#not even getting up and leaving right fucking now would assuage me. i wish i wasn't so full of fucking hate but you just keep adding fuel +

[vaguenotions]

Oh, yes, I just love your unannounced sleepover where you both come back from the bar after carefully avoiding telling me that's where you were going, and also neglecting to tell me when you'd be home! I definitely do not want to knock you on your ass and take a bat to your dome! That would be rude and unnecessary :)

Oh yes, please do start talking about shit amongst yourselves and make me feel isolated and othered in ny own room! These moments are what I live for, of course. Naturally. Who would ever have any issues with this arrangement at all?

#txt #might delete this later but i also might not because my irritation and rage is real and i shouldnt have to so constantly discard it #i am so tired of constantly putting it aside #i want your blood in my fucking teeth. and it's your fault i want it there- certainly- because I TRY. I try so hard not to feel this way #but eventually you get tired of those little games too #okay I drafted this for a minute bc idk if this fucker is actually spending the night or not i just know he took off his belt. BUT THEN ONE #+ OF THESE FUCKERS DECIDED TO START TALKING ABOUT SPIDERS. A THING THAT I HAVE A VERY BAD PHOBIA ABOUT. I AM GOING TO FUCKING KILL YOU #thinking of killing and maiming and maiming and killing and killing and shredding and tearing and killing and- #seriously though what. the fuck. you even go ''oh they're not gonna like this'' THEN HOW ABOUT YOU DONT FUCKING SAY IT #ohh and now you're sitting here making plans for when you go out without me next! I'm going to make you a bloody smear on my fucking floor #i am going to Dissect you. I'm going to rip you apart and feed you to the local strays and csrrion birds. #not even getting up and leaving right fucking now would assuage me. i wish i wasn't so full of fucking hate but you just keep adding fuel + #+to the fire #im so tired. I'll come back with a ''im fine now'' if he fucking leaves but im going to seethe now. im so fucking angry. #how do you fucks continually just bounce between the topics that makes me feel Most Violent Towards You? literally how do you not realize i #+ want you dead at this point? how do you not realize the grave you've dug for yourselves in my mind? #i dont fucking mask it that well. i know i dont. and still you fucking do this #((part of why it being a bar specifically that bothers me besides the very deliberate and careful avoidance of mentioning it to me is that #+*one of you is at serious risk for becoming an alcoholic. why the fuck are you being enabled this way?*)) #((if i was dating someone with a genetic predisposition of alcoholism i would make your regular dates nights- idk- NOT THE FUCKING BAR + #+ DISTRICT. DO YOU EVEN FUCKING CARE ABOUT THEM? DO YOU? This fucking boils my god damn blood.)) #(ultimately its their decision if they want to fucking drink yeah sure whatever YOU DONT NEED TO REGULARLY AND READILY ENABLE IT. BASTARD.) #(If they want to drink so fucking bad- if they push for the bars- JUST BUY SOME ALCOHOL AND BRING IT FUCKING HERE. It limits how much they+ #+can have for one- and it would isolate me from you two less! just as an added fucking bonus! but no very unreasonable of me. what was i + #+thinking? clearly not about them 🙄) #i might be a little out of line here. i can admit that. but if anyone spent a week in my fucking shoes back when they first got together + #+and then now? you would fucking understand. #and they just. keep. talking. to eachother. no attempts to include me. not even glances my way. like always. #''oh nothing will change'' IT FUCKING CHANGED. I want to hurt you so bsdly for that lie with ever passing day. do you even know it was a li #do you? anyway was abt to post this and noticed a gif i have of a woman ripping her shirt off so im going to stare at that until im calm ig.

[malicedragoness]

Finally realized why I’ve been such a depressed mess lately. May 3rd will be two years since my dad passed away.

Mid April his health started declining. And around this particular time is when he was admitted to the hospital. Each day my mom would send text messages on his condition and what the doctors were saying. None of it was good.

Some of his vertebrae were collapsed in his lower spine. Sclerosis in his liver and his blood infection came back with a vengeance. He had mini strokes which threw his infections to his joints, spine, brain, heart, and lungs.

I remember calling my mom after that text message and asked her if he was going to die.

She sounded so confidant that he was going to be all right. The doctors were taking care of him and they had treatment plans set up for him. It assuaged me at that time.

And little did I know, that my mom and I were in denial. Because two days later is when they called her and said that he’s not responding. A whole cup of blood shifted to one side of his brain.

When rushed to the hospital and when I saw my dad, I knew he couldn’t be saved. But my mom and uncles refused to accept that answer. It took the hospital getting a brain surgeon on the phone to explain that he could do the risky surgery. But even if he survived he would be in a vegetative state. That’s something my dad wouldn’t want, so we elected to let him go.

I was also three months pregnant at that time and going through health issues with that pregnancy. And having to deal with my dad passing made me emotional, bitter, depressed, and angry at the world. I felt cheated that he wouldn’t get to see his second grandson. (We didn’t even know I was having a boy at that time.)

And my daughter Sigourney was only four at that time. My dad was her favorite person. And trying to explain to an innocent child that has no concept of death was heartbreaking and difficult. All we could tell her was “Paw is at the doctor. He isn’t feeling well and won’t be able to come home anymore, sweetie.”

That whole year was so traumatizing for her. I wanted to take that pain away from her so bad. Everytime she would hear the doorbell, she would get excited thinking it was him. And then burst into tears when it wasn’t him.

Eventually, she understood he was gone and wouldn’t be coming back. But then anytime my mom or myself went to the doctor she would get scared and plead with us to not go. She would cry and say “I don’t want you to leave me! You won’t come back!” It took a long time for her to realize that we wouldn’t disappear if we went to the doctor. Every now and then she gets teary eyed thinking about my dad. But she’s doing better now.

Last year I didn’t cry when his one year anniversary of his death came around. I just wanted it to be a normal day like any other and just think about happy memories of him. I avoided all phone calls and texts of people checking up on me. I didn’t want to repeat the same conversation over and over again and hear how sorry everyone was about his passing.

I went through that when he died and it drove me crazy. I remember wanting to vomit when I got another phone call right after another one. That ball of dread of having to repeat what was going on, how long he was in the hospital, how he died, and everything made me nauseous and upset. I texted my husband I was turning my phone off so I could get away from everyone’s fucking “I’m sorrys”.

And I didn’t want to go through that on his one year anniversary. But now this year, I’ve been a crying, depressive mess.

My brother finally brought his urn over to my house yesterday, and it’s like it hit me all over again.

I may take some time away, most likely just this week, to get my bearings together. I miss my dad. I wish he could’ve seen my son. I wish he could see my kids grow up. He was so excited to be a grandfather and he only got to do it for four years. It’s not fair. Sigourney and Donatello are gonna grow up and not get to have his love the whole time. Donnie doesn’t even know who he is and will never know what his voice sounds like.

I miss him so much.

#‘read more’ incase this triggers anyone #depression #emotional issues #family member death #health issues my father went through #a little graphic #LONG POST

[djarinsbeskar]

Foul - Boxer!Din AU

Definition - To break one of boxing’s rules (i.e. hitting an opponent below the navel, ear or while they are down), which can ultimately lead to point deductions if they are repeated.

A/N: The results of my Boxer!AU poll told me that the majority were interested in a jealous/protective boxer so I hope I have delivered! As always, relaxed fit = unedited, no beta. We also have a sneaky introduction to Paz in the Boxer verse which is super exciting! His concept art has been completed by the insanely talented @ronnieiswriting when I said I saw a mix of Jason Momoa and Winston Duke as our heavy. PLEASE heed the warnings in this chapter. There is nothing explicit but the topics hinted at might be triggering.

Word Count: 7k

Rating: 18+ (NO Minors)

Warnings: SMUT! (unprotected sex), blood and violence, toxic masculinity and derogatory speech, hints at discussions of non-con, somewhat possessive behavior, spanking, dom!Din and everything that comes with it.

Main Masterlist | Boxer Materlist

He might as well have been in hell. A colosseum of decaying humanity and dirt floors that erupted in a burst of dust like poisonous ash every time his next opponent fell. The hollow thump of pure muscle meeting the ground of the makeshift ring only drowned by the cheers of spectators. Masked, shadowed—unseen as they dropped hundreds – thousands sometimes – on which gladiator would remain standing in the end.

He felt like a king, a god among men within the confines of his realm of rope and canvas. It was easy to forget—standing under the spotlights that highlighted the sweat and blood and sculpted beauty of primal masculinity that it was a hollow victory any time he fought in the seedy underground rings of Akiva.

Every gladiator was a slave. Even the victor.

Why the fuck did he think it was a good idea to let you come to one of these fights?

“Enough!”

Paz’s unassailable strength banded around Din’s chest, pinning his arms to his side—attempting to contain lightning in a glass jar. Sweat, blood—it all dripped into Din’s eyes as he growled at his opponent, passed out in the middle of the dirt ring—face swollen and puffy from Din’s fists.

Laser focus and animosity spilled from charcoal eyes as he tried to break free of his friends hold with a vicious yank forward of powerful shoulder and an unfaltering purpose. The bastard had it coming. One round a few punches wasn’t enough to slake Din’s anger, the fumes of rage seeping into his skin and clouding his senses until all he could think of was making the asshole on the ground before him pay.

The practiced speed that Din wrapped his hands slowed at the rowdy group on the other side of the room. Dammit, for all the money they brought in, could these cheapskates not provide separate fucking changing rooms so he didn’t have to be subjected to idiots jacking themselves up on testosterone and false hope?

But pissing contests and fragile masculinity weren’t what caught his attention. He could tune that bullshit out like a fine art. What caught Din’s attention was the obvious death wish one of his possible opponents had – if he even managed to get that far up the ranks to Din – when he waved a red flag in front of the boxers’ metaphorical bull.

“See that one in the front row? You know the one I’m talking about.”

Bawdy agreements and asinine gestures raked up Din’s spine, thorny—and prickling nerves of instinct that made him pause the music blaring in his ears. He fucking hated the scum he came across in these fights. Gang members, criminals—the dredges of humanity he sometimes worried he was part of.

“Gonna get her on her knees choking on my cock before the night is out. Sluts like that love titles, champions—why else do they attend? Good excuse to win tonight, eh fellas?”

“Do you wanna completely destroy your career?” Paz yelled over the chortles and raucous cheers for more, for revenge—for everything under the poor fallacy of a sun that strung in dim, bald bulbs along the notoriously infamous Avika fighting ring.

Din thought you would be safe, arrogantly assuming people would avoid even looking at you once they saw who you were with. And you had been—you were safe, but even he couldn’t protect you from the thoughts of others.

The larger man struggled with him, dragging him out of the ring when it was obvious his words were falling on deaf ears. All Din could hear was the little pricks voice in his head from hours before.

Din stood.

Inhaled, exhaled—tried those bullshit breathing exercises that were supposed to focus his mind before a fight. Help to rein in a temper like his from overflowing in devastating tidal waves to destroy all around him. Din didn’t lose his temper often—but when he did, it was lethal.

The breathing exercises didn’t work.

Because the idiot kept talking.

“Did you see the ass on that?”

Leers sounded from his group of friends. Encouraging the vile words that Din always knew came from a man who felt entitled to a woman’s body. He had seen enough of the underbelly of the world to know what that led to time and again. Din might have been shameless in his youth and even until recently when it came to sex, to one night stands, to women—but he fucking respected the girls he fucked or didn’t fuck.

“Traipsing around in a dress like that? She’s looking for the attention,” the asshole defended himself when one of his party voiced an alternative point of view. They were promptly shut down and didn’t speak again.

Din’s blood turned to ice. An image of you running a hand down his arm on your way to your seat when you parted ways for him to get ready, dress sinfully tight but effortlessly classy—a zip front he was dying to pull open with his teeth later that night.

“It’ll look so good with my cock buried in it…”

The ice in his blood turned to fury, white hot and molten as he tied off the tape at his wrists—throwing the roll into the dingy locker he had been given for the evening. The clatter of noise from where it slammed against the metal back was the only warning he was planning on giving them. The lull of conversation was fleeting, his warning going unheeded—when dim-witted morons didn’t read the murder in his gaze.

Looks like they weren’t nearly as intelligent as the pigs he thought them to be.

Grabbing his water bottle and phone, Din stalked towards the chipped door—distracting himself with a text of “don’t go anywhere alone in this place, sweetheart. Ask Paz to go with you” sent to you without a second thought.

The immediate response of “Yes yes I know, for the thousandth time. Don’t worry and focus on yourself” did little to assuage the roar of blood in his ears. There was only one thing he heard over the noise, one thing as his vision became hued in red and fixated on a single target.

“Wonder if she’ll let me fuck her there too—can’t imagine she’s a virgin but her ass will still probably be tighter than her cunt.”

Bald headed and littered in scars and tattoos of a gang known for their viciousness, the other boxer – if he could even be called that – thrust vulgarly into the air, mimicking the hold he would have on the girl. Din’s girl.

The fucker had a death wish.

And Din was only too happy to play the part of the grim reaper.

His friends voice hardly registered over that same ringing in his ears, the roar of protective aggression at the lecherous sneer on the other man’s face who now lay in a heap in the dirt, the filth he spewed about his masseuse, his girl. How beady eyes, cold and villainous dared to drift away from Din before the bell sounded—over his shoulder, to where he knew you were sitting. Knowing your body had been tainted by the gaze of a man who would sooner take what he wanted from you by force than look at you with anything akin to the respect you deserved—it made something snap inside of Din.

And he attacked.

He was lucky he had only been disqualified.

He was damn lucky no one called the cops.

But the perks of underground fighting, was that everyone who attended had something to hide. And no one wanted to be caught in the middle of shady transactions or betting on fighters to beat each other to a pulp. Hell, the savagery Din subjected the other guy to was exactly what half the fuckers who showed up hoped to see.

Din wasn’t just a nameless street fighter though, not anymore. He had something to lose. Any smear on his record for assault and he would be suspended from tournament participation quicker than the asshole’s body dropped after a crushing blow under the jaw by Din’s right uppercut.

Thank fuck Din’s main sponsor was equally as shady. A good man by Din’s logic, but merciless when it came to succeeding. Din being benched was the surest way to make his benefactors patience run out. No, Paz was right—Boba even more so when he clocked Din good in the cheek after Paz wrestled the irate male out of the ring.

“You fucking idiot, bloodlust is an ugly image, boy—”

“I am not a boy—” Din snapped at Boba, teeth bared and bloody from his split lip, neck straining when he spat the words viciously at his long-time coach. He ran his tongue over the metallic tang of blood before spitting it out of his mouth onto the dirt flooring by the chaotic rows of metal seating.

“You almost killed a guy in the ring, you little shit,” Boba snarled with equal venom, matching the anger reflected in Din’s gaze with furious sense Din didn’t want to witness.

“Let me go,” was all Din growled, eyes never leaving his coach’s even when Paz loosened his arms around his chest. Heaving, coal black eyes darkened dangerously and stabbed the former boxer with a dare to try and restrain him again. The other man shook a rope of dreadlock that had come loose from the strip of leather he kept his hair tied in and made to say something when Din interrupted,

“Where is she?”

Paz closed his mouth, heavy brows furrowing over his eyes as recognition dawned in their dark hues,

“Is that what this is about? Dammit, vod—it’s not like she’s your girlfriend, isn’t that what you always say?”

“Don’t fucking try me tonight—” Din snapped aggressively, the threatening hum between the two men charged to dangerous voltage.

“Din?”

Your voice washed over him – aloe on the burns his fury had scorched his skin with – and he was making his way over to you in the next moment, mind battling with instinct as he ignored the calls and curses of his friends.

Mine.

Not yours—

Mine.

He moved with feral grace, parting the sea of people who bleated from the sidelines but cowered in his presence once his attention was facing them and there was no canvas or rope to separate boxer from spectator. They were lucky. He didn’t see them. Would step on them if they were stupid enough to stay in his path. All he could see, was you—watching him with confusion and concern marring those pretty features, absent of fear in the face of an incensed, adrenaline fueled boxer post fight.

He exhaled a growl as he came to stand before you, the sound cavernous and deep in his chest—the hands you had lifted to examine his face intercepted by his own when he grabbed them. His fingers wrapped fully around your wrists, and he was reminded of how fragile you were – even if you worked out whenever you could and had a will of iron that would make you whack him for saying that – and just how easily a man like him, any of the fighters here tonight—could hurt you.

Never.

They wouldn’t dare.

Not with him around.

But how could they know?

How would they know to stay the fuck away from you?

Knuckles stained with dirt and blood; his hand rasped against the softness of your palm as he dragged you in the direction of the unused backstage waiting room fighters had been offered as a changing room. Where this whole fucking thing started.

“Din—Din, what the hell happened up there?”

You jogged behind him to keep up with his pace, long legs taking him farther than your shorter ones could when confined to the heels you had worn for the night out. He stalked through the dimly lit corridors to the flaky, chipped door with a temporary sign on lined paper with “ATHLETES” scrawled along the front of it like some ironic joke.

He almost bent the worn, cheap metal handle in half—nearly pulled it from its socket with how hard he tore the door open and dragged you over the threshold inside.

You whirled on him with a huff, eyes flashing and hands planting on your hips in growing annoyance.

“Din will you just—”

You didn’t get another word out.

His wrapped hands cupped your cheeks between them, his mouth on yours hungrily when he bent over you. Biting, clawing, desperate—the kiss was more a battle of tongue and teeth than anything else. There was nothing soft, nothing slow or affectionate about the way his teeth sank into your bottom lip so hard you gasped. The way the blood seeping from his split lip painted yours in a crimson rouge—smeared and varnishing you in a visceral mark of his claim.

“Mine,” he snarled unknowingly into your mouth, lapping his tongue along the prairies of your tastebuds, plundering the depths of your mouth to brand every inch of you he could reach. Inside and out. His hands had the same idea, forming down over the shape of your curves as he walked you back blindly to the disused vanity pushed against the closest wall. Topped with a row of mirrors undoubtedly used by performers for whatever this place had once been used for, the glass was now aged with discoloration.

It didn’t matter.

He didn’t have eyes for anything but you as he hiked your legs up to perch you on the edge, your fingers curled into the taut muscles at his neck and clawing down over the sweat slick muscles of his pecs—catching on flat nipples that made ripples of pleasure heat his body further. Mad him tangle a hand in your hair, yank your head back harshly and meet your eyes with dark desire before dropping to your neck. His newest target.

“Din…” your irritated, questioning tone had morphed to fervent sighs. His tongue mapped a trail from the corner of your mouth – tasting the tang of his own blood – to the rapid tattoo of your pulse, a delicate sheen of perspiration beginning to shimmer on your flushed skin from the arousal. Another layer of flavor for him to get drunk on.

So fucking hot under his hands.

So beautiful.

So his.

“Mine,” he repeated into the curve of your neck, framed by tremulous stretches of muscle either side that he carved with scrapes of his teeth to leave tracks of slow fading pink grazes before he bit into it. Your legs – already open and inviting him to settle between them – crossed at the ankles around his narrow hips to keep him close. It was fucking intoxicating the way he could make you feel, the desperate need he had for you.

Months of sleeping together, of knowing his body so intimately had given you a rare insight to his emotions whether he knew it or not. And you knew he didn’t need to talk right now, he needed to fuck. To work through whatever had affected him so badly in hard kisses and rough hands on your soft flesh. It didn’t stop your stomach from flipping at his possessive words though, deliriously spoken but whispering the unacknowledged desires you had for him beyond his body.

“Yours,” you admitted before you could stop yourself, your hand cupping under his jaw to lift his mouth back to yours. His raspy moan at your agreement turned positively filthy when you carded short nails through his damp hair. Din was weak to having his hair stroked, his staunch dominance buckling in violent shivers of pleasure when you dragged those skilled fingers down the back of his skull and neck.

Traipsing around in a dress like that…

His eyes flew open, and he broke the kiss—ripped his mouth from yours to press his forehead to yours, eyes searching while his free hand ran indulgently up your torso to the neckline of your dress,

“Never let anyone disrespect you, sweetheart—” he rumbled, his fingers already undoing the zip of the dress, the nude pink material tempting to the eye and celebrating those features you were most proud of—that he found irresistible to know you loved. That someone could make you uncomfortable in those clothes… fucker. He snarled and pressed a long kiss to your mouth, large hands spreading the sides of the dress open wide – no underwear, baby? – and shucked the material down your arms to leave you bare before him.

His appreciation for your body – fucking gorgeous – was only tampered by the frustration he had with himself at the noise of confusion you made at his words. Of course, you hadn’t heard anything that asshole had said thankfully—but fuck, he couldn’t get it out of his head. You read his desperation somehow, and nodded slowly with puzzled eyes, teeth sinking into your swollen bottom lip as you leaned back on your hands.

So trusting…

Fuck.

It made alarm and something akin to fear rise swell uncomfortably in his throat.

He tried again.

“Never let anyone take advantage of you,” he whispered against your mouth in earnest, his hands running up your bare thighs to press his thumbs into the seams of your legs and hips, “tell me—”

His mouth dropped to your collarbone, funneling those feelings into lapping down to your heaving breasts, sucking a nipple into his mouth with a groan and befuddling your mind to his request until he nipped the swollen peak – say it, baby – and caused your head to fall back against the mirror,

“Yes—yes,” you moaned, “I won’t—”

He snarled internally, dammit. Hearing you say it didn’t help. He wanted to say how he wouldn’t let anyone disrespect you, how he wouldn’t let anyone ever take advantage of you. But he couldn’t. Had to frame it like advice he would give any woman he knew instead of speaking it like the promise he wanted to make.

Din had been fucking you for the last few months now, exclusively after only a few months—but it never went beyond that. He had no reason, no excuse to be worried over your life or safety or what you did when you weren’t in his bed. He wasn’t expected to be involved in your life the way a friend or family member was. Not the way a boyfriend was.

He didn’t do relationships. Never had. Too much trouble and frankly—he liked his privacy, his space—and liked not being accountable to anyone but himself. The consequences of any shitty decisions he made would fall on him and him alone. If he demanded that of the women he slept with and then insisted on inserting himself into their lives in the next breath, he would be a hypocrite. And Din hated hypocrites.

He couldn’t.

But fuck. He never wanted to hear someone speak that way about you, never wanted them to think they had the slightest chance with a woman like you. His blood boiled at the notion of someone else’s hands on you, his tempered flared when he imagined your pleasure or smiles, or laughter give to someone who didn’t deserve you.

Like he did?

Fuck no, he knew he didn’t.

He never said he wasn’t selfish though, and he coveted you with sinful greed.

“Fuck me, baby—please, please—” you mewled into his neck as your hands that had started all of this with that first massage, fit into the sliver of space between your bodies to stroke along his cock over his shorts impatiently. His head fell back, and his mind blissfully emptied for a moment, grunting your name at the frisson of pleasure before those damned memories resurfaced again.

Look at the ass on that.

That.

Her. You weren’t a thing, a possession. You were—

He snarled. Misplaced anger manifesting in aggressive passion as he grabbed your wrist from where you stroked him to pin behind your back on the vanity.

“Always so eager, aren’t you—” he grinned darkly when you nodded, “turn around.”

The command was delivered low and dangerous, more a rumble of noise—deep echoes of jungle predators crackling like the kindling of threat, inspiring awareness that one wrong move would be fatal. But you never made a wrong move—not for as long as he had known you. Whether it was alleviating a pain deep in his muscles that had bothered him for months or pushing yourself slowing off the vanity to your feet as you were now—you always knew what he needed.

Wisps of hair fell into his eyes as he watched you—the decided turn of your naked body to dace the mirror—eyes never leaving his even as they caught them again in the aged glass. Bending forward, your ass pressed into the front of his shorts, and you rested your elbows on the vanity.

Perfect.

He didn’t realize he had whispered the word as he pressed his mouth between your shoulder blades, tongue trailing down the arch of your spine while his hands kneaded plush cheeks—spreading them and exposing your slick cunt to the cool air. The hitches in your breath, small squirms of your hips for relief—they all fed into his desire for you.

And he desired you. Constantly.

“I’m gonna eat your pussy until you can’t stand, baby—and then I’m gonna fuck you until you can’t speak,” he muttered against the shell of your ear, massive bulk bowed over your back and shadowed eyes – the duality of warm walnut and lethal obsidian – bore into yours through the glass.

“I want them all to know who you belong to,” he nipped your ear, flicking his tongue along the cartilage—the black ink on his back catching the light as his muscles rippled with movement, a roll of pleasure from your ass grinding back against him with a whimper of his name, “so don’t be quiet this time, sweetheart.”

Your eyes fluttered open molasses slow from where they had dropped closed at his words,

“What—what hap—” you tried to turn your head, the concern mingled with lust in those gorgeous, honest eyes making warning bells blare painfully – too close – and he silenced you with a kiss. Swallowing the worry that hinted at feelings that surpassed those expected from a fuck buddy, he buried it deep inside himself, in the shadows like a coward. To be locked away where he would remain safe from it.

Your tongue grew sloppy with a moan when he ground his crotch into your ass—dragging the solid thickness of his clothed cock between your soaked folds and up against your tight rear entrance.

Wonder if she’ll let me take her there…

Bastard.

He sucked on your tongue with a groan of your name, hand releasing your cheeks to fan up your ribcage and cup your breasts. You jerked in sensitivity when rough hands pinched sore nipples – he fucking loved how sensitive your tits got just before your period. The cry you released was nothing short of musical, tempting him lower as he kissed down your spine—wrapped hands sanding down over your ribs again when he lapped around the rim of your ass, circling it before he traced lower.

You were dripping.

He dropped to his knees behind you, eyes drunken with an ingrained pride that he was the one in this position, looking at the petals of your swollen pussy glistening with arousal he inspired from just a few kisses and rolls of his hips. He kept his eyes on the steady trickle of wetness from your twitching entrance, his teeth grazing distractedly down the back of your thigh as he did so.

A finger ruddy with flecks of dried blood caught a string of your arousal – don’t waste a drop – and he sucked it between his lips with an approving groan, the noise of your whimpers the perfect accompaniment. Blood and lust. The essence of humanity, that was what he tasted when he sucked his finger clean. It tasted like life. And he wanted more.

A sharp crack echoed through the room when his hand came down hard on one cheek, and again... and again—each strike making that dripping wetness gush until he couldn’t hold back anymore. He buried his face in your cunt, nosing at your entrance and tongue spreading puffy lips apart so he could trace in pitter patter swipes through your folds—greedily gathering anything he could get on his tongue before swallowing. Dehydrated on the sands of depravity and sordid company—your cunt was an oasis of relief where he eagerly drank his fill.

You tried to move, your hips slamming up against the edge of the vanity – that’ll bruise – and you keened with a shuddering cry when his mouth simply followed your attempt to escape the onslaught of pleasure that was too much too soon.

“Fuck—fuckfuckfuck—” you gasped, dropping a hand back to tangle in his hair, dragging him closer despite your protests. Mm, he loved when you got like this—overstimulated from the first touch. No matter how much you whined, no matter how many times he wiped tears that smudged your makeup when he unraveled orgasm after orgasm from the knots inside you—he knew you loved the intensity as much as he did.

He spanked you again – take it – your cheeks red and beautiful when he spread them side for him to spit directly onto your quivering cunt. His saliva dribbled and mixed with your juices to gather over your clit, his mouth forming over the little bud enthusiastically, urged by your slow ruts back against his face to streak his face with your essence.

“More—” you whimpered.

“Greedy—” he growled back.

The sound of your breathless laugh meshed delightfully with the swallow of a moan – guttural and primal – and made his cock twitch in his shorts. His hips snapped up uselessly from where he was kneeling—finding no purchase or warm embrace to bury itself in as his tongue took that pleasure for itself.

It licked and curled with practiced, seemingly illogical strokes along your clit and up to your entrance—sloppily kissing it before his tongue dove into your tight depths, thumb working in quick circles over your clit. He knew exactly what to do to make you come undone.

Your first orgasm was sudden—strong and surprising. He hadn’t even fucking fingered you and you were already spasming around nothing. Your muscles tensed as you went on your toes to lean even further on the vanity, trying to escape his tongue that worked you through each wave—drowning you in the pleasure he knew only he could give you. You were his. His his his his h—

You sobbed his name, a raw answer to his internal mantra his mind struggled against and failed to overcome.

Din wanted you.

He wanted your body, your mind, your time—he wanted what Paz had.

Fuck.

The way the older man mooned and gazed with shameless adoration for the little baker he had fallen for in so short a time. Hell, Din teased him over it constantly. And maybe he didn’t want that—but he wanted something. Din wanted something with you. Wanted you to visit him in the gym and stop him mid set just to kiss him and tell him that you would wait for him to finish so you could go home together. He wanted to buy you flowers without having to think of a fucking excuse like last time to distance himself from the sentimentality. He wanted to open his front door and feel our presence as more than just a visitor. That a toothbrush and the stray pieces of clothing you forgot at his place would turn to shoes at the door and your taste in décor mixing with his.

Din wanted you.

But he had no idea how to do anything but fuck you. He didn’t know how to date or be romantic. Was clueless to things like companionship—to the softer emotions he knew you craved. That all people craved. Din had no idea how to do any of it.

You lay with your cheek on the wooden surface of the vanity, eyes half-closed and spacey as you watched him lift his head from your pussy, face shiny from your release and when he licked over his lips, still hungry for more—you mewled.

“Don’t tap out on me yet, sweetheart.”

You shook your head, a whimper and almost childish refusal while your cheek remained plastered to the vanity, all strength having left your body and an adorable pout trying to lie and tell him you couldn’t take any more.

“Mm, yes you can—” he answered you, dragging his mouth back up your slit and along your tight ass where he lapped at the rim again. Later. It took time for him to stretch you to take his size—it was better left for when he had you in his apartment and could take his time.

His hand followed his mouths direction as it continued up to meet your mouth—smirking against your lips at the whimpers you made from the slaps he gave your pussy—the obscene, wet sound filling the area with each slap slap slap until his hand was damn near slipping every time he struck your cunt from how wet it was.

A bang on the door—a harsh slap to your pussy so you would moan just right for him, and he growled out a threatening “occupied” to whoever was outside. You were too high strung to even notice.

“No one else can have you,” he rasped darkly into your temple, his free hand tangling in the strands to pull your head back against his shoulder—the position no doubt edging on uncomfortable with the way your spine and neck were arched back—moUlded into his hard frame. Your eyes fell to half mast even as your lips parted—still smeared with specks of blood you hadn’t yet licked or chewed off—and he bit your jaw in warning.

“No one else—” you parroted, your hot breath fanning over his cheek even as you rocked back against him, a steel confidence entering your fucked out gaze—mercurial in the swirling heat, “just like no one else can have you.”

The boldness of your words, the conviction spoken in that voice of wooden flutes and bubbling creeks made his blood light with fire—yes. As much as he anted you, he yearned for you to crave him in return.

“No one else,” he repeated your words back to you, rutting his hips against you when his cock pulsed with a negligent ache that demanded to be addressed. He kept one hand in your hair when he pushed his shorts down enough to free his leaking cock, the turgid length swollen and angry as he rubbed the tip between your lips.

Maybe he would buy you flowers tomorrow, after all.

Din gave you no time to prepare yourself – that’s my girl – sliding inside you with one brutal thrust that had you pushed up against the mirror and his cock engulfed in fiery bliss. He felt the heat run up his spine, a volcanic metamorphism into marble as his muscles froze in an immediate pause to stop himself from spilling inside you after one damn thrust.

You weren’t doing much better—one hand clawing for purchase on the mirror and the other digging your nails into his hip as you panted his name, an incoherent string of curses and praise as your sensitive walls convulsed around him. The position had him pressed right against that one spot he cock curved up against that could make you see stars and your care for being caught dissipate in cries of ecstasy.

“Baby—fuck please, so—too deep—” you whimpered in inane babbles, tightening in residual spasms from your orgasm and the sudden intrusion of his cock, still a stretch after all these months. Too deep… he snorted, rolling his hips hard to try shove himself deeper still. He could never get deep enough, always wanting more—always seeking to conquer the untouched lands of your body.

“Mm, want me to stop?” he teased, dragging his hips back with a smirk at your immediate rejection of no no no fuck—please, no—hand pathetically trying to drag him closer to you by the hip. Lovely little thing… thinking you were strong enough.

“That’s better…” he purred, relief washing over him when he pulled out—the walls of your cunt stretching around him, refusing his exit, and trying to keep him nestled inside you. The pace he chose was brutal. He fucked you like he fought tonight. Violently, mercilessly—and deaf to the calls to relent. But where he wanted his opponent to suffer, he wanted to devastate you with pleasure, enrapture you with ecstasy and leave you moaning his name where others would curse it.

Wet cock slapping as he pounded into you in short, frantic ruts – need you baby… fuck I need you – there was no time for you to catch a full breath before he was knocking it out of you again. His fingers had to tighten in your hair to keep you up – your body trembling under his as he sank his teeth into the taut muscle at your neck and his cock sank into your welcome body – exposed and waiting for him to litter in his signature.

He would never get enough of the way his marks looked on your skin—the way you decorated him in yours. You were powerless to do much else than accept them right now – likely getting him back later – boneless and weak under the attack of his mouth and the dominance of his body.

He would make sure everyone in this fucking shithole of a place knew who you were with. They would have to be blind not to notice the blotches of poppy bruises snaking down your neck with the elusion to more hidden from unworthy eyes. The smudge of your mascara as tears pearled like crystals in the corner of your eyes when you glanced at him in strung out bliss.

“M-more—” you begged, dropping one of your hands between your legs to rub at your clit—fingers splitting around the girth of his cock as he fucked you to feel the thick length disappear into you over and over, the soaked mess amassed from your frantic desire for each other trickling down your thighs.

“Yeah?” he grinned, breathless and sweating for much more pleasing reasons than he had been in the ring, a languid kiss to your neck as he hiked one of your knees up onto the vanity—spreading you wider for him to sink deeper.

You spasmed, your head falling back against his shoulder with a cry.

“Yes—there, there baby, fuck you feel so good…” you rambled, fingers working feverishly over your clit in wet strokes, grazing his balls every time they slapped against your skin and making him muffle his moan in your neck.

Rolling a nipple between his fingers, his large—bloodied hand completely swallowed your breast, squeezing it and tickling sounds that belonged to him from you and into his mouth when you kissed him. One last kiss before you collapsed back onto the vanity, and he stood to his full height so he could ruin you with his cock.

His name was the only thing you remembered as he split you open with full, hard thrusts—the entire length of his cock stretching your tight walls around it and playing along raw nerves already on the brink of another orgasm.

“Gonna cum, sweetheart—” he strained, desperate for release as he watched himself fuck you in the mirror—him behind your smaller body, squirming under the pleasure while his muscles bunched and relaxed with each snap of his hips—the veins in his forearms prominent and tendons taut as he poured all that training and dedication and determination into you, into pleasing you.

“Inside—inside, Din fuck, please—”

His mind emptied. Nothing else mattered about tonight—not the fight, not the disqualification, not the rage. Your eyes—cloudy with lust and achingly trusting as you looked back at him were all he could think about. Nodding without even realizing, the thought of filling you running in his mind on a loop.

“Fuck—!”

He wanted you to cum before him, he always did—but he was so high strung, so tense that he couldn’t stop himself, burying himself to the hilt with several punched out moans—exhaled rapture with every pump of his seed against your waiting womb. Your eyes rolled closed at the amount, bloating you with his release and as he came, you worked your clit frantically—chasing that addictive edge you gladly hurled yourself over at just the thought of him coming inside you.

Din dropped his forehead to your shoulder with a gasp, your spasming walls too much on his sensitive length but he had to stay inside—the contractions of pleasure, the gush of your release might push his out. He couldn’t have that. So, he gritted his teeth, mumbled husky praise – good girl, that’s it—just like that, soak me – to work you through your orgasm and pressed open mouth kisses to sweaty skin, the salt tickling his tongue as he caught his breath.

His mouth worked over the sweep of your shoulder, up your neck to your jaw when your orgasm subsided, purring your name and nonsensical strings of words he had no idea made sense or not. He finally eased his softening cock out of you slowly when you shifted your hips—testing your strength and finding it lacking when you realized both he and the vanity were what kept your legs up.

“Feel… feel better?”

“Mhm…” he confirmed noncommittally, nuzzling the marks beginning to bloom and darken like a forbidden garden only he was allowed indulge in the scent of. One of his hands ran absently down the back of your thigh, feeling for his release—pleased to feel nothing but your sticky arousal, his own still nestled inside your sore cunt.

“Want one of those crepes you’re always raving about from that twenty-four hour place?” he purred, helping you stand—going so far as to pull the straps of your dress back up so that zipping the metal teeth would be easier. Your eyes brightened despite the lazy, satiated fatigue hiding in their orbs.

“Gino’s?”

“Mm,” he nodded, looking down from his greater height and lips quirking in an annoying desire to smile when one – bright as daylight – broke out on yours.

You nodded quickly, looping your arms around his neck to drag him down to your mouth, kissing him good and proper while his hands fell under the still open sides of your dress to settle on bare hips,

“Are you ever going to tell me what set you off tonight?” you mumbled against his lips cautiously, the ghost of a smile from the promise of dessert still lingering but a hesitant worry entering your gaze, unsure if his mood would sour again.

It didn’t.

He nudged his nose along yours, aquiline curve slotting along yours as he hummed in thought, thumbs rubbing lazily into your hips,

“Maybe later,” he settled on and captured your lips again.

You left the changing room together, his gym bag slung over one shoulder and his free arm wrapped around your shoulder—nose never leaving your temple or nuzzling into your hair with blatant affection as you blushed at how obvious it was to anyone who saw you what you had been doing.

You had both tried to tidy yourselves—cleaning the corners of your makeup and trying to flatten your mused hair was about all you could do. Din didn’t even attempt to cover the freshly fucked look of messy hair and heavy eyes as he pulled an unzipped Mythosaur Gym hoodie on over his muscle shirt.

A group were passing in the corridor as you asked him something—his former opponent with one eye swollen shut from the bruises forming around his eye, jaw, and cheeks. Din answered you easily, an automatic response to whatever you were asking as his eyes met his opponents, cold fury and arrogant pride flashing in their depths.

You remained none the wiser as you passed the group, Din’s body protectively placed between you and them. He probably should have told you; he knew you wouldn’t be swayed by it—comfortable in your body as you were, but he couldn’t bring himself to. He could protect you from slander and toxicity at the very least—and he planned to. Even if he had to do so in the shadows for now.

For himself, the swelling and bruising on the idiots’ face weren’t the only thing he had to satisfy himself with. He was the one whose cum was still buried inside you, clinging to your thighs and keeping you slick and wet for him to add more to later when he got you back to his place. And as you glanced up at him with a disarming smile after he dropped his hoodie over your shoulders without a thought once you both were outside in the crisp air of the early morning darkness—he secretly hoped that he would be the only one to have that privilege from then on.

Taglist | Form

@geannad @ayamenimthiriel @sarahjkl82-blog @gracie7209 @pychedelic-star @nova646 @theflightytemptressadventure @wantingtobekorra @computeringturtle @slayerette26 @kesskirata @greatcircle79 @boxdyeblonde @fangirl-316 @niiight-dreamerrrr @tanzthompson @theamuz @gallowsjoker @helmet-comes-off @jesfreedark @amyk-37 @altarsw @feminist-violinist @spideysimpossiblegirl @lazybeeches @shameless-h  @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @mamacitapascal @the-ginger-hedge-witch @disgruntledspacedad @asta-lily @aesnawan @frannyzooey @gaiuswrites @beskarboobs @honestly-shite @sherala007 @cats-are-a-girls-bestfriend @missminkylove @pedros-mustache @headinthestarz @leannawithacapitala @sharkbait77 @radiowallet  @danidrabbles @magpie-to-the-morning @mandocrasis @juletheghoul @javierpinme @voteforpedro09 @theorganasolo @aprilqueen84 @Prostitute-robot-from-the-future @wanderlustmags @darnitdraco @castleamc @outlawedmando @lawfulgranola @jaime1110 @c-a-v-a-l-r-y @taticalsparkles @chasingdreamer @beautyagegoodnesssize @pintsizemama @recklessworry @tarolovesyoo @xgoldenjenny @prideandpascal @amneris21 @mylovelycomandante @ohhersheybars @heartsofbeskar

A few who might be interested! @thepoisonofgod @absurdthirst @highsviolets @astroboots​ 

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin smut #boxer!din #the mandalorian smut #mando smut #din djarin #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #mando x reader #mando x you #pedro pascal #din djarin fic #din djarin fanfic #the mandalorian fic #the mandalorian fanfic #star wars smut #star wars fic #star wars fanfic

[crescentbunny]

Fic Author Recommendations

When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you’ve written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love.

Tagged by @screwyouflightlieutenant, @swaps55, and @angry-jager

Well, I’ve only got 5 fics published currently so I suppose this is about to be a master post. Thank you for all the lovely tags!! I’ll try to pick ppl who I haven't seen do this - but if you’ve already done it of course don’t worry at all, and if you havent been tagged in this yet please consider this your tag and just @ me, I wanna see what you post!

@that-wildwolf @kiran-wears-science-blues @bardofheartdive @nicolasadrabbles @thatdreadbitch @dulcidyne @mordinette

Of Reapers and Burnt Beginnings: A shakarian/gen-y slow burn covering the events of ME2 and the characters and their relationships with Shep as Shep grapples with the very real and horrible trauma of being brought back over the river styx. A follow up is slowly being written, following our intrepid duo across the events of Me3 as well.

But if only he hadn’t opened his maw. His stupid gaping maw. She had nearly been out of earshot of the damned shuttle, too. She stopped mid stride and closed her eyes, willing herself to find the last vestiges of patience buried deep inside her gut. Where was it? The footfalls of both Tali and Liara had paused. She spun and thundered back to him. Did she just charge with her biotics? Impossible to tell.

“You wanna run that by me again, Vakarian?” She stood as tall as she could, glaring daggers into a plated visage much higher than hers.

“I said, you don’t even want to be here. Face it, Shepard. You can lie to yourself all you want, but you damn sure won’t to me. You wish they’d left you dead. You don’t give a single fuck about us or the Collectors. Your actions have made that very clear.” He snapped vehemently and stepped forward, covering her in his shadow. Liara’s quiet gasp was audible in the dead silence of the bay.

Slivers of Time: A non-traditional Shrex piece that explores a very different version of love and devotion than usual. A look at Shepard’s life and happiness as she heals after the Reaper war - As told from the eyes of an old krogan.

Wrex was there too, when she learned to walk on her prosthetic legs. She’d sweat and cry and refuse pain meds while she worked tirelessly, just completely pissed at her new found limits. She’d rage at nurses, and especially at Lawson, Alenko, and Hackett when they came by - she’d even rage at him sometimes. And boy, would it piss her off if he didn’t at least feign some sort of indignant reaction to her bluster. Not that he could help it - her anger assuaged his unspoken fears. Every time she’d get upset or yell about needing help to the bathroom, or him having to bathe her -it just meant her energy was returning, that she was getting back, slowly, to the Shepard he’d always known.

The Shepard he’d always loved, he realized now.

Commiseration: A shameless pwp fenhawke prompt fill from the dragon effect server. Fenris and Hawke’s arguing comes to a head when he searches her out, intent on making her keep her promise to teach him.

Bela slapped her hand into the water, splashing Hawke. “Oh, you two - either leave us be or join us Fenris,” she turned a sly grin on him. “Come on, love, take the stick out of your ass for once.”

Hawke wiped droplettes from her eyes. “Don’t, Bela, he’ll just bludgeon me with it,” she said petulantly.

“Shut up, Hawke,” he grumbled.

She glared right back at him. “Make me.”

Devil’s Den: Shameless Shakarian pwp. Shepard and Garrus head planet side to take down a Cerberus weapons cache - and what happens beneath the forest canopy stays beneath the canopy - unless you are Garrus Vakarian.

Spirits, she was perfection with her suit soaked from the balmy rain and her fringe stuck to her forehead. He caught her arm as she swung to punch him and dragged her into his chest.

“I refuse to be reprimanded by the source of that little trick,” he growled into her hair.

“Okay, okay fine,” she batted at him with her other hand and he captured that one too. “So you’re a wolf, huh?” she said with barely contained mirth.

He chuckled. “I never said I was the wolf they needed to run from.”

“I like the way you think, soldier. Make them soil themselves in fear, then gut them.” She made a half hearted attempt to yank her arm away from him. “Shame they had helmets. I wish I could have seen their faces.”

What it Took: A bit of Shakarian after-war domestic angst/comfort fic that was a prompt fill from Tumblr.

It was quiet.

The alarming kind.

How long had he been unable to hear Shepard pattering about in their kitchen? A shiver descended unbidden through his carapace and down his spine, but he stilled to concentrate.

Nothing. He’d been right.

Garrus pushed his chair back from the desk and tapped carefully over to the bedroom door, all the while fighting old instincts.

They weren’t at war anymore. Hadn’t been in nearly 15 years. He mentally chastised himself for imagining the worst beyond the doorway, but still couldn’t help a sniper’s trained eyes flicking back and forth across the living room and kitchen.

She was there, despite his glass half empty tendencies.

Shepard.

#mass effect fanfic #dragon age 2 #FenHawke #shakarian #mass effect #mass effect fanfiction #fic rec #dragon age fanfic #dragon age fanfiction

[pen-observing]

request: baker mc with barbatos. + how you came to know and bicker with the man that looks like love.

MASTERLIST

People find joy in doing the things that they love and, right now, your joy is waking up earlier to see the sun’s rays against the counter of the bakery. They’re so beautiful to bask in and so rewarding once you remember all that it took just to be able to come into such a place. It takes real work.

However, the sun’s rays on this particular morning touch something else. They shine upon a sleek black envelope that was placed right in the middle of your counter.

How did it get here? You’ve always locked your door out of responsibility. Surely nobody managed to break in or something similar? Everything looks in order and nothing is stolen. With this, there is simply no reason for you not to open the little ‘gift’ that was there. Right?

Being a famous baker meant that sometimes you did receive letters but never in such a manner or such a style. They were usually in pastel envelopes; written by little kids with lots of doodles, sprayed with some overwhelming floral scent. And, they were charming indeed but this was allure inside of mystery.

You sit down at the table close to the window and open the envelope carefully. Sometimes you think that anyone who works in your business and actually manages to succeed has to have some childlike innocence. When kids are the only ones writing you such letters it makes sense.

You lay the delicate piece of paper and start to read.

Allow this letter not to alarm you in the slightest. I have come to notice some others on your counter a few days ago and deemed this to be the best way to approach you with an inquiry. Please, read it completely before you make your final judgement.   Do you happen to believe in the afterlife? Do you happen to be religious yourself?   Even if the answer to these two questions is a resounding no (which I have no way of knowing, I assure you) - please consider this offer.   You have been chosen as someone who can help create a bigger order amongst the three realms. We, my young Master in particular, believes in the power that can bring about a more harmonious coexistence. We have already had humans come to our domain but expansions have started because of that previous success. I hope this manages to assuage your initial feelings and any possible fear you might have. We are demons, I must say. I believe there is no use in lying or manipulating you because we are approaching you with a noble idea and goal that you can help come to fruition. We are inviting humans that are experts in their fields to teach us even more and you have been chosen as one of them.   If you hold any interest, please proceed to sign your name at the bottom right of this paper. If, however, you are not interested or are afraid – please place it back inside the envelope and it will automatically become ash.   Discard it carefully. I urge you not to get hurt.

Now you wish that this letter was full of doodles with a cupcake in the middle of the sun. Who was pulling such a prank? Was this a lousy attempt of the baker 2 streets down to intimidate you for the upcoming cake contest? You have to give him credit for his imagination at least.  

Who does he think he is to challenge you? Did he assume you would be afraid? Perhaps, you always were a bit too spiteful for your own good. And with that spite growing – you signed your name at the bottom right.

No need for fire and ash. No need to be scared of anything that this foolish letter stated. Right?  

“I would like to extend my outmost thanks for signing the letter.”

What? What was that voice? Fucking hell, how big is the joke the other baker is playing? You will be sure to leave him a 2 star review because only his cookies were decent but all you can do right now is turn around to the direction of the deep voice.  

10 steps behind you, and next to your entrance door, stands a man that reminds you of the moon. He has perfect posture and an overwhelming presence. He holds a hand over his chest and looks at you with eyes that cause reminiscence – you always wanted to get lost in such a magical sea.  

He is smiling at you but once he notices the shocked expression, he stops and raises one eyebrow. You’re both quiet. Well, this certainly is not that annoying baker. So, maybe, perhaps, possibly, in some way: the letter was not a joke?

“Please don’t tell me you did the same impulsive thing as the human that is a writer. Did you, by any chance, sign this letter thinking it was a joke?”  

Obviously, you fucking did. I mean come on?? Three realms?? Demons?? Who would believe such a thing? Really, your spite got the best of you.

“You are not answering and I suppose that much is an answer in itself. Before you express a desire to cancel it out, I have to let you know; that is a legally binding contract and if you try to break it the punishment will be severe. When I say legally binding, I mean by the laws of hell itself. But, do not be alarmed. Please.”

The personification of the moon asks if sitting at the table would be okay and begins to explain to you all of the things in detail. He does it with clear words and you can’t help but believe that this idea seems promising. And this man, while cold and collected, does not seem like a threat.

Truthfully, you have achieved such a big success already. Baking is art and as an artist it was always the main goal. Learn more. Consider yourself a student as long as you live. Be sure to take any opportunity because it means growth. After all, you’ve gotten this far using those ideals. Wouldn’t it be a shame to throw them away now?  

“And rest assured. You will be completely safe in the Devildom. I have been personally tasked with assuring your safety.”  

You’ve come to learn that his name was Barbatos – meaning philosopher in some old book you’ve read. It is so odd that someone new seems so dependable. Because of this you ask him the question any sane person would.

“Would you like a cupcake?”  

Yes, that indeed is the question any sane person would ask in your field. You already know there is no way to back out of this; not unless you wish to endanger your life. So, why not start an adventure if you already must?

You give Barbatos a cupcake and turn the sign to closed before going back behind the counter. The sign won’t change in the following year until you are free from the damned contract. You get overwhelmed with the realization that the sun’s rays will seep in but have nobody to actually greet once you leave. You realize how much you are going to miss this place. How are you supposed to leave it behind just like that?  

You touch your pocket and take out your phone. If you must leave and abandon this, then so be it – but you will have some tangible memories of your dedication. You need to have some tangible memories of this glowing morning.  

You start to take photos. Of what?   The bowl of small chocolates that people can grab on the way out and bring to others that they love. The door decorated with flowers. The very counter you stand behind and the rays of light that are on it. The seating arrangement, the wall with your achievements, clippings from magazines, newspapers and reviews.   Yes, you even take a photo of the child’s drawings with a cupcake inside of the sun. How ridiculous. And, oh, how much you’re going to miss this.  

The very last photo you take is of Barbatos. He is sitting at the table, looking outside the window. Maybe you shouldn’t but – he looks like he belongs here for whatever reason. And, deep down, you wish to remember him like this. Inside of a peaceful moment. You press the click and he turns around. He doesn’t say anything – he offers a slight smile. In that moment you freeze and realize that in his peaceful moment the smile reminds you of childlike love.  

Perhaps the following year will not be so bad after all.  

-

“They call you the best in all of the three realms?” “Indeed.” “You put lemon-honey- syrup in your baklava. I refuse to believe you deserve it.”

Just because he reminds you of the moon and the deep waters; just because he gives you peace – it does not mean that professionally you will allow yourself to be inferior to him. Finding comfort with slight bickering became your idea of heaven and light in this place of darkness and hell-fire.

#obey me #obey me shall we date #barbatos #om! barbatos #barbatos x reader #barbatos x mc #obey me imagines #obey me fic #obey me barbatos #crack #kinda #fluff #also kinda #obey me headcanons #this started out as headcanons but i turned it into a fic cus #ya its barbatos come on #yall i cant cook or bake like i had no other way for this idea #should i write all my fics without caps letters it looks so pretty i know thats a trend #but like im an english major BIG AND SMALL LETTERS ARE IMPORTANT TO ME

[feral-dumbass]

F*ck Me

James “Bucky” Barnes/ Female Reader

Summary: Bucky loses a bet and has to wear a maid dress. Neither of you expected you to be so into Bucky wearing it.

Includes: Bucky in a maid costume, Knife kink, ripping of clothes, Bondage, unprotected sex, brief mention of Bucky being turned on by glasses, Beefy!Bucky, use of vibrator (sharing of it too), manhandling, overstimulation (Possible dub-con because of it), dirty talk, unprotected sex, size kink, choking (with the metal arm)

Words: 4,103 

A/N: Happy New Year! I finally actually finished a WIP. Bucky does wear a maid dress, so if you know me in real life, no you don’t. I just wrote a crack fic. Didn’t I? Title Credit to Vernon Jane. Tagging my friends @babybluestan​ @gagmebucky​ @heresyoursnackdumbass​

Masterlist

It started off with a bet. Who could beat Thor at armwrestling? Cocky egos and bored minds don’t mix well. Quill and Steve both lost. Most men that weren’t gifted with super strength didn’t need that question answered. Bucky decided to join in on the camaraderie. Besides, if Steve lectures Bucky team bonding one more time, he’s gonna lose it. 

Everything was fine until Tony couldn’t stop talking. Out on a personal vendetta ever since you and Bucky took Stark’s Audi out for joyride and put the most miniscule dent on the hood, Tony suggested more than money. If Bucky lost, he’d have to follow Thor around in a maid’s costume at the next compound party with the team and vice versa. Thor and Bucky were already sitting across from each other at the table when Tony announced it. It was too late to back out now. With Clint cheering on the statement and Steve starting to mother hen, Bucky said fuck it. Thor even let him use his bionic fucking metal arm. How bad could it be? 

Bucky was wrong. Bucky was so very wrong. Never make a bet about strength with a God. The gears and plates of his arm buzzed from the tension underneath the sound of the men choosing their sides and cheering them on. Even though Bucky put up a good fight, he lost and probably needs to kiss Tony’s ass to make sure the processors are still functioning. Thor has a good grip.

The package arrived at your doorstep Thursday, just in time for the party on Friday. You were the one to place it on the kitchen table. You were sympathetic to Bucky’s predicament after a good laugh. The offending package sat there for the next twenty-four hours, Bucky avoiding it like the plague. It’s not that Bucky hates it per say, it’s just a clothing item for fuck’s sake. He just hates the fact he’ll never hear the end of it.

 He expresses the same fact exactly to you as he tears open the package in the bathroom. He tries on the maid dress while you wait patiently for him on the bed. Bucky manages to zip himself and stare at himself in the mirror. Bucky sighs at the sight. For a genius, Stark is really bad at guessing sizes. Bucky is practically busting at the seams. “Damnit.”

“Aww. C’mon out, Bucky. I’m sure it’s not-” You try to assuage Bucky as your eyes never leave the latest gossip magazine of the Avengers. At the sound of the bathroom door creaking open, you look up. Momentarily stunned, you forget your words. Magazine long forgotten. “Oh- oh my god.” 

“I know. This feels indecent.” Bucky crosses his arms underneath his chest and your mouth waters.

“No, Bucky, not in that way.” You didn’t expect Bucky to look this good in frilly black and white. The bands of the poofy sleeves strain against his bulging biceps. The bust also straining against his pecs. The dress is so short the bottom of Bucky’s black boxers peak out. Not to mention, Bucky has his emotional support knife strapped to his thigh. You wish you could be surprised you’d fuck him like this, but then again, he is Bucky Barnes. “It’s not that bad.” You slur your words a bit, still focused on the band stressed around Bucky’s biceps. You lick your lips and suck the bottom one in between your teeth.

“Wait, is this actually working for you?” Bucky ducks down so you’re forced to look him in the eyes. No point in beating around the bush. Act coy and you might never get to see him like this again. 

“Would you judge me if I said yes?”

“A little bit. Yeah.” You shrug. It’s not like the nerd hasn’t asked you to wear glasses while you give him head. Different strokes for different folks. 

“Would you wear it in bed?”

Bucky lets out a surprised laugh and shakes his head. “Keep looking at me like you wanna eat me alive and I’ll wear anything for you.” He strides over to you, pulls your hair so you look up at him, and kisses you with blazing passion. This is fine. You’re more than happy to give Bucky a few minutes of happiness before he spends the whole night brooding. Bucky barely separates from you. “We can skip the party and I’ll wear it in bed for you right now?” His lips brush against yours as you stare at him with heavy lidded eyes. 

“Stark will probably conduct a man hunt and it’s probably best no one see what I have in store for you.” 

“Please, do share your plans.”

“I was thinking we could bring out the nylon ropes. I tie you to the headboard and have my way with you.” Even with his hair half up in bun, pieces of his hair fell out. You tuck a brown piece of his hair behind his ear as he swallows thickly and groans.

“Are you sure we have to go?” You nod as a grin slowly spreads across your face. “Give me ten minutes before we go to my personal hell.” Bucky walks back into the bathroom, trying to fix the growing bulge in his boxers. 

~

The party is going surprisingly well, Bucky being less broody than usual. Turns out when you’re girlfriend promises to ride you into the mattress, your mood lightens. Bucky’s smirk has been laced with secrecy all night. It probably doesn’t help that you haven’t been able to keep your eyes off him, flashing him fuck me eyes everytime he caught you. By the fifth time Bucky caught your eye, Tony had enough. 

“Oh my god, you guys look like your two seconds away from fucking eachother in front of us.” Tony complains. 

Bucky shrugs in all his maid dress glory. “I wouldn’t mind.” Bucky looks to you for confirmation. 

“Uh, hey, no. This isn’t fun anymore. It’s getting weird. You lost your party privilege. Leave before I order both of you a psych eval on Monday.” Tony pretends like Pepper hasn’t told you things three margaritas in. Fine, he can act all pure and mighty all he wants. You’re forced with the knowledge Tony is a good submissive for Pepper. 

“Thank God.” Bucky is ushering you to the elevators before you can say something witty back to Stark. Once in the elevator, Bucky incessantly presses the door closing button.

“Pressing the button ten times doesn’t make the elevator work faster.” The elevator hates you and starts closing as you speak. 

“You were saying?” Bucky backs you up against the elevator and ducks down to kiss you which eventually turns into making out. He lifts you up by the back of your thighs as he deepens the kiss. He moves his kisses down to your neck, sucking hickeys into your skin in between kisses. Pressed in between the wall and Bucky, you’re forced to feel all of him, rutting his quickly hardening bulge into you. You’re like 99% sure Bucky is ready to fuck you in the elevator. Security cameras be damned. It wouldn’t be the wildest place you had sex and you’re about ready to help drop your pants until you remember your plans. You rake your hands through his hair, grab a nice hindfull, and pull, taking his lips off your skin. 

“Bucky.” You whine with a pout of your lips. His eyes track the movement of your spit-shined lips, too entranced to look you in the eyes just yet. “You agreed to let me tie you up and I’m holding you to it.” The elevator dings with the arrival of your floor. 

Bucky smashes his lips against yours for a quick kiss. After he separates, he rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “I spoil you.” It’s his only response before he’s carrying you to the bedroom. 

Managing to make-out with you and kick the bedroom door open, Bucky sits down on the edge of the bed. Your legs are forced to spread wider to accommodate his thick thighs, the knife strapped to him digging into your inner own. 

“You’re wearing too much clothes.” Bucky tugs on your shirt.

“Maybe you should help me with that.” Before you can finish your sentence, Bucky is pulling your shirt up. You finish pulling it over your head, flinging it onto the bedroom floor, as Bucky works on unfastening your jeans. Bucky pauses his task at the sight of bare skin. He groans deep within his chest. So maybe you wore Bucky’s favorite lingerie set, navy blue and semi opaque. You’re even wearing slutty panties to match. You were hoping to get railed tonight even before the maid dress was introduced into your life. 

“Jesus Christ, you’re gorgeous.” His hands travel to your breasts kneading them through the flimsy material. Goosebumps break out underneath Bucky’s calloused touch. His stubble scratches as he kisses the swell of each breast before gently dragging his hands back down to your pants. You duck down to kiss him as he snakes his hand into the back of your pants, squeezing handfuls of ass. “Well, are you ready to be in charge, baby?”

“Please.” You push Bucky on his back and hop off his lap. You slide a chest out from underneath the bed and get out a couple objects of interest including the nylon rope. Bucky moves to the center of the bed as you take off your pants. You crawl onto the bed and Bucky. He meets you halfway for a kiss, his hand on the back of your head. 

“Did ya wear all this just to torment me? Knowing I won’t be able to touch you is driving me crazy.” 

“I will admit I didn’t wear this with bondage in mind. You ripping my underwear off with your teeth is more of what I was thinking, but I’m flexible.”

Bucky’s chest rumbled. “I’m aware.” With darkening eyes, Bucky lets you maneuver his arms up to the bedpost and tie him to it. Of course, it helps he has a perfect view of your cleavage dangling just a few inches from his face.  Once you’re done tying him up, you kiss his cheek. 

“Remember your colors, baby boy?” You ask him in between kisses on his neck, nipping at the skin. It’s a  line Bucky has used on you so many times and now it’s your turn to use. His adam’s apple bobs as he swallows.

“Yeah.”

“What’s your color? These too tight?” You tug on the binds wrapped around. 

“So fucking green. They’re not too tight. Although, I’d be a lot better if you were on my cock right now.” You suck a hickey into his neck. 

“It’s cute you think you’re still calling the shots.” You grind down onto him, your eyes fluttering at the feel of the sweet friction, but Bucky doesn’t need to know that. You blow on the hickey and Bucky shudders underneath you. You sit up to admire your handiwork. His eyes are lust-filled. A hint of a rosy flush decorates his cheeks and chest. Bucky’s arms flex at your incessant grinding. 

“Please, wanna be in you.” He ruts his hips up, adding more friction. You bump into the handle of his knife, reminding you it’s there. You reach behind you and unsheathe the knife. Bucky’s knife glints as you take note of it.

“Tell me, Bucky. Are you invested in your outfit?” 

“Oh my god, please. Destroy it.” He stares up at you with such awestruck devotion. You lift up the skirt and cut through the torso of the dress. Bucky lets out an whorish moan even for him. His chest and abs out on open display and your mouth waters. As much as you loved seeing Bucky in the maid dress, this is fun too. You slowly drag the tip of the knife gently down his abdomen, muscles flexing under the cool touch of metal.The sounds of a rip makes you pause. You check and sure enough Bucky’s bulging metal bicep has ripped through the band of the dress. 

“Holy shit, I love you.” You smash your lips onto his for a messy kiss. Bucky is more than eager to slip his tongue into your mouth. You pull away when you need to breath and work on Bucky’s sleeve. The previous rip already making the cheap material easy to shred. You make the rip reach the slice you made and use the knife for the other sleeve. You put it back in it’s sheathe. Bucky maneuvers to the best of his ability so you can pull the maid dress out from underneath him. You pull his boxers down. His red and leaking cock hit his stomach. You grab the vibrator off the edge of the bed and turn it on it’s lowest setting. You drag the vibrator up and down the underside of his cock. He shouts out, muscles tensing at the stimulation. Just as quickly as you were touching him, you’ve stopped. You move the vibrator off him as you grin, bringing the vibrator to your clit through your slutty panties. You lose yourself in the vibrations before Bucky speaks out gruffly.

“Watch it, sweetheart. Whatever you do to me, I can do to you.” Your response is to turn up the setting on the vibrator and moan out. “Oh, c’mon, don’t you want my dick?” He rocks his hips up. “You can act like a tease all you want, but we both know you love leaking with my cum. You just love being filled to the brim as I fuck you through both of our orgasms.” You whimper out his name. “Yeah, honey, you were made to take this cock. Do such good job of it too. C’mon, please. Jus’ wanna feel you cum around me. That stupid piece of plastic can’t make you cum as hard as I can.” You thought you were slut for Bucky Barnes and that was before you heard his gravely begging underneath you. A whole new wave of want rushes through your veins and your shutting off the vibrator. Your hand pumps his dick a few times, leaking so much you don’t even need lube to touch him. 

“Fuck!” Bucky repeatedly chants as you finally grab the base of him and slide him into your entrance, panties pushed to the side. Bucky is gargantuan. He always is at the first slide. Your walls need a few seconds to accommodate him. During the time, Bucky’s muscles tense as he pants. He can’t do anything, but feel you. No outlet for the pent up energy he’s been harboring. He is literally so pretty, you can feel a heartbeat in your lower muscles. You grind on his dick, testing your limits. He groans. “Baby, I’m gonna you to-.” Bucky’s encouragement is cut off with a deep groan as you lift yourself off Bucky’s cock, tip just outside your entrance, and falling back on it. Bucky can’t stop his curses and groans as you do it again and again, eventually setting a nice pace for yourself. You ride Bucky’s dick in earnest. Closer than you realized with the previous vibrator and his dirty talk, you move in a way that feels good for you. Bucky’s pleasure an afterthought. With a hand pressed against his pectoral, you rock against him. You close your eyes and bite your lip, bringing your other hand to rub your clit.

“Oh my god, are you gonna cum already? How’s my cock feel, sweetheart? Such a cockslut, you’re already close. Look at me.” Bucky rocks his hips up as you drop down, causing you to gasp out his name. “Look. At. Me.” You open your eyes to glare down at him. You hands slides up to wrap around his thick neck. You can feel his racing pulse underneath your fingertips. 

“I swear if you ruin this for me, I’ll-” 

“You’ll what? What will you do?” Bucky waits for a response. You can’t, too tongue tied as your peak gets closer and closer. “That’s what I thought. Now be a good cockslut and cum on my cock.” You double down on your efforts until you’re cumming. Pleasure rolls up your spine. You’re movement falters as you get lost in your orgasm. Before you know it, you’re on your back, you’re supposed tied up boyfriend on top of you.  Bucky picks up your slack, fucking you at a brutal pace through your orgasm. 

“Wait, Bucky. How?” You brain tries to catch up as he gathers your wrists in his metal hand and pins them to the bed above your head. 

“You need to get better at tying, baby. Didn’t even have to break the restraints. They fell apart halfway through.” 

“Fuck.” The word you use is long and drawn out, arching your hips to meet Bucky’s thrusts. Having a supersoldier underneath you to use at your indiscretion was fun, but there truly is something about letting Bucky take the reins, rippling muscles of caged energy pressed against you. Bucky’s thrusts slow as his free hand searches for something on the bed. With a victorious grin, Bucky is turning on the vibrator at a higher setting than you previously had it. He slides it between your bodies to rest on your clit. The flimsy lace of your stretched out panties does nothing to barricade the pleasure. 

“You’ll cum for me, again. Right?” You curse his name, trying to buck away from the vibrator. The vibrations are too much for your sensitive clit. Bucky is persistent, keeping the vibrator pressed against your clit.

“Fuck, Bucky. Please. Please. Please.” It’s your turn to repeat words, not exactly sure what your begging for. You just know the pleasure is almost too much. With the combination of Bucky’s girthy cock and the vibrator, it’s not long before you’re coming. Your muscles shake as your orgasm hits you. You moan until your voice runs hoarse. He keeps the vibrator on your clit until your orgasm is done. 

“Love it when you cum. Wish I could be in this pussy all day.” Bucky lets go of your wrist and cups your cheek tenderly. He ducks down for a filthy kiss, tongue included. Your muscles feel weighted, but you manage to match Bucky’s enthusiasm in his kiss. Before you can register it, your brain a little fuzzy from the two orgasms, you’re facing the sheets on your stomach. His cocks slips out during the commotion. Bucky lifts your upper half to lean against him so you’re on your knees, using his own knees to spread them. You head rolls down. 

You share the same qualities as a rag doll right now, joints weak and ears still ringing from your orgasm. Not that it’s stopping Bucky. Facing down, you get to witness Bucky’s angry, leaking, and glistening with your cum erection extending practically past your belly button as he ruts against your sex. Electric shocks are sent to your nervous system everytime Bucky manages to make contact with your clit. Your only thought is you want him to destroy you with his dick as he wraps his metal arm around your neck, head now resting against his clavicle. 

“Remember your colors, baby girl? What’s your color?” Bucky’s voice is in a low, hushed tone. His lips brushing against your ear as he speaks. You eyes flutter shut, hands moving to hold on to his forearm wrapped around your neck. 

“Green.” Even with your hazy mind and heavy tongue, you manage to answer Bucky. He presses a quick, stubbly kiss to your temple before turning his attention to your underwear. 

“These are unnecessary.” He grabs ahold the triangle of lacey material of your underwear and pulls. It doesn’t take much of Bucky’s strength for the strings of your underwear to snap. He throws the offending clothing over his shoulder. He flips his bowie knife out of the sheath strapped to his thigh. Bucky fucked the knife out of your memory. Goosebumps erupt onto your skin as he gently traces the knife’s tip up your stomach to slip underneath the band of your bra. “I’ll buy you a new set.” He says before slicing through the band of your bra with a flick of his wrist.  You gasp out and Bucky slices through the straps too. He flips his knife into the sheath and throws your bra away from you.

“Want your cock, Bucky. Please.”

“How could I say no to such pretty begging? I can’t let the cockslut be hungry for too long, now. Can I?” You can feel Bucky reaching his hand down over your abdomen and then the next thing you know, you’re being filled to the brim with cock. Okay, fuck what you said about the first slide. You’re pretty sure you could cum again at this slide. With your fucked out brain, there is so much of Bucky. Bucky sliding his cock in slow sure doesn’t help either. Bucky groans right next to your ear. It’s almost a sensory overload. You haven’t even registered you’re moaning yourself. Bucky finally- finally bottoms out, giving you time to catch your shuddering breath. “You still with me?” 

You manage to rasp out an affirmative. 

“Good girl.” And then Bucky is pulling out and thrusting in. You manage to get out a curse at the friction before Bucky truly starts to thrust into you. His pace picks up quickly. His powerful thighs slam into your slick ones as he rumbles deep within his chest. You can feel it throughout your whole torso. “Addicted to this pussy. Love how you feel around me.” Bucky moves his right hand to rub your abused clit. You grab ahold of his wrist. Bucky’s too stong to move his hand off your clit. You’re forced to feel the all the pleasure he gives you. 

“Aww, c’mon. You can cum for me one more time.” Bucky tucks his nose behind your ear and kisses underneath it. He changes the angle of his rubs and your thighs start to shake. “There you go, sweetheart. Just one more.” Bucky’s metal bicep bulges making it a little harder to breathe as he thrusts faster. The two previous orgasms make you sensitive.  In just a few meager minutes, you can feel the rise of your orgasm. This orgasm hits you harder than the previous two. The pleasure takes you over in waves. Your thighs shake as Bucky fucks you through it. He moans louder than you sounding like he enjoys you’re orgasm almost as much as you. He finally notices your fingers digging into his skin and stops rubbing your clit. 

“God, baby. I’m so close. Gonna let me use you?” 

You nodd. 

“Say it.”

“Use me. Wanna feel you cum in me.” You rasp out with an even heavier mind. Bucky lets out a whorish moan as his thrusts get even more energetic. It shouldn’t be possible, but then you wouldn’t be dating a super soldier. Within just a few more thrusts, you can feel Bucky flood your insides. He groans as he slows down to prolong his orgasm. Bucky was hot before, but he’s even hotter as he coming. The only thing you dislike about this position is not being able to see Bucky’s abs contract as he cums. You can still feel his abs jump against you lower back. Bucky’s thrusts eventually die down until he’s just bottomed out in you. He takes a minute to catch his breath before he uncurls his arm off your throat, keeping his right hand on your hip to steady you.

“How are you feeling?” He asks as he gently slips out and sets you on the bed. 

“Tired.” 

“I know and you can rest in a bit, but we gotta get cleaned up first.” You groan at that. “C’mon, baby. I’ll grab the washcloth.” The smile in Bucky’s voice is prominent as he gets out of bed. You can hear him rummaging around in the attached bathroom as you rest your eyes. You fall asleep before Bucky can bring out the warm wet washcloth. He still wipes you down while you’re half asleep before joining you back in bed.

Bucky will be there in the morning to massage out your sore muscles because Bucky is a good boyfriend. And if you happen to order the same maids dress the next day only to leave it in the exact same spot the previous package was in, Bucky doesn’t bring it up. He just adds it to the back of his closet when you’re not looking.

#the knife stays ON during sex and I think thats the most Bucky thing I’ve ever written #Mel if you’re reading this I failed at making sub!Bucky 😔 #Looks like I'll have to try again #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky imagine #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky/ reader #bucky barnes/ reader #bucky barnes/ you #bucky barnes barnes smut #bucky barnes imagine #maybe overstimulation will become my trademark #if this is bad you never read it #my writing

[btsqualityy]

Assuage: Chapter 22

Yoongi x Reader

Genre: ABO (Alpha/Beta/Omega) dynamics, angst, fluff, smut, enemies to lovers

Warnings: Smut, dirty talk (like, it gets dirty lol), some light degradation, unprotected sex, choking, creampie

“Ow!” Jungkook shouted as he landed hard on his back, his eyes narrowing at Yoongi who was now standing over him. “What the fuck hyung?!”

“Hey, it’s training,” Yoongi shrugged. “Don’t be mad at me kid.”

“Yeah exactly, it’s training,” Jungkook scoffed. “That doesn’t mean to try and fucking paralyze me.”

“Come on kid,” Yoongi chuckled, extending his hand and waiting until Jungkook grabbed onto it before helping him back to his feet again.  Everyone was out in a clearing in the woods, preparing themselves for the war against Seo-hyun’s pack, just like they had been everyday for the past four days and Jungkook and Yoongi had been put together as sparring partners. 

“I see why everyone not so subtly refused to be your partner,” Jungkook groaned as he got into his fighting stance again and waited for Yoongi to do the same before throwing a punch.

“Everyone except Hobi,” Yoongi grunted, dodging Jungkook’s fist before retaliating with a shot at Jungkook’s arm. 

“He’s still mad at you?” Jungkook wondered with an oomph, Yoongi knocking the wind out of him when he raised his leg and kicked Jungkook on the side of his abdomen. 

“If you call staring at me with distain and looking as though he’s ready to kill me at any moment and the only thing holding him back is that Namjoon told him to let it go being mad, then yes,” Yoongi answered, lifting his leg again and doing a type of fan kick that caused him to hit Jungkook in the hip and drag him down onto the ground. 

“How are things going over here?” Namjoon wondered as he walked over to them. 

“I need a new partner,” Jungkook huffed. “Yoongi hyung’s trying to kill me.”

“I doubt that,” Namjoon laughed as he held his hand out and helped Jungkook stand up straight again. “We all know Taehyung would kill him if he tried and I doubt Yoongi wants those problems.”

“You got that right,” Yoongi muttered in agreement. “We’re doing good though. How’s everyone else?”

“I actually think we’ll have a chance to win tomorrow,” Namjoon smiled proudly. 

“Well, that’s reassuring to hear,” you spoke up as you walked up to them. Yoongi immediately leaned over so that you could press a quick kiss to his lips before pulling away.

“What are you doing here?” Yoongi asked. 

“Yeah, what are you doing here Y/N-ah?” Namjoon repeated. “You know what I told you.”

“I’m just here to get Yoongi since training is over for today,” you scoffed. “And yes, I remember what you told me even though I still strongly believe that you’re making a mistake by not letting me fight as well.”

“Y/N-ah, it just wouldn’t be smart,” he sighed. “You’re our Pack Physician now. Who’s going to take care of the inevitable injuries that are going to happen tomorrow if you don’t?”

“I get it, I get it,” you replied. “I just feel weird about the fact that everyone is going out to fight tomorrow and I’m not.”

“You’re still helping the pack baby,” Yoongi assured you. “Just in a different way.” You just smiled at him then, leaning over and kissing his cheek again. 

“As much as I do love to see you two be all fluffy with each other,” Jungkook groaned. “Are we free to go hyung? I wanted to spend some time with Tae hyung before tomorrow.”

“Yeah, just let me say something to everyone really quick,” Namjoon nodded before turning around to face everyone. “Alright guys, training’s over for the day and if I could get your attention, I’d like to say something to you all.” Everyone turned around to face Namjoon and silence fell over them all before Namjoon began to speak again. 

“Tomorrow is going to be a hard day,” he started. “There are some of us who are veterans when it comes to war and for others, this will be their first time. Regardless, the only thing that I can tell you all is to be as brave as you possibly can and fight for this pack. Until tomorrow though, when you’ll have to worry about that, go home. Go home and spend time with your families, your mates, your pups. Have a good meal and get a good night’s rest and tomorrow, we fight for the fate of this pack.” 

Everyone applauded once the short speech was over before beginning to disperse. Jungkook said goodbye to you all before walking away, and Namjoon did the same as well.

“So, wanna go back to mines?” You asked Yoongi and he nodded his head. 

“That sounds amazing,” he nodded. 

.............................................

“I wish you’d just be honest with me,” Yoongi groaned as he laid in your bed, watching you move around the room as you got ready for bed. 

“I am being honest,” you shot back as you pulled one of Yoongi’s t-shirt over your head, taking a second to throw the shirt that you had had on all day into the hamper before moving to unbutton your pants. 

“Baby, I can smell the worry in your scent,” Yoongi pointed out as he watched you take your pants off, leaving you in only your panties. You then walked over to the bed, crawling onto it and settling your body down right next to Yoongi’s. He raised his arm and allowed you to cuddle up to him so that you were resting your chin on his chest and looking up at him. 

“What do you want me to say?” You asked.

“I want you to talk to me,” he urged you. “It’s you and I right now, no one else.”

“What, you want me to tell you that I’m absolutely terrified of what might happen tomorrow?” You questioned. “You want me to tell you that I’m afraid of something happening not only to you, but to my brother and two of my closest friends too?”

“Yes, if that’s how you feel,” Yoongi nodded. “And you don’t have anything to worry about.”

“You don’t fucking know that so don’t try and sell me on a promise that you know you can’t keep,” you warned him.

“Well, what do you want me to do? Do you want me to not fight then?” He asked.

“When you first told Namjoon that you would, yes that’s exactly what I wanted but I don’t know now,” you shrugged. “I love the fact that you want to fight for the pack but I just...”

“You just what?”

“I don’t want to lose you,” you confessed, tears welling up in your eyes. “I’m a strong woman Yoongi but I’ve lost so much over the years, I don’t think I’d be able to handle loosing you too.”

“Hey baby, it’s ok,” he sighed as he reached down and grabbed your hand that had been resting on his chest, intertwining your fingers with his. “I know that I can’t make you any solid promises about what might or might not happen tomorrow so I won’t but I can promise you that I’ll try my damndest to make sure that I come home to you.”

“You promise? You won’t do anything crazy or stupid?”

“Considering that it’s my first time fighting in a war, I hope not,” he chuckled. “But I guarantee you, I’ll do everything in power to make sure that I’m able to come back here tomorrow night and tell you how much I love you.”

“I love you too Yoongi,” you whispered, leaning up and pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. That gentle kiss quickly became heated though, Yoongi’s hands moving down your body and settling on your ass as he pulled you closer to him.

“Missed you,” he murmured against your lips.

“Missed you too Alpha,” you replied. “I wanna feel you.”

“You wanna feel me where baby? You gotta use your words,” he smiled and you pulled away from his lips to look down at him. 

“Want to feel you inside of me. I want you to give me your knot.”

“Get on your back for me,” he instructed and you didn’t hesitate before rolling over, letting your legs fall open as he climbed on top of you. He leaned down and attached his lips to your scent gland, sucking on the skin there. 

“Ah, ah,” you moaned and you belatedly realized that it came out super high pitched but you could honestly care less because it feel good and you missed him. 

“Mm, baby likes that,” Yoongi teased and you rolled your eyes at the ceiling. 

“Don’t be mean,” you huffed and he just hummed in reply before sitting up again.

“Lift up for a second,” he said and you did so, lifting your arms afterwards so that he could take his shirt that you had on off, leaving you in just your panties. Once he threw it over his shoulder, he immediately grabbed ahold of your breasts and sucked your left nipple into his mouth. 

“Shit Yoongi,” you gasped as you fell back onto the bed, Yoongi following you easily. After a few seconds, he switched over to your right nipple to give it the same treatment. 

“I need more,” you whined as you lifted your hips up off of the bed and Yoongi pulled away from your breasts to look down at you. 

“What do you want baby?” He asked you, his thumbs skimming your now hardened nipples. “You know that all you have to do is tell me and I’ll give it to you.”

“I want you to fuck me,” you told him. “Now.”

“No foreplay?” He checked.

“As much as I love it, I just wanna feel you right now,” you replied. “Please?” 

“You got it baby,” he smiled. The both of you worked on getting completely undressed, you taking off your panties and Yoongi pushing his boxers and pajama pants down his legs. Once you were both bare, Yoongi settled himself in between your legs on his knees and he marveled at how slick you had gotten.

“Someone’s missed me,” he smirked, reaching out and lightly touching your clit which made you jolt for how sensitive you were. 

“D-don’t tease m-m-me,” you whimpered, biting your lip when he gently pushed his pointer finger inside of you. 

“I won’t for too long, I promise,” he murmured as he began to finger you slowly. Usually, one finger wasn’t enough for you but you were so turned on, it felt like heaven. 

“Yoongi, please,” you groaned. 

“Alright, alright,” he chuckled as he pulled his finger out of you, using some of your wetness to lubricate his cock. He then shuffled closer to you, grabbing ahold of the base of his cock before pushing himself inside of you. 

“Oh fuck,” you moaned loudly, your arms immediately coming up to rest around his shoulders. 

“Holy shit Y/N-ah,” he grumbled, making sure that he was steady on his knees before starting to fuck into you. “So tight for me.”

“Come here,” you whispered and Yoongi lowered his upper body so that he was hovering right over you. You leaned up to meet him and stuck your nose into his neck, deeply inhaling his fresh water and citrus scent.

“Oh, that’s what you wanted,” Yoongi chuckled as he continued to fuck you. “You know, you’re trying out to be a scent slut.”

“I can’t help it,” you whimpered, not even bothering to deny. “You just smell so fucking good Alpha.”

“You do too baby, you do too,” he huffed, your walls clenching around him making him feel like he could come at any moment. He tried to straighten up again but your arms wrapped around his shoulders prevented him from doing so.

“No,” you whined. 

“Baby, I wanna rub your clit and I can’t do that from this position,” he laughed and you reluctantly loosened your arms, letting them fall away as he sat up straight. “Aw, don’t pout baby. Don’t you want Alpha to make you come?”

“Please,” you nodded and Yoongi held his pointer, middle, and ring fingers in front of your face.

“Get them wet baby,” he instructed you and you quietly opened your mouth, wrapping your lips around all three digits and sucking on them. You rolled your tongue over and in between his fingers, making Yoongi groan because you were literally sucking on them as if they were his cock. 

“Fuck, you look so sexy like this,” he grunted, his hips snapping against yours harder now. “Drooling all over Alpha’s fingers. God, I could pop my knot just from watching you.”

“Dow rit,” you gurgled, trying to egg him on and he just chuckled as he pulled his fingers out of your mouth and set them on your clit.

“Gotta make you come first,” he smirked as he began to rub firm circles onto the nub, making you keen from how good it felt. As he continued to thrust into you and rub your clit, you felt your orgasm winding itself up in the pit of your abdomen. 

“Holy shit,” you gasped. “I-I’m gonna come.”

“I’m not stopping you baby,” Yoongi smiled as he rubbed your clit faster and that was what made you come undone. Your back arched up off of the bed, your body jerking lightly from how hard you were coming. Yoongi cooed at you as he watched, his Alpha feeling proud that he was able to make his Omega come so hard.

“P-please, slow down,” you huffed as you reached down to push your hand against his hip in an effort to stop him. He took his hand off of your clit and reached down to grab your hand, lifting it away from his hip and bringing it up to his lips in order to press a few soft kisses to your palm. 

“You wanna turn onto your side for me?” He wondered and you nodded your head, wincing a little when he pulled his cock out of you. You then turned over and laid on your right side while Yoongi settled himself behind you, scooting closer so that his chest was pressed against your back. He grabbed your thigh, pulling on it until it was hooked over his hip.

“This ok?” He checked in and you nodded, laying your head on his right arm that had snaked it’s way underneath you. Grabbing his cock, he slowly guided himself inside of you, making you sigh quietly when he bottomed out. 

“O-oh,” you moaned when he began to fuck you. “Fuck, that’s deep.”

“It is,” he agreed easily. “You’re opening up so good for me baby. Taking Alpha’s cock so well.”

“Mmm, yeah,” you whimpered. “Alpha’s cock feels so good.”

“I bet it does. You’re so wet that I can smell your scent from your pussy,” he grunted, moving his hips faster now. “You gonna come again for me?”

“F-fuh-fuck,” you stuttered, your hands scrambling on the bed and your fingers twisting themselves into the sheets. Taking his left hand that had been resting on your hip, he brought it upwards and wrapped his hand around your throat gently.

“If you want me to stop, tell me,” he whispered into your ear but you shook your hand, bringing one of your hands up to rest on top of his and squeezing it lightly to send him the message. He then squeezed the sides of your throat, which made the walls of your pussy clench around his cock.

“You’re so fucking perfect Y/N-ah,” he muttered as he began to fuck you even harder and faster. “You gonna cream on my cock like you did when I rubbed your clit? You gonna mark your Alpha?”

“Y-yes.”

“Fucking say it,” he demanded harshly. 

“G-gonna c-cream Alpha’s c-cock,” you stammered. Yoongi didn’t say anything else and it surprised you a little when you heard him letting out what could only be described as growling. Hearing it made your Omega happy though, because it meant that you were making your Alpha feel amazing. 

He didn’t let up the grip that he had around your throat and as he fucked you, it almost felt as though he wasn’t moving his hips anymore and was using his hand on your throat to pull you back against his cock. You felt like a ragdoll and that thought only quickened the pace at which your orgasm was hurtling towards you.

“Shit, I’m about to come,” he announced in a rough voice. “You want that? Wanna feel Alpha’s knot?”

“Fuck yes!” You exclaimed as you came, your orgasm slamming into you like a car with no brakes. As you came again, you were vaguely aware of Yoongi pushing his knot into you and his cum following swiftly behind, and this only prolonged your own orgasm. 

“Holy fuck Y/N-ah,” Yoongi chuckled, letting his hand fall away from your throat and letting his forehead rest against the back of your head as he wrapped his arms around you. 

“Same,” you giggled as you set your hands on top of his, letting your eyes flutter shut as your body calmed down.

“Can I make a confession?” Yoongi asked after a few minutes of silence and you just hummed in reply because you honestly were half-asleep. “At the end there, I wanted to bite you.” 

Your eyes immediately popped back open at those words, because you knew what they meant. Giving someone a mating bite was the equivalent of getting married, and admitting to wanting to give someone a bite was the same as confessing that you wanted to marry them. 

“Are you asking me something specific?” You wondered, trying to fish some extra information out of him. 

“Depends on how you feel about it,” he shot back and you couldn’t help but to roll your eyes because of course he would reply with that. As you thought about it though, you didn’t completely hate the idea. You knew that you had confessed to wanting him to bite you during your heat and you figured that if your Omega trusted him enough during what was easily the time when you were at your most vulnerable, then she must’ve been on to something. However, you knew that you two were gonna have to talk about it more and you didn’t want to do that with tomorrow looming over your heads.

“How about you come back home to me tomorrow, and then we’ll talk about it?” You suggested with a soft smile as you looked at him over your shoulder. 

“Sounds good to me,” he grinned, leaning over you and pressing his lips to yours.

.............................................

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[shimmersing]

Constellation

Part One | Part Two | Interlude | Part Three

Rating: General Audiences Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: F/M, Gen Relationships: Female Jedi Consular | Barsen'thor/Male Republic Trooper, Jedi Consular | Barsen'thor/Republic Trooper Characters: Female Jedi Consular | Barsen'thor, Jedi Consular | Barsen'thor, Qyzen Fess, Yuon Par, Parkanas Tark-Lord Vivicar Additional Tags: Angst, Tython, Emotional, Mentioned Mutual Pining, Fluffy, Sad, Melancholy Returning to Tython after shielding the last master suffering from Vivicar’s Force plague, Aitahea is faced with more struggle in her efforts to heal the Order and keep the Force in balance. Tired, injured, and longing for someone she can’t have, perhaps ever, the lines of her responsibility as a Jedi and her own convictions begin to blur. As Aitahea nears the end of her quest to save Yuon Par and the other Jedi Masters, she’s confronted with painful revelations and answers that only give rise to more questions. Shouldering the lives and minds of Jedi across the galaxy – alone – may prove to be more than Aitahea can bear.

Part Three

AN: I highly recommend you read Impending, a once-upon-a-oneshot that snuggles right into Constellation here, between parts two and three. Enjoy!

May the Force be with you.

Standing in the airlock, Aitahea let the echo of Erithon’s voice roll over and through her, like she might flow through saber stances during practice. Six syllables, like the spiral of a breath, a last sigh of hope to cling to in her fierce exhaustion and anguished determination.

It was the first time they’d spoken since Alderaan; everything else had been missed calls and quickly dashed-off messages. She’d mentioned her return to Tython, but not her weariness, loneliness, or how since leaving Alderaan, the only dream she’d remembered on waking was of him, humming Star by Star and stroking her hair. As far-flung as they’d been, she had doubted he’d see her injuries in a grainy holo.

Instead, she’d simply listened.

Erithon’s mother and sister had given him no end to their questions about the “princess” - as his youngest niece had gleefully declared - having seen their gala appearance splashed across the holonet. He’d explained with proud reticence that he had been harassed into calling to say hello for them, but he hoped she was doing well, of course.

See-Too had whirred politely in the common room entryway, a subtle warning that the other crew had begun stirring in response to their arrival. Aitahea had gently interrupted Erithon a final time, thanking him for calling, but she was needed urgently. He’d nodded, evidently used to the same, and then… “May the Force be with you.” She hadn’t even had a chance to reply, to wish him the same, before the call had disconnected, and she’d been alone again in the dark.

Minutes later, the Luminous had docked to Vivicar’s stolen ship, though Sia had only done so under protest.

“I don’t fucking like this, Ai.”

“There’s no other way, Sia. I trust you to keep the Luminous safe.”

“Yeah, me too, but what about you?”

Aitahea had pressed her lips into a tight line and turned away from her friend, unable to offer anything more to assuage Sia’s concern or her own guilt. The Progress had made all reports on time, presumably under Lord Vivicar’s control, so no one in the wider Republic knew that anything was awry.

Qyzen had refused to let her board alone, though she’d helplessly argued for it. They both knew she was still healing, only maintaining the shielding by a hair’s breadth. Vivicar’s ruinous intrusion on the ritual had done more damage than Aitahea had been willing to acknowledge. Sia had muttered under her breath something about needing to get a kolto tank installed in the med bay.

The Progress was shrouded in flickering darkness, the black of deep space. The stars still glittered, but coldly, distantly. Aitahea wasn’t certain what they’d find on board; there were many lives, but they writhed beneath a shadow grown powerful. Qyzen waited beside her as the airlock cycled to admit them to the hijacked ship.

The first rush of soldiers took her off guard; she flinched at the sight of Republic insignias below fevered eyes and slack faces. A growled warning from Qyzen brought her back to the task of disabling them with as little harm as possible.

It all horrified her, this perversion of so many things she held dear. The horrible stain of the dark side flowed on the ship and everyone aboard. She could barely hold it in check, growing steadily more vulnerable as her shielding was meticulously assaulted.

Vivicar was blessedly silent until Aitahea reached the first computer console. When he finally spoke, it was like being plunged into dark water. The consular reeled, fighting to keep her fingers on the control panel and not digging into her own temples.

I wasn’t sure if you’d be foolish enough to come aboard, Aitahea. But I can sense your presence.

Aitahea swallowed hard against a wave of nausea. “And I sense a man tormented by the past.”

You are blinded by the light side. You can’t understand what you face.

Biting back a sharp retort, Aitahea shoved away from the console – she didn’t possess the necessary slicing skill to coax open the blast doors from there. She could cut her way through the thick durasteel with her lightsaber, but time felt too precious.

Nearby were a few barrels, each with a combustion risk label splashed across it. She could fling them into the door using the Force, but it would be violent and destructive.

Oddly, Aitahea found she didn’t mind that so much right now and lifted a hand. The explosion was terrific, throwing back her hood. The wave of heat quickly grew so intense Aitahea had to shield herself and Qyzen until it abated.

As they stepped through the hissing, superheated breach, Vivicar’s voice echoed in a hateful thrum. Come to me, Jedi. I’ll show you how light can be snuffed out.

Aitahea swayed briefly, closing her eyes. There was no part of her that wasn’t in anguish. If this wasn’t already snuffed out, what could possibly be worse? She felt alarmingly close to knowing exactly what.

May the Force be with you.

It was Erithon’s voice this time, no tainted whispers, just her own beautiful memory. A light in the dark. She could follow that through this horrific present; through anything, perhaps. Aitahea opened her eyes, signaled her companion, and forged ahead.

Most of the unwitting fighters in their path could be stopped with a Force wave, tumbling them unconscious but mostly unharmed to the floor; but the squad leaders would be hardier – she knew from experience.

The first squad leader, a hulking being of indeterminate origin, was waiting for them at the first intersection, alone. The soldier didn’t fall for Qyzen’s feint and instead hoisted his cannon toward Aitahea, spraying cryogenic fluid. She flicked it away, readying her lightsaber to deflect any shots from the holdout blaster she knew he’d be hiding.

Qyzen shifted into an effortless and decisive strike, taking advantage of a seam in the trooper’s armor. Aitahea shuddered, feeling the soldier’s perception flare out, leaving nothing but gleeful darkness seething in every shadow.

“Herald?”

“I’m fine,” she bit out. “Let’s proceed.”

After navigating a few more hallways, they located the secondary computer terminal. She’d barely set her fingers to the keypad when Vivicar splintered her thoughts.

Tell me, Aitahea, what was it like? Letting your life force drain away to shield a stranger from me - how did it feel?

Aitahea frowned at her suddenly balled-up fists, unclenching and resettling her fingers on the keys before replying. “Painful, but I endured it.”

Pain makes us stronger. And the pain I have endured is beyond your comprehension.

That is why I have won.

Her throat seized, but even after swallowing hard, no words came to her, all her skillful, diplomatic platitudes absent.

“Hunt is not over until beast is skinned, dark thing,” Qyzen rumbled. The console began blaring a klaxon warning, and droids began pouring into the room.

You will understand soon. If you live that long.

“Your power and tactics have brought you this far, but no further.”

Until now, Aitahea had imagined Parkanas Tark as a youth, bright with potential and the Force. But the being that turned to face her as she dragged herself toward the bridge was aged, wretched, and twisted by the dark side.

“This battle was decided before you stepped aboard.”

“I’m tired of your delusions,” Aitahea hissed, past exhaustion and numb with pain. “Explain yourself.”

Vivicar gave her a mocking bow. “As you wish. My plague isn’t just a disease; it siphons power from its victims. With the proper rituals, that power can be channeled. Soon, the combined strength of your Masters will make me the most powerful Force adept who has ever lived.”

The pressure against her shielding intensified, thousands of threads – lives, she realized – suddenly pulled taut. Trembling with the strain, Aitahea took a step forward. She hadn’t come here to bicker; she’d come here to help.

“Turn away from this path, Parkanas. The Order can help you.”

Vivicar laughed.

“Oh, Aitahea.” This time, she visibly flinched when he used her name. “Parkanas Tark died long ago. Even ‘Vivicar’ is merely a skin to be shed. Parkanas offered himself to me on Malachor Three, to crush the Order that destroyed us. He embodied my spirit.” He lifted his hands, a seething glow thick with the dark side writhing around him. “I am no lost Jedi, no ordinary Sith Lord. I am Terrak Morrhage.”

“You can turn away from this path, Parkanas,” she beseeched, fumbling for words while he stalked toward her. “The Order can help you. Just… just come home.”

“No one can oppose me, certainly no child, barely more than a Padawan.��� He grinned, ghoulish and without remorse as he ignited his lightsaber. “I am beyond flesh… beyond death!”

Aitahea realized tears were slipping from her eyes, her vision blurring. She was so tired. “No one is beyond the will of the Force,” she whispered, uncertain who the platitude was meant for.

Morrhage laughed again, a sound like plasteel shredding. “I will crush you, Aitahea, and your shattered body will fuel my rebirth!”

For a fleeting moment, she thought of running. Simply turning about, dashing to the safety of the Luminous. She questioned the choice she’d made on Tython, to come here carrying so many injuries, so much guilt and fear. Should she have stayed to heal? She remembered what the Noetikon of Secrets had explained, that the Jedi Master who had created the shielding technique had given his life to end Morrhage’s first plague. Was Morrhage right? Had the light blinded her?

Aitahea took a breath.

The light didn’t blind. Light revealed, left no shadows to hide in. Light nourished; light gave everything yet lost nothing. Light was right now in this moment, not in the past, and would always be in reach in the future. If light called, light would answer.

Aitahea called out.

“Parkanas! I know you are there; I sense you!” Morrhage ignored her outcry, continuing to advance. Aitahea sucked in a breath, ignited her lightsaber, and took a defensive stance. “Help me stop this monster, Parkanas, please!”

Morrhage attacked with spectacular brutality, thousands of years of rage and hatred against Aitahea’s weakened shielding, against her physical self. The Jedi parried and dodged, evading strikes she couldn’t hope to block. Qyzen Fess did what he could to aid her, but Morrhage was fixated on Aitahea. Her body quailed under the assault, shredding her determination. There must be another way…

Morrhage’s next attack struck true, and Aitahea lost a few moments to fiery agony searing across her left side. Reckless with pain, she flung out a wild, violent Force wave that sent Morrhage to the floor and left several nearby panels crushed beyond recognition. A few precious seconds passed while she waited, panting, for her vision to clear.

The fallen Jedi, the false Sith lord, struggled to his knees, glaring death toward Aitahea as she approached.

“Impressive, Aitahea, but my victory is already complete. My plague has spread farther than you can imagine. Jedi Masters across the galaxy are succumbing to it as I speak. The plague binds these Masters to me. Hundreds of them… the heart and soul of your order.

“You feel it, do you not, Aitahea?”

No lies this time; Aitahea could indeed feel the mingled torment of hundreds more Jedi as Morrhage siphoned their lives for strength. Every crack in her shielding, down to the smallest hairline fracture, screamed in agony.

“Kill me, and you will kill every Master I have ever infected. Every one! Shielded or not, they are still bound to me.”

Aitahea dispassionately placed the blade of her lightsaber at his throat. It felt like someone else doing it. She spoke in clipped tones, her voice unrecognizable in her own ears. “Free those Jedi, Morrhage. Now.”

“And if I refuse? Will you cut us down? What choice do you have? You cannot let me live, and I am deathless.” Morrhage leered, his dark victory seemingly assured, and took one more jab: “Your shielding talent cannot harm me. You’ve lost!”

Everything went silent and impossibly still. Your shielding talent cannot harm me. Of course not. It was never meant to harm, only to heal, to offer a path toward the light that anyone could take at any time, without judgement, without conditions, just… a welcome home. The path that she’d longed for, that she’d tried to circumvent over and over, a path she could not offer until she, too, chose it.

Aitahea lowered her arm and deactivated her lightsaber. “I can save you, Parkanas.”

Morrhage reeled back as Aitahea drew the Force around her. The effort would not be without risk, but it was the path that lay before her. Another stillness enfolded her, this time of peace, willingness, and release. Fighting had never been her forte or focus; she was a healer, with words and hands and her lightsaber only when absolutely, undeniably necessary.

Now, she isn’t simply performing the shielding ritual; she is part of it, wholly within and throughout, a numinous space that feels like a Coruscant ocean, like the forests of Tython, like warm sun and a hand to hold on Brentaal, all at once.

Now, she realizes how to bring it full circle; she must allow the Force its will, stop trying to control it, and just let go. Light spills through the cracks in her shielding, and everything is suddenly and wonderfully illuminated.

May the Force be with you.

Parkanas – and it was with every certainty him; the sudden burst of hope where none had been the moment before was unmistakable – went flying backwards, away from Aitahea and leaving the vulnerable spirit of Morrhage isolated before her.

The spirit howled in fury. “No, this body is mine! Damn you, Jedi!”

Aitahea noted with detached amusement that she was levitating, Morrhage’s furious tirade a soft rumble in the background. She felt untethered, undefinably light. Closing her eyes, Aitahea exhaled a long breath and stepped softly down to the floor.

“When my strength returns, no matter the years – I will destroy you,” Morrhage snarled, but Aitahea was already walking toward Parkanas, feeling her own strength returning. She brushed past the raging specter, and in a few more moments, it had disappeared.

Qyzen had already lifted Parkanas Tark to his feet. He had a hand to his head, and Aitahea allowed a thread of sympathy to unwind, a guide to the path she hoped he would be able to take, too.

Parkanas Tark stared at her with open disbelief. “I’m… still alive. You spared me.”

She half-smiled. “Healed you.”

“My mind is…” Parkanas shook his head again. “Clearer now. But – it was your duty to kill me and destroy Morrhage.” His eyes – still smoldering amber, revealing a bitter internal strife – begged for an answer. Why?

“Too many Jedi have been lost already.” Aitahea lowered her gaze, the barest of brief moments to grieve for those lost. “Including Parkanas Tark.”

“Perhaps he deserves another chance, but…” Parkanas’ voice trailed off, adding in a pained whisper, “I cannot return to the Order.”

Swallowing hard against the lump in her own throat, Aitahea pressed. “Tython has its hidden places. Its forests.” That half-smile danced across her lips again, and for a flickering moment, she was light years away. “You could find peace there.”

“I could… go home.” Parkanas grew still, eyes distant and filled with evergreen leaves and rushing water. After a moment, he startled, reaching out to grasp her hands. “But first, Jedi, listen. Take this warning in exchange for my life: You can’t trust the Order. Or the Republic.” Aitahea drew breath to contradict, but he continued. “You may be their heroine now, but they will abandon you, too.”

Aitahea pulled away from Parkanas’ frantic grip, shaking her head while she scrabbled for a coherent thought. “Why…What do you-” Nothing coalesced, leaving her once again a diplomat with no words.

Parkanas held her gaze. “Remember that.”

“We felt it! A massive shift in the Force. The Masters you saved have reported a sudden improvement in their condition. The plague is over, thanks to you.

“And… I sense Parkanas Tark. For the first time in many years. How can that be?”

Aitahea nodded at Master Syo and glanced sidelong toward Parkanas, who was being assessed by Tharan and Holiday. “You can ask him yourself, Master. When he returns to Tython, he can answer all your questions.”

Her companions had dashed through the ship as soon as she’d signaled their safety. Bringing medical equipment to help with the injured and traumatized crew, Prelsiava Tern had even dragged along a protesting See-Two.

“I told you there’d be plenty for you to do; look at that console! It’s completely trashed! Go on, get on it,” Sia had ordered, and the affronted droid had conceded, tottering over to examine one of the smashed panels.

With the logistics managed, and a scant few moments to tuck away the memory of Parkanas’ unsettling words, Aitahea had commed the Council, Master Syo answering with his victorious statement: We felt it!

“Well done, Aitahea. The Jedi Order owes its survival to you.”

Relief swept over her like a wave. “It’s my privilege to serve.”

“Hurry home. We’re waiting for you.”

Aitahea felt nearly presentable again by the time they arrived on Tython. She’d had her injuries treated. She’d eaten and bathed. She’d slept, mostly dreamless but for dappled sunlight and burbling water.

As they touched down on Tython, Aitahea marveled at the incandescent radiance of the Force within the hallowed walls of the Jedi Temple. Each Jedi shone like a bright star, a constellation she’d missed terribly beneath the weight of the shielding. Even Qyzen shimmered, kindling with satisfaction and pride. Beneath all, the grand symphony of Tython itself soared.

In the Council chamber, Master Yuon, Master Syo, Master Satele, and Master Jaric were waiting. Schooling her expression into practiced serenity, Aitahea dropped into a bow, only lifting her gaze when Yuon spoke.

“You have saved untold lives through your defeat of Lord Vivicar and destruction of the plague.” Aitahea felt Yuon’s pride in every syllable.

Even Master Jaric was smiling. “There’s a title reserved for the most prestigious among us, whose wisdom and skill safeguard the galaxy. It hasn’t been bestowed in thousands of years.”

Aitahea became keenly aware of her flushed cheeks, suspended between delight and disbelief, and nodded in vague acknowledgment.

“You have proved worthy,” Master Syo declared. “Now, the Council names you Barsen’thor, warden of the Order.”

Absurdly, Aitahea’s thoughts turned to how much she’d enjoy reading about the other Barsen’thor that had preceded her. Would the archive even contain that knowledge? How many thousands of years? Who were they, who had they set out to be, and what had they done to arrive where Aitahea herself now stood? The Force bloomed with assurance. “I will do all I can to live up to this honor.” Aitahea clasped her hands, sweeping into a low obeisance.

“I never imagined your potential would take you so far.” Yuon beamed, and Aitahea returned the expression as she lifted her head.

Yet concern laced Master Syo’s next words: “And not a moment too soon. We have need of you. The Council has received word that the Republic is facing a new threat.”

“We need time to prepare a war council,” Satele clarified, much to Aitahea’s unspoken relief. “The Supreme Chancellor himself will be attending.”

“I stand ready, Master,” Aitahea assured.

Accepting her pledge with a nod, Syo nodded towards the doors. “Take time to record your journey in the Jedi archives. History must know of your actions.”

Aitahea blinked, more surprised at her own surprise than anything – of course there should be a record of the current Barsen’thor as well; that’s the first place to start, obviously – and almost missed Master Syo’s final words. “We will contact you when the war council is ready. For now, the entire Order will know that there is a new Barsen’thor among us.”

After a round of congratulations from each of the Masters, Aitahea and Qyzen left the Council chamber, ostensibly to bring her story to the archives.

“Scorekeeper smiles, Herald. Is great honor your people give you.” He gestured broadly, sending a few initiates scurrying out of the way. “Points beyond measure!”

Her heart sang with gratitude. She’d trusted him as her ally, her second, her friend; and he’d returned that trust hundredfold. Questioned and advised her, criticized and coddled her, but never judged her. Steadfast and patient, always. If what they had done brought points-beyond-measure to her, he’d have the larger portion by far. “We hunt together, my friend. Whatever my score, you share it.”

Qyzen paused, abruptly turning to face her. Traffic streamed around them; Temple life carried on. “Is… a noble thing you say. My thanks, Herald.”

“My thanks to you as well, Qyzen. Thank you for…” For protecting me? For challenging me? For warning and guiding and validating me? For seeing me when even I could not? “…for everything.”

“Must share the story of this hunt with your Order. It is good to share knowledge.”

Aitahea thought of the Noetikons, the immense value of them for so much beyond the lore and history of the Jedi. Even after becoming one with the Force, they had set alight a path for so many Jedi after, herself included. Like she might, generations from now.

Blinking back tears and knowing full well she couldn’t have hidden them if she’d wanted to, Aitahea smiled. “Then I must make yet another request of you: that you tell the story with me.”

Qyzen regarded her for a long moment, long enough that she began to fret that she’d somehow stumbled into an insult. “You are Scorekeeper’s Herald,” he said solemnly, “and you are true Jedi.”

Aitahea nodded, feeling and breathing and illuminating the Force around them.

“I’m home.”

Part One | Part Two | Interlude | Part Three

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[sylvies-chen]

You Make Me Feel So Young

Summary: Tim shows up at Lucy's apartment after struggling with some guilt, and finally gets that dance she'd saved for him.

Warnings: none

Words: 2.6K

A/N: For day 1 of the Chenford Fanfic Week 2021 organized by @therookiebook!! I'm so excited to participate, I hope you guys like this oneshot <3

AO3 link

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He feels guilty.

Lucy knows he does, even before he tells her. After everything at Angela’s wedding went down, after she and Jackson had been taken and nearly died, after the dust had settled from that entire stressful day, Lucy can feel the guilt oozing out of him.

Only Tim Bradford shows up at her door to talk about it, and it’s about the last thing she expects to happen.

Like, ever.

“Hey,” he blurts out as soon as she opens the door.

“Hi.” Lucy doesn’t know what to say but she knows the hand that’s holding onto the edge of her door feels numb all of a sudden and her breath gets caught in her throat.

“Can I come in?” Tim asks, trying to seem nonchalant. Lucy sees right through it, knows that him coming here alone, out of the blue, must mean something’s wrong. But she doesn’t say anything because she knows Tim takes a while sometimes to be able to open up. So instead, she nods.

“Yeah, of course.” Jackson’s out, so she lets Tim in without hesitation. Not that it’d matter if he were here, really, but she sees that broken, guilt-ridden look in Tim’s eyes and knows it’s best that they’re alone.

He plays it cool at first— out of self-preservation, she thinks— and looks around the apartment as she lets him in.

“This place looks a lot nicer than the last time I saw it,” he starts out.

“Yeah, well Cujo’s not around to tear up pillows anymore so I’d say it’s a big improvement,” she jokes meekly.

His hands are shoved in his pockets stiffly as he walks around her living room, glancing over to Jackson’s bedroom.

“Jackson’s not here?”

“No, he went to check up on Angela. I’m surprised you aren’t there too,” she adds.

“Why’s that?”

“Because it’s where you’ve been for the past week,” Lucy explains simply, glancing at him expectantly and waiting for him to talk. Not this kind of talk, not small talk or dancing around what he really needs to get off his chest, but for him to actually, really talk.

All does is stand by her couch, less than ten feet away from her, and avoid her gaze. She swears she can see his fists tensing up in the pockets of his jeans. “I didn’t realize you were keeping track.”

“I wasn’t.” She was . “I just know how worried you were about her when she was taken. I don’t blame you for not wanting to leave her side.”

“Just making up for what I didn’t do the first time, I guess,” he grumbles under his breath.

Lucy sighs, cutting their small talk short and getting to the point. “Why are you really here, Tim?”

Her bluntness surprises him, she thinks, because he blinks at her. “What?”

“Why are you here?” She repeats. “You’ve never shown up at my place randomly while off shift. Hell, I didn’t even think you’d remembered I live here. I know this past week has been intense but clearly you need something or else you wouldn’t have come here. So would you just tell me whatever it is you want to say so that I can help you?”

He exhales quietly, his chest shaking as it falls. “It’s my fault. Angela and Jackson nearly died, she nearly lost her baby, they were put in danger at her own damn wedding, and it’s… it’s my fault.”

“No, no,” she replies sympathetically, shaking her head. “It’s not. What happened to them happened because of La Fiera, not you.”

“I was her man of honour,” he explains with a dry and slightly sarcastic chuckle. “Where’s the honour in failing to protect the bride?”

“If you really felt that, you wouldn’t have come here. You knew,” she tells him, her voice determined and fierce. “You knew I wouldn’t let you sit here and feel sorry for yourself. If you wanted to sit around feeling sorry for yourself you would have gone to a bar, alone. But you came here, which means somewhere deep down you know you couldn’t have done anything to stop it.”

For one of the only times since Lucy’s known him, Tim Bradford is speechless. He looks for words but finds none, huffs, and sits down on her couch, fiddling nervously with his thumbs. Her heart sinks at the sight of it. This guilt of his isn’t going away with anything she says, she knows that now. Healing takes time, so all she can really do is just be there for him.

She sits down next to him on the couch, leaving only an inch of space. “You don’t have to carry the weight of everything, you know,” she continues gently. “You take on so much, you don’t always have to feel so responsible for every bad thing that happens. That’s no way to live.”

“I’m a cop,” he shrugs painfully. “I became a cop because I wanted to keep helping people, protecting them. So sure, it might make me a more serious person, but I do it because it’s supposed to be what I do best.”

“I get that. But no one’s perfect. I’m not perfect, even with all of your Tim tests,” she teases meekly. “That doesn’t mean you did anything wrong. You fought hard to get both of them back and you did. You did that. Angela’s home now, she and the baby are safe and alright. That’s what matters.”

He looks at her, stunned but greatly appreciative. “Thanks,” he offers, slightly begrudgingly, after a moment. “I just... thanks .”

“I think I have something of yours,” she tells him gently, changing the subject to lighten the mood. Because if she can’t assuage his guilt then at the very least, she can make him feel better; feel happy again.

Tim’s brows scrunch up, sending a confused look her way. Lucy wordlessly moves to pull out her phone, connecting it to the small wireless speaker on the coffee table. The buttons crisply click as she turns up the volume, pressing play on the first ballad she finds in her list of varied songs. (But her taste in music isn’t actually as diverse as she’d like and is really just filled with K-pop tracks).

The music streams through the speaker and throughout the apartment, audible but still quiet so as not to disturb the other tenants. Tim stays seated as Lucy stands up, still confused but shifting to the edge of his seat as if being drawn to her by an unnamed force.

Lucy finally extends her open palm, giving him a shy but cheeky grin. “Your dance, Officer Bradford?”

Realization hits and Tim’s shoulders relax a little. “I don’t know, I’m not in the mood for dancing right now.”

“Come on,” she pleads. “It’ll make you feel better, I promise. Or, at the very least, it’ll give you something to tease me about at work.”

Tim gives a hearty chuckle, smiling widely as he accepts her hand. It makes Lucy smile too. Why shouldn’t it? He’s always so surly and serious, making him laugh would make anyone proud and giddy. Right?

“Alright. After you, Officer Chen,” he replies as she pulls him off the couch and onto the rug in her living room. His hand is warm. They’re calloused, and bigger than hers to the point where her fingers get swallowed up in his as he gives her hand a squeeze. But god, they’re so warm and safe . Her mind can’t stop coming back to that observation, no matter how much she knows she shouldn’t.

Tim’s other hand finds her waist, his grip gentle. Her hand flies to his chest, pulling him in until her chin is inches away from resting on his shoulder.

Up until now, space hasn’t really been an issue for them. The only time there’d been this much physical contact between them was last year when Caleb had buried her alive. Even then, the situation had allowed for a special exception. She’d needed all the physical and emotional support she could get at that moment, and Tim had provided it for her.

Now though, there's no exception, no special circumstance, no excuse. They’re dancing while wrapped up in each other solely because they want to be, and that change is enough to terrify Lucy. She doesn’t move though, only keeps swaying to the music and letting out small, shaky breaths.

What can she say? She never was one to back down from something that scared her.

“You’re a good dancer,” Lucy points out quietly.

“You’re not half bad yourself,” he replies, his breath catching onto her neck and sending a delightful shiver down her spine.

“Is it safe to say you’re enjoying yourself? You feel more relaxed, I daresay you’re having fun,” she tries teasing.

“I’m just surprised,” he counters. “I was prepared for my toes to endure some serious stomping.”

“Oh please, like my tiny toes could ever harm you.” Her nose scrunches playfully as she feigns a threatening look, which makes Tim smile again. What is it with that smile of his killing her softly?

“I don’t know, you’re a lot tougher than you look.”

“Was that a compliment?” She asks teasingly.

“Don’t tell Nova, she’ll get jealous,” he jokes back, continuing to sway to the music.

“Yeah but I bet she’d love this,” Lucy remarks. In her head, she adds that the line between herself and Nova is getting blurred but it goes unspoken and, eventually, ignored.

“Nova’s not the only one,” he risks replying. “You’re right. This is… nice .”

Tim leans back a little to meet her eye, the swaying decelerating until they’re standing in her living room. Alone. With an intense and inviting gaze piercing into her eyes.

“It is,” Lucy agrees. Her voice is barely audible and before she can think twice, she blurts out probably the worst thing she could ever think of: the thing she means with every fiber of her being. “I wish we could stay like this forever.”

She really does mean it. She wants to stay there forever, where everything feels good and safe and right . Only she hadn’t meant to say that out loud, per se. To her surprise though, he doesn’t react poorly to it. Instead, he flashes the smallest smile and nods in agreement, swallowing hard. "Me too."

He looks so young like that, something juvenile and exciting radiating off of him like a breath of fresh air. For a second, she almost thinks he’s the same age as her.

And oh fuck , something just clicks after that.

His lips part only slightly, his eyes glimmering with something intense and hopeful. Her skin is on fire, her heart is racing, and every neuron in her brain is telling her to look away but she can’t. She can’t escape his eyes. Lucy doesn’t know what this thing between them is, only that one minute, they’re dancing and the next, they’re… doing something else. The swaying stops and everything comes to a glaring halt as the song starts to come to a gradual end. They’re left with nothing to do but stand there and look at each other. It’s almost like he’s listened to her and that somehow, he’s made them become completely frozen in time so that maybe, just maybe, they really could stay here forever.

Admittedly, terrifyingly, Lucy would have no complaints about that.

They’re holding each other too— god , she almost forgot about his hands on her wait, on her back. They’re strong and massive and yet so gentle. And before she knows it, they’re pulling her in closer and closer.

His face is inches apart from her, their lips so close. She shouldn’t be thinking about his lips, about any of the things she’s feeling right now, but she can feel his breath and it makes it impossible to think of anything else. Her chest is almost pressed against his and she wonders if Tim can feel the shaky rise and fall of her chest against his.

They get closer again, and closer, and closer…

Then, the door clicks and swings open, sending her and Tim jumping apart.

The moment ends before it ever has a chance to start.

“Hey, I’m back,” Jackson calls out as he walks in, checking his phone. “So fire up the next episode of Love Island and put in the popcorn because I am ready to g—”

Jackson stops mid-sentence once he looks up from his phone and finds Lucy, standing next to Tim as they both look away from each other with flushed cheeks and awkward coughs from their throats. The music on her phone has stopped now, thankfully, but the light from the speaker still flashes to indicate it’s on and Jackson soaks in the whole scene. He meets it with confusion though, his brows furrowing.

“Uhh… What’s going on here?”

“I was just about to leave,” Tim announces, looking down at the floor as he makes a beeline for his coat.

“Right, yeah,” Lucy nods. “I’ll see you tomorrow then, I guess?”

“Yeah, of course. Uh, bye,” he replies awkwardly, his eyes meeting Lucy’s one last time with something that she daresay looks like disappointment— like yearning. Jackson’s still there though, and so the moment is short-lived. Tim��s hands fly back into his pockets, just as stiff as they were when he first came over, and he leaves. The door shuts behind him abruptly.

Lucy stares at the door where Tim used to be, her shoulders sagging in a disappointment of her own, but she turns to see Jackson staring at her and knows she has no way to explain… well, to explain whatever the hell just happened.

“You want to tell me why Tim was here?”

“He felt guilty about what happened with you and Angela,” she explains, a little defensively. “I was just talking it out with him.”

“Sure, yeah,” Jackson nods with an unconvinced laugh, “that’s why you two jumped apart like frogs as soon as I came in.”

“We did not jump apart ,” she protests.

“Ok, if you say so,” he concedes, his hands up in surrender. “Besides, whatever you two were doing here, I just—… don’t want to know.” He lets out a small chuckle after that, shaking his head as he moves to grab a pack of unpopped popcorn out of the cupboard and put it in the microwave.

“It was nothing,” she mumbles quietly. “Nothing happened.”

It’s the first real lie she’s told that night. Jackson drops it after that though, and she sighs to herself as she sits back down on the couch.

She closes her eyes as the microwave buzzes and Jackson starts to ramble about his visit with Angela, slowly transporting herself back to that dance with Tim.

Maybe she’s wrong for this, maybe she’s completely insane and unprofessional. But as she plays it over in her head, her own words ring through her head and she realizes that maybe she really did want to stay like that with Tim forever.

Oh, screw it . She knows she did. It’s not a fact she can necessarily scream out to the world, but she did.

To Lucy, there are much worse things to want to be.

#Chenford Fanfic Week 2021 #chenford fic week 2021 #CFW 2021 #chenford #the rookie #lucy chen #tim bradford

[kittypryde-bipride]

five times percy leaned on his friends, and the one time he stood alone

Percy stands with Jason at what might’ve been the end of the world and his hands tremble.

He feels so much – the sea roiling in pain, responding to his inner fury; the earth lying dormant, having just lost its master – but when he looks at his friend, he just feels numb. Jason’s uncertain, afraid to touch him, as frail as he is still after Tartarus and this last fight, but too kind to leave him alone.

“Are you alright?” He murmurs, putting his arm around Percy’s shoulder and slowly lowering them to the ground together.

Percy’s bare hands touch the ground and his fingers dig into the dirt. He’d unmake the world if he could undo the last hour. He’d let Gaea win.

He doesn’t say this though- there’s too many gods lingering on the scene for honesty. “She’s dead,” is what he settles for. He thinks Jason gets the message.

“Leo’s gone, too.”

Percy looks to his friend and frowns. There are unshed tears in both their eyes- Percy thinks heroes shouldn’t cry, not after a battle they’ve survived, and wonders what he could’ve done better. “I don’t think we won.”

“No,” Jason agrees. “I don’t think we did. The gods did, though.”

Percy snorts, his throat burning at the movement, and he shakes his head. “What will you do next?”

“Keep fighting their battles, I suppose. Pretend like this meant something.”

“You think it didn’t?” Percy asks, his tone cautious- wary of those who might be listening, judging their all too mortal saviors.

Jason just stares at the scene around them. The Parthenon is burning. Neither of them have moved to put it out, with either the sea or rain, and it’s clear the gods themselves couldn’t be bothered.

“We were already the children of prophecy,” he says. “This shouldn’t have happened. I think we chose wrong.”

Percy thinks the brief time all seven of them were together on the ship. Some of them – Hazel, Frank, Leo, Piper – were too young to know better. But him and Jason? Annabeth? They were old enough to know these gods are not just. They were old enough to survive- would’ve survived, if things had been a little different.

He thinks to how no gods stepped forward to save Annabeth when she fell, and wonders if they sensed their disillusionment.

If this is a warning, it’s a dangerous one.

“This did mean something,” Percy replies, closing his eyes. He can feel every drop of water for miles- the sea, the ocean, the sweat on his fellow heroes. He digs his fingers into the earth until they bleed, feels his blood mix deep in the soil, can sense miles underground to its now broken core. He inhales and can practically taste the stench of blood in the air, can hear the pulse of every living being left on the battlefield, can see the golden ichor coursing through the veins of the gods. “This proved that we can fight side by side with the gods, and come out stronger.”

He leans his head against Jason and they gather clouds in the sky, summoning a storm. Rain pours down on them and Percy doesn’t feel weak anymore.

---

“I couldn’t protect her,” Percy confesses darkly to Grover, staring at a burnt shroud. The rest of the crowd has long-dispersed.

Most of the campers they’d been close to died in the Battle of New York. Piper and Jason are on a quest. Hazel, Frank, Nico, and Reyna are back in New Rome. Chiron is too weary to stay.

“It’s not your fault, Perce,” Grover says quietly, not making eye contact.

Percy shakes his head. His fist tightens and he has to consciously stop the earth from shaking in response. “I could’ve stopped it if I’d been paying attention. I’m strong enough.”

“If the gods couldn’t save her, there was nothing you could’ve done-” Grover tries to assuage him, but Percy knows better than to trust false reassurances.

“You don’t know what I can do.” The sky darkens at his cockiness and he grins up at it, all bared teeth and no joy. He wishes they’d throw the first punch. He thinks maybe they already have.

Grover grabs ahold of his arm, then tugs him into a close hug. “I can still tell when you’re upset, Perce. What’s wrong?” Percy stares at his friend incredulously and Grover sighs. “You’re right, that was kind of dumb of me, but you know what I meant. What you’re feeling isn’t normal grief.”

“What happened wasn’t normal,” Percy retorts harshly. His friend flinches and his resolve weakens- he doesn’t want to hurt what’s left of his loved ones. He just also can’t tell them the truth. “I’m sorry, I just- I could’ve saved her. They could’ve saved her. It- they were sending me a warning. This shouldn’t have happened.”

“Fixating on the dead isn’t healthy,” Grover says solemnly, eyes downcast. “She wouldn’t have wanted this for you.”

“Yeah, well,” Percy laughs bitterly and turns away. The earth grabs at him every time he takes a step, longing to be closer to their new master. He’s taken to walking barefoot. “I don’t think she would’ve wanted a lot of what happened. I doubt she liked either prophecy. Doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.”

“Perce,” Grover warns, but Percy continues.

“Doesn’t mean she didn’t die. Doesn’t mean the gods haven’t fucked us over every time they got the chance.” The mud beneath them is sliding towards his ankles and he lets the cool earth calm him- not yet, it seems to caution. It can’t lose another master so soon.

Grover is too focused on Percy to notice the slow-moving ground beneath them. “No one angry with the gods ever wins,” he reminds his friend. “The combined Titans couldn’t beat them. Gaea, a primordial, couldn’t defeat them. Luke died fighting them.”

“I wouldn’t die, if I challenged them,” Percy says quietly and his old friend freezes, panicked. The sky rumbles and Percy forces himself to laugh- wildly, freely, like he would’ve before his anchor to this world was ripped away.

“Ah, man, don’t joke about things like that,” Grover says nervously, eyeing the still angry sky. “No need to tempt fate.”

Percy grins bitterly and pushes down the empathy link- there’s no need for Grover to get caught up in further conflict. He doesn’t need to know what side his friend would choose, after so much time apart. “Sorry. Won’t happen again.”

---

Tyson walks with him on the bottom of the ocean floor towards their dad’s palace and Percy keeps his posture relaxed- he’s just visiting family, after all, no deeper motive.

“Father’s made all kinds of improvements to the castle since Gaea was defeated,” his brother says enthusiastically. “He’s locked the foundation in deeper to the seabed, cementing our stability, and he’s uncovered a whole new kind of rock under the surface. We’re mining it for new weapons.”

“Weapons for gods?” Percy asks curiously. “Is it that strong?”

Tyson nods. “Oh, yes. And it can only be forged in our deepest caves, with lava taken directly from the center of the earth.”

Percy fights down a surge of protective anger – he felt when they reached that deep, felt them steal from the already aching, unrecovered earth, though he hadn’t known what the interference was then – and smiles brightly instead. “Wow, that’s super cool! Have you been helping with any of that?”

“I’m the General of Father’s army,” Tyson responds proudly. “Of course I’m involved in the new weapon. We have to be careful of how much we touch it, though- it hurts anything not strong enough to handle it. I touched it and it burned my hand.” He rubs his arm, visibly remembering it- it must’ve been something terrible for that visceral of a response.

Percy grabs Tyson, then sends water to wrap around the scar, cooling and healing it. When he’s done, there’s not even a mark left.

Tyson gasps and looks at it excitedly, then pulls Percy into a bear hug. “Even Father couldn’t do that!” He bursts out. “You’ve grown very strong. Thank you.”

“It’s not problem,” Percy replies easily. They step through the pearly gates of Poseidon’s castle and Percy starts feeling out the terrain, paying attention to how the castle fits into the earth and how the sea feels protective over its inhabitants. “Damn, this does look impressive.”

Tyson looks at him confused. “You can’t even see most of our changes yet!”

“Guess I’m just so confident in what you can do,” Percy easily side-steps his question and keeps walking through the halls.

The whole castle is well-reinforced and surrounded in its element, but even the best-made structures can tumble down- look at the last couple hundred years of the Olympian’s influence, after all. It’s strong, but Percy’s willing to bet he’s stronger. Even if he can’t control more of the sea than his father, he can use the ocean floor and direct line to the earth’s core to wreak havoc- and that new weapon sounds like it was made for him to yield.

Poseidon’s always been a critical part of the gods’ offense and defense. Percy’s prepared to destroy him first, when the time comes.

He turns to his brother and high-fives him. “You’ll have to show me when you finish that weapon- I bet it’s gonna look so cool. Show me your room?”

Tyson cheerfully guides him to the housing part of the palace and Percy pushes down his guilt. This has to be done, and he’s resigned to be the one to do it- he’s got nothing left to lose, thanks to the gods.

---

Percy grabs the half-full bottle out of Thalia’s hands and pours it onto the ground.

“Hey,” she slurs, angry. “That’s a waste of some perfectly good whiskey.”

“And you’re fifteen,” Percy says smugly. “You’re a little young to be drinking that much.”

She glares at him and crosses her arms. “I’m older than you and you know it!”

Percy snorts. “You don’t look it. Don’t tell me Artemis lets the twelve-year-olds on the Hunt drink like that?”

She looks down and some of her defiance melts into repressed pain. “Yeah, well. Special circumstances and all that. Guess there’s some benefit to a dead kid brother.”

Percy’s casual combativeness crumbles alongside her own- he can sense the tears welling in her eyes and he decides not to mention it. “What happened?” He asks quietly- respectfully.

Thalia clenches her fists- she hasn’t stopped trying to mask her grief with rage. Percy knows the feeling far too well. “Apollo dragged him on a quest. Something about a prophecy. Helping him while he’s mortal. Jason didn’t make it back.”

“I’m not surprised he went,” Percy says. “It’s hard to find rest, when you’ve been at war that long.”

She laughs bitterly and shakes her head. “He shouldn’t have been on that quest. Artemis told me- he wasn’t named in it. He wasn’t needed for it. Why couldn’t they leave him be?”

“They knew he’d say yes,” Percy offers, shrugging. “They asked me and I said that I don’t do that kind of thing anymore.”

Thalia whips around to glare at him, practically snarling. Her tears are falling now. “You’re the reason he was on that quest? You’re the reason he died?”

Percy frowns at her- he must’ve gotten scarier sometime recently, because it’s enough to make her falter. “The gods are the reason he died. They shouldn’t have asked him to do that. But Jason wanted all those prophecies to mean something, in the end. He would’ve died on some quest, sooner or later.”

“Sometimes-,” Thalia starts, her voice thick with some pained emotion. “Sometimes, I want to tear apart the whole system. I- I want to leave the Hunters and march up to Olympus and murder my father with my own bare hands.” Percy raises his eyebrows and she lets out a sob. “How dare they take my brother from me and all I get for it is a measly bottle of booze? This isn’t fair, Perce, don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it-”

The sky thunders and Percy smiles carefully at her. The ground beneath them is hollow, aching, craving- he pushes down the urge to act. “I’d be wary of who listens, if I were you. Jason wasn’t. I wasn’t.” Her eyes go wide and he hushes her. “Don’t fight the gods unless you’re sure you can win. Are you sure?” She hesitates, just for a moment, and he grins knowingly. “Right. I don’t want to lose another friend- don’t make me, okay?”

She looks up at him and sniffs- this is the most broken down he’s ever seen her. It’s a sign of how few of their friends are left, if she’s letting him see her this weak.

“You said Jason said yes because he didn’t remember how to rest,” Thalia says finally, slowly. “But you said no. How- how did you find a way to rest?”

He looks her in the eye carefully and thinks- if he’s ever wanted an ally, now’s his chance. But he won’t drag someone innocent down with him in this crusade, can’t brand someone else as a villain, not until he’s sure he can protect them too. He’s loyal to his friends and his ideals and to the dead, so he’ll save them all in every way he can.

Sea green eyes meet electric blue and when he smiles, it’s all sharp teeth. “Who says I have?”

---

He and Clarisse fight back-to-back against the latest rush of monsters trying to invade Camp Half-Blood- they’re the only ones of their caliber left here, since everyone who could moved to the Roman camp to try and start their lives in peace.

He and Clarisse are too independent, too angry, too restless to be happy there.

In another life, Percy and Annabeth could’ve thrived in a domestic town in New Rome, but it’s too late for him now.

When it’s over, they sit outside the camp border listlessly. Threats like this barely faze them anymore.

Percy’s back at the camp for the first time in a few months and he’s been happy to catch up with Clarisse- she’s had to rise up in the absence of other camp leadership, and she’s done an admirable job. Even so, he’s not here without an agenda: he’s desperately searching for one reason not to carry out his plan; for something to stop him before he can’t take it back.

“How’s it been, sticking around here so long?” Percy breaks the silence finally. She knocks elbows with him and shrugs.

“Same old, same old. Young kids come in and need guidance. Mr. D’s gone and Chiron’s struggling, after everything that’s been happening, so I’ve been picking up some of that slack.” She grins at him, loose and familiar in a nostalgic way, and Percy’s reminded of camp meetings with Katie and Travis, Lee and Castor, Beckendorf and Silena. Annabeth. It’s just the two of them left now. “You could help out with it all too, if you wanted to come back. Getting sick of being a city-slicker again, Jackson?”

Percy smiles tightly at her. “I don’t know if the camp life is for me, anymore. I don’t think there’s a lot holding me here these days.”

“That’s fair,” Clarisse concedes. “But I see all these new faces in Ares cabin, each and every year, and I feel like I’m making a difference. Showing those suckers how to survive, how to go back home like I never could.”

“There’s no one in my cabin,” Percy says. “Would I really make a difference here?” And if he could, he’ll stay- he’ll stop all his plans, turn back on every heretical idea he’s had in the past year, dive headfirst into whatever will best help his fellow demigods. He and Jason are the same in more ways than one: they’ve played the hero so long that all they know is to be selfless for their people.

It’s just- Percy doesn’t think playing the good demigod will help anyone but the gods; and he hasn’t been loyal to them for a long time.

“Of course, you would,” Clarisse answers. “You’re practically a legend around here, you know- everyone hears about your quests and want to be the next to get a prophecy, to meet the gods.”

Percy feels the ground beneath them and he frowns. He’s in so, so deep, and he’s so, so broken, just like the earth. “I don’t want them to be blindly loyal to the gods, Clarisse.”

“Alright,” she mutters, clearly surprised by his intensity. “Well, you wouldn’t have to do that, I guess- maybe just show them how to have a life outside here? Tell them about how you’ve kept up with your family, how Sally’s doing-”

“My mother’s dead,” Percy interjects. It’s the one secret he’s kept for too a long time and now that he’s let it out, he’s made his decision on the fate of the gods- it feels real. “I went to their apartment after everything was over and a monster got her and Paul. She’s been dead since before we beat the Giants. While I was missing.”

Clarisse freezes, stunned and unsure of what to do. “Jackson, I-”

He stands and brushes off his jeans, then turns to face her. “It’s been good catching up.”

“No, wait, I-”

“I’ll see you again soon, probably,” he smirks and then starts laughing- it’s the first genuine one in a while and it tears out unbidden. He can’t stop it. He starts walking away and his feet sink deeper with each step, the earth swallowing him- protecting him. “May the best side win?”

---

Percy meets his friends on the battlefield and they all know he’s unbeatable, even alone. And he is alone, even with the sea and the earth and the blessing of the Styx and the blood in their veins- he can tell they think he’s gone as mad as Luke.

He lets them attack, the demigods who’ve been called up out of their retirement like he knew they would be – Frank and Clarisse’s blades reflect off his invulnerable skin, the earth won’t respond to Hazel’s commands, Nico’s skeletal armies are crumbling, Piper’s words can’t sway him, Grover’s plants can’t breach the ground to touch him – and

He lets them attack, the demigods who’ve been called abruptly out of their retirement like he knew they would be. Frank and Clarisse’s swords bounce off his invulnerable skin, unable to find his weak point. Grover presents a call to arms to the trees, but they can’t breach the ground to come near him. Nico’s skeletal armies crumble to dust as the water in the air erodes them. Hazel sinks into the earth with Piper by her side, trying to sneak up on him, but the earth protects him and traps them, half-buried.

He weathers it all until the gods arrive.

Tyson stands behind their father, face drawn in betrayal and horror, the newly forged weapon in his gloved hand. Percy holds out his arm – senses the earth in it, the metal mined from the ground and the lava it was bathed in – and summons it to him. He hefts the monumental longsword in his hand and even if the rest of the gods don’t know what this is, there’s fear in Poseidon’s eyes- he wonders what his dad would look like if he knew his precious castle has already crumbled, eaten by the ravenous earth.

He surveys the battlefield now that the demigods have fallen back, behind the gods, and sees Thalia standing behind Artemis. She looks conflicted, but too tired to make a stand- he’d known she wouldn’t stand up for him if it came to blows, not after everyone she’s lost in a fight. He thinks she’ll support him once he wins.

Percy closes his eyes, breathes in the stink of the fight, and he can sense everything: the ground beneath their feet, vapor in the sky, the sweat on their skin. The ichor in the veins of the gods.

He opens his eyes, sees them rushing towards him to try and defeat him, and clenches his fists. The ichor bursts and the gods fall- it was a great show of hubris from them, to even believe they could stand a chance against him.

He stares at his friend’s terrified expressions and laughs brightly, one last time. He’d been willing to martyr himself for this cause and he doesn’t quite care what happens now- he’s more than done his part to save the world. It’s up to them.

He sinks deep into the earth, letting it take him, and decides whoever wants to find him can come to him. Until then, he can finally rest.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28535157

#pjo #percy jackson and the olympians #percy jackson #bamf percy jackson #dark percy #ao3

[sleepylixie]

A Promise in the Wind

Best Friend! Lee Know & fem! Reader, non-idol! Jisung X fem! Reader

Part of the Heart wants what it wants Anthology

Prompt  #40 “They’re gone! just let them go, you’re killing yourself!”

1.3k words, Beware of major character death

This was my entry for last week’s writers’ Room, using one of @decembermoonskz​ ‘s lines from my ultimate favourite work of hers,  Daffodil!! I love you and your works, Izzy moon <3 ( Marked in bolded italics)

“Jesus fuck.”

Minho’s voice had always been like a shot of comfort in the most turbulent of days- but when the curse left his mouth at the sight of you on the couch, you barely even heard it.

Minho’s arm curled around your shoulders almost protectively, almost like he could sense the devastation settled in your bones but you felt numb, the warmth of his touch barely even noticed.

The piece of paper in your hand rustled softly, your grip on it tightening almost unconsciously. Teeth gritted, jaw clenched, staring ahead in a deadened, soulless stare at the wall in front of you-

“He meant everything to me.”

“I know,”

Minho’s voice was quiet, placating, the first tendrils of a still-new grief creeping into his voice. “He meant so much to all of us.”

The coffee table in front of you was strewn with papers, documents and payment receipts, a familiar sight in the last year since…since the incident. Since he’d been taken from all of you.

“He was supposed to be my forever.”

At that, Minho quietened, realizing that his words were barely a ripple against the raging tornado in your brain. No words could fix what you were feeling, make you feel even a fraction better-

“He was supposed to come back to me.”

Minho had never heard your voice like that- ice cold, unfeeling, horrifyingly numb. Not since the night you found out about Jisung.

He would never forget the way you’d shattered into yourself that night, barely a shadow of yourself for the first few days. He had never heard you sob and cry the way you had the night of the funeral. But the day after the funeral, he remembered watching you walk out of his apartment with a glint in your eyes, resolute and vengeful.

“But I’m sitting here with money as compensation, like money will make his absence easier.”

The first tear slid down your cheek, then another and another until you curled in on yourself, hiding your face in your hands. The paper that had been in your hand fluttered to the floor, forgotten and neglected. Minho watched it dance to the ground as he pulled you into his arms, letting you sob brokenly into his chest.

Grief is a fickle slope, and it seemed tonight was one of the nights you slid backwards.

Minho’s lips curled resolutely, jaw clenched in an attempt to keep himself together. He had to be strong for you tonight, the way you had been strong for him before, when the grief felt like too much to handle.

“He didn’t deserve what happened. None of us did.”

“Then why-“ you choked, pulling away from Minho, your eyes bloodshot and nose stuffy, “then why did it happen? Why did he have to leave like this? It’s not fucking fair, Ji it just fucking isn’t-“

You cut yourself off, a fresh wave of tears barrelling down your face, the lump in your throat too painful to speak through.

“It’s never fair, isn’t it...”

Minho’s voice was soft, trembling from his attempt to keep his calm. “He didn’t deserve to leave like that. I didn’t- I didn’t deserve to lose my brother, you didn’t deserve to lose a lover…Not like that…”

His words fizzled out, the only sounds in the apartment your choked weeping and the soft rustle of papers. Minho let you cry into his shirt until you had no more tears to cry, a scratchy voice and damp makeup trails the only remnants.

Minho leaned down to pick up the paper and placed it in your lap, prompting you to pick it up again.

“You won. We won. The bastard that killed him is going to jail for his entire life. It took you a year, but you did it.” He murmured, reading the words on the paper with you again.

You let a small smile take over your face as you scanned the paper, the announcement of your victory in the court of law.

“But he’s still dead, Minho.”

Minho frowned, eyebrows scrunching in an all too familiar way. Your heart wrenched at the sight; Jisung scrunched his nose in the exact same manner when he was confused, a habit he picked up from Minho himself. A bitter laugh escaped your lips at the thought- even after so long, he still lived in your mind.

“Exactly. He’s dead.” Minho bit his lip before continuing, like saying the words out loud still affected him.

“He’s gone, it’s time you let go. You’re killing yourself. You’ve been holding on for so long.”

You sniffled quietly, turning to Minho. He held your gaze, warm and familiar despite the bone-deep tiredness emanating from him. Your twin flame, your best friend from childhood until however long your paths intertwined. He had moved into your apartment within weeks of the funeral, partly to assuage your guilt and partly to assuage his pain.

The memories came rushing back to you, vivid and clear. Turning away from the sniffles coming from his bedroom, trying hard to give him the privacy he needed to grieve his brother, greeting him with ice americanos after particularly bad nights, curling up in his lap when the pressure of it all became too much to handle…

“We both have, haven’t we.”

//

“Hello my love.”

You thought you’d be a blubbering mess, all tears and silent sobs but you were strangely calm when you stopped in front of the grave. The sharp chill of the early morning numbed your cheeks, but the stinging feeling was almost welcome to you. A bouquet of blood-red roses and snow-white lilies lay cradled in your hands- his favourite kind of flowers to bring you, from childhood until…

Han Jisung. Loved and will be loved, forever and always.

Kneeling in front of the grave, you laid the bouquet gently next to the headstone, the dark red and soft white offsetting the grey stone.

“I thought I should be the one to bring flowers for once.” You laughed faintly, tracing one of the soft petals before standing up.

“I’m sorry I never visited you all these months.”

“I thought it was my fault, back then. I still think so. If it wasn’t for that fight, you’d have never left the house. I felt like I didn’t deserve to see you, not until I…I, well, atoned for what I did to you.

“I considered following you after, you know? You and Minho are all I’ve known my whole life and to lose you like that…I really felt like I had nothing to look for in my future. Nothing, but a broken heart and a life of memories that almost felt too painful to remember. You’d probably whack me on the head for thinking stupid thoughts like that, wouldn’t you?”

A watery chuckle escaped your lips, a lone tear streaking its way down your cheek.

“Minho told me I was killing myself by holding on to you. He’s so much more mature now, you wouldn’t believe how insightful he’s become- but don’t worry, he’s still a little shit who’ll sell his soul for enough ice americanos and cats.

“I didn’t realize how right he was until he said it out loud. Between getting vengeance for you and putting that drunk driver in jail, I forgot to live for myself. You wouldn’t have wanted that for me, no matter where you are…right?"

You sucked in a deep breath, the cold morning air clearing your lungs.

"After the last year of holding on to you and hoping against hope that you'd come back to me, yesterday made me realise that there's never been any way I could wish you back.

“So I’m going to lay you to rest, my love. Today and for all my days, until I can go to you again. I’ll live for myself starting today, just like you would have wanted. That’s my promise to you.” 

A warm breeze rustled your hair, at odds with the chill on your cheeks- and all at once, you felt at peace. 

I am sorry for this hard angst disaster. T_T. Requests are open for this collection, so do check out the Masterlist for the prompts and rules! Love, Elliana.

Tagging: @decembermoonskz @aliceu @lavenderbexlatte @straykidsownmysoul @soya-zz @fylithia @stellarmonsterr @cotccotc @luminois @blueprint-han @moonlight-hyunjae​ @jl-micasea​ @cuokka​ @popisdead​ @kisskissbanggang​ @sungieshines​ @bearseungmin​

Network Tags: @districtninewriters @inkidz @angstyskzclub @kpopscape​ 

#stray kids imagines #skz imagines #kpopscape #districtninewriters #skz scenarios #stray kids scenarios #stray kids #skz fluff #stray kids fluff #skz jisung #lee know #skz au #stray kids au #kpop #kpop imagines #kpop scenarios #masterlist: hearts #ellaskz #skz x reader #skz angst #stray kids angst

[wevegottogetaway]

Crashing into you

Sooo, I have no idea where this concept came from but here is you and Harry surviving a plane crash only to find yourselves stranded on an island (featuring best friends to lovers and who knows what else). There is more to come after this part, I’m just really busy with uni at the moment, so smaller pieces at the time it is. Please leave some feedback if you have any, or tell me what you would like to see happen in future parts! Happy reading xx

It wasn’t supposed to happened.

None of it was. Not the birds. Not the fire. Not the nose-dive.

And you weren’t supposed to be there either. Weren’t supposed to find yourselves floating 35,000 feet over endless stretches of sea when it happened. Not you and certainly not Harry whose presence was only the result of his boundless generosity.

It was a last minute trip on your part, an emergency response to the calling of a friend back in London; they’d gotten hospitalized and you were their emergency contact, pretty simple maths. Your assistance was irremissible and since it was cutting your time short with Harry, he didn’t hesitate before offering both his support and an express flight aboard some kind of private jet. None of you knew it at the time, but that decision turned out to be a twisted expression of serendipity, a very sick jock that the universe wasn’t supposed to make.

Except it did happened and there was no escaping the cataclysm that ensued.

                                                        ***

The cabin of the small plane is plunged in peaceful silence, the deep whir of its engines and the soft snores wafting through Harry’s nose the only white noises filling the space. There is no fussing toddler, no businessman talking loudly on the phone, no arguing couple; just you and Harry, one flight attendant and two pilots. Everything around you looks pristine and expensive, from the champagne you were offered but declined at the beginning of the flight, to the refined suede upholstery covering all the seats.

You’re not used to the luxury, and frankly, neither is Harry.

He doesn’t use private planes very often, doesn’t think it makes much sense to waste all that toxic kerosene when commercial flights do the job perfectly, and doesn't like how they make him feel like the diva some people mistakenly make him out to be. But for you he’d bend the rules. For you he’d bend over and backwards to assuage any of your pains and worries. You had been so on edge when you told him about your friend, so desperate to be there for them,  he had just wanted to be there for you in turn.

That’s why the two of you hopped in this small aircraft nearly four hours ago, with his hand drawing comforting shapes on your back. Now, you find yourself absentmindedly nipping at your nails, overthinking ever possible scenario that could unfold once you land and find your friend. In deep conversation with your conscience, you’ve been looking out the small window to your right, as if any of the two blue immensities painting the horizon knew all the secrets that you needed. They don’t; if anything, they bring their own mysteries to an already confusing world.

The atmosphere inside the plane is so inert, it feels like someone pressed the pause button. The flight attendant has remained quietly by her station, waiting for any signal that would indicate her presence required, and the pilots haven’t piped a word since their polite ‘have a lovely flight,’ when you first boarded the plane. The little company wouldn’t bother you so much, if Harry hadn’t fallen asleep thirty minutes in, leaving you to your own devices. You figure you can’t be too grumpy about it though, he did just rent a plane for your sake after all. Plus, his unconscious state has allowed you to ogle his sleepy figure for hours without being noticed, a treat you’re rarely privy to on top of being a nice distraction from your current troublesome thoughts.

Three years. Three years you’ve been a very dedicated friend to him and he to you. Three years of holding each other’s hand through any hardships and laughing till you’re blue in the face; three years of always supporting each other in your craziest undertakings and inspiring each other to be the best version of yourselves. You two are an indestructible pair and your friendship is the purest, most sacred thing you were given in this world.

Except, it’s also been three years of mind-boggling and consuming feelings that can’t be quelled and have no limits. Three years of secret glances when he’s too focused on something else to notice. Three years of talking yourself down from those feeling, but to no avail; they keep coming back full force and with a vengeance. It quickly became a full time job really, an art you mastered over time. At first because he was happily in a relationship, so there was no speculating whether your affections could be returned. Then once that ended, you were already so wired to ignore the skip of your heartbeats when he looks at you tenderly, or the soft and sometimes borderline ambiguous cuddles he gives you when he’s had one too many Margaritas; that the fantasy of him loving you the way you do was just unfathomable, you never even considered speaking up about it.

But these were your three years, not his.

You let out a deep sigh, as your musings once again circle back to your unrequited love. You wish you had more control over them, could limit them to sleepy fabulation sweetening your mind right before you surrender to unconsciousness. But alas, them come and go as they please, slip into your mind at any inopportune time, often betraying you by pigmenting your cheeks in cerise-colored bashfulness. Even now, in the stillness of the pressurized cabin, as your eyes settle back on his slouched form in the seat opposite yours, your skin can’t help but heat up in fondness.

Before you can get too lost in the soft eyelashes caressing his cheekbones, or the cupid bow shaping his pink supple lips, or the way a few of his mischievous curls are dandling in front of his face, slightly fluttering at each soft puff coming out of his mouth…yeah, before you get too lost in all that, you reach for the small bottle of water sitting on a small table.

You barely have the cap unscrewed before a massive tremor shakes the whole aircraft, spilling half of the bottle’s content on your lap. Your hand immediately white knuckles the armrest of your seat, your eyes widening in fear and frantically scoping the cabin for the flight attendant or anyone that could tell you what the hell is going on. Then the panic pumping through your veins prompts you to check on Harry and wake him back to alertness, but to your relief, he’s already groggily shaking the slumber from his limbs with a deep frown on his face. "Wha’s goin’ on?"

If dread wasn’t firing each of your nerve-endings, you’d find his grumpy look and slurred speech quite adorable, but the sight of the frazzled-looking stewardess coming towards you is sending a different kind of chills down your spine. These people are trained to maintain composure in all circumstances, so her trepidation can only mean one of two things: she’s either very new at her job or there is clearly a cause for concern.

"You two need to fasten your seat belts immediately," she speaks hurriedly.

"Sophia, what’s going on?" Harry reiterates his question with more alarm.

"We’ve collided with a flock of birds. We don’t know the extent of the damage yet, so I need you two to buckle in."

You and Harry share a worried look then, still confused about the situation. The plane has regain some semblance of stability, it seems, but Sophia’s anxious behavior doesn’t sooth your nerves one bit. She makes a quick exit back toward the cockpit, probably to discuss the ordeal further with the pilots. You gulp your uneasiness away, fidgeting on your seat as your hands blindly feel around for the safety belt, but the image greeting your eyes as they veer back to the window has your heart dropping to your knees.

Lambent orange and red flaring from the engines and lapping at the wing. Black smoke leaving an angry trail behind the plane and fogging up the windows.

"Harry," you barely manage to breath his name out and the urgency of your tone has him straighten up in his seat. "Harry the wing is on fire." You twist your head back towards him only to find him jumping from his seat to plop down next to you. The absolute gleam of terror swimming in your eyes makes his blood turn cold, so he quickly takes your hand in both of his before glancing at the carnage taking place outside. He gulps in apprehension before buckling his seatbelt and checking that yours is clasped in as well.

"Fuck, okay, it’s okay, love. Everything’s gonna be okay." It’s more prayers than reassurances tumbling out of his mouth, squeezing at your hand in plea, and a couple seconds after his utterance the tremors resume with greater intensity. You both can feel the aircraft slanting downward as everything around you start shaking as though you were caught in an earthquake. Except, you couldn’t be further from earth at the moment, and the shaking is not going to just pass after a while.

Objects start falling and rolling down all over, the tray of complimentary drinks tumbling down from the back of the plane to crash at the front. You and Harry are wrapped up in a protective embrace, tucking your faces in each others neck to avoid impact and because you’re both too afraid to look at the unfurling chaos. You can feel your seatbelt straining against your lower belly in a dire attempt to keep you in one place, but as the plane starts plummeting for good, top becomes bottom, right becomes left, and your bodies become masses thrown around at the hands of gravity just like everything else.

The last thing you hear before everything goes south is a defeated ‘brace for impact’ coming from the small intercom of the cabin. You feel the brutal shock of the plane hitting smooth surface if it weren’t for the speed of the collision, and then it’s just water.

Water everywhere. Water enveloping your body in a frigid clutch, water weighing you down as it imbibes every fiber of your clothes, water invading your retinas and blurring your vision. Water seeping through your mouth, pouring into your lungs when you feel the skin at your shin torn by sharp metal.

You vaguely hear your name being shouted, but the shortage of oxygen in your system makes you feel delirious. At this point you barely have enough energy to fight unconsciousness, much less the threat of your crumbling surroundings. That’s how you don’t feel the hand grasping at your shoulder and hosting you up on a floating piece of broken wing. Harry is holding onto it for dear life as well, muttering more prayers and encouraging words for you to please stay with him but soon you are both overthrown by your unconscious, slowly drifting away on the makeshift buoy.

                                                        ***

When Harry regains consciousness, the first things he feels is hard grounds underneath him. His ears are ringing, his throat is sore and his mouth feels dry, not to mention the splitting headache jackhammering at his skull. Groaning and frowning at the pain, that’s when he realizes that the ground against the skin of his cheek isn’t completely hard, but rather granular at the touch. Slowly, he brings his hands higher near his face and flattens them to hoist himself up. Once on his knees, he finally blinks his eyes opened, squinting at the blinding luminosity of the sun. And then it’s just sand.

Sand everywhere. Sand stretching miles into the distance. Sand itching at the joints of his fingers, sand creeping inside his shoes and clothes, sand weaving through his hair. Sand obnoxiously lingering on his lips, and as he tries to brush it off with the back of his hand, he has to spit some out of his mouth after realizing that said hand is also covered in it.

How did he find himself stranded on a freaking island? How did this happen? How could he be one minute safely by your sides, helping you through a tough situation, and then the next, thrown into the deep end - quite literally - scrambling for his life because some dumb birds decided to crash in the engine of the plane? Why him, why-

It’s a jolt to his brain then, an electric shock firing his body up to a standing position when the thought of you clashes in his mind. His breathing picks up considerably as he recalls the last time he saw you, passed out on the broken part of the wrecked airplane. He’d passed out soon after you as well, but what had happened since then? Had you find your way on this desolate beach as well? Or had your unconscious body slipped back into the water and sank all the way to the ocean floor until you reached that hidden museum of all the things and beings that fell victim to the sea?

Harry shudders at the thought. No. He’s not loosing you, now or ever, he convinces himself as he frantically jogs along the beach. Not when he never got his chance. His heart is lodged in his throat and threatening to escape at every passing second. Not when he still has unfinished, or rather, un-commenced business with you. Sweat drips down his face in searing droplet, a faint sting above his left eye barely registering in his frantic mind. Not before you know his last secret. His breathing is starting to get scarce until finally, finally his blurry eyes fall upon a figure stretched out on the sand, waves still licking at their feet. His job turns into a sprint as he begs for them to be you and for you to still be alive, desperate cries of your name echoing in the wilderness. "Please be okay, please be okay, fuck I need y-"

His relief is short lived once he takes in your passed out form, the blueish hue of your lips and the very lack of movement of your chest, twisting his guts in a painful knot. Harry abruptly falls to his knees next to you and brings his ear to your body hoping for any indication that you are still breathing. He fights the onslaught of hyperventilation that threatens to take over his body when he finds none and quickly checks your pulse at your carotid. His eyes pinch in brief respite: it’s faint but it’s there.

His brain almost goes into overdrive as he tries to recall everything he knows about CPR before his hands instinctively start pressing at your chest as though they already know what to do. It gives him time to absorb all the composure he can muster and think more clearly. He’s got to keep your heart going, that much he knows, and if you’re not breathing, it’s probably because you’ve got water in your lungs. Upon the realization he briefly stops the cardiac massage to pinch your nose and blow as much air as he can into your mouth.

For the next couple of minutes he does just that, alternating between insufflating oxygen through your mouth and pressing at your heart. His own breaks every time he pulls away from your lips and they still don’t pink back up to their usual lovely cherry color. Tears roll down his face in a constant flow, forcing him to wipe his face against the material of his shirt at his shoulder; there is no way in hell he is stopping his action for even a fraction of a second. He’ll die trying to save you before you die on him, and then he’d kick you ass from heaven down to hell for even thinking of leaving him behind.

All of a sudden you start coughing wet sounds from your throat, your body jolting from its spot on the sand. Harry’s never been so happy to hear someone choke (on water, that is) and as you turn your body sideways to let out all the excess of water clogging your chest, he closes his eyes and tilts his head back towards the sky in gratitude. "Thank you, thank you, thank you," he whispers out in relief, before regaining his breathing and focusing back on you. He draws soothing circle against your back as you cough the last bit of water out of your mouth, pushing your hair out of your face to give you space to breath. Lord knows you need it.

"It’s okay, pet. You’re okay, you’re alive. Fuck you’re alive, I can’t- please don’t ever do that to me ever again, you hear me?" He rambles at you as he cups your face with two trembling hands. He is in shamble in front of you, the high he was caught up in, in his order to save you finally dissolving and leaving only but shock and despair in its aftermath. You’d come this close to die in his arms, you both realize. This close from your life being highjacked from his in the middle of nowhere and the thought turns your blood even colder than it already is.

"‘kay, m’okay, Harry. We’re both okay," you reassure him too, and just hearing the sound of your hoarse voice is enough to calm him some. He brings you in a bear hug, tucking your face underneath his chin and draping is other arm over your back. You don’t hesitate before you return his embrace by wrapping your arms around his waist.

For a hot minute you remain intertwined in silence as you breath each other in and revel in the fact that you both survived the crash. Once your heartbeats have lowered down to healthier levels, you slightly part from each other and your eyes glisten as you lock them with his. "You saved my life, Harry," you whisper out to him with a tender caress at his cheeks, trying to ignore the small cut at his brow bone. "I just- thank you, thank you so much."

He answers with a small shake of his head, "don’t thank me, pet. I can’t imagine what I woulda done if y- if I couldn’t-" he struggles to let the words out and his face turns into a grimace at their implication. "M’just so relieved you’re alive, I’m the one thankful for that if anythin’," he ends up saying against the palm of your hand before leaving a small peck there.

As you move to stand up, you feel a sharp sting at your shin as soon as you apply pressure on your right leg. Looking down, you spot a gash at the skin, it’s not too profound that you won’t be able to walk, but it definitely needs tending to if you don’t want it to get infected. You let out a quiet ‘fuck’ in frustration before catching the look of concern of Harry’s face. "It’s fine," you brush it off, "just gonna need to clean it out. That cut on your face as well," you motion at his injury and he brings his hand up to feel out the cut in confusion. He hadn’t noticed the small wound, you realize. "Right, yeah," he answers after inspecting the patch of blood coating his fingers now.

Now that the shock of the situation is slowly dissipating and that reality is setting in, you both start thinking about the next course of action. You’re both alive and relatively unscathed, but now what? How do you get out form this place? Where even is this place? And how do you go home? It becomes increasingly obvious that you don’t have much resources and that you need some sort of plan if you want to survive.

"What about Sophia and the pilots? Do you know what happened to them?" you suddenly remember the rest of the crew. Perhaps they know more about how to proceed in such a situation. They might even know where you’re located, how far you are from home and what’s the procedure to ensure everyone’s survival and rescue.

"I dunno, love. Didn’t see them when we were in the water, I think they might have been on the other side of the plane," the somber look on his face betrays his pessimism as to their fate. They would be on the beach as well if they had survived. As the same reasoning courses through your mind, you look down in sadness at the vicious image of them struggling in the water before succumbing to the fatigue. Harry notices your pained expression and brings you back against his frame to leave a small comforting kiss at your hairline.

"Alright, it’s gonna be fine," you declare in pretend confidence. "People will start looking for us, right?" you try to make light of the conversation. "Hell, there’s probably going to be a whole unit created to find you as soon as we don’t show up in London and I’m sure they’ll find us fast." Hope is emulating in your belly where water had previously drown your vigor. You’re probably right; surely, if the one and only Harry Styles disappears in the middle of a plane crash, the response will be worthy of the man.  

He doesn’t seem to quite share the sentiment however, if the small frown and nervous nipping at his lips suggest anything. "Love, I- Jeff’s the only one who knows we were going back to England. He might not notice right away." It’s his own fear talking, the idea that it might take more than a day for people to notice their unsettling absence.

On a normal schedule, him and Jeff would be in constant contact, sharing details for the next day’s agenda, planning tours, interviews, promotions and pitching in ideas for new projects, but be that as it may, Harry was currently on vacation. He’d taken a couple weeks off to relieve the pressure from the last busy months and catch up on some much needed time with you, and Jeff knew that meant a little less consistent contact for this break to be as rejuvenating as expected. Would he think much of the absence of texts from his friend? At some point definitely, but how long would it take for concern to replace dismissal?

Talk about rejuvenation.

"What about the plane company?" you ask, not ready to see your hopes dwindle down.

He seems surprised at the thought for a second before the anxious lines on his face smooth out some, iridescent eyes locking with your own in renewed faith. "You’re right, Jeff was the one who made the booking, so the company will have to contact him once they know about the crash." You let your lips quirk into a soft smile at his optimism before he adds, "we just have to survive until then."

"Right," you dial back on the heart-talking and dares your brain to recall any tips about survival behavior you’ve ever heard. "So we need find water asap and to make a fire before the night falls." You know water should be your priority, you have three days before you die of dehydration, maybe even less under this blazing sun. And despite behind surrounded by water, you know that the sea can’t help you with that. It’s quite ironic in a sense, you find yourself trapped by water, yet the biggest threat to you in that instance is the lack of water consumption. As for the fire, you also know temperature can drop very low at night in places like this and since you don’t have anything to bundle yourselves in, hypothermia is your second biggest threat.

Harry nods in approval before looking around. The beach is enclosed between the sea and endless stretch of luxuriant green tropical jungle. "Come on then, we should try and see if anything from the plane made it out on the beach. I think I saw some pieces earlier, maybe we’ll find something to store water." You think it’s a brilliant idea since you will need some kind of container should you be successful in your quest for water. And with that, you both start walking back towards the edge of the shore, Harry’s hand holding tightly to your shoulder keeping you close to him.

➪ Masterlist

#harry styles one shot #harry styles writing #harry styles imagine #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfic #best friends to lovers #reader insert #creative writing #harry styles fluff #harry styles ou

[damienthepious]

LISTEN I'M PRETTY SURE YOU'RE SOME SORT OF WRITING DEMIGOD WITH THE AMOUNT YOU'VE WRITTEN. perhaps tomorrow when you've had rest time, I'd love to hear your commentary on Arum/Rilla interactions in the chapters you just posted. but just HOT DOG you have written so much delicious fic and I hope you get to rest. thank u for all you do💐

[Pick a short passage from any fanfic I’ve written (OR SPECIFICALLY Need Your Teeth Etc) and send it to me, and I’ll give you the equivalent of a DVD commentary on that snippet!]

hwaaaaaaaaa 💕🥺💕 thankyou so much!!! i'll do a little bit of arum/rilla interaction from chapter 6!

[Damien must have- must have answered in some silent way of his own, though, because after a long, quiet moment, Amaryllis steps out of the room, leaving the door cracked behind her again.]

no one closes a goddamn door in either this or the preceding chapter. Rilla wants to make sure that Arum feels secure in Damien's proximity, and later Arum is just... taking his cues from her.

[She does not look surprised to find Arum standing, pacing, though he stills instantly when she approaches.]

Rilla's been the doctor at enough bedsides. Arum's reactions are very much in line with someone fretting over someone they care about being injured.

["He's going to be a little out of it," she explains quietly with a half-smile. "He might doze off again, might be a little loopy- just, don't hold it against him, okay?"]

this is sorta walking the line between basic doctor-to-patient's-friends instruction and also making sure that Arum knows exactly what's going on. Again, she's really pulling for something good to come out of this (A/D's rivalry, not Damien's injury, i mean), and she doesn't want poor Damien to accidentally blurt something he didn't mean to because he's medicated and for Arum to freak out about it. She's basically saying please be understanding, he's very vulnerable right now.

["Wh-" Arum shakes his head. "Why would I- don't be ridiculous."]

and arum is like YES WHY IS THAT EVEN A QUESTION. The idea of him holding ANYTHING against damien while he's hurt seems like absolute lunacy to him, let alone something as innocuous and simple as Damien saying something silly or weird. Damien says silly and weird things like it's his job, as far as Arum is concerned.

["And don't get him riled up, if you can help it," she continues, aiming a stubborn finger towards him as he blinks and pulls his head back. "I know that he gets himself going sometimes, but- just, like, try."]

This is more specific, and more about Damien than Arum, really. She knows that Damien will have less of a filter than usual, and less of a capacity to deal with his emotions, too, so she wants to make Double Certain that Arum will be gentle with him.

but she also knows that Damien doesn't always need help to fall into a spiral, so she wants to make sure Arum knows that she's not gonna like, blame him if Damien gets freaked out through no fault of Arum's. if that makes sense. Look Rilla is doing a lot of work with very little, tonight. Economy of language. Just. like. Try.

["I- I have no intentions of-" Arum scowls, utterly thrown off.]

poor arum is so fucking baffled by every fucking moment of this. he is also performing three dimensional chess in the effort of assuaging Rilla's fears without actually admitting out loud that he cares about Damien and doesn't want to hurt him and that he has exactly zero desire to rile Damien up or to let him rile himself up. None of that is allowed, really, so he has to fucking SCRAMBLE.

["I only intend to- to confirm when he might- might wish to speak about our- our next duel. That is all. There will be nothing for him to become riled up about, Amaryllis."]

i tend to write Arum as speaking very choppily when he is distressed- i think canon supports this honestly. He speaks grandly when he's got a handle on things, but when he's thrown off, he does a lot of mid-sentence stopping and fragmentation. i truly love that, it is a trait we share. love this lizard. He has to double check every one of these statements to make sure he isn't misspeaking or saying something TOO vulnerable, or something that isn't right. He has to claw it back to the duel, too, to find some safer ground.

and obviously nothing about the duel should rile damien! obviously! the duel is just NORMAL it is just our POINT OF INTERACTION and it is FINE, OBVIOUSLY.

[She looks at him, her dark eyes stern and knowing and deep enough to worry, and he drops her gaze with a huff.]

Arum is used to Damien paying attention to him, at least in the context of combat and banter. He is not used to anyone looking at him like that, exactly. She knows that he's putting on a front, and she also hopes that the potential of future dueling isn't the ONLY reason he wants to speak with Damien. And Arum well and truly cannot hold her gaze. Rilla is just Powerful. 🥺💕

["Hm," she says, crossing her arms over her chest and tapping her fingers off her elbows.]

Rilla Is Just Powerful. 🥺💕

["Well, that's not the most comforting speech I've ever heard, but- it'll have to do. Don't keep him awake too long, okay? He needs his rest."]

She's been trying VERY this entire time, and here she gives herself a TEENY instance of teasing. as a treat! it's fiiiiiine. But it leads to an honest request, because she gets the sense (again- correctly) that Arum would sit by Damien's bedside the whole goddamn night long, if she let him.

[She moves out of his way, going back to sit by the table again without fanfare, and Arum blinks after her warily for a long moment.]

Rilla voice okay my job is done right now. FINALLY.

Building trust. Rilla is so fucking confident that Arum wouldn't lift a FINGER to harm Damien outside of a Sanctioned Duel and even THEN not really anymore, obviously she doesn't feel the need to babysit. She also doesn't mind letting him know that. she is expressing trust in him, and Arum is, of course, unsettled by it.

["Well?" she says, glancing up at him over her third cup of tea. "Go on, then. I'm not gonna stop you, and obviously I'm not going to eavesdrop, either. You two have your own thing," she says with a wave of the hand.]

oh my god. oh my god. ohmygod. okay. so. "You two have your own thing" is just about the most pointed thing she's said about the two of them all night. She's been trying to be really DIPLOMATIC and not to press Arum too hard, because she knows (from Damien) that he's very much a skittish person about his own feelings, but... she's gettin sleepy.

You two have your own thing, and Rilla not only knows this fact, she embraces it, because she loves Damien and if things go well, she believes that Arum could be really good for him.

💕💘🥺💘💕

#asks #lucky numberme #elle's fanfic meta #still need your teeth around my organs

[gondowan]

Over Your Shoulder

Pairing: Paz Viszla/F!Reader

The Armstech and Paz have a fun night.

Word Count: 3,680 (holy fuck lmao)

Tags/Warnings:  18+ only, Good Communication Is My Kink, daddy/sir kink, and other sexy consensual shenanigans. This one is all smut just fyi. 

Notes: Ch 1 Here! Happy first Monday of 2021 folks.  

Chapter 2: Can I Get A Bird's Eye View?

“Would you care to find out?”

If you had asked Paz Viszla what he would be doing that day, making a move on the (charming) armstech would not be on the list. He had originally come back to Nevarro on a tip and to see what was left of the Covert, and what could be moved to the new location. He hadn’t planned to stay for too long, but the Bothan’s annoying non-description of who had the datapad stretched Paz’s stay from three days to two weeks. He wasn’t exactly a tracker, that was always a task better suited for someone such as Djarin. 

After gently persuading the local dockmaster for a list of new arrivals to Nevarro, he had worked down the list to arrive at the new Guild armstech. She had just arrived a week ago from Bothanui, and set up shop next to the cantina at Greef Karga’s request. Unfortunately, Paz didn’t quite have the luxury of just walking into her workshop. For one, it was constantly busy; day in and day out the woman saw a steady stream of clients, all heavily armed and odds were at least two of them would not be happy to see a Mandalorian. Secondly, he had managed to stay out of the New Republic and the Guild’s radar long enough, and he vastly preferred keeping it that way. Blue beskar and gattling gun(s) were not exactly conducive to blending in with crowds. So, the next logical step of course was to break in quietly, hope he didn’t cause a scene, and leave Nevarro. 

Except it didn’t quite pan out that way. Paz had managed to disable the apartment’s security system (not an easy task, this woman was clearly no amateur, he was quite impressed) but she had come back a bit earlier than he expected. 

Fuck. 

The first thing he saw was her blaster, safety off and pointed directly at him. “What do you want?” she asked. For someone coming face to face with an intruder, she didn’t appear nervous at all-- that probably had to do with her skill not just in weapons repair but weapons writ large. He also saw her giving him a twice-over, gaze lingering on his body, how curious. 

Paz cut straight to the chase, hoping to avoid making a scene “The datapad,”.

The woman relaxed and rummaged through her toolkit before walking right up to his face. That was new. Most people, even ones who might call Paz a friend, chose to keep their distance. Either this armstech had nerves of steel or he was losing his touch. “You might want to get this blaster checked,” she motioned at his thighs, “Those scorch marks are usually a bad sign,”. Her gaze lingered briefly and Paz was grateful for his helmet and armor for concealing his expression.

 Paz took the datapad, verified its contents, and turned to leave. “Thank you for this,”. 

“Ah, so you do have manners,” she teased, voice bright before she shut the door. 

What a strange being.

Against his better judgement, Paz showed up the next night. And subsequent nights after that. It was for his own good, he justified to himself, with the Armorer out of reach for the time being, his arsenal did need a good onceover. The other part of him just really wanted to get to know this woman better. She was definitely good at her craft, and carried herself with a general air of confidence, standing up to idiots who wanted to underpay or worse, tried to flirt with her for discounts. She was a by the books type of person, and was polite with clients, but kept to herself despite invitations for a drink from cocky guild members. 

She had also taken to calling him Blue, which amused Paz greatly.  

“Uh...would you like to stay for dinner?” she asked, eyes flickering briefly at him before returning to the gattling gun on his table. He could tell that she was trying to keep her voice casual, but her shoulders were tense.

Paz really wanted to, but blast, the Creed. “I can’t..but not for the reason you think. I can’t remove my helmet in the presence of others...it’s part of being a Mandalorian”. 

He could see the disappointment manifest in your body, and the knowledge that he was the one to do that to you disturbed him greatly. 

“Don’t you ever get lonely?” 

That was not the follow up question Paz was expecting. Truth be told, he was. The Covert had scattered, and the people he loved were either dead in the ground, missing, or far away. Maybe that was part of what drew him to this particular woman. Something consistent to look forward to, even if it was only for the past week or so. There was also the matter of the bantha in the room-- the rising tension demarcated as of late by light touches on her wrist or at the shell of her ear followed by cheeks flushing red. Paz wondered if she flushed red elsewhere as well. 

“Would you care to find out?”

It felt like the air was sucked out of your tiny apartment. You could hear the blood pounding in your heart, ears ringing as you came to grips with the situation. Was he asking what you thought he was asking? 

As if he could see the gears turning in your mind, the Mandalorian chuckled, thumb running across your bottom lip “A simple yes or no will suffice. I won’t take what isn’t freely given,”. 

You wondered what it would be like to bite his glove off.  What his hands would feel like. Yours were callused from years of mechanical work

“Yes.” you whispered, leaving a gentle kiss on his finger. 

He leaned closer, helmet grazing the side of your cheek as the vocoder crackled, “That was the response I was hoping for,”. He turned you around with a gentle push of his arm, “Let me take you to bed.” 

This was actually happening. You took his hand, looking for an anchor as you led him to your room. As soon as you were there, the brief bravado you had summoned earlier started to dissipate. You settled for helping him take off his bulky armor, pauldrons, greaves, and cuirass forming a neat pile by your bed, until he was left in his helmet and sinfully tight undershirt and pants. It was then that you realized that while the armor added a lot to his frame, he was just big to begin with, easily dwarfing you. 

Maker, you didn’t even know his name. You had barely met. Was this really happening? Yes, you had wanted him but was this too soon? Were you being too forward? 

“Stop thinking,” he growled, breaking you out of your reverie. He took your hands in his, laying gentle kisses over your knuckles, a kind gesture probably to try to assuage your fears. A thoughtful gesture from someone who lived and breathed war. He helps you out of your top, carefully peeling it off of you, making appreciative noises as you become more and more exposed. Your pants come off next, and inwardly you wish you had the foresight to wear something nicer than what you had on, but that feeling washes away when his fingers dip just inside the waistband of your underwear, teasing.   

“Do you trust me?” he whispered, right hand coming up to cup your face in a reassuring gesture. “I’m safe just so you know, I got my implant checked recently,”. You echo his statement, inwardly thanking yourself for keeping up to date with your health. 

He held your discarded scarf in the other, “If I cover your eyes I can--” 

You closed your eyes, already anticipating his ask. No turning back now, you were all in. You heard him take a sharp intake of breath before carefully wrapping the scarf around your eyes. It was...nice. Without the gift of sight you couldn’t worry about how you looked or what to do. Paradoxically, you felt a little freer than you ever had. You heard of the clunk of the helmet being placed on the ground, and then, his lips were pressing on yours. 

Softly at first, an almost chaste movement, as if he were gauging your response, trying to make sure he wasn’t overstepping. It was sweet, but you didn’t come this far for that. You wrapped your arms around him, deepening the kiss, mouth opening to try to convey your desires. It had been a while, you were going to make the most out of this, however fleeting it may be. 

You could feel him smiling a little against your mouth and empowered by your kiss, he moved his hands down, thumbs caressing your throat, enjoying the way your breath hitched. He slowly mapped your body, making you giggle when his stubble cheek grazed your collarbones. Down and back up your arms, laying kisses down your sternum and your stomach, and the back up your legs. Carefully and methodically. 

You could feel yourself getting wetter, and tried to squeeze your thighs for some friction, anything to help with the pressure. He laughed as he held your thighs apart, “No, not yet,”. 

“Blue I…,” you squirmed, fidgeting against his hold. 

His voice piped up from between your legs, “It’s Paz.”

You blinked under the blindfold. “What?”.

“My name is Paz Viszla,” he murmured, tongue licking a strip up your inner thigh. You shivered. 

Ohhh. “Paz…” you murmured, trying out his name on your tongue, “Paz.”

Paz’s mouth trailed upwards towards your center. “Careful sweetheart, gonna give me ideas with the way you call my name,”. His hands slid back up your torso tracing a line right along the underside of your breasts while his lips continued to ghost around your inner thighs. You could almost feel his breath on your clit, and your attempts to grind onto something are met with empty air. 

You whined, desperate for more sensation, “Hurry up, I haven’t got all night” you huffed. This was supposed to be a quick fuck. You were used to quick one night stands with random fly guys, all rushed and without much pomp and circumstance. This pace was killing you, albeit in a good way. 

You were rewarded with a slight pinch to your nipples, and your body arched, chasing the crumb of sensation. Paz continued to work your nipples, alternating between rubbing them with the soft pads of your fingers and pinching them. Hazily, you thought about asking him to pull. 

“So sensitive,” he murmured as if he was describing the weather and not as if he was torturing you by sucking a bruise right at the valley where your torso meets your leg.

You pout, the thought of saying please at ready on your tongue. Anything for more.  

“Impatient aren’t you? Too used to having it your way? That’ll be something to work on next time,”

As much as you were loath to admit it, the admission of “next time” filled you with a funny sensation. Maybe, just maybe, this wouldn’t be just a one time thing. But now was not the time to interrogate that. You jerk your head down at his general direction, “Paz, I swear to whoever if you don’t touch me---”

“I am touching you sweetheart. This is called foreplay,”

“I should’ve shot you that night you broke in.” you retort, pretending to be exasperated. You had fantasized about what it would be like to fuck the man underneath the blue beskar, but slow and teasing were not in your assumptions. If he wasn’t doing such sublime things to your nipples, you might actually kill him, you think. You can feel Paz finally lifting his head from your thighs, hands continuing their torture of your chest. He presses kisses on the underside of your jaw and on your neck, clearly enjoying the way you fuss around to look for more.  

You want something, anything more than what he’s giving you. “It’s not my first time you know, I don’t need---”. 

“Oh I know, but this is your first time with me,” and with that he finally palms your crotch, finally giving you some sweet pressure at your center. He slips a finger in between your folds, drawing circles around your clit with the back of his knuckle. Fuck, that’s nice. 

“Remember to breathe,” Paz says, a smug tone evident against the crook of your neck. Two can play at this game, you decide, moving your arm up, aiming blindly for his crotch. Paz quickly side steps you with a swiftness that belies his frame and he swats at your thigh, causing you to yelp. 

“Nice try but...let me take care of you. Will you let me hmm? I can make it so good for you,” he murmurs, one hand continuing to rub your clit, the other massaging the spot he had hit on your leg, his tone making the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. 

That exact sequence of words tickles something in the back of your mind. A desire to be soft, pliant, and obedient for this beautiful and dangerous man. To hand over the reigns of your pleasure to him. You sigh, and let down your guard. 

Paz can feel the exact moment you decide to stop fighting him. He wasn’t expecting all of this so soon, and it was definitely something that they’d have to discuss later to set limits and boundaries, but fuck if it wasn’t sexy to see this beautiful woman allow him to pleasure her in the way that he wanted. He had long nourished a desire to be a caretaker in one way or another, but the life of a Mandalorian was not exactly conducive to relationships built on so many layers of trust and understanding. The possibility of you made his head spin a little.

Paz thinks about what it would be like to ruin you, this beautiful and talented specimen.  He doesn’t even register how hard he is and how uncomfortable his pants are as he drinks in the sight of you laid out on the bed in front of him, nipples hard, pussy wet, mouth open, wanting, wanting him. Paz wasn’t quite sure what possessed him to move immediately to blindfolds and taking his helmet off (he’s done that all of once in his adult life), but he knew he would absolutely regret it if he didn’t get to kiss and taste you before the night was over. He goes back on his knees in front of you. 

You can feel his breath on your clit again and his finger tracing your entrance and you make a noise in anticipation.

“There we go. Just relax, fuck, gonna make this so good for you,” he whispers, slowly inserting his finger into your pussy. You’re so wet that it slips in easily, and Paz moves his finger in and out, exploring you. It’s nice to have something for you to hold on to, but it’s not quite enough. 

As if he can read your mind, you feel a second finger at your entrance and right as Paz slips it in, you also feel his tongue on your clit. You blindly reach over, feeling his short hair under your hand, nails digging into his scalp right as he puts his mouth over you and sucks. 

Paz lets out an appreciative hum as he works your pussy with his fingers and your clit with his mouth. His tongue works broad flat movements up and down your sensitive bundle of nerves while his fingers methodically push and pull at your center. You bite your lip as the sensations intensify, pulling at Paz’s hair as he continues his precise movements. 

“Please Paz— I’m gonna-,”

“Ah, so you do have manners,” he chuckles, his voice muffled by your thighs. Faintly, you register that you had said that to him the first night he broke in, that jerk. You have no idea how he manages to stay so infuriatingly calm while he breaks you down. Your mind scrambles to keep a hold of your dignity. “Unnh--- if you keep this up Viszla, I might--ah fuck- I might have to keep you around”, hips gyrating to meet his tongue.

Paz laughed, “Promises promises. I think we’re going to have a lot of fun together, if you continue to play nice,”. His mouth leaves your clit just as you’re approaching your peak and you cry out in frustration. So close. You press back into his fingers, trying to get a hold of just a little more sensation 

You hear him hastily pull down his pants and truth be told you had forgotten he was still fully dressed the entire time while you were completely naked, which somehow made this all the more obscene. You can feel the head of his cock at your entrance as he withdraws his fingers.  

“Are you ready?”, blunt head of his cock moving up and down your folds.

You whimper and nod, but he doesn’t move.

“I need you to use your words sweetheart. Do you want this?”, soft kisses pressing against your temple. 

You turn towards him, searching for his lips and in a brief moment of lucidity, you whisper “I want you Paz”. You can feel the immediate effect of your acquiesce in his sharp intake of breath. 

   “I’d give you a warning, but I think we’re past that,” he growls. Before you can ask him what he means, Paz thrusts into you with one fluid motion, slick covered fingers intertwined with yours. You gasp at the intrusion, the sensation almost overwhelming. He was much bigger than you anticipated, and the stretch instinctively made you tense up. Paz holds your hand tighter, “It’s ok, just...just relax, let your body adjust to me,”. You can hear the strain in his voice as he fights against the instinct to rut. 

As your body adjusts, he slowly pulls out part way before pushing back in, testing your limits. For a brief moment, there were no words, just your breathing as you focused on the sensation of him filling you, the warmth of his chest on yours, all tying into a wonderful feedback loop.  

“Talk to me,”.

You only have one thing to say to him.

“Harder,”. 

Paz squeezes your hand lightly, acknowledging your request before grabbing your ankles and putting them at his shoulders. 

“Remember, you asked for this,” he whispers, a dangerous edge to his voice and you think about just how easily this man could engulf you and shiver. Before you can make a smart remark, he hoists your hands above your head, holding your wrists down with one hand, and fully thrusts into you, bending you in half and hitting impossibly deeper. You couldn’t push back against him even if you wanted to, and Paz sets a brutal rhythm, the push and pull of his hips fills the air with the sound of your bodies hitting together and all you can do is wrap your legs around him and take it. 

An endless litany of half-formed phrases, come out of your lips, but each thrust knocks the air out of your lungs, so you settle for holding onto him as he threatens to overwhelm you. Above you, Paz groans as he rolls his hips into you, “I knew you’d be perfect---fuck-- knew it as soon as I saw you that night. Dig those nails into me sweetheart,” he says, releasing your hands, cutting through the haze in your mind and you obey, nails digging in to try to get some purchase on his back. “Fuck yeah that’s it, show me how much you like this,”.

You can feel his rhythm start to falter as he gets close, and you squeeze down on his cock as he pulls out. Paz sputters, “No, not yet, shit--” he says, reaching down again towards your clit, lips pressed onto yours again as he works you up higher and higher, over the edge. 

“Please, may I cum please please Paz--” you moan into his mouth. Normally, you would just take what you can get and finish, but something about Paz makes you want to ask, to be granted permission and it’s a dangerous high filling your mind, washing away any sense of shame or guilt because all you can do right now is take what he gives you. 

You can’t hear him say yes but rather feel him mouth the words against your cheek and vaguely you can hear him encouraging you as he continues the unrelenting pressure on your clit and inside your pussy. You gasp and the tension inside your body builds and builds, and you let go, letting your orgasm wash over you, arching your back, thankful for the blindfold to hide your eyes rolling back and all you can think about is how full and how good you feel stuffed with his cock inside and his fingers on your nerves. 

As you come back to reality you can hear Paz curse, “Where do you want it?” he asks roughly. 

You smile, giddy from your release, and in a moment of brilliance, you tell him “ I want it on my face...sir,”. 

Paz chokes and his body seizes up at the sound of your words and he barely pulls out in time before spilling all over you, most of it landing on your chest and neck as he finishes on top of you. You preen under him, glad that your words have their desired effect, and your head falls back to catch your breath.   

He kisses your ankles, broad hands running up and down your thighs in a soothing gesture as he also tries to regain his breath. 

“Caught me off guard there,”

You smile at him, “I can be full of surprises,”.

Paz chuckles as he presses a kiss to your cheek before reaching around for his helmet. Once it’s on, he carefully removes the scarf from your eyes, thumbs brushing over your closed eyelids before pressing your forehead to his. 

“I don’t doubt that at all.”

Taglist: @remmysbounty @starlite41

#the mandalorian #paz viszla #paz viszla x reader #paz vizla x reader #no shame in 2021 friends #((((gentle feedback and comments always appreciated)))) #over your shoulder fic #mono writes

[nothisis-ridiculous]

Duplicity

An AU where Kaidan joins Cerberus for the events of ME2.

Chapter Eight: Visitors

"You could have changed first," Mary's eyes flickered to the man, "it would have made a better impression."

This was the Commander on her best behavior, attempting not to scorn the man she once loved. The man that had carried her broken body from the field and into safety. The man that blushed and rubbed at his forehead under her scrutiny, unconsciously buying himself further slack with a motion that brought her back to the old days. She thought reaching him was impossible then; now it was somewhere between impossible and a nightmare. The dissonance firing off in her skull was astounding, painful.

"I was worried about," he choked out, in the husky tone that made her heart flutter, " you."

"We should worry more about ourselves- really, Kaidan? Mouthing off to the Illusive Man?"

Honestly, she was proud of him. Other than the one time he killed a superior, he was quite mellow toward most authority figures. The point value tripled because it was toward the Cerberus ring leader. His hand rubbed the back of his neck, fiddling a while before he would answer.

"Commander, the writing's on the wall here- he sent you... us into a trap. It was negligent at best, he could have easily told us. Given us a chance to prepare-"

"Leave that sort of thing to the three billion dollar asset."

"Four billion," Kaidan smirked, "that also happens to have a death wish."

Mary's eyes fluttered away, losing her will to act brave. Her heart was allowed to fear for another, "maybe I was aiming for you."

His dark eyebrow raised.

"Besides, I can at least try to end my life in the way I see fit."

It was a harsh kickback from the moment of vulnerability. It was too easy for her to return to a level of comfort with Kaidan; why wouldn't it be easy? They had spent nearly a year together more than enough time to grow close, to learn all the ticks and what they meant. Plus, she was bitter. Angry, he had a part in bringing her back to this fucked reality. One where she was shackled to Cerberus. Where her autonomy was a fading illusion, Mary was trapped, and rattling at the bars wasn't enough. Whether it was the nuclear option or falling into submission wasn't entirely clear, both paths still fought.

His other eyebrow joined, creasing toward the center. Reflexively frowning at Shepard's insinuation, a hand returning to massage at his temple, he had no defense. Nothing that would change her mind anyway. He loved her; that was obvious. He couldn't stand to lose her, but he had already told her that. It was in the galaxy's best interest to have her around and kicking Reaper ass, in that there was no doubt. Mumbling and fumbling over words wouldn't budge the Commander. There was no reason even to attempt such a thing.

"I won't apologize for bringing you back."

"What about working for Cerberus?" Mary spat.

Kaidan barked, the aggressive tone an accidental exhaling of emotion, "did Chakwas or Joker get this lecture too? Or is it just me?"

"Does it matter?"

"So Joker gets a warm welcome, you end up drunk with Chakwas, and I end up dodging crates? How is that fair?" he questioned with folded arms.

"They didn't see what they did first hand," she reeled, "they... you... didn't... you knew they killed my unit. You met Toombs."

"And hearing about it wasn't enough?"

Mary's throat bobbed, "it's different."

"Don't BS me, Commander," he retorted sternly, "we're way past that."

"I expected better of you."

"Why? Why just me?"

"You're a good man, Kaidan. I don't like being wrong," Mary went cold, folding her arms over herself, "I don't like thinking I misjudged you."

"Let me get this right...because of our relationship, you expect me to live up to a lofty standard?"

"Hardly lofty. Terrorist organization hardly seems your style," Mary's eyes barbed him with daggers.

"Yet you stick with them."

"What choice do I have? Can I just leave? They've brought in everyone I care about, the Illusive Man has already proved he doesn't mind using anyone connected to me as bait," she looked away, "I'm trapped here."

Kaidan lowered his arms, daring to close a portion of the distance between them. He wanted to assure her, to assuage Mary that she was not the only one caged. It wasn't the time, "I felt the same way when the Council... the Alliance threw me aside. Knowing the Reapers are coming is terrible stuff. Instead of waiting around, I did something."

"You went too far, Kaidan."

"The same could have been said when we mutinied."

"We didn't experiment on people."

"Yeah, Cerberus has a lot to answer for," Kaidan retreated.

Mary didn't answer, watching him coldly. He was sure if she could move from that bed she would have decked him hard on the way out. But she was stuck- tied to the bed by medical tape. She seemed in fine condition to anyone else, but he could see the subtle wince when her breath drew too deep, or her volume grew too loud. Kaidan knew Mary better than anyone.

"What am I supposed to say, Mary? Surviving tore me apart. You, you already know what happened at first, but I had the chance to do something. To fight against what I knew was about to happen," Kaidan stepped forward, "maybe we'll never be what we were. But don't judge me, and let me help. I know how this looks-"

The biotic finally dared to meet her gaze- just in time to watch the tears spring from her eyes," just stop," Mary pleaded, looking at anything else that could distance her, "it may have been two years for you, I get it. You've mourned me. It's only been a few weeks, I felt myself die... just to wake up, and everything is... different. I'm still not sure if I'm in hell or not. Cerberus wasn't even a place I'd be in my nightmare."

Mary's bright eyes suddenly caught him, "and you're with them."

Kaidan moved forward, a hand extended as the Commander curled into herself, pulling up the blanket in vain, hoping it would hide her. Sheild her from the vulnerability she was not willingly presenting. It leaked, and it was unfair of him to take advantage of her. In a previous time her guard would have dropped; now she fought to keep it up—only a part of her struggle to keep sane in this new life. His hovering arm dropped, retreating several paces to force himself to stop.

"I didn't want to believe it," Kaidan stalled, looking at his feet, "but I've been thinking, realized that some of these people are good people. Maybe misguided, but... good."

Mary nodded, keeping her head turned away from him.

"Look, I didn't come here to lecture you," Kaidan sent over a dossier from his omnitool, "I brought some good news. If pulling in someone else we know into this mess is good news."

She shook her arm free of the blanket, the orange illumination of her face revealing a subtle shift in her state. The corner of her lip pulling up after the initial pass of regret filtered over her face, at least the tears he should do nothing about slowed to a trickle.

"There are more dossiers, but I knew this one would be most the important."

"Send them over."

Mary scanned the other two, far more passive in her reading of the other potential members of her crew. This was his cue to leave, so he moved to do just that.

"Just be more careful next time," Mary murmured, following his path out of the medical bay.

Kaidan paused, nodding before ducking out of sight.

~~~

"Thanks Shepard, I will," Liara smiled warmly.

"I'll talk to you later, Li Li," Mary stood, acknowledging Miranda's sideways look with a lop-sided smile. Trotting down the stairs from the administrator's office.

"Jealous, Lawson?"

"No, I-" Miranda smiled nervously, "you aren't going to let this go, are you?"

"Not until I find the perfect nickname."

"Oh god," Miranda muttered, massaging her temples, "Miri and nothing else will be acceptable."

"Really?" Mary prodded but gently offering concern rather than utter mirth.

"Is it not embarrassing enough?"

The Commander grinned smugly, "no, it's just-"

"Just what?" Miranda blew with hands moving to her perfect hips.

Mary didn't avoid the conversation out of pettiness- Joker's voice drowned out the moment, pulling away from the lightness of her mood.

"Shepard, we, uh, have a visitor? Some Kai Leng he claims to be Cerberus."

"You let him on the ship?"

"Let is not the word I'd use."

"And everything was going so well," Garrus quipped, the quicker of her companions to read the shift of Shepard's energy.

"Mr. Moreau is correct, Mr. Leng is here on the Illusive Man's orders," EDI pipped in, "I had to let him in."

"You better hurry; he already pissed off Tali."

"I'm on my way, Joker."

"A stowaway problem, Shepard?" Garrus asked with a cock of his head.

"Miri," it was too grave for a lighthearted nickname, "do you know a Kai Leng?"

"That bastard."

Mary cocked her head, her smile fading into a frown, "Miranda?"

"This isn't good news, Shepard. He's the Illusive Man's personal pet," she spat.

"Threat level?"

"Ten."

Mary picked up her pace to the Normandy, ignoring the sideways glances and concerned looks she received. The doors to the ship were open for her, and an over-the-shoulder call from Joker directed the party to the shuttle bay. The elevator felt like it took centuries, and neither of her companions wanted to say a word. Not even a half ignored news clip to pass the time. Leaving her to claw at her vambrace, annoyed to be tramping through her ship in unclean armour. It was a minor detail, but she hated bringing unnecessary germs onto the belly of her ship. She had a quarian to consider.

As if that was her greatest worry at the moment.

Mary stormed into the cargo bay, surprised to find three figures, and notably the lack of a certain Quarian. The krogan presence was less of a surprise, if there was a fight Grunt would find it. With his space overlooking the bay, he didn't have to pry, and furthermore, Jack's latest biotic blast wasn't easily ignored.

"If you think I'm letting you take me now," Jack heaved, dodging a projectile and returning a side-stepped shockwave, "you're fucking wrong!"

"Jack!" Mary screamed, breaking the biotic's concentration, and then her head swiveled to the stranger, "you must be Kai Leng."

"Shepard," the dark-haired stranger drawled, sending an instinctive shiver down her spine.

She wouldn't be intimidated, ignoring the gnawing sense this man would as quickly kill her as he would shake her hand, but it couldn't stop the protect folding of her arms over her chest, "why are you tormenting my crew?"

"Lawson," he continued, the smug smile leaving as he examined the turian, "and this must be the one known as Archangel."

Mary stepped in to partially block his view of Garrus. She knew that look.

The mixed heritage man extended out his hand- Mary had never wanted to do anything less, but this was a power move. Declining would give him the literal and figurative upper hand. Fuck, his grip was tight, overbearing.

"I was sent here to help; after all, the fate of humanity is resting on your shoulders," Shepard felt the omitted words from his saccharine tone.

"I don't need the kind of help that torments my crew."

"I corrected your blatant disregard for Cerberus' confidentiality."

A chuckle escaped Garrus's airway, on inspection, Miri sported a fleeting smirk. Spurring Mary on to laugh in his face, "yeah, from stolen Alliance and Turian designs."

"This wasn't part of the deal, Shepard," Jack butted in.

"You'll get those files back."

"Will you?"

"You'll learn soon enough that Shepard gets her way, Leng."

Kai Leng took his turn to chortle, "so quick to betray Cerberus, Miss Lawson?"

Miranda exhaled slowly, "what's the harm in a few classified files," her tone almost defeated. Mary and Jack meeting each other with a curious look.

"I'm sure you can find your way to temporary quarters?" Mary returned her attention to the stranger, "The Illusive Man and I need to have a chat in the meantime."

#fshenko #mass effect fancition #cerberus au #duplicity #kaidan alenko #mass effect

[dearjamesxo]

[drabble under cut]

They’re on their way to wish Bea luck when it happens.

Billy, Spike and Jessie trudge against the midafternoon crowd, Spike boasting a story from his childhood – no doubt exaggerated to the moon to impress Jessie. Billy listens with half an ear, hands stuffed in his pockets and eyes on the ground. He doesn’t react when someone bumps into him.

“He’s in a mood,” Jessie teases to Spike when Spike tries, for the fourth time, to include Billy in the conversation.

Spike snorts, “I can see that. Which is why I’m trying to cheer ‘im up.” He sidles into Billy’s space, claps a friendly hand on Billy’s shoulder and asks, “Come on, mate, who shoved that monumental stick up your arse?”

Billy’s jaw twitches. He tucks his chin into his chest and hunches further into himself, hoping to relay how much he doesn’t want to talk about it.

“Is it the whole we’re not good enough tripe?” Spike questions, rolling a hand in the air to encompass the tripe he’s referring to. “Because the way I look at it, we got lucky. Who wants to go to a stuffy old ball anyway?” Spike’s tone suggests he does, but Billy refrains from pointing it out, “Let Bea and the good doctor go and deal with all that crap, while we—” He leans back and grins across the breadth of Billy’s shoulders, winks at Jessie, “—get to enjoy ourselves!”

Billy doesn’t respond, simply shrugs and keeps his pace, his shoulder colliding with another man’s. Again, Billy doesn’t even seem to register that the man told him to, watch where yer goin’!

Yes, Billy’s in a mood, definitely, but it doesn’t have anything to do with Bea or Watson or the ball Spike mentioned. In fact, it was Billy’s idea to go find Bea before Watson collects her at Mrs. Smith’s shoppe.

As usual, Watson’s swanning Bea off to perform for another investigation, some undercover business that apparently, “Only Beatrice has the maturity and patience to pull off,” thanks for the confidence, “the rest of you will merely serve to attract unwanted attention.” As if Bea done up like a gateau de savoie won't attract attention. Although Bea has learned to carry herself less woodenly than she did, she isn't exactly graceful when laced into a gown. Jessie's the better candidate, equipped with supernatural powers to boot, but Watson's mind was made up. Besides, Billy's noticed that he and Bea have some sort of connection; they seem to get each other in a way that leaves everyone else behind.

Howbeit, Watson’s condescending remark isn’t what gets Billy’s dander up either. That honor goes to His Royal Highness, Prince I-Have-To-Escort-Helena. Not that Billy wants to go through the trouble of pampering and primping for a ball he’s sure he’ll hate every minute of. But Leo could’ve at least had the courtesy to pretend he was regretful, since he already has so much experience pretending to be something he isn’t.

Billy scowls at his shoes, kicks a pebble harder than he means to. He ducks his head and picks up his pace when he hears a strangled yelp and sees, from the corner of his eye, a man clasp his ankle and hop on one foot.

Oops.

It’s then that the short hairs at the back of his neck rise, his scalp tingles, the sensation of being watched shivering up Billy's spine. He lifts his chin and, immediately, his gaze is drawn to the end of the street.

“Isn’t that—?” Jessie starts, tugging Billy’s wrist to get his attention. Then, much quieter, under her breath, “Oh,” as if she's figured something out.

Billy yanks his wrist out of her light grasp and squares his shoulders, ignorant of the utterly baffled Spike sends Jessie behind his back. “Wait here,” he gruffs and stalks toward the end of the street. Or more precisely, toward who lingers there.

“We’ll meet you!” Spike calls after him and wraps an arm around Jessie. She tries to resist, head craning, but Spike guides her down the cross street in the direction of Mrs. Smith’s shoppe.

Like a wolf preparing to lunge, Billy stalks toward Leo, expression hard and fists clenched. Leo returns the sentiment with a rigid, neutral set to his features, stare unwavering. Billy inwardly chastises himself for the heat of desire that rushes through him upon seeing Leo. No matter how pissed he is with the prince, Billy can never deny how attractive Leo is like this, all lofty courage and attitude, golden against the smutty backdrop of the Marylebone rookery. God, Billy wants to strip Leo of his finery, fuck him until he remembers who he really belongs to. And it isn't, Billy thinks in a possessive growl, Helena.

Theirs will never be a public romance, a reality Billy understood from the start, only it didn't feel so impossibly cruel until the moment Leo casually mentioned he would be attending the very ball Bea and Watson would with Helena on his arm. As if he wasn't lounging between Billy's legs, his back to Billy's chest, his fingers laced with Billy's. It never ceases to amaze Billy how terrible Leo is at reading a room because Jessie's discomfited expression alone should've been a clue that something wasn't right. Even so, Billy kept his mouth shut because he's supposed to be fine with it, isn't he?

Easier said than done, Billy knows now.

As much as they - Billy and Leo and Leo and Helena - have an agreement, it still cuts deep when Billy has to step aside so Leo can appease his mother by flaunting the person society deems Leo's best match.

“What’re you doing here?” Billy demands to know the instant he’s within earshot.

Leo flinches slightly, then musters the confidence to say, “I’d like to have a word.”

“With your side piece?” Billy mocks disbelief, “I’ll bet.”

“Billy, please, if you would just listen—”

Billy’s in front of Leo now, standing at the closeness he’s grown accustomed to since he and Leo became he and Leo. He didn’t mean to narrow the distance so quickly, wants to hold on to the anger because it’s easier, except that to put himself anywhere else in Leo’s orbit feels intrinsically wrong.

“Better make it quick, your highness,” Billy sneers, “I’m sure your lady doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

“For goodness’ sake,” Leo erupts through gritted teeth, though his tone maintains a respectable volume as propriety demands, “I’m not going.”

This stops Billy's mounting rage in its tracks, all at once replaced with a confusion that shows itself on Billy's face. A simple “What?” tumbles out of his mouth as he frowns at Leo as if Leo told him the sky is actually green.

“I’m not going.” Leo repeats.

Billy grabs Leo by the upper arm and drags him out of the middle of the crowded street, into a narrow lane that separates the butcher’s and an Indian-owned tearoom. Leo doesn’t resist, allows Billy to manhandle him, and stops moving altogether when Billy pushes him against the brick wall just inside the lane. Suddenly, Billy’s flooded with concern.

“What happened?” Because it has to be something awful if Leo can shirk his responsibility for the evening. “Is Helena alright?”

Leo’s brows furrow, eyes flickering between Billy’s, down to hover on Billy’s mouth before they slip to the ground where they remain. He huffs a humorless laugh, “Helena’s fine, you massive boor.” and slumps against the wall Billy has him pinned to by the shoulders, defeat obvious in his posture.

“Then what—?”

“It’s you!”

Well, that can't be right. Leo's never missed an engagement his mother's insisted upon for Billy in the weeks they've been, well, them. Billy has to make sure, “Me?”

Gesturing helplessly with one hand, Leo explains, “How can I go and act as though I care about anything my mother’s contemporaries have to say when all I can think about is you, here, upset with me?” A tiny smile curls Billy’s mouth, “I love you, you idiot.” Leo says as though he's said it a thousand times - he hasn't, this is the first and Leo doesn't appear to notice he's shared such an important declaration in the middle of a rant. Billy wants to say it back all the more for it. “Helena made a fuss when I told her, practically pushed me out the window so I would come find you.”

Floating on a wave of giddiness, assuaged by Leo's words, Billy remembers how much he likes Helena. Helena who has her Henrik in Münster and swore not to intrude on Leo's relationship with Billy as long as Leo issues her the same respect.

Billy leans in and places his forehead against Leo’s, hands sliding from Leo’s shoulders to cradle Leo’s jaw, resting the pads of his thumbs gently at the corners of Leo’s mouth. A small chuckle escapes him, unable to contain it, and Billy shuffles forward to press their bodies flush from waist to hips to knees, fondly brushes the tips of their noses, then tilts his head and captures Leo’s lips in a sweet yet hot-hungry kiss.

When he pulls back, he wonders, “Or maybe it’s Helena I should be thanking?” He hooks a thumb over his shoulder, smiling playfully, “Should I be kissing her instead?”

Eyes in grumpy, feline slits, Leo protests, “Don’t you dare.”

“Mm, you’re right, she’s really not my type.”

Abruptly, Billy untangles himself from Leo, bends enough to grab Leo by the back of the thighs and lifts. Leo cries out shrilly, startled, the action forcing his legs to wrap around Billy’s waist and his arms to lock around Billy’s neck. Cackling, Billy pins Leo with his body, his fingers kneading the sensitive flesh just below Leo’s arse, eliciting a moan that he swallows greedily.

“Is this really the appropriate time?” Leo pants, throwing his head back when Billy grinds their hips together, making them both groan.

“Not even a little bit.”

As Billy leans in for another kiss, Leo interrupts by putting two fingers to Billy's lips. “Perhaps,” He says, voice pitched suggestively, “We should take this elsewhere,” Here, Leo kitten licks Billy’s parted lips, darts his tongue into Billy's mouth quickly, moves on to dot Billy’s jaw with a trail of dry kisses. He reaches Billy's ear and continues in a whisper, “Somewhere you can spread me open,” A nip to Billy’s earlobe, “And show me what happens when I upset you?”

Billy's cock twitches in interest. He takes in Leo’s pink cheeks and glassy, blown eyes, decides, “Sounds like a marvelous idea.”

In a swift sequence of motions, Billy drops Leo to his feet, carefully repositions him, crouches, and then hoists Leo over his shoulder. Spike was right, Billy grins, patting the swell of one of Leo's arse cheeks in victory, who wants to go to a stuffy old ball, anyway?

#The Irregulars #netflix #Billy x Leo #Billy/Leo #Billypold #Billy #Billy (The Irregulars) #Leo #Leopold #Leo (The Irregulars) #drabble #writing #my writing #photo prompt