’d made—Gwyn the librarian and Emerie the grocer. He’d seen them on his porch when he first arrived.

He needed to do a little digging on them, but he figured they were likely fine.

“What about you?” Nesta asked, their meal long concluded. Cassian began gathering up dishes.

“What about me?”

“Are you from Georgia?” she questioned.

Cassian chuckled. “No, I’m not from Georgia. Just got unlucky in my assignment, I guess.”

“Why did you want to do this work?”

Cassian considered that. “I’m good at it,” he replied, drumming his fingers along the edge of the sink. “I kind of fell into it, actually. I guess I succumb easily to peer pressure because when one of my friends suggested I apply, I did it without hesitation.”

That wasn’t entirely true. There had been no application process—he and Rhys had become friends as boys and Rhys’s mother had been like a second mother to Cassian. He’d always wanted to repay them for their kindness and when Rhys asked him to join him as his right hand man, the answer had been obvious.

He couldn’t tell Nesta that, though. She didn’t poke, either, seemingly satisfied with his answer. While Cassian cleaned up, Nesta made her way to the living room, picked up a book, and curled up on the couch. Cassian watched her pull a blanket from the back of the sofa and drape it over her tanned knees.

“Cold, huh?” he joked.

“You fixed—”

A gunshot silenced both of them. Nesta jumped clean out of her skin, book falling from her trembling hands. Cassian frowned, his own heart racing with excitement. Finally, something interesting was happening.

His own gun was in his hand before Nesta ever stood. “Don’t move,” he whispered, motioning for her to get away from the window.

“Send the bitch outside!” a man’s voice yelled, filling Cassian with cold rage. He was at the door in a moment, flinging it open so it was his large body filling the space. On the lawn, a man stumbled forward, gun pointed at the sky. He pulled the trigger again, clearly trying to intimidate Cassian.

Cassian had been tied up before, a gun pressed against his lips while his cock was threatened with a knife. Some fucking rural drunk with a gun didn’t scare him. In truth, very little scared Cassian. He’d cheated death more times than he could count and he knew, as he stepped onto the lawn in the fading daylight, that he wasn’t going to die today.

This man, on the other hand…well. Cassian supposed it would depend on what he did next.

“Lower your weapon!” Cassian barked, his voice rough and menacing. The man jerked to look at him, eyes wide and watery. “Put your gun down or I’ll fucking kill you.”

“Send out your bitch—”

Cassian didn’t shoot him, but he did hit him in the face. Hard. Maybe too hard given the way the man crumpled at his feet as blood poured from his nose. Only the alcohol kept him from passing out which was lucky for Cassian.

Crouching in the grass, Cassian grabbed the man by his thinning hair and forced his head into an unnatural angle. “What did you say?”

“I called her a bitch,” the man spluttered through the blood.

Cassian cocked his gun with his free hand and pressed it to the man's cheek. “Try again,” he whispered, fully intending on killing this man on the front lawn. Cassian’s finger pressed against the trigger just as Nesta barked, “Cassian!”

He twisted to look at her, arms crossed over her chest. She was fury incarnate right then, marching toward the pair of them without a care in the world.

“Get out of her, Brent,” Nesta ordered, pointing her finger toward the gate. “This is embarrassing, even for you.”

“You ruined my life—”

“You ruined your own life by cheating on your wife!” Nesta spat without remorse. “And you’re ruining it by assaulting a federal officer.”

Cassian nearly choked. Did he look like a cop right then?

“He assaulted me,” Brent protested, shoving out of Cassian’s grip.

“If I see you near her again, you’ll find yourself six feet under before you can utter one fucking word. Do we understand each other?” Cassian asked, rising to his full height. Brent glanced from the gun in Cassian’s hand to Cassian himself before offering a sullen nod.

“Whatever,” he muttered, clearly trying to save face. Cassian watched him stumble off, forcing himself not to pull the trigger anyway at the man’s retreating back. Nesta came to stand beside Cassian, resting her soft, small hand on his forearm.

“That’s the guy getting the divorce,” she told him, as if Cassian cared who he was. Letting someone who threatened him walk away unscathed felt wrong and Cassian longed to rectify it. Where did he live, he wondered?

“I can see why,” Cassian muttered, turning back for the house. “I’ll sleep on the couch tonight.”

“He’s not coming back—”

“He pointed a gun at you,” Cassian growled, the memory filling him with rage.

Nesta only shrugged, proving that she was still part of the life whether she wanted to be or not. Did she know what a liar her younger sister was, he wondered? Did Nesta know it had been Feyre who killed her father? Looking at her in the warm light of the house, Cassian decided that a woman like Nesta wouldn’t allow herself to live this way if she hadn’t known. If she wasn’t protecting someone.

Who was protecting her?

“I’m fine,” Nesta reminded him. But Cassian knew all too well how differently things could have gone if he hadn’t been there. Cassian knew how quickly a bullet could end things.

“I’ll feel better out here,” he said, setting his gun on the glass coffee table. “You won’t change my mind, Nes.”

She hesitated, eyes moving from him to the window. “Fine.”

Cassian had no intention of sleeping, though. He waited until he knew Nesta was asleep, slipping into her bedroom just to check. She was so lovely even in sleep and Cassian had to resist the urge to touch her face. Not tonight. Another night, perhaps—but not this night.

The thing about small towns he found himself appreciating was how easy it was to find people. Slipping into a local bar, Cassian mentioned what had happened to the bartender, who helpfully told him where Brent lived.

He didn’t bother to slip in quietly. If he wanted to be unnoticed, he would have called up Azriel. Cassian liked when his marks were scared, for whatever that said about him. Flexing his fingers, Cassian picked through the dirty, mostly empty house. He supposed Nesta was helping to clean him out.

Good for her.

Brent was waiting in a fraying brown chair, a bottle of Jack Daniels held loosely in one hand. “Knew you weren’t no cop,” he muttered. “You got the look of a felon.”

“Have you been talking to my third grade teacher?” Cassian asked, his tone light. “She used to say the same thing.”

“You ain’t foolin’ no one but that girl of yours,” Brent told him, eyeing the gun in Cassian’s hand.

“She’s the only one I need to fool,” Cassain agreed, coming closer. “I swore an oath to protect her.”

“I didn’t hurt her.”

“But you scared her,” Cassian said in that same friendly tone. “You came to her house and threatened her and I can’t stand for that.”

“Well, I don’t really care if I scared her. Sometimes women ought to be a little afraid.”

Cassian clenched his fingers. “Is that so?”

“Make your threats and get the fuck out,” Brent ordered, taking another swig of whiskey. Cassian saw his gun on a chipped side table.

“You don’t have much going for you, do you Brent? Wife left you, took all your money…is about to take your house. You’ve got no job, no friends…anyone would lose it.”

“Yeah,” Brent mumbled, eyes glassy. “You get it.”

“If I were you, I’d probably kill myself too,” Cassian added, holding Brent’s gun in his hand. Brent’s eyes found him, big and wide with shock.

“What did you say?”

Cassian shrugged, making his way closer to the inebriated man. “I don’t think anyone will be surprised when they find you. I’ll bet it takes them days before someone comes checking.”

“Look, you don’t have to do this. I can…I can pay you—”

“No you can’t,” Cassian said with a chuckle. “And even if you could, I wouldn’t take your money. This is about honor, of which you have none because an honorable man wouldn’t try and threaten a woman for doing her job.”

“She fucked me over—”

“You fucked yourself,” Cassian interrupted, reaching for Brent’s hair a second time. “And you made a mistake coming after her.”

“I’m sorry—”

Cassian pressed the barrel of the gun beneath Brent’s jaw.

“I know you are,” he said, holding the man’s gaze. “It’s not enough.”

And then he pulled the trigger. The relief he felt was instantaneous, his blood lust slaked. It took another few seconds to arrange the gun in Brent’s hand, letting both his arm and the weapon fall lifelessly into his lap. The bottle of Jack hit the floor with a thud, spilling over stained wood floors.

The scene was practically a work of art. Textbook suicide—no one would look twice at him or Nesta. That didn’t stop him from wiping his prints on the way out, just in case. He found himself back on the couch, face washed of blood, before two am.

Cassian had been right about one thing: it took them three days to find Brent.

“Suicide,” Nesta said crisply when she learned, eyes focused on Cassian’s face.

He only smiled.

#nessian #nesta archeron x cassian #nesta archeron #cassian

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dindjarindiaries · 1 year

Text

Fine Line

summary: Din tries his best to comfort you in the aftermath of your torturous capture.

pairing: din djarin (the mandalorian) x reader

warnings/tags: angst, hurt/comfort, canon-typical violence, mentions of torture (physical and psychological), nightmares, fluff

rating: T

word count: 2.822k

main masterlist • din djarin masterlist

“I figured I’d find you out here.” Din’s voice is what pulled my attention from the stars, his silver beskar reflecting their image just as beautifully as they originally appeared. I shifted my position on the stretch of grass to make room for him beside me. My arms stayed wrapped around my legs, hugging them closer to my chest as I shrugged in response to what he’d said.

“It’s hard to resist this view.” I’d pasted on my best smile and set my focus back on the stars. “You were right.”

“That’s why I brought us here.” Din’s arm was close enough to my own for them to brush against each other. I found myself holding my breath. “The stars, they always comfort me.” I saw him glance at me out of the corner of my eye. “I hoped they’d do the same for you.”

I exhaled, my fingers fumbling on my clothed legs. “They’re trying their best.”

Din hesitated, a rare occurrence for the confident man. “Do you… want to talk?”

“No!”

Din had answered the question for me. He was out of breath, kneeling on the dirty floor a few meters in front of me. His body still sought the air that had just been knocked from his lungs by the brutal force of a death trooper’s weapon.

“Don’t.” Din still struggled to catch his breath. My head was pounding from how tightly I was clenching my jaw in panic and rage. “I can take it.”

“Perhaps,” said another death trooper, their ominous voice filtered by their black helmet. “But the question is…” they paused and motioned for a trooper to kick Din’s side before pointing at me, “can they?”

My worst fear had been realized; Din, my former business partner and now my lover, being harmed for my own actions. “I told you before,” I spoke up, my voice hoarse and less confident than I had hoped, “we don’t know where the child is!”

The death trooper scoffed. “If that were true, then Mando,” they spit the name out like an insult, “here wouldn’t care if you spoke.” The trooper motioned again, though this time, the other trooper slammed his weapon upon Din’s beskar cheek before propping its blunt end under the lip of his helmet, an open threat to forcibly breaking his Creed. “I won’t be asking again. Do you want to talk?”

I shook my head. “No.” My voice was quiet, a mere breath whispered upon the peaceful wind.

Silence sat in the small space between the two of us for more seconds than I’d bothered to keep track of. Insects chirped to provide some kind of white noise, though all I could hear was the pounding of my heart as I tried to forget everything that haunted me. It was Din’s voice that once again broke through to me, each word a delicate dose of the sweetest care and concern. “How can I help?”

I said nothing at first, only bringing myself closer to his side and resting my head against his arm. He’d leaned into me just as I did the same to him. “Being here is enough.”

Din lifted his arm to wrap it around my shoulders, drawing me even more into him. “Okay.” I wanted to close my eyes, but didn’t dare lose sight of the stars ahead. They kept me grounded to the galaxy, along with the constant brush of Din’s gloved hand upon my arm. He wanted to say more; I could feel the tension in his muscles and hear the tightened breaths within his lungs. “You did everything right.”

I sighed, unable to stop myself. “Din…”

“Scars fade. Pain stops. Everything I went through was temporary.” The cool metal of Din’s helmet rested against the top of my head. “What you helped to save the kid from is invaluable.” His gloved hand tapped my shoulder three times, one for each word: I love you. “You were very brave.”

I finally turned my head to look at him, watching as his visor returned the gaze and reflected my meager image back at me. “That can’t be true.” Before Din could protest my words, I went on. “I was the reason it happened in the first place.”

Din shook his helmet. “No. Now, that’s not true.” His tone was stern in a tough-love kind of way. “It was only a matter of time until they caught up to us.” He gestured with his helmet to the less-than-useful ship behind him. “Especially with this piece of junk guiding us around.”

I had chuckled at Din’s insult for the vessel. “She’s not too bad,” I countered. “I only need a standard hour or so to get her fixed.”

Din set his hands on his hips and glanced around the seedy hangar. He exhaled a decisive breath. “All right.” He added a confident nod. “I can buy us that time.” Din pointed his gloved finger at the ship. “Only fix what we need to get to another spaceport. We can deal with the rest later.”

I lifted my wrench and returned his nod with a smile. “In that case, give me half a standard hour.”

Din offered a fond tilt of his helmet. It said everything he didn’t have to. That wouldn’t be the first time he watched me work as I often used to on the Crest. His passion was fighting with honor, and mine was fixing things—just as he’d often told me I’d done with him.

My sweet reverie as I worked was broken in just a few minutes by rounds of blaster fire. I cried out in surprise, dropping my tools and covering my head as I turned to face the firefight. Before I could get a good look at it, Din had grabbed me by the arm and was ushering me to the other side of the ship.

“This is all we have for cover!” Din raised his voice to be heard over the sound of blaster bolts pinging off the walls of the hangar. His own blaster pistol was held up by his shoulder. I desperately started reaching for my own while Din lifted his other hand to the side of his helmet. “I’m trying to look for more exits!”

“Who’s out there?” I demanded, my voice unsteady as I tried my best to gather my bearings.

Din’s voice was grim as he responded. “Death troopers!”

I scoffed in utter disbelief. “How? That’s impossible! Gideon’s—!”

“Cyar’ika, we gotta’ move!” Din gestured with his blaster to a stack of crates on the curved wall ahead of us. “There’s a door behind there!”

I knew better than to question him about how we’d get back there in time. Din led the way, pushing off the hull of the ship to charge himself forward. I followed and let my feet fly over the rusted metal floor. I allowed myself one quick look over my shoulder to see what we were up against.

That’s how I missed the blaster shot that knocked a smaller cargo crate right into my path. I fell over it in an ungraceful tumble that sent me rolling across the ground with no oxygen left to breathe. Any attempt I made to stand back up failed as my sides heaved for air, and that was all the time they needed to catch up to me and point a blaster at my face.

“Resist,” the death trooper spoke, his voice a haunting crackle from his modulator, “and we pull the trigger.”

I looked to my side and realized they were addressing not me, but Din, who stood with his blaster raised. I hadn’t seen him so tense and so eager to pull a trigger before, not since the mission on Morak. Din said nothing and let the trooper go on.

“Put down the blaster and keep your hands behind your back.”

It became the first time I saw Din put down his weapon without question. He was forced to his knees and cuffed no later, and I continued to lie where I was, useless and still trying to catch my breath.

“I mean,” Din had continued, though his voice felt thousands of parsecs away, “it’s a miracle we got it to fly again.” He tapped my shoulder once again. “You made that possible.”

I forced out a huff, my best attempt at a chuckle. “Someone had to prove you wrong about the ship.”

Din released his own chuckle, a sweet sound that brought a genuine smile to my face. “There you are.” He released a breath full of relief. “You’re coming back.”

His words, though sweet, struck me with a pang of guilt. It added to all the rest that had brought me out to the stars in the first place. It wasn’t his intention, and I’d be damned if I clued him in to the idea that he had accidentally ushered such a feeling upon me. So, I smiled the best I could and leaned further into him. “Slowly.”

“Any progress is still progress.”

I soaked in the truth of his words. Din never failed in his wisdom, even if his practicality attempted to disguise it sometimes. My reflection was interrupted by a cooler breeze that made me shiver. Din, observant as ever, didn’t miss it either.

“Come, cyar’ika.” Din’s arm wrapped tighter over my shoulders before he slid it back to his side. “Let’s head back to the ship. It’s getting cold out here.”

I let him help me up from the ground and lead me back to the ship. His gloved hand remained on my lower back, another anchor to reality. The ship was surprisingly warmer than I’d expected, and Din had done his best to make our sleeping rack even more comfortable than before. Blankets and old capes I’d never seen before were piled up there, folded neatly and awaiting our arrival. It brought a true smile to my lips. “Is this what you did before you found me?”

Din shifted his weight and nodded. “Yeah.” He offered a hopeful tilt of his helmet. “Do you like it?”

I nodded earnestly and drew myself even closer to him. “I’d like it even more with us in it.”

Din chuckled and helped me to sit upon the rack. “In that case,” he started to reach for his helmet, “I’ll be quick.” My throat tightened as I watched the metal lift higher and higher, revealing more of the man underneath the beskar.

The helmet cluttered unceremoniously to the ground. My gasp was muffled behind the hand that had flown to my mouth as I took in the severity of what had happened. Din remained as strong as ever, his untrimmed jaw tightened and his brown gaze piercing the troopers who surrounded us.

“The truth.”

The death trooper in charge spoke again, the endless void of his visor staring me down even as he motioned to another trooper. Their weapon fell upon Din’s cheek this time, drawing a loud grunt of pain from him. I looked away as the tears began to prickle my eyes. The trooper’s gloved hand grabbed me by the chin and forced me to look upon Din again. There was a blaster against his temple, though all I could see was the rage that burned like a wildfire within his eyes.

The trooper finished his warning. “Or else his beskar fails him.”

I bit my cheek and shook my head. Din’s furrowed brow softened at me. The corners of his mouth twitched, an encouragement for me to do what I thought was best. I gave my head one last aimless shake. “You won’t believe me,” I said, my voice a haunted whisper, “no matter what I tell you.”

The death trooper waited a moment to respond. “You’re right.” He motioned for the troopers to be at ease. “We’ll just have to keep you around for a little while longer.” He nodded and the trooper at Din’s side hit his face one more time. Din growled in pain as he hit the ground, now forced to lie on his side. I gritted my teeth and tightened my hands into fists at my sides. “Consider making yourself more useful when we return.”

The troopers began to flood out of the room they’d brought us to. I waited until they’d secured the door closed behind them to move ahead, tending to Din as best I could. My chest was already heaving as I managed to help Din stand up on his knees in front of me. I observed his face, my trembling hands holding it. A bruise had already started to form on his cheek and his lip was busted and bleeding.

Din observed me right back. His voice scared me as I took the corner of his cape and brought it to his bleeding lip. “Are you okay?” he asked. His words were slightly muffled by the cape. “Did they hurt you when they grabbed you like that?”

I shook my head, an answer to both questions. Rather than speaking more, Din eased his forehead against mine. I closed my eyes as tight as I could and for once I wished it was the cold metal of his beskar I was feeling rather than the warmth of his skin.

The bruise had become more colorful, but smaller. Din’s lip was still healing, but at least the skin had come back together. He raised his brow as I stared in silence. A few steps closed the distance between us, where he bent down to place his lips upon my forehead. I closed my eyes and exhaled, willing the darkness to go with my breath.

“Are you ready to rest?” Din asked. I could hear the exhaustion he held in his own voice. There was no doubt that he’d lost some sleep over his worries for me, a thought that only worsened my burden of guilt.

“Yes.” I wrapped my hands around his arm. “Stay close.”

Din smiled and took his place alongside me. “I will.” He eased us onto the comfortable setup and let my head rest upon the inside of his shoulder. Din kissed my head while I hid my face in the material of his tunic. “As always.”

The temporary peace Din brought me allowed me to sleep, though the slumber remained anything but peaceful. Memories taunted me, all the same I had remembered throughout the night. My insistence on fixing the ship, my blunder that left us vulnerable to capture, Din’s exclamations of pain from my own refusal to comply, the forced removal of his helmet and repeat of his broken Creed; it swirled within my mind as a terrifying storm, one that eventually tore through my subconscious and hurtled me back into reality.

I awoke with heavy breaths, though one look up at Din proved he remained deep in his own sleep. When the tears pricked my eyes, I refused to call upon him for help. I had done enough to him, and he didn’t need another burden to bear. I rolled onto my side to face away from him and curled up the best I could without making too many movements. Each sob was soft and muffled by the material of another spare blanket, my eyes screwed shut and forcing the haunting images back into my mind again.

I thought I’d spend the night alone with these ghosts until I felt the warm embrace that appeared from behind me. It drew my back into Din’s chest and exposed my soft cries into the surrounding air. His face was buried in my head, causing his voice to be muffled when he finally spoke.

“They can’t hurt you anymore,” Din comforted me, his voice a gentle whisper. “They can’t hurt either one of us.”

I gripped for dear life onto his hands and fought the urge to let another cry slip past. “I’m sorry,” I heaved.

“Don’t be. It wasn’t your fault.” Din kissed my head. “You did everything right.”

My lips continued to tremble. “I wish I… could be okay.”

Din shook his head, the movement felt upon my own. “We have all the time in the galaxy, cyar’ika.” He tucked my head underneath his chin. “You take as long as you need to.”

The reassurance in his tone was enough to make me release a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. Each exhale brought me a new wave of peace as my lungs rose and fell in time with Din’s own. He cemented his place as my anchor with a squeeze of my hands and another kiss on my head.

“We’ll be all right.”

main masterlist • din djarin masterlist

all star wars characters: @hugmekenobi @themarvelousbee @nembees @amneris21@wildmoonflower @bombshe77 @harriedandharassed @againstacecilia @ladykatakuri @bludyl @acourtofdreamsandnightmares

din djarin: @swol-bear @notagamersdey @les-ingenue @booksaremyyoga @hp-hogwartsexpress @dheet @mccn-bcys @alwaysdjarin @reader-without-a-story @cyaredindjarin @toobsessedsstuff @unofficialavenger90 @tizylish @your-slutty-gf

↳ add yourself to a taglist here!

#yes din needs comfort but he is also the master comforter and i stand by that #din djarin #the mandalorian #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x reader #dindjarindiaries

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manwrre · 4 months

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canon is billy (sweetest boy ever) being taught all about paganism and spirituality by his mom and actively participating in rituals with her as a kid. i am in love with the concept and the thought of him carrying out those traditions once him and steve have a home of their own, fr.

because i’ve said this a million times before and i’ll say it a billion times over but it’s all i can think about, honestly. even on the days of celebration that most pagan religions don’t abide by exactly— for example, new year’s eve!

like, can you imagine harringrove’s first nye in their own little apartment? christmas would be an absolute blast, yea but a day or two later and billy would be turning the place upside down trying to clean. i mean, vacuuming, dusting, bagging stuff up and forcing steve to help him with all of it (which he grumbles about but does anyway because he’s boy crazy about him).

he’d open every window and every door, only to be reminded that “hawkins is fucking freezing, babe— this isn’t california” so he’d have to relax a little. but once steve’s out at work? he’s back to his shenanigans and airing out all of the bad energy.

he’d teach steve about manifestation and meditation, too. or rather, he’d try to before hawkin’s hottest resident started fidgeting and sighing and fiddling with a million other things. and then naturally, billy would have to roll his eyes at him and finally give him some attention.

billy would also probably write a few letters to ring in the new year.

to max, of course; apologizing and wishing for her to be happy and live brightly and to be everything that his teenage self couldn’t be. he’d also write to susan and his dad; the latter of whom, he wished to never see again.

he’d wax absolute poetic about steve in his and hope for his happiness; imbue every bit of his love into the point where pencil and paper meet and wish for long, long lives together.

the last one would be penned to his mom, though; uncertain and full of questions. smudged. slightly damp. wrinkled and ripped in places where he erased too much or wrote too hard but the longest of them all.

and then he’d tuck them all into a little shoebox and leave it at the back of their closet. not in an attempt to hide them like he did— he wasn’t at cherry lane anymore — but to keep them safe.

he’d boil orange peels for purification, love and happiness in the day— the scent clinging to every inch of their home. and steve would moan about the smell but he’d be smiling and holding billy sososososo close that it wouldn’t even matter.

(it worked as well as he remembered it doing for his parents; before things took a turn for the worst, at least)

and at midnight, they’d light white candles and wrap around each other in bed while the rest of the world celebrated, too. billy would trace sigils into the flesh of steve’s palm and kiss the crown of his head in the soft, dim light of their room. he would quietly set his intentions for them and because he’s not a monster, the rest of steve’s little dork gang that he cared so much about. he’d ask the universe for endless years of this peace, their safety and the perfect thing that they had created in hawkins.

#billy hargrove #harringrove #steve harrington #stranger things #billy stranger things #steve stranger things #billy hargrove x steve harrington #billy x steve #steve harrington x billy hargrove #billy hargrove blurb #steve harrington blurb #billy’s mom #paganism #witchy harringrove #witch billy #nye #new years eve #boys in love #manwrre

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tickling-giggles · 1 year

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Sb /fnaf tickle hcs🥺 pls!

A/N: No problem anon! Idk if you only wanted sb or a mix of both so I did both😀 (more like a crossover)

Fnaf (Sb) tickle HC’s

Glamrock Freddy

He is a switch at heart

The sweetest ler you’ll EVER meet

He is obviously the sweetest of the bunch

Once he was helping Sun at the daycare and he played this adorable game with them

There is this honey squish mellow and you had to steal it from him without getting caught

And if you had got caught he would tickle you

They’d called him a tickle bear once and it made his day

If you tease him it’ll end up backfiring

“You should just make this easy freds and tell me where your ticklish at” “ my sihihides”

The Ler is just… exe.stopped working

His laugh is so adorable

He’s everyone’s favorite Lee I dare you to tell me otherwise

Very ticklish on his stomach p.s telling his he has a ticklish belly or tummy gets him squealing and snorting

He’s the “teasing makes it worse” type I don’t blame him

Very open to tickling

Surprisingly he doesn’t blush very easily or get flustered

Freddy

He’s for sure a Ler

HE IS SOOOO SASSSY OML

He likes to be tickled when he’s tired or in a soft mood

He himself prefers to be the tickler

Once Monty accidentally tickled him when tightening up a bolt and accidentally scratched him with the screwdriver

Monty looked at him and laughed because of the way he squawked and jerked away

Ever since then Monty would sneak in tickles here and there

It was just there secret

He cackles….😭 YES HE CACKLES

BUT only if you’re tickling his armpits while teasing him thats what really gets him going

OML OML ONLY BONNIE MOON AND MONTY KNOW THIS BUT

WHEN HE IS SLEEPY HE LOVEEEES LIGHT TICKLES but he’ll never admit to it

Don’t ask how Monty obtain such delicate information but one they were watching a movie until Freddy fell asleep and something came over him

And next thing you know he was lightly scratching behind his ears AND HE STARTED GIGGLING

YES HE WAS GIGGLING IN HIS SLEEP

Monty was intrigued but he’ll never tell Freddy that

Very ticklish under his arms and his knees believe it or not

HE IS A DEVIOUS LER OML

Talk abt teasing not stop Jesus 🥱

“Oh what? it can’t tickle that badly” “im trying to tell you something serious and yours laughing at me that’s rude you know”

“Ooooh you’re ticklish here? Awwww that’s too bad HA”

LIKE BRUHHHHH

Idc what ANYONE SAYS fnaf Freddy is wayyyyy sassier than sb Freddy

Glamrock Chica

A switch leaning lee at heart

She’s also one of the sweet ones

She doesn’t mind being the tickler or ticklee

HER BEAK IS TICKLISH AND ITS SUPER ADORABLE ROXY AND BONNIE WERE THE FIRST ONES TO FIND OUT

And she’s just sit there and squirm it’s really FRIGGEN cute

She’s also open about tickles

She’ll ask others if they want to have a tickle fight

She’ll compliment you when she tickles you but ofc everyone still considers it teasing

“Omg did you just snort wait do it agian” “you’re laugh is so cute” “you have such a pretty smile”

She chirps instead of snorting

It’s very ADORABLE EVERYTHINV ABT HER IS ADORABLE AND NO ONE CAN CHANVE MY MIND

Roxxane and Bonnie love to tickle her but will they admit it? Nope

Her and Sun are both rays of sunshine

Out of all of the tickle fights she loves having them with him the most

Don’t tell anyone else that 🤭

Chica

The least ticklish out of the bunch

She’s not that ticklish but she is ticklish where it counts

She also loves tickles

A switch

She prefers being a ler

She enjoys tickling people and making them happy

That’s her specialty

She is almost always somewhere in a tickle fight

She does not play fair when it comes to a tickle fight

Very ticklish under her arms and behind her knees

When to tickle behind her knees she IMMEDIATELY folds 😭

She played duck duck goose with a twist that only she knew about

It’s the same duck duck goose rule but once Chica caught you she’ll tickle your worst spot for a good “10 seconds”

Yeah it wasn’t no where near ten seconds more likeeeee until you’re beet red or until you slapping the floor

She squawks if you tickle her long enough it’s funny

That’s Chica for you 😭

Roxxane (Roxy)

Ler-leaning switch

Shes starting to adapt of being tickled not that she hated it before

But with Chica’s (sb) reassurance she started to view it differently

She still preferred to be the tickler instead of the ticklee

Gets into lots of tickle fight with both chica’s

She is foxy’s wing girl

THEY ALWAYS TAG TEAM SOMEBODY LIKE OML

Like if foxy is recking someone you already know Roxy is right there helping him and vice versa

ONE OF THE EVILEST LER DUO

Her sides are her worst spot considering she keeps it exposed your setting yourself up roxy smh

Also she has ticklish ear oml it’s so cute

She loves hates when her ears get all messy or twisted then someone hash to clean them or twist them back

And she tries her best not to laugh while she’s giggling and squirming around

SAME THING WITH HER TAIL OML

Very few people know about her ticklish tail *AHEM GR CHICA AND BONNIE AHEM*

Foxy

devious Ler

Don’t let his looks fool you he is ticklish very ticklish in fact

He also has ticklish ears like Roxy

Very ticklish armpits too

His winggirl is Roxy but he helps out Monty if he “feels like it”

His bs excuse lines are “they’ve been pissing me off all day” “they stole my ___”

WHEN IRL YOU HAVENT and when you even try to tell the truth he starts blowing raspberries

I know very torturous

His teases I feel bad for whoever get tickled by him

“What’s wrong? Oh wait you’re ticklish? I never noticed” “it tickles? Well no shit Sherlock” “you said tickle your ribs? Well okay you said it not me”

LIKE NO ONE EVEN TOLD YOU THAT SIR

This mf is a handful

And don’t let him get into a tickle fight HE WILL 89% of the time will call for reinforcements aka Roxy

And when you call him scary or a loser for him not tickling you on his own….

Baby THATS A BIGGGGGG MISTAKE. Monty found out the hard way…

He’ll tell Roxy nevermind and WILLWRECK YOU MAKE YOU APOLOGIZE THEN MAKE YOU CALL MERCY.

I know he’s the worst frl🤧

Monty

He is also one of the snarky ones yeah Ik not surprising

Ler-leaning switch

He tries to cover up his laughs with one hand and “tries” pushing away the tickler

Your best choice biggest mistake I’d going for his tail

When you tease him with the classic “I didn’t know you were ticklish”

He’ll lie and blame that it’s a glitch in his system

STOP WITH THE LIES MONTY

But seriously he’s like hella ticklish there like squeal high pitch ticklish yeahhhh… Bonnie told me

When you tickle him he’ll still tease you and it FRIGGEN works… I know it’s sad

“Wow you suck ahahat tickling take a class would yahAhahAHa”

It’s like your getting a teasy lecture the entire time

The man doesn’t literally shut up unless it’s Bonnie tickling him 🥱

Yeah nobody knows what power Bonnie hold to get Monty to shut up while being tickled

Like teach me your ways

AND FREDDY BOTH OF THEM

The three of them can get him to shut up and no one knows how they do it

Foxy was only able to do it once and that was when Monty called him scary

Boy was that a day for Monty

Foxy had to charge him up because he was on low battery because of foxy

Bonnie

He is somewhat shockingly snarky no sassy

Yes him

Switch leaning lee

His ears and neck….. SUPER TICKLISH just threatening him gets him giggling

He gives you a tickle nickname that only you and him know GR Chica’s is squeaker

And GR Freddy is tickle bear

He rarely gets tickled unless it’s a 2v1

People think that it’ll be hard to pin him down when I’m reality it isn’t

But he won’t tell them that he’ll just laugh everytime someone says that

Bonnie is a bully

NONONO LET ME TELL YOU WHAT HE DOES

After him being tickled by the Ler long enough he notices a pattern

For example everytime they tickle him they always attack his sides first

So the next time they do it he won’t laugh making them think that they’re crazy or delusional

They look at him confused and he loves it

He does NOT shut up when he laughs it’s so cute

He’s laugh his head of beet red teary eyes just constantly insulting you, calling you names, and telling you not there.

It’s pathetic but funny

Youhuhu suhuHuck lohohohserAHA AHAHA NOHOHO”

He loves playing tickle games when he’s the Ler ofc and when he’s the lee

HE ADORESSSS SOFT TICKLES ESPECIALLY WHEN HE IS SLEEPY

Tbh who doesn’t

Only a few people know about it both Freddy’s know glamrock Chica knows and sunny knows

Surprisingly Sun gives him soft tickles the most

Sundrop

Everyone’s favorite lee

He catches no breaks

But it’s okay because he doesn’t mind it

He enjoys laughing and being tickled

And of course as you would expect moon tickles him the most

I mean it’s apart of having a sibling

Especially twins they’re ying and yang

One twin likes to make the other laugh and the other twin like to laugh

Sunny is always the first person to get tickled in a group tickle fight

Sunny can and will tease

That innocent shit YEAH

No one knows why it’s working

But if you’re being a brat AHEM MOONY MONTY AND FOXY then he’ll pull the innocent stunt on you

But if not he’s like GR Chica with the compliments

Also back when they were younger moon still doesn’t know till this day if he was doing it on purpose or if it was a tech issue

But you know how you teasingly ask someone “where’s your worst spot”

Yeah sun actually told him

And the funny part was Sun didn’t even realize it

But sadly luckily he doesn’t do that now

His rays and behind his neck EXTREMELY ticklish

Like and just light scratches makes him weak

He’ll always add a twist to the game just for good measure

Gotta make sure everyone is having fun

His job is to put a smile on everyone’s face

Moondrop

A Ler leaning switch

VERY TICKLISH NECK

He gets sooooo flustered and embarrassed by “does this tickle” / “this must tickle bad huh?”/ “I didn’t expect you to be this ticklish” teases

HE’LL BLAME IT ON HIS SENSORY SYSTEM LIKE BOY

Why lie?

It’s okay if you’re ticklish

That’s not even the only one

HE HAS A SHIT TON OF EXCUSES

Like “that’s boy’s a liar”— PinkPanthress

He tickles the energetic kids to sleep when it’s nap time

Omg if teasing was a sport he would’ve made it to the olympics

He always teases doesn’t matter wasn’t going on or who’s the ticklee or the tickler

He is a certified instigator

One time Bonnie and glamrock Chica were going at it and she jokingly called Bonnie a silly rabbit

And moon so happens to be around when she said it and told Bonnie “you’re just gonna take that? Me personally I’d tickle the snot outta her but that’s just me”

But his laugh is heartwarming his pleads make everyone fell better because normally he’s being a brat

“NAHAHAAH OKAY WAIT AHAHAHHAA I GIHIHIVE TIHIHIME OUT”

I mean he brought this on himself

Very ticklish wires

Like No everyone’s wires are ticklish but his? SUPER TICKLISH

Like R.I.P fr

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sirowsky-stories · 6 months

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Like Father, Like Son

Sirowsky's 600 & 700 Followers Celebration

Submitted by @yourstrulylightstar283 Prompt #5: Why are you covered in sparkly pink dust? Character: Dieter Bravo

Rating: Teen Warnings: Dieter Bravo x Original Female Character Gabriela, plus his son Mateo. Pure fluff! (I haven't seen the movie, so this is a lose interpretation of the character. Also, this fic is not overtly Halloween themed.) Word Count: 650 Masterlist of the Celebration Sirowsky's Main Masterlist

He’s supposed to be watching his wife’s niece being celebrated, he knows that. It’s her Quinceañera. But when his beloved Gabriela is wearing a gorgeous summer dress, sitting in the bright sun with her tanned skin glistening from the heat and her dark curls falling protectively over her bare shoulders, he really can’t be blamed for having trouble looking at anything but her.

He had never imagined that he could have this. That someone like her, who is well educated, who owns her own business, who has friends in all the highest places, this woman who could have anyone in the world, would have chosen him. The life he’d led up until the point they’d met hadn’t been bad. Not at all. He’d chosen to live exactly as he’d wanted, refusing to apologize for the pleasures he’d enjoyed or the overall chaos that he’d seemed to thrive so effortlessly in.

But in Gabi, he’d discovered so many new things, so many wonderful layers of life that he’d never thought existed outside of the silver screen. And suddenly, all the things that had always seemed so important had faded into the background, making room for all this instead. Family and friendships that last and can be depended on. People he can trust completely.

“Hey, Dee,” a voice whispers in his ear, and he recognizes it as his brother-in-law before he’s even turned around. “Mateo needs you.”

“Is he okay?” Dieter asks, immediately concerned.

“Yeah, just come with me.”

The man leads him into the house where the younger kids are being prepared to take part in a surprise dance routine to delight the girl of the day, and where Dee’s three-year-old son is practicing his twirling skills. He walks up to the boy and kneels in front of him, finding the kid smiling and giggling, so at least there really isn’t anything wrong.

“What’s going on, mijo?” he asks, smiling along as Mateo’s joy infects him.

But instead of answering, the boy puts his arms out in front of his chest, with his little fists closed and upturned, as if preparing to hand his father something.

“What do you have there?” Dieter inquires with a playful tone, and the kid giggles even harder as he opens his hands and blows hard at them.

A cloud of pink glitter hits his father in the face, over the shoulders and down his chest, and the boy collapses in a laughing fit.

“Ay, mijo…” Dee smiles after blinking the worst of it out of his eyes. “Do I look pretty?” he asks then, and Mateo nods while still rolling on the floor, pleased with himself for this flawless execution of a glitter prank.

He leans over the boy and shakes his clothes to share the sparkling goodness, earning even more laughter in return, before his mother-in-law calls for Mateo to come back to the group and get ready, because they’re about to give the birthday girl her surprise.

“I love you, mijo,” Dieter says, hugging his son before he runs off to join the others.

He throws his father a kiss as he falls into their ranks, and it feels as though his heart might crack open right there where he stands, as his love for this child overflows once more. Returning outside so that he won’t miss the performance, he takes a seat next to Gabi, who chuckles warmly at the sight of her husband.

“Why are you covered in sparkly pink dust?” she asks in a hushed voice, and he smiles.

“Because our son is the sweetest little boy there is, my love.”

She just hums at that, but when the children emerge from the house, succeeding in surprising the birthday girl who squeals in excitement, and Gabriela sees that her son is covered in the same stuff, she laughs and lovingly shakes her head.

“Those are my boys, alright.”

THE END

Thank you @yourstrulylightstar283 for helping me celebrate, and I hope that this is at least something like what you imagined. I tried not to go into specifics about the Quinceanera since I don't know what it entails, and chose to focus on Dieter instead :)

@pedrostories @harriedandharassed

#Sirowsky's 600 & 700 Followers Celebration #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfiction #dieter bravo fanfiction #the bubble fanfiction #dieter bravo x original female character #dieter bravo x ofc #sirowsky stories

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the-bi-space-ace · 8 months

Text

Hey! So! I plan events for work (and do other things) but tomorrow is my biggest event of the year and I had some thoughts about what our favorite clones are like at a fancy party.

Echo - polite and strolling around with a drink in his hand. He’s smiling and nodding at people who wave at him. He sticks to the emptier parts of the room but is always poised. I have no idea how he does it. Constantly checking for something to go wrong but looks like an angel who has never been bothered a day in his life. Absolutely stunning in a suit or a dress depending on the mood/vibe. Probably brought a plus one (I’m guessing he brought Tech or Rex tbh) and will stick by them no matter what. Will get flirted with at some point and will decline with so much grace it’s almost unfair. He’ll bounce early with Crosshair and get greasy food and sit on top of the ship with their ties and shoes off.

Tech - saves the event planner when the sound system shuts down the mics and starts playing the Macarena at volume 10 (I might have experienced this horror first hand I wanted to hide in a closet). He swoops in like a knight in shining armor and fixes the problem and then personally does the technical work the rest of the night. Looks so dapper and fit sure gets flirted with a lot but he’s turned down five separate people in the last twenty minutes and now people are starting to wonder who this man is. He probably hacks into the fire alarm somehow. Both my worst nightmare and sweetest dream wrapped into one.

Wrecker - life. of. the. party. Is single handedly responsible for the chaos on the dance floor. He has been buying drinks for everyone who looks like they’re having fun and he has been to the buffet table six times. He was all smiles until someone started harassing someone else and he put on his intimidating Wrecker™️ persona and personally removed the offending party. He’s my favorite guest. Fun and entertaining and easy going and very very vigilant. If at any point during the event someone cries or passes out (I’ve done both 🫠) he will be right at their side. Beautiful man.

Crosshair - this man stands at the edge at a wall and nurses a fruity little drink. He makes friends with the bar tender and glares at anyone who tries to be mean to them for not being fast enough. Leaves a two hundred dollar cash tip at the end of the night. Will be persuaded to dance by Wrecker but no one else. At some point he wanders around to find a quiet place to sit and think. I often find this guest standing on a balcony for some air and I will ask if they’d like me to bring them a snack or some water. If they decline I respectfully leave them alone. He will eventually find Echo to tell him the gossip he overheard and Echo will try very hard not to cackle at the sheer audacity some of these people have. They’ll bow out early together and get fries.

Hunter - kinda awkward. But sweet. Walks around looking for something to do but is quickly realizing he is out of his element. Too loud. Too many smells. Too hot. He tugs at his suit collar like it doesn’t fit even though it fits like a glove. He’s constantly aware of everywhere his squad is and is being far too vigilant to have any fun. Eventually he takes a seat at a table and gets a good plate of food in him before collecting his friends and leaving. Is mentally exhausted and falls asleep the second he arrives home.

#the bad batch #tbb echo #tbb crosshair #tbb tech #tbb hunter #tbb wrecker #idk what this is just have it

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minty-mumbles · 9 months

Text

'Tis a Fearful Thing (Ch. 1)

Summary: The Shrine of Resurrection was built to revive the Hero of Courage, should he ever fall in battle against the Calamity. It existed for thousands of years before it was used for the first time. No one expected to ever see it used again.

Or: Wild makes a ethically questionable decision, and has to deal with the outcome

TW: Major Character Death

(Read on AO3)

~~~

Stepping through the portals that took them from one era of Hyrule’s history to the next was always a disorienting feeling. It was like stepping into an empty void where you were the only thing that existed. The best thing to do was to keep walking forward with your eyes closed, and eventually you would find yourself suddenly on solid ground, emerging on the other side of the portal.

That disorienting void affected some of the heroes more than others, Four and Hyrule especially, but Wild was one of the luckier ones. The worst effect he got from the portals was feeling a bit dizzy, which went away rather quickly

This latest portal was even easier on him, leaving him to shake away a slight feeling of vertigo before he was feeling back to normal.

Wild smiled as he took in the bright light of morning. It didn’t take him long to recognize his new surroundings as the Great Plateau.

Wild relaxed instantly at the sight of it. He had spent the first few months of his life on the Plateau and he would know this place blindfolded. It had become as much of a home to him as the house he’d bought in Hateno had. (As much as he could call any place home, with him being a wandering traveler. He had never quite settled down anywhere, even after the defeat of the Calamity.)

Wild was intimately familiar with every square inch of the Plateau’s terrain. He knew the safest places to sleep, knew the best places to light a campfire and cook dinner. He knew where all the monsters lived, knew where all the sweetest berry bushes grew. He’d relearned how to live on this plateau, becoming a survivalist ready to take on anything the world could throw at him.

The group had emerged onto Wild's favorite spot in the whole of Hyrule: the cliff at the entrance to the Shrine of Resurrection. It overlooked most of the country, and the view was breathtaking.

This had been the first look at the outside world Wild had gotten after being reborn, and he wasn’t ashamed to admit he’d cried when he'd seen it.

He’d been exhausted at the time. All the sudden physical activity after a hundred years of laying still in the Shrine had done him no favors. He’d been shaking from the exertion of making it that far, and at that point his life experience had been limited to the inside of the Shrine. Seeing the outside world with all its bright colors and glaring sun had been too much stimulation. But once his eyes had adjusted, he’d been awed.

He’d felt a heavy sort of grief when he’d first seen the overgrown and ruinous world laid out before him. He hadn’t known why at the time; he hadn’t had the memories to tell him what he’d lost.

Now, standing in the same place and surrounded by the heroes of the past, that grief was still present but it was overwhelmed by triumph and the love he felt for this world and its people.

The Plateau had been the first place Wild had taken Zelda after they’d defeated the Calamity. Looking back on it, it hadn’t been the best decision.

After the adrenaline of their fight with the Calamity had worn off, they’d collapsed to the ground in each other's arms, clinging to each other like they thought they would be ripped away. Zelda had started crying, or at least she’d tried to. She was so weak from her imprisonment she couldn’t even sob. The pair had laid there for what felt like hours. Wild had been content to let her catch her breath and get her bearing. He could wait for as long as she needed.

He’d seen the way that Zelda looked around at Hyrule field, like she’d been so lost, gazing at the ruined ground around them where the Calamity’s malice had spilled. When she’d caught sight of the castle, she’d covered her mouth, horrified, eyes widening at the sight of her home in ruins.

Seeing her so devastated, Wild had known he had to do something. The views that surrounded them were of ruins and death. He‘d wanted Zelda to see that there was beauty left in the world, that they still had something left to fight for.

Maybe it had been irresponsible of him. Maybe he should have teleported the both of them to Kakariko immediately, so they could get their wounds tended and rest after their ordeal.

Instead, on an impulse, he’d offered her his hand. She’d taken it without question, and her faith in him made his heart swell.

He’d teleported them to the Shrine of Resurrection. The inside was dark, illuminated only by the glowing Sheikah symbols on the wall, Zelda jerked, obviously recognising it.

She’d spoken for the first time, sounding like someone had taken a cheese grater to her vocal chords. “Why did you bring me here?” She’d sounded so lost and defeated, as if she expected Wild to yell and berate her. He hadn’t known what to say, so he hadn’t said anything, simply taking her hand and pulling her along.

He’d been in the middle of the worst adrenaline crash of his life, and she was even worse, so it had taken a while for them to scramble up the ledge at the mouth of the Shrine.

When they’d finally made it out of the cave, the warmth of the afternoon sun had soaked into them. Wild helped Zelda sit, giving her his waterskin. He collapsed next to her. She’d looked around, eye wide as she took in the beauty of the world around them.

It’d been so tranquil, a stark contrast to the battletorn field they’d just been in. Peaceful and quiet, with birds singing in the trees. It was a little piece of the world that had been left untouched by Ganon’s forces. The ruined castle was visible in the distance, serving as a stark reminder of the pair’s first failure. But here, the world seemed to have healed. Nature had reclaimed what belonged to it, beating back the malice and hate that had seeped from the castle.

Wild found that he didn’t need to say anything. He could tell that Zelda had understood why he’d brought her here. The pair had stayed there for so long that they’d both fallen asleep, leaning against one another.

(Impa had been furious at Wild for worrying her when the pair showed up at Kakariko the next day. She spent a good while yelling at Wild for not bringing the Princess straight to Kakariko. But Zelda had been much calmer than she’d been after they’d defeated the Calamity, so Wild hadn’t regretted it.)

Wild smiled faintly, allowing himself a moment to ruminate on the memories, before focusing back on the present.

The Forest of Spirits stretched out in front of the cliff they stood on, as lush and green as always. Far in the distance, the outline of the castle was visible. Tall Sheikah towers dotted the landscape, and nearly every major landmark was at least partly visible from the Plateau.

The view also showcased the natural beauty of his era. Wild had yet to see anything that compared to the beauty of his Hyrule. The great sea of Wind’s Hyrule, the ancient forests that grew in Time’s era, the beauty of living above the clouds in Sky’s time, all of that paled in comparison to the way nature had reclaimed Wild's era,

Some of the other heroes might have disagreed with Wild on that, but he didn’t care. They could complain all they wanted about the long hikes they had to take to move between towns, or about how often it rained. It wasn't his fault if they only chose to see the downsides of his era.

His Hyrule was beautiful, and this place especially held a special spot in his heart. It would always be a comfort to him. He still came here when he could if he needed time to relax, or a safe place to meditate.

He was glad the other heroes got the chance to see this place. Wild doubted they would ever truly understand what it meant to him. Not even Twilight, as he hadn't joined Wild’s journey until after the champion had made it off the plateau. But this place was a piece of him, and he was glad they got to see it.

Wild had been the fifth hero through the portal. By the time he’d shaken the lingering dizziness off and taken in his surroundings, those who had gone through first were already looking around. Wind was standing at the very edge of the cliff, telescope out and eagerly looking about. Sky was hovering near him, obviously worried about the sailor accidentally falling off the cliff but wisely not saying anything.

Time and Warriors were standing off to the side, the old man eyeing the Temple of Time with a strange look on his face.

In short order, the rest of the heroes file through the portal. Thankfully, this portal seemed to have gone easy on the more magically sensitive of the group. Twilight, who was next to Four in case he needed to support the smithy, wasn’t needed. Four was able to stay on his feet, only bringing up a hand to rub at his temples. Legend seemed completely nonplussed, while Hyrule simply paused, frowned, then shrugged and continued onward.

Wild took one last look out over the landscape of Hyrule, made sure WInd wasn’t getting too close to the edge of the cliff, then headed off to confer with Time and Warriors about their next steps the group should take.

It didn’t take long for them to come to the conclusion to head to Kakariko. It would be one of the best places to get information about unusual monster activity from, and as a bonus, it was the closest town to the Plateau.

Time spent a moment looking over the map on the Sheikah slate- somewhat awkwardly as Wild was still holding it- and then nodded. He straightened up, and glanced at Wild cautiously.

“And the monsters?”

Wild shrugged, glad to be able to deliver some good news. “There shouldn’t be any surprises. There are monsters up on the plateau, but it’s mostly bokoblins and chuchus and they should be pretty weak. It’s one of the least dangerous places in my Hyrule. I promise it’s safe.”

Wild would never come to regret anything he’d said more than those words.

~~~

Wild hadn’t known this when he’d woken, but there was a reason the monsters on the Plateau were so easy to defeat. At the time, he’d thanked pure luck. If the monsters had been much stronger, he wouldn't have been overwhelmed when he was fresh from the Shrine and weak from coming back from the dead

It wasn’t until much later that Zelda had told him that the monsters’ weakness was due to the influence of the Temple of Time. The building dominating the Plateau practically oozed Hylia’s power from every block of cracked marble.

The pure energy radiating from the temple had the effect of keeping the monsters on the Plateau weak and easy to fight, cutting them off from the magic of the Calamity. The monsters here were mostly bokoblins, chuchus, and keese, with an occasional weak lizalfos. There weren’t even any red moblins here.

This observation held true even after Twilight had reported a sizable group of bokoblins in the forest of spirits that lay in front of the Shrine. Mostly red, the rancher had reported, with a few blue thrown in, and a small swarm of keese.

In the face of Wild’s assurances that the monsters here would be easy to defeat, the group hadn’t bothered to strategize for this attack beyond their typical safety measure of pairing up together.

None of them were ever joyful when going into battle, but with the thrill of hunting easy prey, this was as close as they could be to being happy while drawing their swords.

Wind and Wild ended up paired up and sent into the trees surrounding the monster camp. Their job was to shoot down some of the keese, and then chase down any bokoblins that fled from the other heroes. Even after they were settled in their chosen tree, Wind still pouted slightly at being left out of the action. Wild merely snickered, tapping meaningfully on Wind’s bow. The pair raised their bows, arrows knocked, and strings pulled back. Wild waited until Wind had lined up his shot before whispering.

“Now.”

The pair released their arrows as one, and two of the keese fell from the sky, a signal to the others to start their attack. As the heroes emerged from the trees on all sides of the clearing, some yelling battle cries and others deathly silent, the monsters fell into disarray. They scrambled to pick up their weapons, many of them being cut down before they could even grasp the hilt of their sword.

Wild made good use of the arrows in his quiver, picking off the keese hovering above the group with Wind’s help. When there were only a few circling keese left, Wild shifted from picking them out of the sky to trying to turn as many bokoblins into pin cushions as he could. Right before he let loose an arrow to take down a bokoblin that was doing a very good job of dodging Time’s sword, Wind smacked him in the arm, gesturing towards three bokoblins- two red and a blue- that had escaped the notice of the other heroes.

The pair shared a grin, and jumped out of the lower branches of the tree they were perched in. Wild drew his bow midair, and shot one of the red bokoblins in the leg. He landed in a crouch with Wind close beside him, but the sailor was away in a flash after the injured bokoblin, sword already drawn and a deadly glint in his eyes.

Wild, leaving the situation in Wind’s capable hands, took off after the remaining red and blue bokoblin before they disappeared completely from view. Being slower than the blue, it was easy for the red bokoblin to fall behind after a few minutes of being chased.

Wild was quick to put an end to the horrible creature. Carefully, not daring to sheath his blade, Wild crept forward towards where the blue bokoblin had run. He wouldn’t be surprised if it was crouching in the bushes somewhere, waiting for him to pass so it could ambush him.

He moved silently forward for a few minutes, frowning, there was no sign of the monster. Wind hadn’t caught up to him yet either, which he should have. Perhaps Wind had encountered the bokoblin and took care of it already?

Wild turned back toward where the rest of the heroes were fighting. If Wind had killed the monster, he would’ve returned to regroup with the others rather than searching for Wild in a forest Wind wasn't familiar with.

There was no point wasting time wandering around in the woods. Wild knew he should head back, but something about this situation made him feel a prickle of unease on the back of his neck. Straining his ears, Wild could hear nothing that would make him feel uncomfortable, but still his instincts whispered that there was something very, very wrong.

Wild had never ignored his instincts, and they always served him well.

He hesitated for a moment more, but eventually decided to head back to the others. It would be better to regroup than staying where he was or searching the woods.

It didn’t take him long to get close enough that he could hear the faint shouts of battle from the others. He couldn’t have been gone for more than ten minutes. When Wild got back to the spot he’d killed the red bokoblin, his ears suddenly perked up, an involuntary movement. They swiveled to the left, tracking a faint noise. The sounds of the battle were faintly audible through the trees, though they were starting to quiet down as the fight ended.

But the sound he’d heard hadn’t been that. It had been a snuffling noise, combined with a wet tearing sound.

The insistent feeling that something was wrong, wrong, wrong, was back, stronger than before. It nearly choked him, crawling up his throat and ending in a rough exhale of air through his teeth. It sounded almost like a hiss. If anyone else had been here, he might have been embarrassed at the noise. As it was, he simply stifled any further sounds.

Slowly, cautiously, Wild crept forward through the brush towards the noise.

The sight that greeted him was something that he would ever forget.

Laying motionless and more bloody than not, the form of the youngest hero lay sprawled on the ground. The red bokoblin crouched over him, doing something to the sailors neck with its mouth, and oh, gods, oh gods-

Wild didn’t remember drawing his bow. He didn’t remember screaming as his arrow sank into the creature's head, didn’t remember his sword in his hand as he decapitated the monster. Didn’t remember casting his weapons aside as he fell to his knees beside Wind.

Where was Wind bleeding from? Blood was smeared everywhere, so thickly Wild couldn’t see where it was coming from. If he couldn’t find where Wind was hurt, how was he going to stop the bleeding? How was he going to save Wind if he didn’t know where he was injured?

His neck. Obviously Wind was bleeding freely from his neck. Chunks of his flesh were torn out because that filthy monster had been eating him. Wild pressed a hand against the sailor’s neck, trying to stem the flow of blood, but it was hard with how slippery Wind’s skin was with blood. But what else? There was too much blood around the sailor for it to have just come from the torn throat. The puddle was growing larger and larger beneath Wind. Where else was he bleeding from?

“Wind, Wind, where else are you hurt?” Wild pleaded. There was no answer, Wind’s body remaining limp. “Wind?” Wild choked out, tears blurring his vision.

HIs brain was scrambling to keep up with what he was seeing, but comprehension slowly dawned on him. Wind lay limp, his skin dull and lifeless, eyes staring straight through Wild, blood- too much blood- pooling endlessly around him.

Wind was dead.

#mint's fanfiction #linked universe #lu wild #lu wind #tis a fearful thing #lu time #lu fanfiction #angst #death tw #gore tw #blood

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bigdumbbambieyes · 2 years

Note

Can you write something like billy with a tummy ache and Steve helps him?

of course 🤍 thank you so much for the prompt, lovely anon!

tw anxiety and mentions of abuse

———

Billy knew that the worst part about his anxiety was the way it made his stomach feel.

It couldn’t be helped. It had started when he was a kid, almost immediately after his mother had packed up and left. He could vividly recall standing in front of the phone and staring at it, his stomach clenching and twisting as he mustered up the strength to pick up the receiver and call.

What if she doesn’t pick up this time? What if she says she doesn’t want to come and get me? What if she found another son to love?

Racing thoughts always lead to a stomachache; left his insides twisting and uncomfortable.

And although he had stopped calling her years ago, had stopped hoping that one day she’d come back and rescue him, his stomach stayed the same. It dropped when he heard his dad storming down the hall to his room, twisted whenever he received an invite to a party, clenched whenever he kissed and touched another boy, cramped when he received a low mark in his classes.

It wasn’t until he met Steve Harrington that he finally felt something new in his stomach: butterflies.

Billy knew he was a goner the second he’d laid eyes on Harrington. That head of messy-yet-perfect hair, his big doe eyes, his pouty lips, his jawline. He loved how expressive Steve’s pretty face was when he felt annoyed and frustrated at him, but what he loved more was how over time, those glares and grimaces had softened into longing looks and warm smiles.

He’d claimed Steve months ago; grabbed a handful of his ass and kissed him in front of the Harrington house, where inside Steve’s parents had been preparing for another business trip. The soft whimper Steve had pushed into his mouth - along with his tongue - told Billy everything he needed to know and they’d been inseparable since.

Billy tried to think back to another time he felt the sensation of fluttering butterflies in his anxious stomach, but came up short. Steve had been the first.

He’d been a few of Billy’s firsts: first real apology, first true forgiveness, first person to tell Billy ‘you have a choice’ in that honeysuckle-sweet voice, first boyfriend, first love.

First absolutely heart wrenching, euphoric, never-wanna-be-without-you kinda first love.

It made Billy ache in the sweetest way.

And the thing was, Billy was used a certain type of ache by now. It didn’t make it any better, no, but at least he knew how to deal with it. Calming breaths, gentle rubs to his stomach with the palm of his hand, telling himself it’ll pass, and if he really needed it, a walk around the block.

It was a quiet Sunday on the brink of summer, a warm early evening, when Billy had to leave the house or else he was sure his stomach would twist itself shut. He was impatiently waiting for a call from the Hawkins Community Pool, as he’d gone for an interview a few days ago and had been told that he’d get an answer on the following Monday. He’d been suffering for days, pacing around the house and in his room with a racing mind.

He knew he’d get the job, he was more than qualified, but if he didn’t - then he was kinda fucked. There would be no way to pay for gas for his Camaro, no way to put money away for his move back home after graduation, no fucking escape from that house on Cherry Lane.

So, he stormed out to his Camaro and left, since his dad and Susan weren’t home and Max was visiting her friends. His stomach was upset the entire drive to Steve’s, so upset that it made Billy grimace and shift in his seat as he tried and failed to get comfortable.

When Steve opened the door, his brown eyes curious and wide, Billy greeted him quietly and they shared a quick kiss in the doorway - a casual intimacy that Billy always craved.

Yet it didn’t do much for his stomach.

“You okay?” Steve murmured as he wrapped his arms around Billy’s shoulders, kept them close as Billy pushed the front door shut behind them. It was sweet, how Steve worried about him and doted on him.

Billy considered telling a half-truth, or even lying, but he knew better. Steve would find out the truth eventually. So, he gave a small shrug and glanced away from those inquiring eyes.

Steve knew about his anxiety. Knew that Billy struggled with it, but he didn’t know about his stomach troubles only because Billy kept that under very tight wraps from everyone.

But there was no hiding it this time, not when his stomach clenched and cramped so hard he grimaced again and doubled over a little.

“Billy—“ Steve’s voice was full of worry, his brows furrowing as he bent down a little to look at Billy’s face, to see if his boyfriend was alright.

After taking a moment to compose himself, to steel his nerves, Billy finally whispered, “…my stomach.”

“What about it?”

“It…hurts.”

Steve’s brows furrowed again, deeper this time, “Like…like you have a tummy ache? Or something worse?”

Billy straightened with a scowl, placing a hand on his stomach as he glanced away from Steve again, muttering, “Both.”

“I’m not sure what that means, baby.” Steve’s voice is gentle, patient, but still had that edge of worry. Billy loved him.

Loved him so much that he was able to look into those brown eyes again, figuring that he probably looked so goddamn pitiful because Steve leaned in to kiss him all sweet and gentle before muttering, “Go upstairs and get comfy in bed, I’ll be right up.”

It’s not a hard order to follow, not at all, so Billy goes. He unbuttons his jeans and slides them down his legs, leaving them forgotten on the floor as he steals a pair of Steve’s shorts to wear before climbing into bed. As much as he liked to tease Steve about his ‘princess bed’ that had inches of thick foam on top, Billy was thankful for it now as he sank into the mattress with a sigh - his stomach still twisting.

The familiar scent of the bed made Billy relax, even turned his head to inhale the scent of Steve that was there, until he heard his boyfriend coming up the stairs and entering the room.

When Billy looked over, he froze. Steve was rounding the bed with an armful of things: a hot water bottle, a small can of ginger ale, various VCR tapes, and a familiar bottle of pink liquid.

Steve smiled down at him as he began to put the items down on the bedside table, saying as he did, “I got everything you might need or want - although I don’t know if you’ll like the movies I picked out,” he chuckled softly.

Billy blinked like a total idiot for a few seconds, piecing together the fact that Steve had brought him things to help with his stomachache. Things to comfort Billy, to soothe the pain his own mind had caused, because that’s just what he did to himself. And while he caused it, he was never nice to himself about it, didn’t try to soften the effects with warmth and Pepto Bismol like Steve did.

He was so used to dealing with it on his own that Steve’s help almost seemed outlandish. Yet, he didn’t stop Steve when his boyfriend pulled the comforter down just enough to gently press the hot water bottle against Billy’s stomach. The warmth seeped through the thin fabric of his shirt easily, through his skin and to where that ball of anxiety lived in his stomach.

“How’s that?” Steve hummed as he pulled the comforter up to Billy’s shoulder again.

Unable to vocalize anything, Billy just nodded, staring up at him with wide blue eyes.

Steve sat on the edge of the bed, smiling down at him like a fucking angel, and asked if he wanted a sip of the ginger ale.

Billy wasn’t sure what good that would do but he nodded anyway, sitting up a little as Steve cracked the can open and handed it to him. The bubbles settled in his stomach gently, and paired with the warmth of the hot water bottle, it was…nice. Calming.

But he needed more than that.

“Could you…lay down with me?” He asked quietly as he settled down into the bed again. It wasn’t the usual bratty tone he used when he wanted to get Steve to do something for him, and his boyfriend quickly picked up on that, if the way Steve quickly rounded the bed said anything.

Billy felt the covers lift as Steve climbed in, felt the press of Steve’s chest against his back as the pretty boy pressed his entire front to Billy’s back, effectively spooning him. The warmth on his stomach paired with the warmth of Steve against his back, kissing the nape of his neck, was heaven.

And he felt his stomach untwist itself, a little.

“Better, baby?” Steve murmured as he nuzzled at the top of Billy’s spine.

“Yeah,” Billy finally muttered in a breath, closing his eyes as concentrated on his breathing, letting himself relax his tensed muscles one by one. He all but melted into the bed and against Steve within minutes, his stomach beginning to settle.

A few more moments passed before Steve quietly asked, “Did you eat something that didn’t agree with you?”

It’s an innocent question. Totally understandable to ask given the circumstances, but Billy still gave a bitter laugh. “No,” he muttered, his brows furrowed.

Used to the sharpness that came with Billy Hargrove, Steve didn’t back down, asking, “Then what?”

And…Billy couldn’t not tell Steve. He’s told him about his anxiety, about his shit father, about his mother, so why not this? “I…” he began, hesitated, before opening his eyes and whispering, “My stomach…gets upset, when my anxiety gets really bad. That’s all.”

“Oh,” Steve muttered against his back, “Like…it’s a side effect?”

“Yeah. I guess.” That was probably the best way to put it, really.

They laid there for a quiet moment, both processing the fact, before Steve shifted up onto his side and leaned over to kiss Billy’s cheek and temple. “Don’t worry, I got you,” he muttered sweetly, so sweet it almost made Billy’s teeth hurt, “Want me to rub your tummy?”

There were no questions, no asking for an explanation, no judgement - just an urge to help and Billy was relieved. Steve knew how to take care of him and Billy would let him. So, he nodded his head quietly and closed his eyes again when he felt Steve’s hand slip behind the hot water bottle to rub gentle circles on his stomach.

Billy dozed off like that, tucked away so cozy and loved with Steve pressed behind him. And when he stirred awake, Steve still holding him close and asking how he felt, his stomach was soothed and calm.

#harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #billy x steve #steve x billy #prompt fill #prompt fic #hurt/comfort #tw anxiety #tw mentions of abuse #this one kinda got away on me so it’s longer than i intended but i loved writing it #thank u anon!!#bambiwrites

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captainsophiestark · 2 years

Text

Pegasus

Maxon Schreave x Reader

Masterlist - Join My Taglist!

Written for Fictober 2022!

Prompt: “Is this safe?”

Fandom: The Selection Series

Summary: Y/N joined the Selection, and against her expectations, fell in love with Maxon Schreave. Now that things are coming to a close and the Rebel activity is picking up, everyone's more stressed than usual, but Maxon has especially being running himself into the ground. He needs to take a break and take care of himself, but he hasn't been organizing that for himself. So, Y/N takes it into her own hands to give him a bit of a mental health recharge.

Word Count: 1,968

Category: Fluff

Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.

I took a deep breath as I straightened my dress in the mirror, mentally running through a checklist. The food, the blanket, and everything else I'd decided to set up for the night were all ready and placed. I'd asked my maids to give me the evening, and they'd agreed while also promising to keep prying eyes and ears away. There was nothing else I needed to do.

When I'd first entered the Selection, it had been for my family. We'd needed the money, and it wasn't like living in the palace for a while was the worst thing in the world, if I did get Selected. When I'd been chosen, marrying the prince wasn't particularly on my radar.

Then I got to know Maxon.

He was without a doubt the sweetest, kindest, most wonderful man I'd ever had the pleasure of meeting. Things felt easy with him, for some reason, and despite all the structure and official procedure that was supposed to come with the Selection, we'd quickly formed a close friendship that had turned into more.

If I'd told myself at the beginning of this thing that I'd be falling in love with Prince Maxon, and him with me, I would've laughed in my own face. And yet, many weeks later, here we were.

Recently, as the Selection worked its way to a close and Rebel activity had picked up significantly, I could tell Maxon was seriously feeling the stress. I'd barely seen him, and whenever he did have time to say hello to me and the other ladies, his mind was clearly elsewhere. He'd started to look more and more sleep deprived at meals, and so I'd decided yesterday to find a way to give him a bit of a break.

I couldn't do much, especially since I wasn't officially marrying him yet. I couldn't get officially involved in the meetings, politics, or anything else, and even though Maxon did consult with me about those issues sometimes, I couldn't actually go to meetings to help him deal with things. So, I'd decided to give him a complete break from the stressors in a way he probably didn't usually get to enjoy.

I'd gotten in touch with him this morning through a friendly castle servant to ask him to meet me tonight, a few hours after dinner. With the help of my maids, I'd spent the rest of the day getting everything together, and now all that was left was for Maxon to show up.

Right on cue, I heard a knock at my door. I smiled to myself and crossed the room to open it, then found Maxon, looking exhausted but still smiling at the sight of me.

"Hello, my dear," he said. I smiled.

"Your highness." I dipped into a curtsey as I said it, and Maxon immediately grinned and shook his head at my antics.

"Please. You know we're well past that level of formality."

"That we are." We shared a smile as I stepped aside to let him into my room, then shut the door behind him. He wandered into the middle of the room, looking like he wasn't quite sure what to do with himself, then turned to me.

"So... what did you want to see me about? Is everything alright?"

"I think that's my line," I said. I crossed the room and walked past him to throw open the doors to the balcony. I turned back to Maxon, only to find him staring at me with an eyebrow raised in question. "You've clearly been stressed out of your mind lately. I thought you could use a little break."

"You're not wrong about that, darling."

"Luckily for you, I know just the thing. Come on."

I motioned for him to join me on the balcony, which he did. He took a deep breath of the cool night air and let it out slowly, releasing some of the tension in his shoulders with it.

"It does feel good to be out here," he said.

"Yes, it does. But this isn't all we're doing." With that, I turned to the railing of the balcony and carefully moved to stand on it, using the wall of the castle to balance myself. I heard Maxon gasp, but I ignored him as I climbed the rest of the way up and onto the roof of the palace, above my room.

"Y/N! What on Earth are you doing?" he asked. I popped my head back over the edge of the roof to look at him.

"Giving you a relaxing evening. Now just trust me and get up here, carefully."

Maxon hesitated for half a second before I saw him make the decision to throw caution to the wind and follow me. He moved to the edge of the balcony to follow the same path that I'd taken, and I reached out a hand to help him. A few seconds later, and he was on the roof with me.

"Y/N... Is this safe?" he asked, hesitating a bit and looking behind him, over the edge and towards the long drop into the palace garden. I gave his hand a tug to get him to focus back on me and everything in front of him.

"Yes, I'm sure," I said. "I've been up here more than a few times myself to get some space from... well, everything about palace life, really. Balconies and gardens are nice, but as you'll soon see, nothing quite beats sitting on the roof, out of sight of everyone and staring up at the stars."

Maxon huffed a breath and smiled, and I could tell the idea appealed to him as much as it did to me. I stood and led him a few steps further onto the roof, away from the edge, where I'd laid out a blanket and set up a picnic with all of our favorite foods.

"Ta-da!" I said, gesturing grandly with my arm and facing Maxon with a beaming smile. He stared at the setup in disbelief for a moment, then turned to me with a dumbstruck look on his face.

"Y/N... did you really do all this for me?"

"Yes I did. You take care of everyone else all day long, me included. It's about damn time that someone else took care of you, pardon my language."

He laughed, a smile slowly spreading across his face as my words sunk in. He crossed the roof and closed the few steps of distance between us, wrapping his arm around me carefully and pulling me into his chest.

"Thank you, my dear. For this, and for everything else you do for me," he muttered into my hair as he leaned in to kiss the top of my head. I lifted my chin and met his eyes, then leaned up to give him a soft kiss on the lips. We'd kissed a few times before, but it still felt special and new, and I could feel tingles running through my entire body despite the fact that our lips only met for a few moments.

"I'm happy I could help," I said softly, meeting Maxon's tender gaze with one of my own. "Now come on, let's enjoy this beautiful night."

Maxon and I shared a smile, then moved to lay down together on the blanket. We made our way through all the snacks I'd gathered, then when we were completely full, we laid fully on our backs and stared up at the stars.

"Do you know anything about identifying them?" I asked after a few moments of peaceful, comfortable silence. "What they're called, or the stories behind them?"

"Not much," he replied, his tone full of regret. "Most of the stories have been lost or destroyed. But do you see that grouping of stars there?"

He pointed up, gesturing to a few clusters that were close to each other, and I hummed in affirmation.

"I read in one of the books my father keeps under lock and key that those stars are called 'Pegasus'. Pegasus is a great winged horse that flies through the night sky, and used to help the heroes and gods of stories told so long ago they've been completely lost to time."

"That's beautiful," I sighed, shifting closer to Maxon as I did. He wrapped his arm around my back and waist, and I rested my head on his shoulder and curled into his side. "Do you think Pegasus is still out there somewhere?"

"I think he must be," Maxon replied. "Roaming the skies or the stars, and waiting for someone to let the world remember him."

Neither of us spoke for a minute, and I could feel all of Maxon's frustration at his father and the way so many things in the kingdom were currently being run radiating off him in waves. I traced patterns over his chest, hoping to sooth him a bit by being there and reminding him that I was with him, no matter what.

"If that's the case, then I'm sure Pegasus will be back soon," I said, keeping my voice low but sure. "When you're King, Maxon, things will be better. You'll finally have the power to make them better. And it'll probably mean worlds more stress than you're dealing with right now, but it will be more of the good kind, the kind that comes with the business of affecting change. And much less of the bad kind, of being forced to sit by while people make decisions and create policy that makes you want to scream."

Maxon took a long, deep breath in and out, then wrapped his arm around me a little tigheter.

"Since when do you know me so well?" he finally asked, his tone light and joking. I smiled.

"Since I realized I might actually be persuaded to like a prince, of all things."

Maxon huffed a laugh, then pinched my arm in a bit of payback. I whacked his chest in revenge, but he just laughed again.

We relaxed back into comfortable silence, staring up at the stars and relaxing in each other's warmth and the temporary feeling that it was just the two of us in the entire world. Maxon's heartbeat echoed in my ears as I closed my eyes, feeling the rise and fall of his chest with each breath. I'd just started drifting off as a result of the feeling of complete security and relaxation when Maxon spoke again, his voice a low, quiet rumble.

"You'll be right there by my side, Y/N," he said. He absently rubbed circles on my waist with his thumb as he spoke. "The two of us will make the world right, together. King and Queen, in love, a perfect team."

I smiled and hummed, my heart practically ready to burst at his words.

"Darn right we will," I agreed. He pulled me closer to him, although that was hardly possible, and his hand squeezed securely on my waist, reminding us both we belonged with each other.

We were both young, and there would be plenty of challenges for us to deal with along the way. But I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that things would work out for us. Laying together under the stars, the two of us finding a moment of peace in a swirl of chaos, I was completely confident in our happy ending. We'd continue to fall for each other every day, get married, change the world, then find our peaceful storybook sunset. And nothing could possibly stand in our way.

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gipsyavnger · 1 year

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Homecoming

@kaitaiga like you said...oc x canon? No. oc x your friend’s oc

(She's wearing one of Damien's jackets. The woman is 5'4 and the man is 6'1 and build like a friggin freight train. It's going to hang off her)

She lay staring at the ceiling of their shared bedroom, hands fidgeting with the blanket as she nibbled at her lower lip.

He’s coming home today.

Flipping to her side, Isobel Williams made eye contact with the dog they’d adopted, her sweet face bringing a smile to her lips.

“Babygirl…Dad is coming home today. You excited?”

No response.

She was out cold, but Isobel knew the moment she got out of bed, Apache would follow her like a heat-seeking missile.

Rolling back to lie on her back, she chuckled softly. Damien had given Apache her name. His eyes filled with love as he glanced up and whispered, “Apache. Her name is Apache.”

It referenced Isobel’s former military career when she belonged to the United States Army. Flying AH-64D Apache helicopters had been her life for the longest time before joining Task Force 141. Even then, she’d resigned herself to only being close air support until Price had taken a chance on her and sent her into the field.

They’d met because of a bet. A stupid one made by two old men constantly trying to one-up each other. Price had bet Lachlan that his operator could beat Lachlan’s operator. Lachlan had taken the bet, and the next thing Isobel knew, she was being pulled into the gym to spar against a ridiculously handsome Australian Commando.

“The amount will determine how badly I thrash him.”

“Evicerate him, Medusa. Put him in the ground.”

“Copy that, sir.”

She’d done just that, and Damien (having admitted this to her) was smitten when she slammed him into the mat. It had taken Isobel some time to warm up to him, but they'd grown closer during the two-week joint training exercise. Once it came time for him to leave, she’d been smitten herself.

“Apache. Breakfast.” Using a firm voice, Isobel rose from the bed and walked to the kitchen, her body on autopilot as she scooped dog food from the bag. Her mind was racing a mile a minute, eyes glued to the stove clock as the minutes ticked away until he landed.

Six months. He’d been gone six months.

She’d desperately tried to go with him when the orders came down. The problem was that they were from two different countries. Price had explained it to her. He already had operators in the country, there was no way he could send her without being a person short.

The day Damien left, Isobel had cried. Normally a stoic woman, she rarely let her emotions get the best of her.

But he’d given her the sweetest kiss upon his departure, whispering, “I’ll come home to you, gorgeous.”

She’d been an absolute mess for a week, bursting into tears randomly. The worst one had been when she was picking up more dog food. The memory of the day they’d adopted Apache flashed across her mind, and she’d ended up sobbing quietly between the wet and dry dog food.

The sound of Apache skidding into the kitchen pulled at the corners of her lips as she leaned against the counter briefly before heading into the bedroom to get dressed.

“You here for your husband?”

Isobel glanced to her left, the sweet-looking girl with a massive smile staring at her as they awaited the plane. She couldn’t have been more than nineteen. Just a baby.

“No…” She paused, biting back the sarcastic remark desperate to leave her lips, “I’m here for my man.”

She left it at that, turning her attention back to the flight line where the plane had finally landed. The minutes felt like hours as she waited for the door to open. To catch a glimpse of him. Of Damien.

Her heartbeat rapidly increased, every fiber of her being on edge as her breathing slowed. Her vision tunneled as the adrenaline hit her system. The world dropped away the moment the ramp lowered. Her muscles were screaming, her entire body tensed up.

A mop of golden hair appeared, carrying a large duffle bag as he exited the plane, and she couldn’t think straight, but her military training told her to remain still. Wait until he notices you. It didn’t take long. He scanned the crowd, immediately landing upon her as she gave him a small smile.

Damien dropped his duffle bag, sprinting toward her without a sound as he scooped her up in his arms.

So this is what home feels like.

The thought flashed across Isobel’s mind as Damien’s lips found hers, her arms wrapped around his neck to pull him tight. The feeling of his body against hers set her on fire, the lonely nights and tear-soaked pillow suddenly forgotten.

“Welcome home, love.”

“I missed ya so much, gorgeous.”

#call of duty #my stuff #my edits #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty modern warfare 2022 #cod mw2 #cod mwii #call of duty oc #cod ocs #call of duty fanart #cod fanart #modern warefare ii #mw2 #damien whitlock #oc x oc pairing?

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kaiwewi · 2 years

Text

First Impressions

Part one of a prequel miniseries to [Favours Among Frenemies] (Snippet #2). Belongs to a larger series featuring the same Hero and Villain characters: [Masterlist: Fame and Flourish]

Synopsis: the city has a new superhero. Villain is intrigued and plans to take a closer look, much to their best friend's dismay.

For the fifth time, Villain rewatched the video of the city’s new superhero.

The figure on the screen casually handed over two wannabe villains to a young police officer and nodded at the camera in passing, a polite smile curving their lips. They made fighting look effortless, like exchanging blows with two enemies simultaneously could dishevel neither their hair nor their clean-cut black-and-white costume.

The new hero was so damn cool. Strong too. Really fucking strong.

“This Hero person,” they said and shook their head. “They’re so different from Vigilante.”

Friend laughed. “Yeah, no shit. I think the word you’re looking for is heroic.”

Exactly! With this one, there’d be no lazy, opportunistic approach to combatting villainy. No shady little side hustles. No deals.

“I know.” Groaning, they rubbed both hands down their face. This was going to give them a horrible headache.

“What?” Friend scoffed. “Would you rather have another Vigilante?”

Urgh, no. Well… maybe?

Vigilante sucked. There was no denying that. But Vigilante was also so conveniently corrupt. They didn’t even possess the decency to make a secret of the fact they’d gladly turn two blind eyes if offered a satisfactory incentive. And if one could tolerate the additional terms of the deals, it came down to a simple transaction: plaster on your sweetest smile, hand over some pocket change, avoid a trip to the local authorities… then suffer through whatever custom-tailored humiliation power-fantasy mind-game bullshit Vigilante had in store for you.

Whether that creepy penchant for demeaning others was a kink or merely Vigilante being an arsehole, the subsequent bargains sure as hell were mutually beneficial arrangements too.

In the end, one would come out of an agreement with Vigilante relatively unscathed; merely clutching an emptied purse and nursing a bruised ego. The worst of it was the embarrassment of having added another picture to Vigilante’s beloved ‘photo album of shame’.

“For the record,” they said and paused the video on a close-up of the hero’s face. Unfortunately, making out the hero’s eye colour was impossible in so grainy a picture. “I’d still rather be as far away from Vigilante as possible. But they are the safer option here.”

So far, the city’s Supers had been operating with mutual connivance. The occasional thwarted scheme was a minor nuisance factor in a villain’s life, but that hardly mattered when even a total defeat seldom led to an arrest. Yes, Vigilante was unpleasant to do business with, but ultimately quite harmless – reliable even. And their conveniently poor morals and the vast collection of compromising material from all major villains in the region had thus far discouraged the villains from attempting to take them down.

Now, the arrival of the new superhero was bound to ruin this well-established system.

They sighed. “Hero is just so… so black-and-white, so good-and-evil, so moral-high-ground. Do you know what I mean? – They don’t seem the type who’d accept bribes from their villains or extort personal favours. They’re the real deal: an actual hero.”

So admirable, so genuinely inspiring. No wonder the civilians loved their new hero. No wonder the villains despised them.

“Villain.” Friend stopped them from hitting the replay button again and gently closed the lid of the laptop. She crossed her arms. “You look like you’re about to do something rash. Please tell me I’m wrong.”

“It’s not rash. I’ve got a plan.” Well, half a plan…

If bribes weren’t going to work, they had to figure out other ways to secure the hero’s cooperation. Invulnerable or not, the hero had to have some weakness, something to take advantage of.

“I’m going to take a closer look,” they said, as nonchalant as they could manage, and reached for their most recent sketch of the hero’s face. Something about the shape of the eyes and the mask surrounding them wasn’t quite right yet, or maybe it was the bridge of the nose that was too narrow or not high enough…

“Are you sure this is the smart move?” Friend asked.

She was shuffling through the sheets of paper scattered on the table between them – the few currently available newspaper clippings featuring the city’s new protector; a bunch of printouts of screenshots Villain had taken while watching and rewatching all the videos they’d found of the new superhero; and a handful of drawings, none of which had thus far succeeded in capturing the hero’s radiance.

They tsked. “I just can’t seem to get the face right…”

“Villain, I’m being serious here.” Friend bundled together the loose paper, flipped the entire stack over, and brought it down on top of the sketch. “Do you honestly think it’s a good idea to actively seek out a superhero and draw attention to yourself when they aren’t even after you specifically, yet? What if they arrest you? What if you get hurt?”

Of course it wasn’t a good idea...

“I’m taking a calculated risk.” They got to their feet, snatched their favourite vintage coat from where they’d draped it over the backrest of their couch and went to the soil-filled flower tub in the corner. They scooped up a few handfuls of soil and stuffed those into the coat’s bigger pockets. “I’m only going to introduce myself, strike up a conversation, and be all charming and friendly.”

Friend scowled, but went to the cabinet of her own accord and fetched all the bottles with tissue samples and cell culture solutions that they might need in case things did go sideways. “Don’t get too close. They’ve got super-strength or something. You can’t beat them in a fair fight, if they attack you—”

“If they attack, I run. There will be no fighting, so there’s no need to worry.”

“No need to worry!?” She slammed one of the bigger bottles down on the table. “Well, let me remind you of this life-sized, superhero-shaped, crime-fighting need-to-worry that you’re entirely too smitten with to see reason.”

“I’m not smitten. This is a recon mission. I need information.”

“Uh-huh. You mean you want to go check out Hero’s face.”

She wasn’t wrong exactly. Seeing the hero’s face up close might help in figuring out their civilian identity, which could then be used as leverage. That the hero’s facial structure also happened to appeal to them aesthetically wasn’t the point here.

“My interest in their face is strictly professional.”

Friend sneered. Passive-aggressively humming some catchy tune, she started to refill the seed containers. With a practised eye and the air of a professional henchman, she sorted all the bottles, boxes, and utensils into their proper pockets. She’d helped them prepare so many times she barely had to glimpse at the labels anymore.

They couldn’t help the fond smile that sprang to their lips. “Thank you for helping me out. You’re the best.”

“I know.” She sucked in a deep breath, then sighed. “I need you to promise me that, if they do attack you and running isn’t possible, you’ll fight with all you’ve got. You do have options.” She made a gesture encompassing the entirety of Villain’s equipment. “We didn’t prepare all of this stuff for nothing. If you need it, use it. Don’t hesitate. And don’t play fair.”

They locked eyes. Hers burnt, fuelled by an endearing mix of scorn and concern. This might just be the most worried she’d been for them in years.

“If necessary,” they said, “I’m prepared to do anything short of killing.”

“Good.” She folded the vintage coat and put it into Villain’s ‘work’ backpack, followed by their belt, their mask, and their gloves.

Their costume was too flashy to leave the house in – the neighbours might recognise them, and Kate from next door wouldn’t be able to keep a secret if her life depended on it – so they’d have to change later when they were out of the suburbs. For now, a simple black jacket would do. As for shoes…

They frowned down at the shoe rack, at their beloved pair of dark red boots. Gorgeous, vibrant and velvet, and most importantly: an absolutely perfect accessory to the rest of their outfit. Strutting up the street in those shoes would grant them the confidence of the devil.

They’d make one hell of a first impression.

On the other hand, wearing heels wasn’t practical when confronted with the very real possibility of walking right into a fight. Therefore, they should probably go with the flat black boots this time. It would be the reasonable choice. Better for running too. But…

They shrugged and grabbed the heeled boots.

Friend snorted and rolled her eyes. “Honestly, you’re beyond hope.” Somewhat reluctantly, she handed them the backpack. “I swear, if you get yourself killed, I’m so going to desecrate your grave.”

Chuckling, they wrapped their arms around her. She returned the hug.

“It’s going to be okay,” they promised. “I’ll see you later.”

Then they set out to find the hero.

[Part 2]

#heroes and villains #hero x villain #villain x hero #hero #villain #enemies to friends #snippet #writing snippet #writing #my writing #creative writing #fiction #writeblr #writers #writers on Tumblr #hero x villain community #First Impressions #Fame and Flourish

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