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wizkiddx · 3 years

Text

two beautiful girls

someone asked for me to try dad!tom again so here's my humble attempt, I really really hope it doesn't disappoint but honestly I didn’t spend a lot of time on it before my brain turned to mush :) hope everyones okay... today seems to have felt particularly shitty for no real reason, but sending lots o love <3

dad!tomholland x reader

Summary: dealing with your daughter while tom’s away is tricky to say the least, but its all worth it when the three of u are reunited again // fluff (and maybe angst if u squint rlly hard)

(I can’t work out where this pic is from to credit but pls lmk if it’s yours/ u know)

Normally, hearing the door turn in the lock of your front door was one of the best sensations in the world. No matter how long Tom had been away for you would always be filled with such a sense of relief and warmth just by knowing he was there. Sometimes it’d be after he left only a couple of hours previous for a two hour meeting; or after a quick long weekend in New York for an event; ranging to a two and half month block of shooting across the globe. Especially since little Nova was born, your longing for Tom was only quadrupled because you also had a complete ‘daddy’s girl’ pining after him too.

Tom had only been away for a couple of nights, yet your 18 month daughter seemed to think she’d been abandoned for months on end. She had slept for less than 6 hours each day and as much as you tried to appeal to her wise and intellectual side (which didnt really exist - she was only 18 months) that sleep would pass the time till his return ; she was having absolutely none of it. Nova kept you up for hours and hours, screaming, screeching and wailing because you weren’t as ‘funny’ as daddy or as soft as her daddy. And what does a sleep deprived baby lead to…? A grumpy baby. She refused to eat which was so awful because then you felt as if you were neglected your child.

It just made you feel a bit of a failure, to be quite frank. The house was a mess - you’d tried almost every toy to cheer her up, which Nova had actually found great joy in launching back at your face in spite. You were a mess too - at one point, who knows when, you had tied your hair back but now flyaways were everywhere as it pulled itself out of the grasp of the too-loose scrunchie. Oh and then there was the babyfood Nova had kindly spat all over your shirt.

It had been a really fun three days.

It was therefore counter intuitive, the fact that Tom’s homecoming only filled you with dread. But you didnt want him to think your were a failure. You were supposed to be Novas mum after all, why must things be so hard when they’re supposed to be all natural and easy? She hadn’t even reached the terrible twos phase yet - that seemed like a far off hellish nightmare you were trying to avoid thinking of. Of course, you loved loved loved Nova - she was already growing up so fast that it actually hurt your heart a little, to think of how much in even a week she’d grown.

But it was still fair to say she’d been a little devil this week.

This evening you had finally managed to tempt her to sit in the high chair, she’d had about two mouthfuls when you heard Tom entering. Thats exactly what you needed, Tom to get her all over excited so she wouldn’t eat, wouldn’t go down and wouldn’t let you rest. In the madness of it all, you hadn’t managed to even attempt to clean up the sea of toys either so Tom would immediately have all your failings before his eyes. Just bloody great.

“Where are my two beautiful girls?”

Like clockwork, he’d always say it and Nova would always gurgle out a “dada” just as she did today. Though this time she kicked her legs in desperation, momentarily looking at you with the kindest eyes she’d given you the week. It was only because she wanted something, you knew that, yet you still gave in. With a sigh you stood up and unclipped her from the high chair, even if this was the first time in a good few days she’d been happily eating her dinner. Or rather, had taken the single first bite.

She had something to show her Dad though. When he’d left she still didnt have certain skills, capabilities that only now she had learnt. Nova was very proud of her knew ability to kick things - recently discovered when you were attempting to put her shoes on to go to the supermarket. Instead, after 5 attempts of her impressively booting them across the room you’d surrendered - Nova walked round the shops barefoot (probably a bit irresponsible on your part but desperation calls).

So now she giggled whilst hurtling through the room, as Tom rounded the corner in grey joggers and a black hoodie. You watched his eyes light up, whilst he knelt down at the door way to welcome your curly haired princess into his arms. With all her force, she barrelled into him , her little arms wrapping as far around his broad chest as she could. Immediately Tom reciprocated, pulling her up into his arms and swaying slightly side to side.

“Hey little one, I missed you!” He was positively grinning from ear to ear as he rose the two of them up , pressing a quick peck to her unruly locks.

Only then did he look up and survey the surrounding situation, you saw him track his eyes through the mess of toys on the floor, over the counter top piled high with dishes you hadn’t got round to doing and the bin that was overflowing because you just had kept putting off taking it out. It was so embarrassing that you daren’t to even look at him, instead focusing completely on mixing the now lukewarm mush you’d made for Nova round the bowl. Tom slowly picked his way through the hazardous floor, inspecting you closely. It honestly made him feel a pang of guilt, the way you looked beyond exhausted and run down - the dark shadows under your eyes only testament to that.

“Hey darling.” He spoke softly, keeping Nova pressed to his chest in one arm while the other went to rub your side. “You okay?” Not wanting to disappoint him, you momentarily collected yourself before looking up at him with the a small smile.

“Yeh I’m good. How was the flight?” You knew Tom already saw past your attempt of small talk, the was his eyebrows furrowed slightly being the tell. But before he could question you further Nova started wriggling round in his hold, making him arch back to look at her.

“Have you been a good girl for mummy little one?” Given your defeated look, Tom was pretty sure he already knew the answer - Nova chose instead of confirming either way to just wriggle some more as she shouted Dada.

“What you doing crazy?” He chuckled rhetorically, bending down to let her out of his hold, where she then dragged him across the room to the foam mini ball she had. With her still slightly uncoordinated gait, she focused her eyes completely on the ball, her tongue slightly poking out the left corner of her mouth. Then with a forceful yelp she smashed the ball upwards and across the room, flying into a closed cupboard door before bouncing down to the floor. Expectantly Nova’s hazel eyes immediately then searched for her Dad’s - a massive smirk on her face.

“NO WAY NOVA!!!” He shrieked, running and scooping her up once again, this time spinning her round so her legs flew out- her giggles enough to warm even the coldest heart of stone. “Your right foot is better than Manes!” He laughed, though neither girl in the room getting the football reference- Tom had long since given up hope of you getting invested in football, no matter how hard he had tried. “You’re gonna be the best little footballer Kingston has ever seen!”

Nova seemed more than fulfilled with his praise, laughing and settling down in his hold whilst he straightened up glancing back at you again.

“She’s learning so fast.” You mumbled up at him and Tom nodding, taking a seat in the chair next to you.

“She’s got a pretty impressive teacher!” He tried so hard to perk you up, nudging your side as his gaze felt as though he was boring holes into you.

Not knowing how to reply to his compliment you left it and the room faded to silence briefly, the atmosphere feeling rather uncomfortable for your marital home.

“Do you mind finishing off her dinner if I take a shower?” You muttered under your breath, wanting an escape.

Naturally Tom agreed, even if he watched you walk out the room with a worrisome expression on his face. He knew his job wasn’t easy for you at all. It had been hard enough when it has just the two of you, the long periods apart bore longer on you. Over the time Tom had been acting, he’d become somewhat used to these long periods of absence, it had just become the usual. But for you? You working a normal job meant it was harder. You couldn’t go on double dates with your friends - half the time you boyfriend was across a sea from you. Now though, with Nova, you’d lost someone you grew to depend on. Yes, it might only be for briefer periods of time but it still didn’t feel any easier. He was effectively leaving you to be a single mother and although his family obviously endeavoured to support you in every way possible. It just wasn’t the same.

So whilst Nova babbled excitedly her mostly gibberish in the highchair, Tom spent the time sweeping round the kitchen/diner , collecting up the toys into their boxes, loading up the dishwasher and wiping clean the surfaces - all whilst entertaining Nova with brief ‘no reallys’?” And “what ! That’s unbelievable’ and “so what did you tell them?” In response to her baby language babble. His fiery daughter was distracted by the food and one sided chat for all of 20 minutes, letting him just about finish up before she grew impatient of some more attention.

“So what did you get up to then little miss nuisance?” He asked while wiping her mouth which was now smeared with her tomatoey gloop.

“Went park. Mummy made cookies!!”

“Cookies? No way can I have one?” He did honestly fancy the sound of a cookie, and after lifting her out the seat and onto his lap he looked round the kitchen in search of the baked goods.

“No.” She giggled with a mischievous twinkle in her eye “all gone!!”

“What?!?”

“All gone! Mummy and me drawed too look!” She pointed out the multicoloured scribble of uncoordinated lines spiralling together that had been stuck on the fridge.

“Oooh that’s beautiful darling what else did you do?”

“Mummy and me played paw patrol! Mummy was silly!” Nova laughed at the memory, Tom squeezing her up into his chest again loving how bloody precious she was.

“Why was mummy silly?”

“She did Ryders voice! Mummy voice is better than Daddy’s!”

“WHAT?!?” Shrieking in offence, Tom tickled her belly until she was squirming on the top of his thighs in fits of laughter, making Tom laugh away too.

He truly loved his beautiful daughter.

It took you a good couple of hours to venture downstairs, feeling for some ludicrous reason that you had to pluck up the courage. When you went down, you assumed that Nova had already passed out or was about to - the house was serene and quiet. So in your joggers and one of Tom’s big tees, you crept back down the stairs. Entering the kitchen first to get yourself a water and Tom a beer ( he never didn’t want a beer, especially after a long flight). As you entered, your feet seemed to loose their connection with you body making you halt jerkily, seeing the almost sparkling kithchen. All the toys and general clutter was gone from the floor; the dishes magically vanished, revealing a counter that you’d almost forgotten had existed. What you had done to deserve Tom was beyond you, yet you were so grateful - and felt a flutter inside your chest as you went back out and into the living room.

Tom had Nova sat on his thighs, though she was more like slumped against his chest as he tried to lull her to sleep with his deep voice quietly reading one of her superhero books. It had been unavoidable - she’d been indoctrinated into the world of Marvel before she could even talk, Tom insisting on wanting her to know that ‘she could be a superhero too if she wanted to’. The Spiderman baby grow, the captain marvel water bottle- the subtle nods to his roles where impossible to avoid in your house. His warm eyes briefly flicked up when he noticed you standing at the doorway, he paused his sentence to give you a warm smile and nod you over to the sofa beside him. Still feeling a little self conscious, you stared at the floor while rounding the table and plonking yourself down next to him - allowing just a little gap of space.

“Thanks for sorting the kitchen, I’m sorry-“

“Don’t worry at all darling” He arched over to you and pressed a quick peck to your forehead before Nova mewled in annoyance of her story being interrupted. He lightly chuckled, bringing the one hand that wasn’t holding the book to brush her unruly curls back off her head.

Tom kept reading in his soft voice and you let your eyes slip close, just enjoying the peace that you hadn’t experienced in what felt like a lifetime as Tom’s voice lightly hummed through your head. That was until Nova decieded to interrupt the calm just once more. She grumbled insistently and squirmed in her Dads lap, before heavily pulling her head up and blinking at you - holding her arms out expectantly.

“Think she wants her mum” Tom whispered, already lifting her over to you as you sat slightly bemused by the whole situation. Tom was home, her daddy was home, why did she want you? Tom laughed at your quizzical face as Nova burrowed her nose into you neck, letting out a contented huff. “My girls huh?”

“I promise you this is the first time this weekend she’s acknowledged me as anything more than mrs truchbull!”

“Well she’s spent all evening telling me about how good you are at baking and how your paw patrol voices are better than mine.” He murmured his words lowly, so as not to disturb Nova who was already asleep on your chest.

“She did?”

“She loves her mum… almost as much as I do” Chuckling, Tom wrapped his arm round you, pulling the both of you down to his chest while you swore your heart was exploding.

“I love you too Tommy”

Safe to say you and Nova were both exhausted, so after an almost shamefully short time your head rested heavier and heavier on Tom’s shoulder whilst he aimlessly carded his fingers through the ends of your hair. You really were an exceptionally amazing mother, before Nova Tom assumed he couldn’t love you anymore and yet seeing you cuddled up to his baby girl - his feelings for you could only grow infinitely. Making the executive decision to not move either of you upstairs to bed, he instead reached over to grab the blanket. He draped it over himself and his two best girls, choosing to stay in that magical moment for as long as possible.

He loved his beautiful family of three.

And tess … Tess too ;)

#tom holland #tom holland fluff #tom holland x reader #dad!tom #Tom Holland x y/n

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joyfullyjay · 3 years

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bet on it ♛ park jay

summary: okay, you swear that you and jay were going to tell his bandmates about your relationship. but you definitely didn’t expect them to find out like this.

pairing: park jongseong (jay) x fem!reader

warnings: slightly suggestive (making out), but this is literally a crap ton of fluff

“did you know all of your members have a bet on when we would get together?”

now, those were words that jay definitely did not expect to come out of your mouth when you stepped into the bedroom, which was conveniently devoid of all of his conniving band members at the moment.

“they what?!” jay’s eyes went wide under his wire-rimmed lenses, eyebrows raised in disbelief.

“you heard what i said jay,” you huffed, throwing yourself next to him on his bunk. “your sneaky little band mates have a bet on when we would get together.” you placed your head in his lap, feeling the small bits of embarrassment and anger that had built up inside of you at the situation dissipate as his long fingers began to play with your hair.

“how did you find this out?” jay asked, annoyance melting away as he failed to hold back a smile when you let out a contented hum as his fingers ran across your scalp.

“jake and sunghoon are horrible whisperers,” you told, letting out a light laugh. “i asked them where you were and while i was leaving the room i heard them say something about 20,000 won, you and me, and us being hopeless pining losers.”

jay laughed, head tossing back with his eyes disappearing slightly as he did so. your heart skipped a few beats as you looked up at him, a warmth spreading through your veins.

“on a scale of one to ten, how mad do you think they’ll be when we tell them we’ve been together for two months now?” a smirk spread across his face, and you couldn’t help but giggle.

yes, you and jay had officially gotten together two months ago. both of you weren’t exactly keeping your relationship a secret per se, it was just that you both didn’t enjoy pda and his members never asked whether or not you were together.

you and jay had an inexpiable closeness, so it was normal for the rest of the band to see you guys sitting just a tad too close on the couch, hands only centimetres from each other, or his head leaning on your shoulder.

there was also the fact that the rest of the band loved to talk, and both you and jay were apprehensive of the possibility that someone could blurt out your secret during a live.

“hm,” you raised your hand to your chin and began stroking it in thought. “i’d say a solid 8.”

jay nodded in agreement, taking a small section of your hair and beginning to braid it as thoughts began to run through his brain.

“do you think it’s time we told them? i wanna see their faces when they realize they all lost this bet of theirs.”

you raised your eyebrow. “is that the only reason you wanna tell them?” there was a teasing glint in your eyes, and jay responded by rolling his own.

“and because i want them to know you’re mine and i’m yours,” he paused, hands stilling in your hair for a few moments. “and i want to be able to hold and kiss you in front of them without having to hide.”

“that’s what i thought,” you sang, a smile on your face as you sat up from your position on his lap. jay lamented for a moment in the fact that his near-perfect braid sat half done on your head, but his disappointment was immediately gone as you pressed a kiss to his cheek. “i agree, let’s tell them now.”

“now as is now or now as in later?” he asked, pushing his hair back with one hand and using the other to grab you by the waist and pulling you onto his lap.

your back was now to his chest, heart blooming in content as he started to press gentle kisses to the side of your neck. you laughed softly and leaned into his touched, eyes closing as you relished in the sensation of his lips on your skin.

“i guess later would work better, hm?” you sighed, head tilting slightly to allow him better access to the smooth expanse of your skin. jay pulled away from your neck, and you nearly let out a whine at the loss of contact.

“you read my mind.”

with that he placed his hand on your cheek, turning your head so his lips could finally meet yours. the kiss was soft and slow, but filled you with such a warmth that you felt as if your heart would explode.

you shifted your body to face him more, deepening the kiss as your legs dangled over the edge of the bunk. jay’s hands settled on your waist, hiking up your shirt a bit as his thumbs drew soft circles into your skin.

he pulled away yet again, the two of you in a breathless daze as he sent you a heart-melting smile.

“you’re so beautiful,” he murmured, gazing adoringly at your flushed features. he gently squeezed at your hips, hands traveling so they rested on the skin of your lower back.

“and you’re so very handsome.” you grinned cheekily, raising your hand to brush a few strands of freshly dyed black hair out of his face. your fingers lingered for a moment over his temple before settling on his cheek. he leaned into your touch and smiled, causing your heart to flutter in ways it never had before.

jay leaned back in and pecked your lips once, twice, three times; enjoying the way that your smile grew with each touch that your mouth made with his. he pulled you in for another kiss, this time long and sensual, sending a shiver up your spine and butterflies to fly rampant in your stomach.

“i love you so much,” he muttered into the kiss, not wanting to break the intimate contact that he was taking much delight in.

“i love you too-”

“jay hyung, jake hyung was wondering if- OH MY GOD MY POOR INNOCENT EYES!” you and jay were stopped dead in your tracks as jungwon burst into the room without warning, clearly not expecting to see the two of you in such a compromising position.

it was as if a freeze ray had hit you and your boyfriend, because instead of pushing off of him (as one would normally do), you stayed perched on jay’s lap, too stunned to move a single muscle. jay was the exact same, hands still placed unmovingly underneath your shirt.

you were planning on telling the others about your relationship, but this was definitely not how you wanted them to find out.

jungwon’s loud exclamation had caught the attention of the others, who almost immediately appeared in the doorway as well. one by one their jaws dropped, taking in the sight of messy hair, swollen lips and flushed complexions.

“what the hell?”

sunghoon’s voice rang clear in your ears, the black haired boy taking the liberty of shoving his hand over ni-ki’s eyes in order to maintain the innocence of their youngest.

“uh,” for all the languages that jay knew, he was at a complete loss for words as his eyes flickered rapidly from you to his bandmates.

“just ‘best friends’ my ass,” sunoo scoffed, folding his arms across his chest and pouting.

it was then that you realized that you should definitely get the hell off of jay’s lap, prompting you to shove your boyfriend back and hop off of him, choosing instead to sit on the edge of the bed.

“well, hey guys?” you offered an awkward smile, sending a little wave to the shocked group of boys hovering in the doorway.

“i just caught you smacking faces with jay hyung and that’s all you have to say?” jungwon exclaimed, eyes still as wide as ever.

“uh, yeah?” you were still unsure of what to say in the very awkward situation that you had caught yourself in, and jay had seemingly turned to stone next to you, so he was being no help at all.

the boys all groaned collectively, and you’re pretty sure that sunghoon face-palmed with the hand that wasn’t still covering ni-ki’s innocent eyes.

“wait, so are you guys dating now?” jake’s voice had an undertone of excitement, laced with genuine curiosity. the others’ shock was also wearing off, and they instictually began to lean in closer to hear better.

not wanting to reveal this by yourself, you elbowed jay lightly, finally knocking him out of his stupor. he looked at you with confusion, and you quickly pulled him in to whisper into his ear.

“he asked if we’re dating now,” you explained quietly, and he nodded in understanding.

he cleared his throat. “yes, we’re dating.”

the room erupted with noise at jay’s confirmation, a mixture of cheering, congratulations, and general sounds of excitement. you couldn’t help but laugh at the sight, your boyfriend taking the opportunity to snake his arm around your waist and pull you back onto his lap. his chin came to rest of your shoulder, eyes glistening fondly as his bandmates voiced their elation at the confirmation of your relationship.

“wait!” sunghoon’s voice cut clear through the sounds, and the room silenced almost immediately. “when did you two get together?”

their eyes all locked onto you and jay, and if you thought that the tension in the room was stifling earlier, it was nothing compared to right now. every single gaze was locked onto your form (even ni-ki was staring, after managing to pry sunghoon’s hand off of him during the commotion earlier), and it seemed like they were all holding their breaths in anticipation.

you shared a glance with jay, having a quick telepathic moment as you stifiled back a smirk.

“two months ago.”

it took a few moments for the information to sink into their brains after hearing yours and jay’s synchronised words, but after they had processed what you had just said, all hell broke loose.

jake was yelling incoherently, slumped dramatically in the doorway at his loss. sunoo and ni-ki were in a similar state of mind, while the others had began to lament in ways that were as equally dramatic.

“two months?!”

“are you serious?”

“wait, does this mean i lost?”

“how the hell did you hide this from us for two whole months?”

the noise quieted down at heeseung’s question, and six pairs of eyes were now turned towards you and jay yet again.

jay shrugged. “you never asked.”

more yelling. again. if you were being frank, your ears were beginning to hurt with the amount of chaos happening right in front of you. and it was clear that jay was at the end of his patience, judging by the way his face was beginning to screw up in annoyance.

“oi! calm down you guys!” his voice yelled above the commotion, the members falling silent as they caught wind of jay’s irritation. once he realized that the boys had finally reached a state of calm, his features and voice softened. “we’re sorry we didn’t tell you all sooner, we just wanted to make sure we were both secure in our relationship before telling anyone. we also didn’t want to risk anyone accidentally spilling our secret, but genuinely, we’re sorry about not telling you all.” you nodded in agreement with your boyfriend’s words, carefully surveying the boys for their reactions.

jake sighed, standing up straight and eyes softening. “we understand.” the rest of the members nodded along with his sentiment. “being in a relationship is tough as is, and given the fact that we’re idols, it probably makes it even harder.”

“thank you guys for understanding, it really means a lot to us.” you smiled, lacing your fingers together with jay’s from where his hand rested on your thigh. the room’s atmosphere began to relax, returning to it’s normal cheeriness that it normally was when the boys were around.

“oh! there’s one more thing,” you piped up, and the boys all froze in their place, slowly turning to look at you. “if i catch you guys making any more bets on our relationship, i will personally throw away all of the ramen in this household and put glue in your shampoo.” pure fear made its way onto their faces at your words, and an odd sense of satisfaction settled in your body at the sight.

“that’s my girl.” jay smirked at his members, before looking at you with sickeningly sweet eyes. you pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, relishing in the way it made the other boys begin to fake gag and cover their eyes at your now open affection.

“and that’s our queue to leave,” heeseung called out, beginning to herd the rest of the boys out of the room. soon enough you and jay were the only ones left in the bedoroom, the yelling of the boys becoming more faint with each second.

heeseung began to close the door, but not before poking his head in one final time.

“just a quick reminder that all of us do sleep in here, including our dearest baby niki, so if you do anything dirty here you’ll be desecrating the sleeping place of a precious child so-”

“aish, just get out of here!” jay yelled, throwing a pillow at the doorway. heeseung’s eyes widened and he quickly shut the door, missing the flying pillow by only a millisecond.

once you were truly alone, the two of you sat in silence for a few moments, mulling over the chaotic ten minutes you had just experienced.

“so, that just happened like that?”

“yup, it definitely did.”

#enhypen #enhypen imagines #park jay #jay enhypen #park jay imagines #enha #enha fluff #enhypen fanfiction #park jongseong

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timelesslords · 3 years

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fluff 3 or fluff 10 please!!! (i love all ur fics sm)

ty <3! I went with a very loose interpretation of fluff 10 (are we on a date right now?) for this one lol

send me a sentence starter and I’ll fill it for Percabeth

“Are we on a date right now?”

“We’re on a mission right now. Focus, Seaweed Brain.”

Percy had sort of known that already, but if this was genuinely a mission and not a date, Annabeth wasn’t exactly dressed for the occasion. She was wearing a white summer dress, short and flowy, patterned with tiny cherries. The light fabric contrasted with her tan skin, making it seem to glow gold in the sunlight. Her long curly hair tumbled free over her shoulders, out of its usual practical ponytail.

Of course, she had an imperial gold knife strapped to her thigh under her skirt, but that didn’t negate the impracticality of the outfit otherwise. Not that Percy was complaining— she looked gorgeous. Still, it left him a little confused.

“But we are like, on a date,” Percy said.

“We’re pretending to be on a date,” Annabeth corrected.

It was a sunny California day, and they were sitting on an outdoor patio of a restaurant. A restaurant that was in the mortal world, not New Rome, and although Percy had been debriefed beforehand, he was having trouble seeing exactly where the date ended and mission began.

“You’re my girlfriend,” Percy pointed out.

“So?”

“So doesn’t that make this fake date a real date?”

“No,” Annabeth said shortly, taking a sip of her sweet tea. Her straw was already stained with the lipstick she was wearing, red to match the cherries on her dress.

“I’m confused,” Percy admitted.

“I explained this before we left.”

“And I was as confused then as I am now.”

Annabeth rolled her eyes, long and hard. Gods, she was hot when she was annoyed at him. Which was a very dangerous thought to have, because if she wasn’t he might be more careful about antagonizing her.

“We’re pretending to be on this nice lunch date so that we can keep an eye on that server over there,” Annabeth said, tilting her head surreptitiously towards one of the waiters dealing with a table to their right, a kid with dark hair who looked maybe 16.

“Who might be a half-blood,” Percy remembered. He had been paying some attention when she explained it earlier.

“Right.”

“Wouldn’t bringing the two of us here drive out any monsters that are here?” Percy asked, frowning, “I mean, not to brag or anything, but I’ve been told I smell tasty.”

“That’s kind of the idea,” Annabeth said, taking another sip of tea.

“You didn’t mention that before we left,” Percy said, only a touch accusatory.

And, okay, he probably should have seen this coming. If there was a monster stalking the kid, which given his age, was likely, Percy and Annabeth’s presence would be enough to draw it out. Then they could get rid of it and send the kid along to whatever camp he was suited for. It was very up Annabeth’s alley, what with its kill-two-birds-with-one-stone approach.

“You hadn’t gotten that far,” Annabeth said. If she was bothered by Percy’s tone, she didn’t show it. In fact, she looked like she was trying not to laugh.

“Hadn’t gotten that far in what?” Percy asked, playing along.

“In understanding the plan,” Annabeth said.

“You made this convoluted on purpose,” Percy said, grinning, and now it was a genuine accusation— an amused one, but an accusation all the same. Annabeth just shrugged innocently.

“It’s not my fault good plans are complex sometimes,” she said.

“Were you just counting on me thinking this was a date so I would agree to go?” Percy asked.

“No,” Annabeth said, though her eyes flickered away from his for just a second.

“You’re a bad liar,” Percy said, affectionately.

“No I’m not,” Annabeth rebuffed, bristling, “I specifically told you before we left that this was a fake date.”

“I would have gone anyway,” Percy said. It was true. He would probably go anywhere Annabeth asked him to, but a simple recon mission to pick up a possible half-blood really was no sweat. Even if monsters were involved.

“It was easier this way,” Annabeth said. She was fighting to keep the smile off her face now, he could see the corners of her mouth twitching.

“Easier for you,” Percy said, grinning openly.

“Well, I wasn’t about to make it easier for you,” Annabeth said, smile finally breaking through.

“So you lured me on the promise of a nice date out with my girlfriend and instead I’m sitting here as monster bait,” Percy said, leaning back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest.

“I lured you out with the promise of a fake date,” Annabeth amended, “And I mentioned everything but the monsters beforehand.”

“You could’ve mentioned the monsters.”

Annabeth shrugged again, unconcerned.

“I knew you would get there eventually.”

“Thanks. I think.”

“Anytime babe.”

“I really would have come anyway.”

“I know, that’s why I didn’t feel bad. It was just more fun this way,” Annabeth said, smiling around the straw of her drink.

“For you,” Percy said, though he was smiling too.

“I like watching you figure out my plans,” Annabeth said,

Percy raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, do you?”

Annabeth flushed a little at that, but unfortunately did not have a chance to respond. At that exact moment there was a loud crash a few tables over, a piercing scream rippling through the air. Percy and Annabeth exchanged a look.

“Looks like our date is over,” Percy sighed, pulling Riptide out of his pocket.

“Fake date,” Annabeth corrected, knife already in hand.

“Raincheck for a real one?” he asked, uncapping his sword. She flashed him a grin.

“Always.”

#percabeth #percabeth oneshot #percabeth fluff #percabeth fic #pjo fic #hoo fic #Annabeth chase #percy jackson #pjo #hoo #much like Annabeth i am killing two birds with one stone with this one #answering this ask + hitting a trope bingo box #I'm sort of doing these out of order sorry whoops

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the-huntress · 3 years

Text

Little Moth - Chapter 1 - The Beginning Is The End Is The Beginning

[Hi guys, welcome to my fanfiction. This is a Resident Evil inspired fanfiction, I wanted to incorporate a number of my favourite characters, and especially our beloved Magnet Daddy. Slow burn, soft smut impending, beyond that who knows… But to be safe I will say that this is for 18+ years of age only. Let me know if you’d liked to be on a tag list for future chapters. Masterlist is pinned. Thank you to everyone that has read so far. <3]

Masterlist

Trigger Warnings: Mention of menstruation, swearing.

Y/N Protagonist, female. Reader X Karl Heisenberg [18+]

Summary:

Your lifelong friend, Leon Kennedy, has mysteriously gone missing two years after the events of Racoon City. You make a discovery that could lead to his whereabouts; dare you enter the Village?

[Photos are my own] You weren’t sure exactly what you were looking at for a moment, arching your back forwards over the desk in the dimly lit room, the glare from the laptop the only source of light. Several windows had been left open on the screen, and despite the turmoil that Leon’s apartment had been left in, this was what had really grabbed your attention.

The most notable of which was a photo, the resolution was grainy, a scan from a black and white film photo, it looked almost like a foetus, but you couldn’t be sure. Was somebody pregnant? It was almost akin to the sort of photograph that expecting parents would show at a baby shower, but this was… different. You had a feeling of impending doom just by looking at this thing.

Next, another very grainy photo of a town, it almost looked like some of the places from back home in England; a church steeple, a castle or maybe a mansion in the distance? A quaint looking village in the snow. And lastly, a very cryptic email;

10/10/2000

Leon,

Know not what I have done, but what I believe must be done now.

Half of the results of good intentions are evil; half of the results of an evil intention are good.

You have the information that you need, please make haste.

A friend.

Well, that’s ambiguous as fuck. You thought to yourself, pushing the chair back and pulling the lighter from the little band on the side of your cap. You reached to your shoulder and cursed. That’s right, you’d given up, “for health reasons”. Putting the lighter back you reached instead for your camera, a notepad and a pen. You’d been tempted to just take the laptop and the scattered papers, but after several years in the police you knew it was beneficial to leave things as they were. Your eyes flitted from paper to paper, taking notes of numbers, flights, times, place names, anything that you could until you’d filled a couple of pages. One page for practical info, and one page, now that you looked at it almost sounded like a fairy tale;

A village, four kings, four lords, and a mysterious ‘Mother Miranda’. You bit the end of the pen and pondered. It was like nothing you’d ever heard of before, what had he got himself into…

Several days ago you had received a text from the man himself;

‘Y/N I am going to be out of

town for a while, something has

come up. Please don’t worry,

will explain soon. Leon. X

P.S. I’ve left Timesplitters in

your mail box, play you again

when I get back! :] ’

And now here you were. You scoffed knowing he’d have had to pay double to send that one, but he was mad to think that you wouldn’t worry, he was like a brother to you, hell, the only family that you had. After a childhood growing up in rural England you had moved to the states with your father and stepmother when you were in those vulnerable years of your teens during the early 90s, but were lucky enough to have met Leon in school. The two of you had become best friends quickly, and even graduated from the same police academy. It was Leon that saved your butt two years ago when all hell broke loose in Racoon City, him and Claire.

You shifted on the collapsible chair in front of the usually neatly tidied desk which was now strewn with various papers and articles. Your thoughts of Claire continued, and you pulled out your Nokia, opened a message and then faltered. It was late. Later than late you realised, seeing the time; 02:08 AM. What am I doing? You didn’t want to wake her, so you put the phone back into the pocket on your belt.

You swept a strand of your hair behind your ear, the outgrown bangs jumping back in the way and you blew at them irritated. You heard a grumble and moaned, looking down at your stomach. Padding across the shiny, tiled floor you left the desk and headed to the kitchen, opening the fridge where you knew there would be left-over pizza. Sure, it was from over a week ago when you were last here hanging out, but hey, it’s pizza, right?

‘Ugh dude, always with the anchovies, why?’ you mumbled, flinging a small fish into the bin and mentally backhanding the back of Leon’s head. Of course, it was his side of the pizza that was left over, probably trying to stay in shape in case he bumped into ‘Ada’ again. You weren’t keen, but then, you didn’t trust her. You looked at your phone again, left on the desk besides the laptop, Leon would be much better off with Claire, but sadly you felt perhaps that ship had set sail long ago.

You went to sit yourself back down at the desk. CRUNCH “Shit!” Your eyes darted to your right knee. “Fuck… you’re not giving me a break are you.” Letting out a sigh you closed your eyes for a moment. Since you were a child your knee had given you problems. A few dislocations, hospital visits, insteps, braces and physiotherapy. You’d had to grit your teeth hard through every physical training session during academy, but you’d made it. Fortunately for you it wasn’t something that many people would be able to notice or spot. You could run for miles with no problem; it was the recovery time in the days that followed that was tough. You knew it was getting worse, and had been reading about how much longer you might have before you’d need a full replacement, but you knew that it could jeopardise your job, you knew you’d likely not get put on the jobs that you wanted, and the thought of being put into the office answering calls made your heart sink.

And then you spotted it, the corner of another window was sticking out from under the others, exposing the corner of a third photograph. Instantly recognising the symbol you felt as though you were falling.

“What…”

Dragging the window and clicking it to full screen you could see this photograph clearly; some kind of mural, was it in stone? It looked as though there were four crests, family crests maybe. And at the centre; “Umbrella.” You breathed. You stared at it for several minutes and quickly took a photo of the screen on your camera, no point trying to get that old thing to work, you thought, looking at the printer at the other end of the desk. You couldn’t help but smirk, memories of Leon trying to print page after page of game walk throughs, whilst trying to find all the secrets in your favourite action/ adventure game, and laughing your head off at him, mouthful of noodles spilling back out into the carton as a hundred pages shot out at him, flying all over the room with cheat codes for a scantily dressed version of the playable character.

You looked at the clock again, time to go. If you were going to do this, you needed sleep and to get going as soon as you could the next day. It might drain your bank account, but it would be worth it. You didn’t have a good feeling about any of this, and more often than not, your gut instincts were right. Grabbing your R.P.D jacket at the door, you took one last glance at the room. It really did look like a whirlwind had hit it, not like Leon when he was in a better mental state at all. You knew that when he wasn’t his best he’d reach a for a drink and then some, but you could see that nothing was broken, and it was mostly clothes scattered, some bits of equipment and where he’d clearly got the luggage bag down from on top of the wardrobe. Nothing to worry about in regard to kidnap or a break in at least; as if that was enough to stop you from worrying about whatever lay ahead in this ‘Village’.

It started to rain just as you got into your apartment building, and you smiled. You’d always liked the rain. Stopping to quickly check your pigeon-hole for mail and seeing nothing you felt something press up against you calf, rubbing itself against the tops of your boots. You looked down and grinned, scooping up a slender, black cat in one hand and kissing the top of her head. “I’m going to miss you Boo, keep an eye on my mail for me while I’m gone, you know how crammed that thing gets.” You winked at her as you set her back down outside Mrs. Little’s door and fished a sandwich bag full of the leftover pizza anchovies out of your R.P.D. bag. “You didn’t think I’d forget you, did you?” Leaving Boo hastily munching into her treats you jogged up the stairs, your knee twinged, but it wasn’t too bad. It just had its moments.

Your apartment was pretty standard for this part of the city; both you and Leon had left Racoon city some time ago, though it wasn’t far from here. It had been destroyed and bordered off and that was all there was too it. You had to tell it to yourself that way to cope. Leon’s apartment was slightly swankier, but then again, he did like his gadgets and liked to keep things tidy, when his thoughts weren’t somewhere else. You on the other hand were happy to know that while everything had its place, sometimes that place would be on the floor… next to the thingy and nestled safely under a cereal box; and that was okay! You picked up the thingy, and looked at it fondly, before folding it up and putting it away with the others.

Stretching and yawning you looked around you, making a mental note of what needed to be done; pack, shower, sleep. You’d get the tickets the next day, and some money too, you’d have to stop off at the currency exchange. What currency did they even use there? Equipment, keep it simple; knives, pistol, rounds, lighter, fluid, compass, torch, camera, medi-kit. A couple of spare pairs of clothes, and you had your light armour that also fit into the case. You knew the contents would raise suspicion, but you had your badge, at the end of the day another cop had gone missing, and your team knew too.

You whipped off the remainder of your uniform and jumped in the shower, the bathroom filling up with steam and bubbles quickly and you sang along to a few songs on the radio. Wiping the mirror to see yourself more clearly you felt all your insecurities flood to you at once, as well as seeing yourself for the natural beauty that you were. You pursed your lips, staring into your own eyes and promised you’d find him safe and bring him back. He’d yell at you for going in the first place, but you knew this wasn’t right. Something wasn’t right. Traipsing out from the bathroom, you felt the cool air attack your flushed skin. You liked it, you were always a window open kind of person, no matter the weather, the fresh air just soothed you. Of course, that meant the odd moth now and again, like now as you heard the tiny body plummet time and time again against the spherical glass shade of the dim lamp besides your bed. Snuggling up into the loose blankets you smiled at the little creature and pulled the cord on the lamp, smiling again as you felt the moth settle on the side of your head.

After that you actually fell to sleep very quickly. It had been a long day after all; a 6AM start, patrol, arresting some juvies for petty crimes, followed by yet another zombie scare, (false alarm thank God), before filing up all the paper work and heading to Leon’s. Sleep fell like a veil of cool clouds, taking you in and raising you up into the inky blue skies of the night. The next thing you knew, you were butt naked in a dark green forest, dew drops shining on moss like a trillion tiny emeralds. Mist hung thick in the air, and thousands of tiny moths flew up from the ground? No. From you. You were raising your arms up to the skies, the moss covered forest floor moist under your bare feet and between your toes. Behind you the silhouette of a deer… antlers, but much, much taller. In front of you a pair of cold silver-gold eyes in the dark. You felt drawn, ever so drawn, taking one step forward, and then another, your arms coming down now, hands outstretched in caring caress, your heart swelled, your lips bloomed, taking in a short breath, and then; blood. Gushes of it, soaking into the moss, reddening Earth’s green carpet, and dripping down the trunks of the trees, the moths falling from the air around you, their wings sticking and stopping in the thick, red mess.

“Shit!” You fell back down onto your bed, several items around you also crashing down. Hand to your head, you looked wildly about. It happened again. Whatever had fallen this time had been heavy. You turned to see half the cutlery that had been lying on the kitchen tops now on the floor, and the knives and pistol that you’d placed earlier on top of the luggage bag were now in the middle of the floor. A sudden feeling of loneliness washed over you. The same dream, but longer, and this time with blood. “Shit” again, you put a hand to your pants, pulled the covers back and saw red. “Well, that’s one more thing I need to bring with me.” You mumbled, rolling your eyes, and throwing yourself back onto the bed.

Song Suggestion: ‘The Beginning Is The End Is The Beginning’ by The Smashing Pumpkins

#resident evil #resident evil fanfic #resident evil smut #resident evil 8 #resident evil 2 #resident evil village #leon kennedy #Karl Heisenberg #mother miranda #resident evil heisenberg #karl heisenberg fanfic #karl heisenberg fluff

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falcor-thee-luck-dragon · 4 years

Text

Of Monsters and Men

Chapter 2- Lay Me in the Sun

Summary: You’ve spent the past handful of years with your Witcher throughout your travels around the Continent. After a hunt, you’re all he wants.

Warnings: smut, fluff, Geralt being a hottie

-Part of my OMAM series that I’m working on, this is right before the happenings of the Witcher season 1, which is in the next chapter

Masterlist

You are currently sprawled out upon the vibrantly green summer grass, enjoying the softness of your living bed as a warm breeze brushes past your skin. You had hacked at a tree with your sword for about an hour and a half to let off some steam until you got too bored and sweaty. You then went for a refreshing dip in the nearby river before lounging in the afternoon sun where you happen to be right now.

Geralt has been off all day on the hunt for some subspecies of troll while you've been chilling with Roach by the river. He didn't seem keen on having you come with him this time, so instead you let him have his "me time", odd way to call hunting and hacking off a trolls head "me time" but it's Geralt so you didn't press any further. He just likes doing his thing by himself at times and considering how nice a day it is, let him.

You've been his travel companion for a good handful of years now, which delightfully has resulted in that of a strong romantic relationship with your fearsome Witcher. He keeps himself as a big scary badass with a look that could send you running for the hills, according to all the people of the continent that you've both met. But to you he's the most gentle, funny, loyal, and protective lover you've ever had, quit the opposite of what the villagers think of him.

He listens to you and cares so much about if your happy around him, which you always tell him yes. He needlessly worries that he's too much or too little for you, that maybe he doesn't show how much he truly loves you often enough. But you have grown to understand that he speaks his love language through his actions and how he looks at you, as you've found this better then any amount of words on a man's tongue could possess. And it's just how Geralt shows his affection towards you, as he's never been a mushy kinda guy who will flatter you with his abundance of compliments. Which you never have minded, in fact it would send you howling with laughter at the thought of Geralt singing you a song about your beauty compared to that of a flower. Now that would be quit the scenario.

Laying your head upon the pads of your hands, you close your eyes, letting yourself sink into the comfort of the tall grass as you enjoy the sounds of rushing water over the river rocks, that is, until a foul stench reaches your nostrils. Your face contorts into an unpleasant grimace at the nasty scent of something recently deceased coming your way. Then another more familiar smell reaches your nose and you know exactly who it is. If his disgusting smell didn't already confirm his identity it would be his heavy footfalls onto the soft earth, disrupting your peaceful afternoon snooze that you get so rarely.

Suddenly the footsteps get louder until they suddenly stop near your boot covered feet, as a shadow blocks the sun from reaching your face. You slowly open your eyes to behold the sight of your Witcher who is very visibly covered in something that is definitely not guts. But most certainly came from said guts of some unlucky creature.

"What threw up on you this time?" You ask, as he's about to give you a probable vividly disturbing answer, you hold your hand up to shush him.

"You know what, never mind."

He laughs at that as he slings something off the side of his shoulder, without warning the grotesque decapitated head of a rock troll slumps to the grass with a thud. The nasty fucker staring blankly into your ruby colored eyes while it's pale tongue slides out of its mouth, black inky bubbles of blood and saliva seeping out from its slacked jaw. You hiss at it before briskly gliding up into a standing position where you then take a few steps back.

"What the fuck Geralt! I was having a very nice and relaxing moment before you dropped that nice little present way too close for comfort." You sass at him while you fold your arms over your chest, he simply smiles, amused that he's annoyed you.

"You don't like my gift?" He muses with a cocky smirk upon his dirty face.

"Maybe if I was an orc, you got the wrong species, love. Uh, but hey...good work on not getting eaten alive."

"Whatever it takes to come back to you." He quips, you rolling your eyes at his adorable sarcasm.

"Alright troll slayer, I think you should take a dip in the river. I mean what is even on you it looks like brown chunks of....oh god is that cow?" You grimace in disgust once again, every so slightly leaning into him to take a better look at what's actually coating his leather armor.

"I truly have no idea. And I will take your kind suggestion lest we have wolves hunting us in the wee hours of the morning, like little angry ghosts." He replies with a nod before walking past you and stripping himself of his black leather armor.

He drops it in the grass as he quickly pulls his dark under shirt over his head where he promptly abandons it by a nearby rock. You don't even realize how hard core you're staring at him right now while you subconsciously bite your lower lip as your gaze travels from his bare shoulders to his chiseled torso. He's got an abundance of scars in various parts of his body and his muscles are as hard as stone. This is nothing you haven't seen before but still, Geralt knows how to put on a show, whether he knows he's doing it or not.

He slides his boots off and as he's casually unbuttoning his trousers does he finally look up to catch your lustful gaze. He smirks as you stare on boldly at his half naked self, a blissfully dumb smile upon your face.

"I could think of a couple ways we could spend the evening and right now my love you are just...a lot." Geralt keeps eye contact with you as he continues to unbutton his pants, he slides them down his god-like body until he's finally standing in the summer evening as naked as the day he was born.

He gives you a charming smile before turning and walking into the river to clean himself off of all the troll innards. He goes beneath the water before resurfacing once again, in the meantime you sit yourself onto the river bank and smile to yourself at the delicious sight of your glistening Witcher while he washes himself clean of all puke, blood, sweat, and whatever else is coating his skin. Suddenly all goes quiet and you can't see him above the water anymore, but you can see how his form is on a path for your legs that are dangling in the river. Quickly you pull your legs from the rushing stream just as Geralt resurfaces directly in front of you.

"You were not about to drag my ass into the depths, these are my only dry clothes." You halfheartedly whine, a small chuckle escaping you as Geralt rests his muscled arms upon the riverbank.

"Then take them off." He gives you an inviting look as you raise an eyebrow at his boldness.

He just smiles adoringly at you from the riverside, silently begging you to shed your clothing to come join his bum in the water. With a shake of your head, you stand up and tug off both of your boots, throwing them near Geralt's armor. Then you peel off your loose grey top that was conveniently all that was covering your top half from the eyes of the world. You look down at Geralt who's golden eyes have not left your body once, a giant blissful smirk playing at the corner of his soft lips as you give him a show.

You throw him a wink before sensually unlacing your pants, those things abruptly falling to the grass in a black puddle at your feet. You stand naked above him on the river bank like a water nymph in all her alluringly bewitching beauty. Playfully teasing him as you dramatically stretch in the warm sunlight, he watches as your arms reach for the clouds, your breasts lifting with the movement. You look absolutely radiant, a goddess come to earth that could make the very stars jealous with your dazzling features.

Your eyes lock with his and without warning you launch yourself over Geralt's snowy head, intent on making a large splash in the process, just to tease him. When you resurface he's rubbing the water from his eyes, you casually swim over to him, a cheeky grin adorning your wet face. Once he's gotten the water out of his eyes he lowers himself into the river until all you can see is his shoulders and his handsome face.

"All clean now?" You ask, tilting your head down to blow some river bubbles.

"Remarkably." Quips your Witcher with a low chuckle.

"Good...now you can take me on the grass of the riverbank, right in front of Roach." You state bluntly, Geralt's golden eyes widening in pleasant surprise as your face suddenly breaks out into a fangy grin.

"She's seen too much already." He jests, nodding in her general direction as she obliviously nibbles away at the grass.

"She's seen worse." You add.

"Fair point." Replies Geralt with a casual shrug.

You lower your face into the water, bringing it back up just as quickly before you spit a line of cold water right onto Geralt's cheek. He shuts his eyes as he takes your assault like a champ, letting you have your fun for the time being cause in a couple minutes he'll have you screaming his name into the afternoon breeze. Once all the water has left your mouth do you finally stand up and glide over to your patient lover. He watches you the whole time, keeping his sights onto your beaming face, although he's not unnoticing of how the water only conceals your bellybutton and your delightful treasure below.

"Hopefully no one stops by for a drink." You state with a small laugh as you stand in front of him.

He looks down at you with a soft smile gracing his kissable lips, you raise your hand up and let it trail down the side of his arm in a casually intimate gesture. He watches in content silence as you touch the skin of his scarred forearm, all the way down until you reach his hand where you then open your palm out for him to take. He does so without question, knowing exactly what your intended plans are for the both of you next. With a seductive bite of your lip, do you lead Geralt to the side of the river bank were your little camp is set up.

You let go of his hand and lift yourself up onto the soft grass where you stood not even five minutes ago. As you're seated, you turn around to face Geralt who's doing the same. You quickly bite the inside of your cheek when your eyes are known to the delicious sight of is hardened member glistening in the beams of sunlight through the nearby trees. He falls to his knees as he crawls over to you in the grass. When he reaches your closed bent legs he gives you a pleading look. Asking for your permission to continue, you smirk at him and slowly part your legs to his great delight.

You lean back on your elbows as his large form covers you from the sun, his hands land on either side of your face as his member grazes against your inner thigh. He's instantly attacking your lips in a heated embrace, pulling a moan from your lips as he takes this opportunity to stick his tongue into your mouth. Your tongues dancing in the darkness, he carefully leans himself onto one forearm as his other hand travels down the side of your body where he then parts your legs further apart for better access.

You can feel as he guides his cock to your slick entrance likes he's done this a hundred times before. Once he's found his mark does he then slowly push into you, you let out a breathless gasp at the uncomfortable sensation sliding into your wetness. He lifts his face a couple inches from yours to make sure you're doing okay and that he isn't hurting you too much. You look into his concerned eyes as you try to hide your slight discomfort, you've done this so many times before, it's just Geralt can be a lot to handle and you need a second.

Leaning up to give him a chaste kiss you find his eyes once again as a blissful smile appears onto your stunning face. Confirming that you've adjusted accordingly and it's time to pick up the pace. He ever so carefully does he thrust into you once again, starting off slow so you can prepare yourself for when he goes faster. Your hands claw at his muscular back as his head falls to your shoulder.

"I'm not a fragile maiden, fuck me Geralt...I can take it." You practically growl in his ear, sending chills down his spine as a cocky smile appears onto his handsome face.

"You're ready now?" He teases as he pecks you on the cheek, you turn to glare at him.

"Shut up, let's make a goddamn dent in the side of this bank." You rasp out as he begins to pick up the pace, heeding to your confident command.

He pounds in and out of you in a beautifully pleasurable rhythm that's sending you into a flurry of whimpers and moans at the sensational contact of his cock inside you. Your body feels electric with each new thrust that he sends deep into your womanhood, as he bottoms out every time. A dazed smile finds its way onto your parted lips at the sounds of Geralt's own grunts and staggered breaths.

He pushes you into the grass as he lays atop your shimmering body, his hips doing a fantastic job at keeping your legs apart as he thrusts into you over and over again. You're to out of to even think of wrapping your legs around his body, all that you're able to manage is a tight grasp onto his right arm as your other hand is clawing at the ground for some support.

The sweet sounds of skin on skin contact dissipates throughout the evening breeze. All of it lost to the roar of the river and yours and Geralt's moaning. Your as wet as the water below you as he slides in and out of you with ease. Sending waves of pleasure into your hot core, it's gradually building up with every new thrust he's throwing at you. When you turn your head to the side to get a better look at him, you can tell how concentrated his face is as more grunts subconsciously escape from his lips, he's on his way to paradise.

The building of your own pleasure rises every time he hits your sweet spot until you can't take it anymore and all at once your orgasm hits you like an arrow in the chest. Sending euphoric waves of pure bliss pulsating throughout your entire being as your walls close in around his hardness.

"Ah fuck Geralt!" You scream in ecstasy as another moan slips from your throat, "Geralt! Uh...ahhh oh my fuuuck!"

He relentlessly continues to pound into you as he chases his own high in the midst of you cuming. It's sending more shock waves into your sensitive clit with lack of a break. But you don't have time to care as another orgasm begins to build inside of you once more with every full thrust of his manhood into your dripping entrance. Due to him being a Witcher and all, heavily contributes to his high stamina, but luckily for him you're not entirely human yourself and can keep up with his lack of exhaustion.

More whimpers fall from your lips as he kisses the side of your sweaty cheek in a small act of appreciation for how well you're doing. He understands he's big and how he doesn't get tired easily, so he's rather blessedly grateful for you as a partner who can take him so well. Suddenly he lets out a string of curses mixed in with your name here and there as he releases his load into your aching womanhood. You cuming right after him for the second time today as you let out a pleasurable scream.

"Ohhh fuck Geralt...ohhh fuuuckk."

He gives you a couple more ending thrusts for good measure before he pulls himself out of you and lays at your side in a sweaty heap of heavily breathing Witcher. You can feel as his cum drips out of you and into the grass that's lightly caressing your legs. You're breathing heavily and your inner thighs feel sore as you lay here ever grateful for the cool wind that fans your swollen entrance and sweaty body.

You look up to the blue sky and watch as great puffy clouds roll by, a single falcon gliding on the current, completely oblivious to the smell of sex lingering in the air near you two. You turn your attention to Geralt who's watching the bird of prey fly high into the clouds.

"You think anyone heard us?" You furrow your brows in wonder.

"Some squirrels, probably a bird or two." Replies Geralt nonchalantly as he continues to breath heavily.

"Well I'm glad nothing bothered us, I would have gouged their eyes out if a single person disturbed us." You mutter, a flash of fire in your scarlet eyes.

"Oh Y/N, my ever gentle flower." Muses Geralt with a content sigh as he props himself up onto his elbow to have a better view of you. Smiling at him you go to do the same.

"I can be gentle." You laugh out half defensively, knowing full well that is not entirely true.

"Half the scratch marks on my back are your doing my dear." Replies Geralt with a kind smile as you playfully roll your eyes at him.

"Well, that's not completely my fault." You sass back as you slide yourself closer to him. The two of you now inches apart in the soft grass, he studies your face for a moment, really taking you all in.

"What's on your mind." You ask while playing with the ends of his silver hair. His eyebrows furrow for a second before he relaxes again, deciding to lay both you and himself back down on the riverside grass. He pulls you in close, enough that your top half can now lay comfortably upon his muscular chest and shoulder. You snake an arm over his torso as your head rests nicely upon his strong shoulder blade, your faces so close. His gaze keeps to the clouds above as yours watches him search for an answer.

"I think I may need new clothes." He finally confesses after a short while, you lightly chuckle at his blunt realization.

"What? No. I love the smell of death on you. It's very sexy." You add, sarcasm clear in your voice as you subconsciously trace the scared flesh of his torso.

"Thanks." He mumbles as his free hand finds your arm that's currently draped over his stomach, he trails his fingers upon your skin before resting his hand on your forearm, "The next village over, I'm trading that troll's head for enough coin to get us close to Blaviken...then we'll see what monster there might bring us some better gold."

"I've never been, but I know of a wizard who lives there in some fancy tower all alone, don't know his name or anything. Who knows what kinda shit he gets up to these days, I can't imagine it's anything pleasant or humane." You mutter into the breeze, you'd made sure to keep your distance from any mages or wizards for as long as you could after something caused you to finally become fed up with them.

You don't adheredly have any standing beef with any of them in particular, in fact you had been very close with one, but that was such a long time ago. It almost feels like it could have been a past life. It's just you've lived long enough to know that people like such are usually superstitious bastards who'll believe any prophecy that destiny may conjure up for them.

They do as they please and their use of magic is not always used with good intentions. Although one may say due to your father being a sorcerer and all, would make you part mage, but on the contrary. As far as your abilities go in the tricky area of sorcery and it's mysterious being with how it can be inherited from parent to child. Your capabilities run a specific line of nothing but whatever part vampire runs through your veins. Nothing more, nothing less. Unlike with mages in their give and take, you can simply bend your lighting to your will whenever you call it into your vessel via the dark gift.

That being said, you've seen the atrocities that mages and wizards alike can commit when given the opportunity, so for that, you don't fuck around with them, nor use your deadly gift very often. Figuring you're already dangerous enough as it is, people never seeming to want to keep you around for too long. Perhaps that's why you and Geralt are perfect for each other, if the world won't have you, at least you have one another's company.

"I know of your dislikes for wizards, but we...well I, need new clothes. And there's surely some coin to be given in that place." Whispers Geralt as he holds you close, you let out an annoyed sigh, earning a small laugh from the man beneath you.

"Dammit you know I can't say no to another adventure, wizard or not, I wanna see what Blaviken has to offer us."

Tagged: @notahappytree @ashleyforeverareject @sokkasdarling @kmuir1(@auds24 sorry idk why ur name won’t work)

#the witcher x reader #the witcher x you #the witcher x y/n #geralt of rivia #geralt x reader #geralt x you #the witcher #falcor the luck dragon stories #Of monsters and men fic

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heresathreebee · 3 years

Text

Wearing THAT

[Dewey Finn X Female Reader]

Summary: Reader teases Dewey in a Poison Ivy costume. You have a really hard time saying exactly what you want... Masterlist Next

Word count: 3.1k words (no beta)

Warning(s): 17+ | teasing, lots of teasing and boners, lap sitting, near nudity, touching

AN: only Thots here, thots about Dewey Finn also is Ned British? He's British in my head

This was some sort of test. It had to be. God was testing him through you and you were not playing fair. It’s a costume party not a competition, you pompous little sycophant. And yet he can’t help but tug at the collar of his shirt. It’s not even anywhere near his throat but why else would he feel so constricted? It’s certainly not because of you…

You walked into his shared apartment wearing that and you had no idea the effect it had on him.

Dewey watches you sling an arm around Ned and kiss Patty’s cheek in greeting. “Hi guys! Thanks for inviting me, I’ve been dying to put this on.”

“Oh you look lovely,” Patty coos. She plucks at one of the plastic leaves on your corset. “Did you make this?! It’s so intricate.”

You bark out a laugh. “Oh hell no! I have this cousin, right? And him and his fiancé own this shop where they make costumes for movies and theatre and if you pay ‘em right, ‘personal use.’ And they don’t ask questions what ain’t their business either.”

“Well, I’m sold.” Ned raises his beer for a toast and Patty clinks it with her bottle of mysterious green juice. “Prost! What’s the name of the shop? Wanna see if they’re online– you know, for... support.”

“Ned,” Patty swatted his empty hand (no need to be shy, we already know they’re freaky).

You pat your friends on their backs and take a step towards the kitchen. “Gonna get myself a beer.”

“Oh honey you don’t have to do that. Dewey!” The man in question nearly covered himself in his own drink when he heard his name. “Be a good host and get this lady her beer!”

“Yes captain,” Dewey salutes and Patty can do nothing but glare in her Star Trek yellow shirt costume. Original series, of course, nothing but the best for Patricia Di Marco.

Dewey takes a hold of the moment he has his back to you to take deep, calming breaths. He will not let this be the end of him. Your friendship means so much more to him than that and a little fancy green corset was not going to make him fuck things up with you.

He’s ready for you when he hands you your beer. Your one arm hug is appreciated because he’s sporting a bit of wood and he’d hate to find out your corset isn’t thick enough to hide it– or god forbid you feel him on your thigh. And god, your thighs… those sheer green nylon tights were doing unspeakable things to him. Maybe if he kept you close and kept your legs out of his peripherals he could make it through the night without embarrassing himself.

Or maybe not.

“Are yoooouuu a college student?,” you ask and point at his inconspicuous clothes.

“Actually– ” he opens the buttons of his shirt to reveal another shirt with a superman logo on it and buttons it back up clumsily as you laugh. “Ssshhh! Don’t tell anybody. Protect my secret.”

“Of course,” you giggle. God you feel good hanging off him– usually he loves how physical you are but he has to figure out a way to keep his distance without offending you and quickly. “You like mine?”

The way you pick up a thick swirling red lock and direct his attention to the very thing he’s trying not to look at is killing him. Of course you look even better up close. The leaves of your corset give the thing depth and texture, your gloves are fingerless and go over your elbows, and your heels are high, like make- him- feel- his- below- average- height high.

“I like these.” Dewey plucks at the ring of leaves at the top of your gloves. It’s a way to keep his mind off your everything else. “Did you dye your hair?”

“It’s a wig.” You tug on the top and then the bottom, wincing a little. “Sew in, so don’t go snatch it.”

“I would never!”

“Poison Ivy, eh? Think that’s one of Dewey’s favorites,” Ned blabs.

Dewey sends him a death glare so powerful Ned chokes on his beer but you’re looking at your Spock-dressed friend so you can’t see it.

“Oh, really?” You return your gaze to Dewey and say, “well you must be loving this, then.”

Dewey swallows. No words come to him and there is nothing to stop the awkward silence that follows. You appear unbothered by it, maintaining eye contact as you smile almost knowingly…

“We should play twister,” he says with the most unsure voice ever.

“We don’t even have twister,” Patty mumbled. “Come on, there are like twenty other games setup, let’s play!”

Dewey gives it a minute and when he’s free from you, he catches Ned by his pointy green ear and drags him into the hall. “Hey? What the fuck are you doing?”

“Whah– what are you talking about?” Ned slaps at the hand fisted in his shirt but Dewey doesn’t budge.

“You can’t just go telling people I’m into them, dude! Do you know how close you came to giving me away?!”

Ned scoffed. “Her? I hardly think she’s ignorant to your feelings, you’re not like that Steven from Austin fellow.”

“– Are you talking about stone cold Steve Austin?"Dewey buries his face in his hands- "It’s his last name, not his birthplace–”

“And besides…” Ned peeks around the corner to see you in the middle of some sort of posing game. Everybody's trying to take the form of some sort of vehicle, and you've got Chloe in a headlock and Vance's leg in the other hand. Ned never got to finish his thought because someone dropped a huge bowl of popcorn and that too became a game of ‘how many can you eat off the floor before Patty cleans it up.’ Ned’s got to help and he’s got to help now.

Dewey finds himself on the couch with his fifth beer of the evening. Vance, Jeremiah, and Chloe are talking baseball stats when suddenly Dewey’s vision is filled with green and red just before you sit down. Right between his legs. He unconsciously scoots up to make room for you and before he catches on to your game, you nestle into his space by the arm of the couch and sling your legs across his like you belong there.

Ok, something is definitely up with you.

Would he describe you as cuddly? A little. Perhaps a more appropriate word would be… hands on. Long before he started wanting more than friendship with you, you two were always just touching. Your presence and your love language was physical. Dewey never felt like you were invading his personal space or overstepping his boundaries because he simply had none with you and the feeling was mutual. But this was something else. Something that wasn’t there before.

Was it him? Was he fucking up his perfectly in sync companionship with you because he couldn’t keep his dick in his pants or (his heart for that matter)? He wasn’t sure if he wanted to drag you closer or push you flat on your ass right now.

You were listening to Chloe chew Vance out for hating Gritty the mascot when you felt Dewey plant a hand on your forehead. “Hey, are you feeling ok?”

You gently shake him off and raise a single eyebrow. He seems serious, his voice gone all soft and making you feel gooey inside.

“You just seem… I dunno,” he fumbles, “do you want me to take you home after this?”

Hellooooo opening! “Actually, can I stay here tonight?”

“Yeah, of course.” Fuck, who said that? Dewey? Ah, shit…

“Thanks,” oh oh you should not be rubbing his thigh right now… “I think I’ll go change here in a minute.”

Oh please do, please please puh-leeaaase–

After a brilliant movie drinking game (which Dewey tapped out of), the crowd began to disband. 24 became 20, then 18, then 12. You went out to your car to grab your overnight stuff and Dewey was hoping for a brief reprieve from the assault of your visage. He just needed a few more people to leave so he can sequester himself and rub one out– you know, get his head straight. Ever since you left his lap he’s been rock hard, there’s not enough blood flowing to his brain. The guest count is down to 3– 2 with you in your car, and he can’t wait anymore.

Dewey slipped into the only bathroom in the house and prayed to god nobody noticed him. He barely got his hand wrapped around his shaft when Patty’s fist banged on the door demanding he help clean up. Sulking and agitated, Dewey managed to calm down while cleaning up red solo cups, glass beer bottles, cans, and small pocket sized objects that would need to be returned to the guests after their hangovers subsided (no keys, thankfully, everybody’s got a DD). His “predicament’ is nearly forgotten when you finally return with a bundle of clothes, disappear into the bathroom and reemerge in loose sleepwear with your makeup wiped clean and uh… braless.

You catch him looking. Dewey– surprisingly sober after he gave up drinking half way through his sixth beer– does nothing short of raise a slightly irritated eyebrow at you. “Cold in here, huh?”

“Shut up. You know how uncomfortable it is to sleep in a bra?”

You help him collect a couple bottles that rolled under the couch and walk with him down to Ned’s car. Patty would sort the recyclables from the trash in the morning (late morning, she did a couple rounds of tequila shots thanks to you). It’s almost like the party never happened; you’re shooting the shit again and everything is right in the world. He’s got no ulterior reaction to putting a hand on your hip– that’s just a normal thing in your perfectly platonic relationship. God, he really must have been imagining things, he was beginning to think you were actually trying to flirt with him!

Ned’s bent over the kitchen sink with Patty and holding her hair back. He looks up as you enter the apartment and shakes his head. You and Dewey make yourself scarce by slipping into the shared bathroom to hide. You try to giggle quietly as Dewey surveys the skincare products you covered the counter with. He points to your head and asks, “you wearing that to bed?”

“It’s sewed in, I’m not taking this off for three weeks at least,” you answer. “Get my money’s worth. I can work it like my natural hair.”

Dewey nods. You rub your arm nervously and look for something to say, something to circle back to the whole point of showing up looking like a sexed up goddess. What do guys like? Girls wearing their clothes, right? But you need to phrase it perfectly…

“Dewey?” He looks up from the scrubby lip balm in his hands. “I’m not quite ready to go to sleep yet and it… it is a little chilly in your place. Can I wear your jacket?”

Just to bring your meaning home, you tug on his sleeve– the very jacket on his back. You don’t want just any jacket, you want that one, already warm and scented by him. You don’t miss the way his eyes glance past you like he was reluctant to comply. And yet…

“Yeah, here.” He slips out of it with ease and drapes it over your shoulders. You miss the sigh of relief he makes when you pull the zipper closed and obscure your pebbling nipples. “Think I’m gonna go help Ned put Patty to bed.”

Ned was a scrawny little thing and couldn’t carry her by himself, and she needed to be carried. Competitive by nature, it’s easy to talk her into virtually anything, especially if it feels like girl time. You need Patty in a deep sleep for your plans tonight (sorry not sorry). Dewey’s very sexy as he bears most of Patty’s weight. She’s clinging to Ned, arms around his neck and babbling incoherently while Dewey’s got an arm around her waist and legs, keeping Ned on his feet. You skirt ahead of them and open the bedroom door, help pull her shoes off, her captain insignia, her earrings, you even wipe the spit from her lips and the eyeliner smeared on her cheek.

“You’re my favorite ever,” she whimpers, “I love you so much, you’re like my best friend ever…”

You shush her gently. “You say that about everybody when you’re drunk, baby. I promise I’ll make you a fat breakfast in the morning but you gotta go to sleep now, OK?”

Patty nods. She snuggles into her pillow just as Ned is taking up position as the big spoon when she looks back up at you and asks, “can we go for a run together?”

You blink evenly. “Yes.” You already regret it as she smiles big and wide. It would be just your luck this is the one thing she doesn't forget in the morning.

Finally it's just you and Dewey in the hallway. It feels like you're standing between two choices: his open bedroom door and the living room. But it seems like only you can feel the weight of it.

"Are you sure you want to stay over?," Dewey asks, "you can use my bed."

You perk up out of your heavy mood. "Really?"

"Yeah, I'll take the couch tonight."

He can't possibly miss the way you instantly deflate but he's still not putting the pieces of the puzzle together. "Dewey. I'm not going to kick you out of your own room."

He shrugs. "Suit yourself. I'll grab a few blankets."

There's a storage closet in the main building with this one extra soft blanket that Dewey knows you'll love. You on the other hand have got no more patience left. Once the man leaves, you stomp your foot and decide to try one final act.

Dewey returns to the apartment to find an empty, quiet living room. Ned and Patty are in bed, but where are you? He wanders past the bathroom door because it's dark inside and checks his room. There you are reclining on his bed. He could have sworn you were wearing pants before but your legs are bare and his jacket hugs the tops of your thighs. He also could have sworn you were wearing a shirt. He finds both items folded neatly beside you with your underwear right on top.

Oh…

This cannot be happening right now. He just survived tonight by the skin of his teeth and now you were doing this to him. He’s going to pull his hair out, going to scream, it’s so frustrating because he can’t just ask you what you want– you’ll turn the question back on him and he’ll fuck it up. He lets the blanket fall from his grip and with a heavy sigh he whispers in a weak voice, “straight answers only. What are you doing to me? Why you doin’ this?”

You cock your head and answer leisurely, your eye drifting across the items in his room. “You know that’s not how I roll, but if you want me to address the elephant in the room: I'm naked in your bed right now."

Against his better judgement, Dewey moves closer. "I can see that."

One step closer and your eyes find him again. Like an invitation you lean back more, even uncross your legs but go no further. Dewey swallows his tongue and waits for you to elaborate and every second is agonizingly slow.

"You think you can just walk around here with your pretty face and cocky little attitude like it’s nothing,” you said accusingly.

Dewey glared at you. “That’s the pot calling the kettle black.”

“Well we're in agreement then,” you’re almost sneering at him, but he knows it’s because you’re really frustrated with yourself, “I look and I touch and I feel but I don’t know, you know?”

“Not a clue,” he sighs and sits himself beside you. He’s done trying to keep his distance. “Let’s go back to you being naked in my bed.”

“Do you like it?”

“Do I like it?,” he repeats incredulously. Dewey leans back on his elbow to look you over from top to bottom. You look damn good in nothing but his jacket. You’ve got the long ends of your red hair in braids that sweep down to your navel. The zipper rests tantalizingly right below your ribcage. Dewey dares to reach out a mollifying hand and give a tiny stroke to that silver keeper. He cannot bring himself to speak above a whisper as he nods, “yeah, I… I like it.”

The tension leaves your shoulders and you wear a small grin. “It’s not too late to take it back. Say no, and I’ll put my clothes back on and sleep on the couch like none of this ever happened. This,” you point between the two of you, “doesn’t change unless we want it to.”

… this was real. In answer, Dewey’s chin wrinkles and he watches his finger travel upwards, drawing a light line up the expanse of your chest between your breasts to feel you shiver at his touch. Thing is he doesn’t want to say no, but wouldn’t it be better? Safer? He asks the question he’s been dying to know all night. “What do you want from me?”

“Whatever I can get,” you answer truthfully. “Whatever you’ll allow. Don’t trouble yourself with labels and things ‘cause what we have has always been so much more than that.”

Dewey feels a weight lift off of his chest. His hand works around your waist and drags you closer, halfway under him and he rests his perspiring forehead on your breastbone. Whatever happens next happens, for better or for worse.

You’re not troubled when Dewey moves the jacket to expose one of your breasts, however you are taken aback when he bites you. You barely manage to stifle your yelp when you feel him growl against your flesh and the sound vibrates straight to your core. Dewey drags his head up and stares you dead in the eye as he kneads your savaged breast.

“All night,” he growls, “all fucking night for this? We could have done this ages ago. The salon, the drive in, Chloe’s cat’s birthday– grocery shopping last week. But no, instead you pick a party full of people and you’ve had me riled up for hours.”

Dewey pinches your hardened peak and you keen. “‘m sorry…”

“No you’re not, but don’t worry: you will be.”

AN: Check Out Part 2 @hoodoo12 @go-commander-kim @escape-your-grape @softbeej @imma-fucking-nerd @werwulfy

#Dewey Finn #Dewey Finn x reader #three bees writing #🐝🐝🐝✒#black reader insert #🖤❤💛#dewey finn x female reader

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elriel-oblivion · 3 years

Text

I think it's been three days? Dunno, I don't keep track of day or night like I should lol but here's part three 😁 Next part up in five days so I can waste even more time before writing part six pft 😅 Thanks to all who interacted with the last post 😊🥰🤗

Word count: 3K. Lemme know if you'd like to tagged/removed 😊

Shoutout to @julesherondalex @verifiefangirl and @queen-of-glass for picking up on my fave paragraphs in the last part 😁😭 Can anyone do it again? Maybe I should make this a thing lol, shoutout to anyone who can find my faves. I think there are only two (or technically three?) this time 😅

Also, I'll prob put this up on AO3 this weekend, thanks to @acourtofcouture for reminding me 😊

AO3

Ashes from the Deep

Part III

Warmth soaked into Azriel as Elain poured a jug of water over his head. His throat loosened as that warmth fluttered through his body, pulsing against those frozen veins and humming under his skin. Goosebumps tickled his arms.

But it was nothing compared to the sheer bliss that rippled through him as her fingers delved into his hair. It was an effort to restrain the groan reaching through his throat, so he let out a light sigh instead. He didn't think it prudent for Elain to hear him moan under her care. She was so kind to do this for him; he didn't want her to feel uncomfortable.

Two more jugs of water followed.

'Is that nice?' she asked, as though it could be anything but. It felt almost exactly like his mother's hands when she'd wash his hair in those so few minutes he was allowed to see her every week. Gentle and tender and pleasant.

He could fall asleep here if he weren't so aware of Elain in the room with him. Touching him. As it were, that warmth pulled deeper into him, loosing his muscles, thawing his bones.

'It is.' His voice sounded thick and he cleared his throat.

She was silent as her fingers worked, and after a minute or two, she rubbed soap into her hands. The scent of lavender filled the air. She massaged his scalp and lathered his locks, her touch so comforting it almost broke him.

Cauldron boil him, she was so much like his mother, right down to the scent of the soap she used. Her touch had just the right amounts of care and force as it worked across his scalp, relieving a knot of tension at the base of his skull.

His blood was now a soft thrum under his skin, that warmth guiding him further from consciousness, like he was wrapped in his shadows, safe from expectations, safe from judgement, safe from the world.

'Azriel?' came Elain's voice.

He jolted, eyes snapping open. 'Huh?'

She let out a light laugh. 'Your shadows are sort of hiding your head.'

Indeed, his shadows swirled around him, thickest by his eyes. 'Sorry,' he murmured, leashing them back in.

'Don't be. You can close your eyes again.'

As he did, he noted how soft her voice had been, the sombre touch to her words. She hadn't stepped away from his shadows. They must've been cold on her skin, but she'd made no comment. What did she think of them? It irked him not to know.

She continued her work, occasionally adding more water to his hair. Her fingertips rubbed his scalp, the cool night air touched with that lovely lavender.

Behind his closed eyelids, his mother smiled at him. Her smile was so sweet, so radiant and inviting, so homely that he wished he could freeze time to extend that one hour into eternity.

'You're so beautiful, my boy,' she whispered, her voice tender. Her arms were extended and he ran into them, savouring the comfort he found there. It was astonishing that he could experience this warmth after those long miserable days in that cell.

Those days. They often blended into each other, dark and dank as the cell itself. When he'd be taken to see his mother, light through the windows was painful as it pierced him. It was always too bright, the sun. Always too penetrating, like those rays sought him out to display all his wrongness - especially his shadows, a frenzied, wild and unchained beast before he learnt to control them. Terrible, dark magic not born of the Mother, his father constantly claimed.

And oh, how dark those shadows looked in the sunlight.

But then he'd be reunited with his mother, and her light was mellow. Soft like a caress, serene as sunset, always calming his hurricane of shadows. She bathed him in her light, let it wash over him with her smiles and kind words, ever flowing in their hours together.

He regretted most the little time he had with his mother growing up. Resented it, for it was neither of their faults. It was always too fast, that weekly hour, and when he was finally thrown in the Illyrian camps without a clue what his culture truly meant, it was eternities before he could see his mother again and bask in her soothing glow. Those times were long and cold, even with his found brothers by his side.

His mother's image faded into darkness as something soft touched his eye. 'Mother?' he rasped.

'No, it's Elain,' whispered Elain.

Elain? As he opened his eyes and blinked, his murky vision cleared and he found her staring down at him in her dim bathroom, brow creased. His shadows were everywhere but one of her hands held a fresh towel; the other hovered by his eye. He dispersed his shadows into clear air. What did she make of his address?

And was that salt he scented?

Cauldron, did he - did he cry?

'I asked you to lift your head but you'd fallen asleep,' Elain said. 'I didn't want to wake you, but we should dry your hair before you really go to sleep. Especially if you'll be going outside again. Although I would ask you to consider taking a guest room.' She frowned.

When had he fallen asleep? And how could it have been so sound a sleep that he didn't feel Elain finish? There must be magic in those fingertips of hers to relax him so deeply.

'Right,' he said, slowly sitting up. His neck was stiff and Elain reached behind to hold it as he pulled it forward. Water dripped down his temples, off his head, some drops pattering on the floor.

Elain patted his head with the towel, wiping his neck and forehead. She brushed wet strands away from his face, her focus so intent on his hair. He dropped his heavy head, and she gave the back a more thorough dry. A few minutes of ruffling his hair around, during which she pulled the towel from his neck, and she seemed satisfied. She raked her fingers through his hair, flattening the spiky mess he was sure sat atop his head, and a ripple of comfort descended through him. She discarded the towels on her bathtub.

As a thin breeze breathed over his wet head, he noticed the plants resting on small stools around the tub. How did he not see them earlier? Exhaustion, he supposed.

Blooms and vines overflowed their small pots, cascading down in bursts of bright colour. Three hanging baskets of what he smelled as rosemary lined the wall, wild green clusters of stems trailing over the edges and hiding the ivory stone behind. He wanted to touch all those soft petals and velveteen leaves, feel the depth of Elain's care through their touch.

He made to stand, but she held his shoulder. 'Wait,' she said. 'I want to clean your face, too.'

He'd forgotten about all the dirt she'd found there earlier.

She wet a cloth and knelt by his side, touching the cloth to his cheek, right above the gash that rogue Illyrian had opened earlier.

He winced, the skin tight where the mud had dried.

'Sorry,' she said softly, pausing.

With a smile, he gave her the same response she'd given him earlier: 'Don't be.'

Elain breathed a laugh and dipped her head. 'That cut does look very bad, though. I think I'll have to clean it with alcohol too.'

'Let's crack open that wine, then.'

She laughed again and blushed. 'Not tonight, Azriel.' And she patted his cheek again, rubbing off the dirt and blood.

The sound of his name on her tongue heated his blood. It wasn't that pleasant warmth as she'd washed his hair; no, this was something more charged. Something that settled his weariness into a quiet hum and left him a little more awake.

He drew in his shadows, sending them through his veins. The cool they delivered wasn't nearly enough to pacify his rising heartbeat. Not with Elain so close. If he moved forward just a few inches, there'd be no space left between them.

He didn't usually think of Elain like this. Think of the feel of her mouth on his.

He blamed the exhaustion, even as it hunkered down.

And - she was so lovely. And he was Azriel. He should be disgusted that he was here, letting her tend to him, making jokes with her, imagining them kissing. That was enough to tame his heart a while.

But Cauldron boil him. How would he sleep with his mind teeming with so much conflict. The dead girl and her family, his mother. Elain too now, whether he liked it or not. He'd hoped his physical fatigue would win over his crowded mind. That he'd get some proper rest and deal with all the rogue Illyrian troubles and whatever else later.

Apparently not this night.

As Elain stood and washed the cloth, he let out a deep breath through his nose, then shifted on the seat, hoping to put more space between them. Distance - even an inch - might be helpful.

Not that he'd make the first move.

He never did.

Elain knelt down again, wiping the cloth across his jawline, nose, cheek. He faced her to give her more access, but she kept her gaze intent everywhere except his eyes, as if cleaning his skin required her utmost focus.

Look at me, he almost said. With her so close to him, it was maddening not to share even an accidental glance.

She abruptly went to close the window, a heavier silence settling over the room, then moved to the cupboard by the door, pulling out a small bottle of alcohol. Her petite frame looked so delicate, yet a tautness relaxed from her body in the way her shoulders loosened. It was probably just her defence against the cold, though the temperature was nothing but mild to him.

She poured a few drops onto a clean cloth and took her place beside him. She cringed. 'This'll hurt.'

He smiled faintly. 'It's all right.' He doubted he'd even feel it.

She delicately touched the cloth to his cheekbone and he clenched his jaw, the alcohol harbouring more ire than he expected. Mother above, that was a deep cut.

Elain creased her brow and patted along the gash. 'Are you all right, Azriel?' Her voice was subdued.

The truth would be more painful to put out. 'I'm all right. Are you all right, Elain?'

'I'm fine.'

He doubted her just as she probably doubted him. The dark circles around her eyes were faint but still there. But theirs was a friendship of mutual respect and boundaries. If she didn't impose on his, he certainly wouldn't do so on hers.

But oh, how he wished she would feel comfortable enough to truly confide in him right now. It wouldn't be the first time she'd done so; he just needed to be patient. But he'd do anything to relieve the tension humming behind her eyes. From her manic visions, pain he knew lurked under her skin and in her mind, general exhaustion from keeping up appearances - he would swallow them all in his shadows and dispel them on the highest wind if it meant she would be all right.

They were silent as she finished up. When she washed the cloth, he turned in the seat and spoke. 'You can talk to me, Elain, whenever you need.'

She beamed at him and her eyes finally met his. 'I know.'

He stood, holding her gaze. Something was very off about that smile.

Her hands fiddled to turn off the tap, the cloth falling from limp fingers. Her body faced his, and her smile fell, brows rising slightly. She cleared her throat. 'We should go downstairs to the fireplace. It'll be warmer there.'

In an instant, they were wrapped in shadows, her wrist in his hand, and the great living room came into view. A thin sheet of moonlight through the windows was the only illumination. Just as their feet found the floor, Elain bent to put three logs into the fireplace, lighting them after a few tries. 'Those shadows are quite convenient at times, aren't they?' she said.

He huffed a laugh and rested a forearm against the mantelpiece, crossing a leg over the other. 'They can be.'

The blaze flared out and she stepped back, looking up at him through that shadowy amber glow. 'Just a few minutes now and we'll be warm.'

Her eyes didn't leave his. And how stunning they were, soft and subtle in the dim light. The brown looked richer among the warm tones of the fire, something like dark chocolate - or rosewood, perhaps, with a mahogany undertone.

'I think you'll need a bandage for that wound,' she said.

'I'll be fine without it.'

'It's quite deep.'

'Not a match for my Illyrian healing.' He smirked, trying to relieve whatever pressure thrummed in the air between them. He hadn't even noticed it come; one moment the air was clear, the next it was pulsing a steady beat. What the hell was this? Did she feel it too? He wished his shadows would just devour the tension, if only to reduce his own shame.

Her eyes flicked to his wings behind him, and they rustled, spreading a bit. He straightened. The heat in his blood turned to a simmer and he knew in his bones it had nothing to do with the fire. Why couldn't he control this? She met his eyes again.

He'd wanted to see her eyes on his, but now they were just too focused, and if she didn't stop looking at him like this, like she could see the blood beginning to bubble beneath his skin -

She cleared her throat and scanned his face, likely checking she hadn't missed anything. 'Oh,' she said, raising a finger to his temple.

Her touch on his skin sent his blood boiling. His heart was pounding a loud rhythm and because his mind was so muddled from the fight and the blood and his childhood somehow entering his conscience, and the lines between the past and the present were so blurred tonight, and this heat was just searing - he grasped Elain's wrist where it hovered by his face.

Her breath hitched, eyes snapping to his.

This was wrong, this was so utterly wrong, but he couldn't let go. What had he done?

She stared at him, through him. 'I can hear your heartbeat,' she choked out.

Through the crackling fire, she could hear him.

He was silent. His body tensed.

'And it's a beautiful sound.'

His pulse spiked like his heart sang out to her, called her name. Did she - could she - feel the same as he?

'You're beautiful, too,' he breathed.

The air was stifling. Cursed flames. Every thought in his head narrowed to the girl before him. Her eyes glistened.

He wasn't sure he was breathing.

Was she?

Her eyes swept his face. They stopped at his lips.

'Are you going to kiss me?' she whispered.

So focused on her plump, rosy lips, he almost didn't hear the hiss of a log as it tumbled further into the fire. His throat bobbed. Maybe - just maybe this could be okay. Maybe if she wanted it as much as he did, he could put aside his own self-loathing for a moment. Elain was different, an essence of light in and of herself. Her core radiated brilliance; it'd take more than just a few of his shadows to snuff out her glow.

And damn the consequences anyway. The Azriel of later would deal with them. If he didn't burn alive here first.

He swallowed. 'Only if you want me to.'

'Yes.'

His chest tightened at the resolve in her tone. Yearning and compunction warred within. He craved her touch, yet disgrace corded his heart. How could he even think this could be fine? She would be poisoned, made impure by his mouth.

'I know what you're thinking,' she said, 'and I want you to know I trust you, Azriel. You will do me no harm. You couldn't.'

She trusted him. He wasn't sure why, but she trusted him. What could he give in return? His scars? He lowered his gaze, her wrist still soft in his hand. He felt his arm move like a dead weight, but it was only the feel of her thumb on his brow, smoothing out the crease there, that mollified him, that unravelled and burned away that cord of disgrace. He released a long breath.

'I trust you, Azriel. So kiss me.'

And it was the clarity in her voice, the pure stability that had him leaning down - slowly, so slowly. Doubt flickered along his bones but he couldn't savour the anticipation enough. This moment would change their path for ever.

His heart thundered with every inch he yielded, his free hand coming up to cup her cheek, fingers setting so perfectly over the delicate plane of her face. Her breath stilled when he was but a whisper from her mouth, and he paused.

Her floral scent fanned him, melding with the smokiness of the flames. Was that datura he smelled? Those exquisite flowers he loved so much, with their large petals curling off in tapered tips so like his own shadows. The first memory he had of them, that conversation where Elain had grabbed his wrist.

He was still holding hers now.

Her doe eyes were so steady on his. 'Kiss me,' she murmured.

He closed his eyes and removed the space between them.

So much for never making the first move.

___

So what's your fave ice cream flavour?

Feedback, constructive criticism welcomed, thanks for reading 😊

@illyrian-lover-flower @julesherondalex @nooriee @mis-lil-red @verifiefangirl @tswaney17 @a-happybird @thewayshedreamed @sleeping-and-books @thefangirlofhp

#elain archeron #azriel #azriel acotar #elriel #elain x azriel #acotar

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vodkassassin · 4 years

Note

LiuShangMo and LQG seeing MBJ being handsy with SQH and throws hands. That's *his* squirrelly fellow Peak Lord! SQH is scared and horny, while MBJ is dazed and like "Oh no I want both" while getting thrown through walls.

Wow Cher, go take a drink of water, you sound a little thirsty there 👀

I think I gave Shang Qinghua too much power in this... eh. When you snap, you snap! He deserves it. @cherfleur

—

Shang Qinghua drops the scrolls onto the large, ornate desk with a heavy sigh, wiping one hand across his brow. He looks down at them and contemplates just leaving them there for future-Qinghua to deal with, but the voice of reason at the back of his head makes a sarcastic quip about how well that always works out for him, and how he’s always so exhausted whenever he finally does return from a long day only to find unfinished work that he’d procrastinated, and so he resigns himself to sorting through them now.

Each scroll gets slotted neatly into its respective shelf above the desk, a miniature library of diamond-shaped holes that expand just above the area of the workspace. There’s another shelf to the left of the desk that rises up from the floor and reaches halfway up the wall toward the vaulted ceiling, veritably filled with even more scrolls and work that honestly Shang Qinghua would love to never have to ever think about again, but….

Even if he never actually signed up for this, it still is technically his job. So.

He slides scroll after scroll into the loose system of organization he has going on here, far less complicated than the one he’d had to design for the actual, legitimate library of the Eternal Winter Palace. Shang Qinghua can still remember the soul-consuming, absolute horror he’d experienced the very first time he’d walked into that place, when Mobei Jun had been showing him around, years ago. If he hadn’t remembered the details of the demonic history he had plotted for this part of the Realms in his first life before, then he certainly knew all of it and then some after he’d been forced to, for the safety of his own mind, reorganize the entire, expansive ancestral libraries of the ice demons. An endeavor which had taken him just under a decade to complete.

The demons, it seems, had little to no sense of organization in their lives. They just wrote down what needed to be written and then stashed said document or scroll into the dark library to never be seen again. Heavens forbid if anything needed to be dug up for later referencing. No fucking wonder the political atmosphere of the demon realms were so stagnant and slow.

Anyway. They weren’t like that anymore! Shang Qinghua has since taught them all better. Every single demon in the palace, from Mobei Jun to the youngest kitchen maid, knows the system of organization that Shang Qinghua has worked so hard to put into place, as well as what would happen if any of them were to ever attempt to somehow mess it up.

“Hey,” a bored and impatient voice sounds from behind him. “Are you done?”

At the demand, Shang Qinghua turns away from his desk and gives his companion a narrow glare.

“You know, you didn’t have to come with me,” he shoots back, annoyed.

Liu Qingge’s arms are crossed over his chest, and he glares right back at him from where he’s leaning against the door of Shang Qinghua’s palace suite.

He mutters something, and Shang Qinghua raises an eyebrow, planting one hand on his hip. “What was that?”

“I don’t trust these demons. Had to make sure.”

“Make sure of what?” Shang Qinghua asks, exasperated. “That they’re not planning to attack the sect? That I’m not giving them inside information?”

Liu Qingge scowls. He’s such a scowly man. Shang Qinghua doesn’t remember writing him like this. “No,” the swordmaster says shortly. “I— We know you’re not. Nobody thinks that, not anymore.”

“Then what are you here to ensure? That I’m safe? Because I am safe, Liu-shidi. I’m safer here than I could be anywhere else.” Thanks to his king, there hasn’t been a single attempt on Shang Qinghua’s life in two years! It’s honestly a new record. It just proves how much of a valued and efficient worker Shang Qinghua is considered in the palace. Makes him feel warm and fuzzy inside.

For some reason, however, his words only make Liu Qingge even grumpier. The man’s hand clenches around the hilt of his sword and he makes a very angry face. Thankfully, it’s aimed at the ground and not at Shang Qinghua, so he knows that Liu Qingge isn’t exactly enraged with him. The fact that he’s enraged at all, though, is still a little nerve wracking.

Shang Qinghua takes a tiny step back. This makes Liu Qingge glare even more fiercely, and the An Ding peak lord does his best not to tear up out of frustration. What the hell is wrong, Liu-shidi? Please tell him, so Shang Qinghua can find some way to fix it so that you’ll stop looking so scary!

Liu Qingge huffs, turning away from him to stare out of the open door instead of at him, like he’s some sort of guard.

“Shidi…” Shang Qinghua hedges, fidgeting with the tail end of his hair ribbon and biting his lip in thought. Is the man even going to answer him?

“There are many powerful demons in this palace,” Liu Qingge finally says, shortly.

Shang Qinghua can feel his soul already exiting his body. “Liu-shidi! Please don’t challenge anyone here to a fight! They take it very seriously in the demon realm! There’s no such thing as sparring. It’s all just fights to the death. If you challenge one of them, they’ll definitely take you up on it!”

Ah! That was absolutely the wrong thing to say! Liu Qingge glances over his shoulder, face thoughtful and considering, and Shang Qinghua can see the glint that enters his eye at his words.

“Shit, no, I meant — Liu-shidi! Liu-shidi, come back here!”

Too late, Shang Qinghua! He’s already out the door, stalking down the hallway like a tiger on the prowl. Fuck Shang Qinghua’s life, honestly. The An Ding peak lord’s shoulders slump, and he hangs glumly from where he’s grabbed onto the door frame, staring down the now-empty corridor with dead eyes.

“Please behave, Liu-shidi,” he whispers. It’s a prayer that he already knows isn’t going to be answered. “... Goddammit.”

Since it’s highly unlikely that Shang Qinghua would catch up to his fellow peak lord before Liu Qingge could make good on his desires and goad a fight out of someone, he decides to leave this, at least, as a problem that is definitely for future-Shang Qinghua to worry about. He closes the door and walks mulishly back over to the desk, grabbing a scroll off the shelf and sitting down to get to work on calculating the tax deficiencies for this month's collection from the merchants in the capital.

Because there is always deficiencies, and the treasury staff of the palace are…. They’re just not really mathematicians. They’re just highly susceptible toward making too many mistakes in the overall count, and mistakes only exist to make Shang Qinghua’s job more difficult. So, he’d long ago told them to just worry about the count of their own departments, and leave the final calculations to him.

It’s a good hour later that the door opens again, and Shang Qinghua is so deep in the slog of long multiplication that he doesn’t even notice someone else is in the room until a large hand settles roughly over his head.

He sits up with a startled sound, lifting his hands to right his hairpiece that’s been knocked askew, even as his face is forcibly turned around and he gets a big eye full of bare chest and black furs.

He blinks, and then jolts out of his chair to stand at his feet and give the scowling Mobei Jun a bow. “M-My king! Forgive me, I didn’t see you come in.”

Shang Qinghua cringes at his own words, glancing fleetingly up from beneath his eyelashes at the demon, who only continues to stare down at him in a glower. Why is his king so goddamn scary all the time? Doesn’t he have any other expression? Why is he so much like Liu Qingge?

And why, oh heavens why, is it so attractive?

You useless fucking gay, Shang Qinghua berates himself from the safety of his own mind. Focus! Let’s do our best not to get beat up today! We’ve been doing so well!

“U-Um, my king…” he tries, hands desperately trying to both keep his hair in order but also not rudely knock the king a hand away. “M-My hairpiece….?”

Mobei Jun’s icy cold stare moves from Shang Qinghua’s face up to his previously neat half-bun, and he finally removes his hand. The peak lord breathes a sigh of relief, fixing his hair while the king takes half a step back and instead looks over his desk, where there are half open scrolls and an ink stone that has been brought nearly to the end of its usefulness.

“You’re working?” Mobei Jun asks, reaching out to touch a finger to the edge of one of the scrolls.

Delicate, tiny vines of frost swirl out from beneath his fingertips and into the paper, and Shang Qinghua makes a noise of panic as he reaches forward to snatch the scroll out from under his King’s hand before the ice can ruin the paperwork.

Mobei Jun retracts his hand, expression dark.

“M-My king…” Shang Qinghua quails, stuffing the scroll into a random empty space on the shelves, disregarding the organization system entirely. He takes the smallest, tiniest step backwards, but the desk hits the back of his legs.

“Shang Qinghua.” Mobei Jun says, simply. It’s enough to send the alarm bells ringing in the peak lord’s head.

The king reaches out the same hand, Frost still costing his long, pale fingers, and Shang Qinghua uselessly ducks his head as if there is any way he could possibly dodge the touch.

He expects his king to grab him by the ear, or the hair, or even the chin like he so often does, but instead the wall next to Shang Qinghua’s desk explodes.

Hm.

That…. What?

Shang Qinghua opens eyes he doesn’t recall ever closing, to stare incredulously at the spot where Mobei Jun had previously been standing. The king is no longer there, the room entirely empty except for Shang Qinghua himself, and here is a large, gaping hole torn in the wall to his left.

It takes a few seconds for Shang Qinghua to reboot from his shock, but once he does he slowly walks over to the hole and climbs over the rubble and debris that decorates the floor and peers out of it into the outer hall that it now connects his suite to.

Ah, there his king is, several yards away, brows pulled down in a deep scowl and blade crossed with a rather vicious and antagonistic looking Liu Qingge.

Shang Qinghua figures that he should have probably guessed.

He watches the two in silence as they go at one another as if they’re trying to kill each other, as they most probably are. Liu Qingge makes to go for his king’s throat, but Mobei Jun summons a jagged spear of ice to redirect his blade and bring his own blade, shimmering and blue just like the outer walls of the palace, around toward Liu Qingge’s unprotected side.

Liu-shidi isn’t the peak lord of Bai Zhan for nothing though, and quickly reveals the weakness as only a bluff, taking advantage of the placement of Mobei Jun’s blade to strike out with his leg and disarm the demon of his sword. The weapon shatters against the ground, and Mobei Jun summons a spear to replace it.

Shang Qinghua steps away from the hole in his wall, gazing wordlessly at where there had once been a shelf. Of scrolls. Neatly organized scrolls. Scrolls which had been filled with data and information that Shang Qinghua still had need of. Paperwork that was either already completely or still awaited completion. He can spot some of those scrolls littering the ground, many of them partially or entirely destroyed by the rubble.

Shang Qinghua brings up a hand to press his forefinger and his thumb down against the sides of his nose. He runs at the bridge, attempting to preemptively lessen the impending migraine, already knowing it would be futile. The clanging and clashing of swords in the hall over isn’t helping.

He steps back toward the hole. His foot catches on a discarded scroll and sends it skittering across the floor. Shang Qinghua feels like crying, a little. He takes in a deep breath.

He watches silently as the scroll hits the frame of the door and rolls to a stop at a pair of boots. Shang Qinghua follows the legs attached to said boots and up until he sees the face of a servant demon standing in the doorway, staring at him in stunned surprise. He watches as the demon glances over at the hole in the wall with wide eyes, as he takes in the mess of rubble on the floor and, finally, Shang Qinghua sees the exact moment the demon spots the buried scrolls.

The blood drains out of the servant’s face, and his eyes flit over to stare at Shang Qinghua. The peak lord isn’t sure what expression he’s wearing, since he’s been doing his best to keep it as blank as possible, but whatever is in his eyes makes the demon take a step back.

The servant sketches a hasty bow, turns tail and runs.

Huh.

Shang Qinghua steps back over the rubble to stand on the hole in his wall. His shidi and his king are still at one another’s throats, snarling insults and causing damage in the interior structure of the corridor. There looks to be another hole in the wall, in the very near future, and —wow! Shang Qinghua clenches his trembling hands in the sleeves of his robes, and jumps down from the hole and into the corridor.

He’s had enough! Did anyone up there hear that? System? God? Shang Qinghua has had enough for today!

The An Ding peak lord stalks over to the two opponents currently fighting to the death in the hallway beside his room. They’re so absorbed with one another and the next possible move they could make against each other than they don’t notice Shang Qinghua approach until he’s already got his hands fisted in their collars.

Shang Qinghua floods the musculator of his upper body with his own qi and gives a sharp, vicious tug with both arms. There are twin noises of surprise as both his king and his shidi go tumbling to the ground.

They whip around to stare incredulously at him, both of them offended and incredibly pissed, teeth bared. They look so much alike in this moment that if Shang Qinghua wasn’t just as pissed himself, he might have laughed.

“Shang Qinghua—!”

“What the hell do you think your d—?!”

“Shidi,” Shang Qinghua hisses, and Liu Qingge abruptly rears back, words cutting off.

Mobei Jun falls equally as silent, sitting up to regard the two of them silently, his analytic and battle-oriented mind likely trying to puzzle out what has the fierce warrior that he’d just been fighting on equal footing so hesitant to interrupt the weak and pathetic scribe that Mobei Jun has before used as his own punching bag. His king is so incredibly observant! It sucks that Shang Qinghua is way too mad right now to appreciate it like he normally would.

Liu Qingge shifts onto his knees, sword held over his legs in one tight fist, and he glares up at Shang Qinghua with a clenched jaw.

The An Ding peak lord isn’t having it, though. He’s way past the point of having it. He can already feel the migraine coming on.

“What the fuck,” he demands, “do you think you’re doing?”

Liu Qingge only continues to glare at him without reply.

Shang Qinghua reaches down and unsheathes his blade. Mobei Jun’s eyebrows rise up in obvious surprise at the move, but the king remains silent.

“What,” Shang Qinghua says, “were either of you thinking?!”

Mobei Jun frowns. “Shang Qinghua, you speak like that to this king?” He finally demands, eyebrows scrunched in anger.

“No, my king. No. Forgive this one his impudence, but,” Shang Qinghua holds up a finger, “shut up. Shut up, or I’m going to shred your body through a woodchipper and serve the remains as a shaved ice dessert to your court of bureaucratic idiots at the next feast. Shut up.”

Mobei Jun blinks in outrage, but doesn’t appear as if he knows how to respond to that. He glances between Shang Qinghua, who continues to stare down at his shidi, and Liu Qingge, who glares back.

“Shidi.”

Liu Qingge hunches his shoulders. “He was going to grab you. He should not have tried.”

“You tore a hole in my wall, Liu-shidi! You destroyed my shelf, and half my paperwork and scrolls! You put me back months in terms of work! Months! Liu-shidi!”

Liu Qingge gruffly turns his head away, belligerent scowl on his face. He clutches his sword in his lap like he wants to use it again, but isn’t yet sure on what.

Mobei Jun leans over into Liu Qingge’s space.

Liu Qingge narrows his eyes at him.

“What’s a woodchipper.”

The Bai Zhan peak lord glares. “I. Don’t. Know.”

“Both of you, look at me!”

Mobei Jun stares back at the swordmaster, eyes growing more and more intense, and Shang Qinghua grows more and more furious the longer these two toddlers ignore him.

“... What is shaved ice?”

“Isn’t it self-descriptive?! Shut up!”

Shang Qinghua drops his sword carelessly back into its sheathe, having not drawn it completely free to begin with, and slaps both his hands to his cheeks in frustration. He lets out a growl, glare fixated at the ceiling, before reaching forward to grab his martial brother by the collar.

“My king, Fix the wall with your ice for now.” He says, not even considering the fact that he’s ordering around Mobei Jun, something he’d normally never dare to do. He turns on his heel and begins to drag a sullen and red-faced Liu Qingfe behind him as he goes.

“Liu-shidi, come with me. You’re going to clean up the mess you’ve made, and then you're going to redo any paperwork you’ve lost me. Do you have any idea how many months worth of work you just destroyed? I am going to fucking flay you alive with nothing but a pair of chopsticks, Liu-shidi!”

Liu Qingge slumps in his hold. The man doesn’t even get to his feet. He remains seated stubbornly on the ground and mullishly allows the still-ranting Shang Qinghua to drag him across the floor and away from the silent Mobei Jun, who stares after them in confusion. The Bai Zhan peak lord crosses his arms and scowls, not meeting the king’s eyes.

After they leave, Mobei Jun regards the hole in the wall of the corridor and how, beyond it, Shang Qinghua’s workspace is completely demolished. He wonders why the man hadn’t just gone back through the hole, instead of walking the long way around.

Then, he spots the half destroyed scrolls that clutter up the floor, and winces. Ah.

#svsss prompts #shang qinghua #liu qingge #mobei jun #moshang #MoShangLiu #vodka answers #vodkassassin fanfiction #cherfleur

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writingblock101 · 3 years

Text

Waffles or Pancakes? (Tim Drake x Reader)

Miss me? More explanation at the bottom. Enjoy this vent fic!

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2,600

Tags: @idkmanicantenglish @mayahoelland2013

You pick up a stone, fiddling with it in your hand. You don’t have daddy issues. The complicated relationship with your father doesn’t run that deep, and it definitely isn’t some kink… but there are a lot of unresolved problems threatening to boil over the surface.

Complicated relationship...More like lack thereof. You suppose that’s what happens when you have divorced parents, and you only see your dad every other weekend. Then other shit happens, he marries the wrong woman, you get older and more involved in your own life, and there’s not much effort on either side. You suppose that’s the origin of most of these problems, but you’re not the adult in this situation, dammit!

You throw the rock in frustration, watching it disappear off the side of the building, then a puddle of dread pools in your stomach. You’re on top of a building, and pedestrians are walking below, minding their own business. Sure, it may be close to 3 a.m. in Gotham, but still! Your actions have consequences.

You rush to the side of the building to make sure you didn’t bodily injure some random person, only to look down and see empty streets. Your pebble most likely joined another heap of loose asphalt. Plopping down heavily onto the ledge of the apartment building, you stare into the streets below and idly wonder if Batman and Robin are patrolling. When do they ever sleep? Do they sleep?

You should be asleep, and you know it. You said good night to the friend you were messaging over an hour ago, but instead of rolling over and passing out, your mind wandered to your family, specifically your father. Probably because you’re going to be seeing him in a few days for the holidays. It’s not exactly dread. Your father is a very loving man who loves you very much, but it never felt like he put effort into your relationship. Of course, it wasn’t until you were older that you realized how little effort he genuinely put in. As a child, you strived for his love, his approval, his interest. That’s what you really wanted. You knew he loved you and was so proud of you, but you also knew he was never truly interested in you or your life. And that stung.

So now, instead of ever bringing up your dad during therapy, you’re sitting on a roof, throwing rocks into the abyss, and getting teary-eyed over arguments that will never happen.

“Care for some company?” A voice startles you.

You turn to see Red Robin of all people, standing a few feet away and looking as non-threatening as possible. You shrug and gesture to the ledge.

“Plenty of ledge here for the both of us. Besides, I’m sure you could teach me a few things about perching on tall buildings.”

Red Robin chuckles and moves to the edge of the building. He tosses his legs over the side, sitting a foot away from you, and stares out on the city. You wonder what he sees when he looks on the city. He, Batman, Robin, and Red Hood protect Gotham for whatever reason. You’re not sure this cesspool deserves it, but apparently, they see something in it.

“I wasn’t going to jump,” You tell him.

“I didn’t think you were,” He responds simply.

“I’m not suicidal,” You plow ahead. “I don’t want to die, but I kept spiraling the longer I laid in bed.”

Red Robin nods along, like he gets it, like he understands. And maybe he does. You suppose despite all the rumors about the Bats, they probably are normal humans under those cowls and masks. Humans with a deathwish, but at this point, who isn’t?

“Do you want to talk about it?” He offers quietly.

“With you?” You raise an eyebrow.

Red Robin pretends to look around the empty rooftop.

“Well, unless you’re seeing someone that I’m not, then yeah, with me.”

He chuckles at his own joke, and silence falls between you two again.

“I know it’s weird,” Red Robin admits. “To talk about something that’s probably really personal with a total stranger, but I’d figure I’d offer. Talking… It helps. So if you don’t talk to me, you should think about talking to someone.”

You pause, mulling over his words. You don’t know Red Robin. You’re pretty sure Red Robin doesn’t know you. But why would he want to listen to some pity party at 3 am on some random apartment rooftop? Surely, he has better things to do.

But he sat down. He offered. He’s making an effort.

That’s more than some people can say.

You sigh heavily, your shoulders slumping.

“It’s my dad,” You finally admit. “We’ve always had a… complicated relationship. It’s not that he doesn’t love me-- he very clearly does. He’s always been a very affectionate man, but… it feels like he was never really interested in my life. Not in a malicious way, but in an oblivious way. And when it was happening before my eyes, I was a kid, so I didn’t see it, but now being older… It’s more obvious. It’s so clear that he doesn’t know me… And it stings.”

Red Robin listens patiently, nodding along with your words. He says nothing, letting you speak.

“And in my head, I keep bringing up things that happened years ago that still bother me so much, but it was so many years ago. He probably doesn’t remember because he doesn’t think they’re significant moments, you know? It’s things he said in passing that he doesn’t think of as hurtful that left… Much deeper marks than I’m willing to admit.”

You sigh, scrubbing your face in frustration at the burning in your eyes. You don’t want to cry. You don’t like crying. You don’t care if you need to cry-- you cried earlier, and now, you’re not going to cry in front of Red Robin about your damn daddy issues (okay, maybe they are daddy issues, but you’re sure as hell not going to be calling anyone “daddy” in the bedroom).

“I just… I’m tired. I’m tired of trying to put effort into a relationship that he doesn’t seem to want to put effort into. And the thing is, I doubt he even realizes that he’s doing it! If I talked to him, I’m sure we could figure something out, but… I’m not sure I want to… I love my dad very much, and I know he loves me… But I don’t think I like him.”

Right as the words pass your lips, you feel instant regret seize your chest.

“Oh, God, does that make me a bad person?” You bury your face in your hands, fighting back the watering in your eyes. “He’s such a loving man. He’s a damn bleeding heart, and I know if he heard me say that, it would break his heart!”

The thought alone sends tears spilling over onto your cheeks. You love your dad, you don’t want to see him heartbroken, but it’s getting harder to ignore your own bruises.

Red Robin scoots closer to you, rubbing your back soothingly.

“No, it doesn’t make you a bad person,” He tells you softly. “It sounds like you’re really hurt. While we can love our family, it’s hard to like someone who’s brought you so much pain.”

“But he… He’s so sweet,” You sob, taking a stuttering breath. “He’s one of the most loving people I’ve ever met.”

“But that doesn’t mean he can’t hurt you,” Red Robin tells you gently.

The tears well up in your eyes again, and you give up trying to make any sense of your thoughts. Instead, you let the tears fall. Red Robin pulls in arm around your shoulders, rubbing your arm as you lean against him and silently cry.

You two sit there in silence for what must be an hour before you finally sit up and rub your face.

“Well, that’s certainly not how I expected this to go,” You admit sheepishly, wiping your face. “Sorry for making you listen to my dumb sob story.”

“I’ve been there,” Red Robin offers a tissue that he produced from somewhere on his suit. “It’s not dumb. Having someone who will listen makes all the difference.”

“Thanks,” You say softly, offering a watery smile as you blow your nose and finish wiping your face off.

“Are you hungry?” He offers.

“Hungry?”

Red Robin shrugs.

“Crying takes it out of you. And it sounds like you’ve had a long night. How about some 4 am breakfast?”

“But I don’t have my wallet,” You dumbly state as if not having a wallet is the only issue with his proposal.

Red Robin waves you off.

“It’s my treat.”

You look down at your clothes: sneakers, mismatching socks, stained sweatpants, an old sleep shirt, and the first jacket you could find in your room, which was a jean jacket.

“You look fine,” He assures you. “Besides, it’s 4 am. If anything, you fit the vibe more than I do.”

You giggle at that, grimacing at how tight your face feels from the crying and the snot dripping from your nose. Wiping your nose with your sleeve, you glance around the rooftop.

“How are we going to get there? I don’t have a car.”

Red Robin pulls what looks to be a grappling hook from his side.

“I have an idea. But I have one important question before we proceed.”

You look at him warily.

“Do you trust me?” He asks.

And considering you just cried on his shoulder for the past hour and info dumped a small piece of your tragic backstory, you suppose you kind of do.

“Yeah,” You tell him.

“Great,” He smiles. “That wasn’t the important question, but that was needed information. Get on my back.”

You blink at him.

“Um. What?”

“Get on my back,” Red Robin repeats like it’s the most simple thing in the world. “I’m going to swing us to a breakfast place,” He waves his grappling hook.

“Um.”

“You said you trust me,” Red Robin reminds you.

And you suppose you did say that, didn’t you? He does this just about every night, he can keep you safe… Hopefully.

Red Robin bends down so you can hop onto his back. Once he’s sure you’re securely situated with your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist, Red Robin climbs up on the ledge of the apartment. Your grip tightens as he stands dangerously close to the edge.

“Wait,” You say before he jumps.

Red Robin turns his head in acknowledgment.

“What was the important question?”

He grins at you.

“Waffles or pancakes?”

“What?”

“Waffles or pancakes?” Red Robin repeats like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“That was your important question?” You shake your head in disbelief.

“It is an important question,” He insists.

You pause for a moment, pondering your answer.

“Pancakes,” You say decisively.

“Good answer,” Red Robin grins, then steps off the building.

For a moment, your breath is stuck in your throat as everything tenses, bracing for impact. Then, there’s a tugging—something dragging you away from the ground in a long arch. You tear your eyes away from the ground to see Red Robin almost effortlessly swinging with his grappling hook. Every shot is perfectly timed and calculated. It looks like second nature at this point, and it makes you wonder how long Red Robin has been doing this. Who is Red Robin under the cowl?

Eventually, you land in front of a mom and pop dinner which advertises 24/7 breakfast.

“It doesn’t look like much, but this place has the best pancakes,” Red Robin promises as you slide off his back.

You shrug, looking up at the old sign and well-loved booths inside.

“Like you said, it fits the vibe.”

Red Robin grins and opens the door for you. He directs you to a booth in the back. An older waitress comes by your table holding two mugs and a pot of coffee.

“Hey, Red,” She greets, looking tired but friendly. “Who’s your friend?”

Red Robin glances over at you with a small smile.

“A fellow pancake lover.”

The waitress chuckles as she pours him a cup of coffee.

“Coffee?” She offers you.

“Uh, sure,” You’re doubtful that you’ll drink it since pulling an all-nighter sounds less than ideal but holding something warm sounds nice.

“So, a stack of pancakes for both of you then?” The waitress asks, not bothering to write down the simple order.

“That sounds great, Brooke,” Red Robin smiles.

“Sure thing,” Brooke heads back to the kitchen to place the order, leaving you at the table with Red Robin.

You blow on your hot coffee and wrap your fingers around the mug, enjoying the heat.

“Alright, another important question for you,” Red Robin begins as he adds sugar and cream to his coffee.

You smile, ready for this all-important question with rapt attention.

“Acceptable toppings on pancakes?”

Midway through your heated debate about which fruits are acceptable to top pancakes with (“Oh, so pineapple can go on pizza, but it can’t go on pancakes?!”), Brooke drops off two stacks of fluffy, golden brown pancakes. While Red Robin is wrong about pancake toppings, he wasn’t lying about these pancakes being delicious.

“Okay,” You say through a mouthful of heavenly pancake. “These pancakes are delicious, but I cannot fathom the thought of you ruining them with Miracle Whip.”

“It sounds weird, I know,” Red Robin admits, opting to dunk his pancakes in syrup only, thank God. “But trust me.”

“Miracle Whip,” You repeat. “Like the substitute for mayonnaise.”

“It’s sweeter than mayo!” Red Robin argues. “It’s like a sweet cream on pancakes.”

“I think you’ve had one too many concussions.”

“Oh, really?” You’re sure that Red Robin is raising his eyebrows at you under his cowl, judging by the look on his face. “So, what’s your excuse for orange juice and chocolate chip cookies?”

“Okay listen,” You point your fork at him. “I never said it was my idea. A friend made me try it, and it wasn’t the worst thing in the world!”

“How can you question my judgment about Miracle Whip on pancakes when you eat orange juice with your cookies?!”

“It’s not that different from drinking a glass of orange juice while eating a chocolate chip pancake!”

“Yes, it absolutely is!”

By the time you two have your fill of pancakes, coffee, and arguing, it’s close to five am. Red Robin drops you off on your apartment rooftop.

“Thanks for the pancakes,” You smile, sliding off his back. “You’re right. I did need that.”

“Helping is what we do,” He shrugs with a small smile.

“If only someone could help your taste buds.”

Red Robin laughs then shakes his head.

“If you think mine are bad, you should see some of the things my siblings eat.”

“There’s more of you?” You toss your head back dramatically. “What kind of cursed bloodline do you come from?!”

Red Robin grins.

“A diverse one,” He answers vaguely.

“Seriously,” You tell him, sobering up. “Thank you.”

“Anytime. If you ever need someone to talk to, go to the roof. I’ll be there,” Red Robin promises.

“Thanks,” You say softly, then you kiss his cheek. “I’ll see you around, Red.”

He’s frozen for a moment, then a smile stretches across his face.

“See you around,” He solutes, then disappears into the night like the bat he is.

You smile to yourself and walk back to your apartment. Some sleep sounds pretty good now…

So, hey guys! It’s been a minute... 4 months to be exact... Sorry about that. I’m not dead! Just in college. I just finished an 18 credit semester so I’ve been busy and tired. Next semester will not be better. It’s suppose to be my hardest semester of nursing school, so that’s great. I am hoping over break to work through some of my requests. I think to help I’m going to try to make them shorter. I also might delete some, so if yours gets deleted, I’m sorry. Eventually request will open again and you’ll be able to request, but as of now, I’m just trying to get content out and some of the things on the upcoming don’t really do it for me. Anyways, I’ve missed y’all and I’m sorry for the wait. Thank you for being patient, you guys are the best and I hope you enjoyed this vent fic!

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theprincesslibrary · 3 years

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#26: Quid pro quo

She had a plan. A good plan, flawed of course, but a good plan nonetheless. She would march into the Azure dragon’s lair, offer him a deal he could not refuse, and spend the rest of her days in relative peace. She would not be burned alive, nor have her body desecrated postmortem. It was a good plan, albeit a bit of a crazy one.

She had carefully designed said plan for months, spent countless hours with her nose buried deep in obscure literature, practically harassed the head of the royal guard into telling her every tiny detail of his encounter with the sand dragons - the man used to boast about his tale of glory, now he couldn’t bear to utter the word dragon - but for all her effort she still wasn’t ready for the Azure dragon himself. There were a few key elements about the beast which were not accounted for in those dusty grimoires: for one, he was a man rather than a scaled monster; and two… he was incredibly handsome. He had ordered her to sit opposite him, and she had since spent a stupid amount of time staring at his face, which wasn’t all that smart considering her current predicaments. Yet, one could hardly blame her; she had been expecting a blue lizard - a giant lizard, with wings, and teeth, and claws - and she was now sitting in front of the most gorgeous man she had ever met. Nothing during her months of research had prepared her for the day's events, and she was a bit lost and quite unsure of how to proceed.

*****

When she had walked past the entrance on the north side of the snowy mountain, she had expected a cave or an abandoned mine; a place dark and humid, where the air would be stale, almost putrid. There would be spiderwebs on the walls and maybe a few rotting corpses lying in the shadows of a dusty corner. The place would be grim, quiet - save for the few drip drops of a leaking roof - and extremely scary. But the halls she was wandering in looked nothing like old collapsing tunnels. There were sculpted columns where she expected old support beams, and vast rooms with smooth walls instead of rough rock and loose stone. It looked more like an underground palace than it did the belly of a mountain, and she couldn’t help but be a little bit in awe of the craftsmanship required to achieve such a feat. Her father’s castle could never compare to the dragon’s lair, nothing could.

As she made her way from room to room, she found no pile of gold or shiny jewels, not that she hoped to find any, she had specifically chosen the Azure dragon for its peculiar taste in treasure. She had however expected a few rotten corpses, maybe some dead knights, or discarded armors, but again she was pleasantly surprised: not a dead body in sight. Just books, shelves after shelves for as far as the eye could see. They occupied every surface of the place: wooden tables covered in parchments, rare volumes piled up on the floor. Some piles were so high, she had to crane her neck up to see the top and almost lost her balance more times than she’d admit to. Some books were torn or half-eaten by mice, soot-stained or with missing their spines, others were brand new and carefully ordered by author and date. And everywhere the dry scent of paper mixed with the faintest bit of charcoal, a good indication that she was in the right place. Which might sound confusing to some: what kind of princess would willingly seek out a dragon? But she was desperate, and desperate times called from desperate measures. Crazy measures, some might even say.

Now that she was deep into the beast’s lair, she was faced with two issues. One, for all her planning, she hadn’t come up with a solution to prevent the dragon from killing her without hearing her plea. She had a proposition for the creature, one that required some explaining, and she could hardly do so once reduced to a fuming pile of ashes. She had thought she’d come up with something eventually, but as her twenty-first birthday grew closer things accelerated, and now she was here, with no idea how to speak with such a being. Maybe she should send words in advance? Did Dragons get mail? And If so, who would be brave enough to deliver such correspondence? There wasn't any protocol on how to converse with a dragon. She was taught how to politely greet foreign emissaries, but somehow her etiquette lesson didn’t cover “how to greet a mighty dragon without being toasted”. Clearly a gap in her royal education. Most people - knights in search of gold and glory - marched into a dragon’s lair with two goals in mind: kill the beast and steal its treasure. They either succeeded or died, adding to the long list of nameless fools no one remembered. There was hardly any tale of them having a civil conversation with the beast.

And either way, if she knew how to politely engage the Azure dragon, she would first need to find him. One would think a creature this size would be easy to spot, but so far she only passed by empty rooms (saves for the mountains of books) and deserted halls. If she didn’t know any better, she’d think the place to be abandoned.

As she continued her discovery of the underground palace, she stepped inside a dimly lit room, more vast than the rest, that looked like a library. There had been books in every room she visited so far, but this one looked like it was meant to hold paper and manuscript. It was dark, save for the few candles and the fire roaring in the hearth.

“Excuse me.” She called out to the shadows, not expecting an answer. She had been doing so in every room, and only got an eerie silence as a reply. So when the shadows moved in a corner of the room, she nearly jumped out of her skin. The shadow was in fact a man sitting in a chair with a heavy book in his hands. Her heart was in her throat, and it took her a few minutes to regain her composure.

“Forgive my intrusion,” she started, “I'm looking for the Azure dragon.”

The man barely lifted his eyes from the books to give her the most unimpressed look. He was handsome, almost painfully so: silver-white hair, high cheekbones, a jawline that could cut through glass. But his most striking features were his eyes: icy blue, pupils slit in the middle. And then everything clicked: the hair, the pointed ears, the haughty look...

“You're one of the Elezens” she whispered dumbfounded, “It was said that your race had passed into legend.” “Sorry to disappoint.”

Panic ran through her, insulting the very being she had come to beg for help was a mistake, insulting one of the Elezens was a death sentence. She quickly dipped in a graceful bow, knees almost touching the ground, and lowered her head as much as her spine would allow.

“Forgive me, your grace, I spoke out of turn.”

She did not dare look at him, but she could feel his eyes on her. She could sense his disdain and perhaps a hint of curiosity. She kept her head low and her knees bent, waiting for him to speak, to dismiss her, or worse, to kill her. Her muscles screamed at her, and she secretly thanked her mother for her rigorous etiquette lessons. Lya might look frail and delicate, but she could curtsy for hours, her body well-trained to the princessly art of lowering oneself (literally) to please powerful men.

“Sit.” He finally said. “And pray tell, why is a princess seeking me out. That ought to be an interesting tale.”

For a brief moment, as she sat opposite him, nervousness overwhelmed her. Her hand clenched into her skirt, her fingers tugging at the fabric. She had not planned for this, hadn’t even considered the possibility, his kind was supposed to be extinct. This changed everything. Elezen were stronger than most dragons, smarter too. Knights didn’t kill Elezens, they simply ceased to exist; or hid in the heart of a snowy mountain, it would seem. Still, she couldn’t help but stare, he looked so… human.

“Speak.” He ordered, “all the fidgeting and staring is deeply annoying.” “I’m sorry, your grace, I expected you to be…” “Taller?” “Bluer actually, with more scales perhaps?” “I can hardly read with a full set of claws,” he pointed out with a haughtily condescending tone.

She swallowed heavily and nodded. She had been willing to face a beast breathing fire, surely she could converse with a man reading a book. She hadn’t escaped her father’s dungeon and portaled all the way up north to give up now. She brushed off her skirt, took a deep breath and raised her head to meet his gaze.

“I've come to request the honor of being your captive.” Words stumbled out of her mouth so fast she wasn’t sure she had been intelligible. “Do I look that feeble that you’d rather be my prisoner than some baron’s wife?” He said, weary and just a little bit sharp. “Do you not fear me?” “I do, very much fear you, your grace. Even more so now that I know of your true lineage. But I wish to live, and being held captive, given the proper circumstances, seems rather small compared to losing my life.” “I don't follow.” “I was born under the blood moon, your grace…”

She didn’t finish her sentence, didn’t need to, they both knew what it meant. Silence stretched between them, only broken by the sound of a log cracking in the fireplace. When the dragon spoke again his voice wasn’t thunderous nor loud, it wasn’t “ dragon-like ”; it was soft, barely a whisper, with a hint of sadness to it, and something else. Empathy? Pity? Most people pitied her.

“I didn’t realize humans still followed the old ways. And they call us beasts… Very well, I can see how this agreement would benefit you, but what's in it for me?” “It is my understanding that a dragon’s reputation among his peers is correlated to the size of his hoard and his ability to keep a princess captive.” She started, glad her voice didn’t betray any of her fear. “Your hoard is rumored to be quite impressive, but you never…”

She hesitated for a while, she needed to be careful with her words, she had insulted him once, it would be a mistake to do it again, dragons weren’t known for being magnanimous. Still, there wasn’t exactly a pleasant term to describe the situation, ‘prisoner’ seemed a bit excessive considering she was offering to be locked away in a tower of her own free will. Well, maybe not locked away, and there was no tower…but ‘guest’ would be most inappropriate. Hosts had duties towards their guests, she could not insinuate that he’d owe her anything.

“You’ve never ‘harbored’ a princess before”, she finally settled on. “I suppose you find the task bothersome, fending off knights can be quite tiring, believe me, I know.”

He laughed, barely a huff, but she heard it, and she liked it. It spurred her on, and she smiled in return. Maybe their shared disdain for knights could bring them to a quid pro quo.

“I'm the thirteenth princess of the sand kingdom, hardly the golden prize, and even if a knight wanted to risk it all, well, rumor has it your hoard is made of books…” she let her eyes wander around the room, her stare landing on yet a precarious tower of volumes, minutes away from collapsing on the ground. “Not exactly the type of treasure knights tend to seek out. They're not very well-read. So you see, this agreement would benefit both of us.”

His eyes narrowed at her as he studied her. His stare was neither cold nor disdainful, but calculating. He was appraising her, measuring her worth and deciding whether she was worth the hassle; and for those interminable seconds, she held her breath in anticipation of his response.

“I can clean too. And sing.” She hastened to add. “I'm fairly good at enchanting animals. I could sing the rats away from your books.”

He huffed once more, amused at her outburst.

“No need to oversell it, Princess. You have yourself a deal.”

#FFxivWrite2021 #FFxivWrite #ffxiv #ffxiv fanfiction #estinien x wol #Estinien Wyrmblood #my writing #soulmate AU #AU #dragon Estinien is the hill I'll die on

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ot7always · 4 years

Text

Fractured (part 3)

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Word Count: 5.9k

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader

Genre: Mafia AU, angst, fluff, (future) smut

Warnings: objectification, mentions of sex, guns, knives, murder, and death (non-graphic), mentions of blood (not gory, but it’s there several times), non-serious injury, depictions of mental illness in the form of: nightmares, self-loathing, anxiety

Rating: 18+

Summary: You’d always known something was strange and different about your “family,” but it wasn’t as though your environment encouraged curiosity from you. You thought you wanted to know all the answers, but nobody ever told you that the more you learned the more pieces of yourself you would leave behind.

A/N: Part 3 is here! This is going to be the last ‘introductory’ chapter before some more exciting things happen in the series. Let me know what you think!

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged!

It was cold.

Damp.

The floor beneath your feet was solid concrete, drops of water littering the floor, having fallen from the pipes above.

You were unarmed. Only a plain black t-shirt and cotton pants – why was this all you were wearing?

The cold air thoroughly chilled your bones, your teeth chattering together in your skull.

“Pay attention, bitch.” Before the voice even completed its sentence, the deafening boom of a gunshot rang through the room, bullet ricocheting off the wall behind you before clattering to the floor.

It was then that you took in your circumstances. You were standing in the middle of a circle of chairs, seated bodies facing you, faces blindfolded. Your heart stopped in your chest when you realized.

Seven chairs. Seven men. Bound around you as you were unarmed.

You rose your gaze to meet the eyes of a man you didn’t recognize, his pistol dangling at his side. Despite his laid-back demeanor, his men were behind him, and you knew without a doubt that you would surely die before you could even hope of making it to him.

“Choose.” His voice rang through the room, echoing off the bare stone walls.

You blinked in confusion, glancing at the men seated around you. Why was nobody struggling? Surely there wasn’t a tie in the world that could hold Hoseok, right?

Attempting not to show your anxiety, you cleared your throat. “Choose what?”

“Choose which one of your little boyfriends dies, and the rest of you can go free.”

You couldn’t hide the flash of panic on your face at his words, your gut twisting. “My boyfriends?” You schooled your voice, the carefully crafted cold mask returning to your face. You could only hope to stall until you found a way out of this situation.

“Aw, sweetheart, we both know they wouldn’t keep you around if they couldn’t put their dick in you, don’t we?”

Anger flared in your chest, quickly stamped down as you struggled to maintain neutral features. In the corner of your eye, you saw Jimin’s angry grimace, his body shifting beneath the ropes. You elected to ignore it, lest you draw unnecessary attention to him.

But it seemed that the man didn’t miss it.

“That one doesn’t like me talking about his slut, does he?” he laughed cruelly, pointing his gun at his direction.

Your heart rate rose exponentially in your chest. “We’re a family. Surely you understand – or do you not understand anything besides fucking?”

Stall. Stall. Stall.

But it appeared he chose to ignore your latter comment. “Oh, is that what they call it nowadays? My apologies, my lady,” he taunted, sending an ugly grin your way.

“Why are we here?” you deadpanned, eager to get on your way.

“You’re very hated out there, my dear,” he sung mockingly. “A certain someone paid me very generously to torment you, and I thought this seemed fun!”

“You’re insane,” you scowled, eyes darting around the room. But it seemed he did his research – there was only one visible entrance, and he was right in front of it. The distance between you and him was too great to get close enough to stand a fighting chance without weapons. Someone would surely die if you tried. If not you, one of the boys.

“Everyone’s insane in this business, sweetheart. Speaking of business, choose. Don’t think you can stall this out like you’ve been trying to do.”

You didn’t bother hiding your scowl. “Can’t I choose myself?”

“What good would that be? We both know dying is easy. Living with blood on your hands is a lot harder, don’t you think?”

He was right – but it didn’t change the fact that you would exchange your life for any of theirs in a heartbeat.

It didn’t seem like there was any way out of this. He wouldn’t really kill someone here – right?

Wrong.

You knew more than anyone how ruthless everyone in the world could be when it came to money.

He could kill all of you if he wanted.

But you were sure he knew that if he tried something too drastic you’d be able to take advantage of his distraction.

He was too smart to do anything besides what he said. And you were too desperate to try anything else.

You took in the sight of the men seated around you, some biting their bottom lip in an attempt to remain quiet. There was absolutely no way you could do this. Wasn’t there any way you could stall this out?

BANG.

You wouldn’t have known exactly what happened if not for Jimin’s loud scream, blood gushing from his shoulder from where the man had skillfully aimed. Wide-eyed, you had to keep yourself from springing towards him, though upon first glance it didn’t look like a deadly wound.

“You don’t have much longer before I get angry. Choose.”

“Hey.”

You only spun around to face everyone surrounding you, the helplessness washing over you, dread rising in your stomach. Was this a joke?

You paused when you spotted Yoongi mouthing something to you. He was sitting opposite the door, his back to the heartless man, who couldn’t see what he was doing. You stared as he moved his lips, trying to make out the words.

‘It’s okay.’

“Y/N!”

You had to stop the tears from rising to the surface. This wasn’t okay, and would never be okay.

“Particularly attached to that one, huh?”

Before you knew it, the gun was pointed to Yoongi’s head, the man’s chuckle punctuated by the pull of the trigger.

You let out an ear-piercing scream at the same time as the bang rung through the room, knees crashing to the concrete beneath you, your eyes too afraid to look up.

“Y/N!”

Your eyes flashed open at hands grasping your shoulders tightly enough to grate against the bone. Panting heavily, you shot your gaze around the room, heartbeat slowing as you took in the sight of Yoongi’s bedroom and not a windowless, concrete building.

“Hey. You’re safe.”

At the sound of a soothing voice, you fully realized the presence of another person as your senses started coming back to you. At his warm tone, you focused your blurry vision on Jimin’s face, blinking away unshed tears. His brow was furrowed, concern clear on his face.

“You were screaming.” When he realized you were fully awake, his grip on you lessened, but his hands remained in place as he took in the fear in your eyes and the trembling of your limbs. “Hey, are you with me?”

You nodded your assurance, closing your eyes to focus on evening out your breathing. “I’m okay,” you mumbled. Physically you knew you were, your body becoming more awake, feeling more under your control by the second. But you were shaken by what you saw, how real it seemed. How realistic it was.

Nobody appreciated the reminder that the people they loved could die at any moment.

Jimin waited patiently as you struggled to pull yourself together. This wasn’t the first time he’d found you like this, and it almost certainly wouldn’t be the last. He’s witnessed some of your lowest moments, after all. Jimin was arguably the softest and most attentive one in the house – with you guys, anyway. You’d never seen anyone who could flip a switch in the way Jimin did as soon as he stepped out into the field. You admired the way he allowed himself to let loose at home, but could be professional as soon as he stepped outside.

The way he fretted over everyone like a mother hen had endeared you to him since a time before you’d even started kindergarten.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he prodded gently once you’d opened your eyes, vision fixed on an empty spot on the wall to avoid his searching gaze.

You quickly shook your head, burying the mess of emotions deep within you, as though acting unbothered would will your anxiety out of existence. Despite receiving the same answer each time over the past few months and years, Jimin never failed to ask the same question. You both loved and hated him for it, to no fault of his own. You simply didn’t feel comfortable laying out all of your thoughts, and the vulnerability that came with it. Not when so much of your sanity relied upon your mask of indifference and focus on work.

Despite your refusal, he eyed you for several more seconds, hesitantly releasing you and seating himself beside you so that your shoulders were touching. In your peripheral vision you caught a glimpse of his conflicted expression. You couldn’t blame him – he did, you assume, come in here because your screaming was audible from the hallway. You would be concerned too, especially in a house where every room was made to be relatively private, sound-wise.

Images of that dream still floated through your mind, the last few seconds before you woke up playing on repeat again, and again, and again.

“Where’s Yoongi?” you asked, hoping to distract Jimin from your sorry state. But it appeared that your question was most definitely not the right way to go about that, because his concern only grew more noticeable.

“Yoongi-hyung...? He’s out tonight, remember? With Seokjinnie-hyung?” He stared at you incredulously.

Right.

You couldn’t believe it had slipped your mind – and neither could Jimin, apparently. His astonishment made sense, though. If there was one person in the house with laser focus on the job, it was probably you. It was easier that way – your work brain didn’t worry so much about what happened in the field.

But that meant you usually kept tabs on what everyone was doing, especially considering what they were doing was related to what you would be doing tomorrow. Especially considering you could barely sleep without knowing every one of them was back home and safe.

“Are you... sure you’re okay?” he asked at your lack of response.

“I’m fine... just wasn’t fully awake, you know?” you deflected, awkward chuckle falling from your lips. You were fine, right? Your mind was just a little bit too preoccupied to remember something. Something very important, and something that you usually never forgot, but it wasn’t that big of a deal.

But Jimin didn’t seem to think so, the disbelief clear on his face. But before he could open his mouth to say something, you spoke first.

“Do you ever have nightmares?” you asked simply, hugging your knees to your chest, wrapping yourself into a little ball. Of course, you knew the answer already, but a selfish part of you just wanted the reassurance that you weren’t alone in your experiences.

“Y/N...” he trailed off, tone sad. “I think we all do. You’re not alone here.”

“What do you do?”

That seemed to surprise him. The words slipped from you before you could stop them. For lack of better wording – you didn’t tend to initiate conversations about things that really mattered. Things that were important to you personally, things that weren’t surface-level or work-related. Perhaps waking up after an awful dream next to a person rather than your usual empty room brought forth an unusual vulnerability.

He seemed to ponder over a response, taking his time before answering. “I talk about it.” He had decided to answer honestly, cringing inwardly at the answer, knowing how much you avoided talking about your problems with anyone.

You deflated almost imperceptively at his answer, though you were sure he noticed. You didn’t know what you were expecting, and didn’t know why you were disappointed. Did you really think Jimin would have some secret to help you?

No – he just wasn’t a coward like you were.

“Y/N, I know things are a lot harder for you than everyone else-”

“They’re not,” you interjected.

“They are. Everyone else grew up knowing what this house was from birth. But you? They let you become a person and then forcefully replaced you with another version of yourself later. Us? This is all we ever were.” There was a trace of bitterness in his tone, one you chose not to comment on. “I don’t know why they waited so long to tell you. Maybe that’s the reason you’re so-”

He cut himself off before he could finish the sentence, grimacing slightly at his uncontrolled babbling.

But it didn’t take a genius to understand where he was going with that thought.

“So what?” Fucked up? Broken? You weren’t sure you wanted to know what he was going to finish that sentence with.

“Never mind,” he sighed, taking a deep breath before changing the subject. “I was supposed to come get you anyway. Yoongi-hyung told me to make you eat once you woke up.”

“He told you to make me eat?” you mumbled, slightly affronted, but amused nonetheless. Your comment seemed to break the tension in the room, Jimin breathing a laugh at your reaction.

“You know how he is,” he grinned. “But anyway, come join us. Taehyungie is downstairs waiting for me already. Said he wants to watch The Office or something.”

You knew you should eat something, but you really didn’t have much of an appetite after everything. Perhaps being punched in the gut and then dreaming of your family’s death by your hand will do that.

Noticing your hesitation, however, Jimin piped back up. “Please? I think it would help. For me?”

You knew you were helpless the moment he fixed his pleading stare onto your face. Nobody could ever deny that man anything, and you were more than certain he knew that. You were lucky he wasn’t using his powers for worse things than convincing someone who needs food that they need to eat.

Rather than respond, you simply let out an exaggerated sigh, pretending you didn’t know that he was definitely correct. Besides, if there was anyone who could take your mind off things, it was definitely Jimin and Taehyung. On their own you’d almost mistake them for any other 20-something year old, but together they were their own brand of chaos. Chaos that never failed to brighten the mood.

You made to hop off the bed, planning on throwing out an “if I have to” once you did, but it appeared that you’d been so focused on your mental state that your physical one completely slipped your mind.

Not expecting your legs to be so weak, you lost your balance almost immediately, saved from an embarrassing potential fall by Jimin’s quick reflexes. He stood beside you, a hand on your shoulder, luckily not fussing over you too much.

“Hm, Jungkookie didn’t tell me he messed you up that much,” he teased, though you thought there was an ounce of concern somewhere in there.

You scoffed. “I’m fine, I just forgot how sore I was.” You shrugged off his hand, taking a few pained steps towards the door, hiding a grimace at the scream of your muscles. “And Jungkook did not do this to me, by the way,” you added, unwilling to let Jimin prance around the house thinking Jungkook was able to beat the living shit out of you. Even if it was partially true.

As amusing at it was to watch you unintentionally walk around like a newborn lamb, Jimin couldn’t help his wince at the sight. “Are you sure you don’t need help?”

“Let’s go eat, Jimin.”

As expected, dinner and sitcoms with the Chaos Pair (as you and Hoseok liked to fondly refer to them) did wonders to improve your mood. Seokjin had so kindly made some sort of stir-fry before leaving with Yoongi, meaning all you three had to do was warm up some food before settling down on the couch.

But that was several hours ago. It had to be past midnight, and you knew what Yoongi and Seokjin needed to do tonight wasn’t something that should have taken too long. In fact, scouting out the meeting place for tomorrow shouldn’t have taken more than half an hour or an hour at most – any longer and getting seen was too risky.

You couldn’t help but let your mind wander, wondering what could have held them up so much. Surely nothing could have happened, especially when the plan for today wasn’t even that dangerous – right?

Captured within your own thoughts, not absorbing what was on the screen, the transition to the ending credits snapped you out of it. You spoke out before Taehyung could click the next episode button for the nth time that night.

“Hey... do you guys know what’s happening with Yoongi and Jin?” You tried to make the question sound casual and nonchalant, but each of the boys were well-versed in your worry any time work didn’t go according to plan – especially when you were at home while others were out. It was a silent but well-known fact that you were almost always the last to bed on mission days, your body only relaxing enough to sleep once you knew everyone was home safe.

“I’m sure they’re fine, Y/N,” Jimin was quick to reassure you from the opposite end of the couch. “Coming back late isn’t that strange here, you know.”

“Right. This is Yoongi-hyung and Jin-hyung we’re talking about here, remember?” Taehyung added, slinging an arm around your shoulder from his place beside you. “Besides, Yoongi-hyung is a master at doing stuff quickly and quietly. I bet they were done in like 20 minutes and they’re out eating or something.”

“Without any update?” you replied, skepticism clear in your tone. “Not even an ‘all done, see you guys later,’ nothing?”

“Just think about it this way, Y/N,” said Jimin, matter-of-factly. “Even if something went wrong, isn’t it better to have no news at all than for us to know something?”

As much as you wanted to argue the nuances of that statement, you knew in general, he was right. If they were captured, you’re sure Namjoon would have heard something about it by now. People were too impatient in this line of work to wait before leveraging whatever bargaining chip they had – especially when it wouldn’t be unheard of for them to lose their chance before it could be used. And if they were killed? News of such a thing would have spread even faster, considering their status as the two oldest sons.

Jimin was right, in a way – you could be fairly confident that whatever was happening, they were at least alive.

But that didn’t stop you from worrying. Some things were worse than death.

“You’re right, I guess,” you conceded, though you certainly didn’t sound happy about it.

When nobody made to speak further, Taehyung hit play, and you tried your best to focus on the show.

And you did. For another hour, with no word from anyone, and still no Yoongi or Seokjin in the house.

As much as you wanted so badly to call them and demand what was taking up their time, you already knew such a thing wasn’t possible. You knew that by now, if they had time, they would have called you already.

All there was left to do was wait, and you were not a patient person.

You didn’t even realize how much you were fidgeting until Taehyung reached out a hand to rest on your shoulder, the other moving to pause the episode.

“Y/N.” Taehyung’s voice was firm. “Don’t worry so much, they’ll be fine. I think you should sleep.”

“You should,” Jimin agreed. “Don’t you guys have to leave early tomorrow?”

You made a noncommittal noise in response. As much as your muscles screamed with exhaustion, as much as your mind probably needed rest, you knew you wouldn’t be capable of sleep. Not when the last time you’d slept wrought you so much terror, and definitely not before everyone was accounted for.

But you couldn’t focus on the show, and as much as you loved them, you didn’t think you could sit there any longer and hear the same reassurances from Jimin and Taehyung. It wasn’t their fault – you knew they wanted you to feel some peace of mind, but there was only so much that could be said when dealing with very real danger. And at the same time, you felt bad for making them fuss over you.

“I think... I think I’m going to head upstairs. Sorry I couldn’t be very good company,” you said, wincing as you stood supporting your own weight, the dull pain in your abdomen and calves protesting.

They were quick to claim otherwise, each of them reaching out to give your arm a gentle squeeze. As you made your way to the staircase, you could hear their quiet whispers from the couch, though you couldn’t make out their words. You would bet that they were probably discussing Yoongi and Seokjin’s absence, too considerate to worry you further while you were still there.

When you reached the landing upstairs, you were fully planning to head to your own room, lounging in bed, phone in hand until either the boys came home or you passed out from sheer exhaustion. But this late at night, you didn’t expect to see the strip of light coming from beneath Namjoon’s door. Perhaps distracting yourself with work would be your best bet to shift your focus.

You were knocking on his door before you were even fully aware you’d made the decision, entering when a tired voice called for you to come in.

When he saw it was you, he gave you a kind smile from where he was seated at his desk, though the fatigue in it was clear. But you supposed you weren’t one to talk.

“Everything okay?” he asked easily, spinning around on his clear until he was facing you fully. On his desk you could see almost a dozen open folders, sheets scattered around – work-related, no doubt. You were positive there was some kind of method to the madness, though. This was Namjoon, after all.

Though he liked to deny it, Namjoon was something of the leader in the house now that everyone’s parents no longer lived there full-time. Like true important individuals, they lived off in vacation homes now that their children were fully grown and fully capable of doing every bit of dirty work for them. They stopped by sometimes since much of the important technology (read: weapons) and paperwork were here, but for the most part, once night fell you guys were on your own. Not that the 8 of you really had any say in what you’d be doing despite being mostly alone – you were independent in name only, and you didn’t doubt that the parents were keeping tabs on everyone anyway. Namjoon’s father proved that earlier.

Being the son of the head of the entire “operation,” most communications came to Namjoon to relay to the rest of you. Despite never volunteering for such a thing, his father liked to work him to the bone. In watching their interactions, you’d hardly be able to tell they were family – Namjoon’s father treated him more as a servant than anything. As much as he claimed he didn’t mind, the work definitely took a toll on him. The fact that he was alone in his room working at what must be around 3 am was evidence enough.

“I was hoping to talk to you about tomorrow...” you began unsurely. “But if you’re busy, it’s fine. It’s not that important anyway.”

You hated to intrude and ask him to talk about work when he was already clearly so swamped, but in all likelihood what he was doing was about your next task anyway.

“Actually, it’s good that you’re here. I think if I look at these papers any longer, I’m gonna go insane. Talking has always been better for me, anyway,” he replied, and you visibly perked up at the realization that your presence was desired rather than simply tolerated.

“All that stuff is about tomorrow?” you questioned, making your way over to sit cross-legged at the end of his bed. Now that you were closer, you could see that the papers flooding his desk were some combination of floor plans, building sketches, and walls of text that looked much too small to read even if it were right in front of you.

“Right. Everything had already been mapped out already, but my father sent me these about an hour ago saying the first set they gave me was wrong.” He huffed a bit in annoyance at that, before continuing on. “So, I’ve mostly just been double checking whether it changes anything. I think we should be okay, but better safe than sorry, right?” he chuckled humorlessly, a hand raising to pass mindlessly through his hair.

“Lay it on me, Joon,” you grinned, forcing enthusiasm into your voice in the hopes that you could at least make him feel a bit better. It was, after all, much easier to help others than to help yourself. You leaned back on your hands, giving him your full attention.

“You read through everything I sent you already, right?” he inquired, despite knowing that the obvious answer was yes, considering you’d have to set out only hours later.

When you nodded your assent, he continued.

“So you know that this isn’t too complicated of a mission – a go in, talk, come back out type of thing. We’re already at a temporary peace with their family, so you and Jungkook will be there as assurance that they can’t just shoot me dead.”

“Uh huh. So what’s changed?”

“Pretty much just the map of the warehouse we’re going to. The windows are placed differently than we originally thought, and apparently there might be some sort of back door. Yoongi-hyung and Jin-hyung were supposed to confirm those details, but...” he trailed off, his teeth gnawing at his bottom lip betraying his worry. But when he saw your face fall at the mention, he carried on.

“In theory, all we have to do is be a bit more aware when we get there, keep an eye out, especially for that other entrance. But I’ve mostly been thinking about what could go wrong with the added unknowns, especially if someone tried to throw us off intentionally-”

His voice was cut off abruptly by a loud bang from downstairs, followed by voices. You were up on your feet in an instant, out the bedroom door before you could even check whether Namjoon was following. Any semblance of pain was forgotten as you bounded downstairs at a speed that was probably unsafe, skidding to a stop when Yoongi and Seokjin came into view.

Your eyes scanning them over quickly, at first you thought nothing of it as you came closer. They looked ragged and tired, hair sticking to their foreheads, clothes dirty. If you didn’t notice the movement of Yoongi’s hand twitching against his abdomen, you would have gone straight into questioning them about their whereabouts for the past four hours.

But you did notice it, and your eyes zeroed in on the fact that his hand was, very faintly, stained with red. After that, any restraint you might have shown was gone in an instant.

“What happened to you?!” you exclaimed, closing the distance between you faster than they could think to move or respond. Pulling Yoongi’s hand away from his body with one of your own, the other yanked his shirt up before he could protest. There was no such thing as decency in this house when the other person was bleeding.

“Y/N-” Yoongi began in a tone that was definitely about to tell you to calm down.

“Don’t ‘Y/N’ me!” you huffed, holding his shirt up and away from his wound. Luckily, it didn’t look too bad, and wasn’t bleeding all that much. The sight calmed you somewhat, relieved by the fact that this was something that would be incredibly easy to recover from. But that didn’t mean you’d forgotten that he shouldn’t have even been injured in the first place. “Start talking, Seokjin.”

You saw him cringe a bit in the corner of your eye. He was almost never ‘Seokjin’ to you – it was clear to him that you were angry, even if it wasn’t necessarily at him.

He took a deep breath before starting. “We-”

“Hyung?” came Namjoon’s voice from behind you, and a quick glance showed that Jimin and Taehyung were right on his heel. “What happened?”

You could hear Seokjin wind himself up to start again, but a sharp sigh from Yoongi cut him off once again. “Can’t we sit for this?” Yoongi grumbled, irritation lacing his tone. The presence of not one, but four people fussing over him at the same time left him seemingly annoyed.

Instead of speaking, you begun to tug him in the direction of the kitchen table where you’d all be able to speak properly. If he wasn’t injured might have been comedic to see a grumpy Yoongi being led through the house by your grip on his shirt, but those nearby were too concerned to say anything. If you were anybody else he probably would have cussed you out by now – you were the only person here who would try such a thing nowadays.

When you reached the closest chair you pushed him down into it, taking his hand and forcing him to hold up his own shirt. “Hold that there,” you demanded, no-nonsense tone leaving no room for disagreement.

By the time you returned with clean hands and a first aid kit, everyone else was already seated, waiting for your arrival to get into the story.

You crouched on the floor next to where Yoongi was seated, pulling out supplies as Seokjin began. You listened intently to Seokjin’s explanation about arriving at the warehouse, parking in an alley and keeping an eye out from afar while Yoongi went around the building on his own.

“I was surveying as planned, but when I got around to the back I ran into – agh, fuck,” Yoongi grunted when you wiped at his wound with antiseptic, paying no mind to the fact that he was mid-sentence. “Ran into a guy with a mask on who pulled a knife on me,” he finished through gritted teeth, muscles tensing as you cleaned the blood away until you could properly see what you were working with.

You hadn’t fully relaxed until you’d reached that point. When the mess of dry blood was gone, it was clear that despite the cut being long, it didn’t seem deep enough to need stitches. So long as it didn’t get infected, it likely wouldn’t even scar. The fact that it wasn’t bleeding anymore was a good sign, though you cringed at how long he must have gone around with it like this.

You listened to Seokjin detail how Yoongi ended up coming back to the car far earlier than expected, and how whoever was there had chased them down. As you listened to how they’d had to drive around for hours to ensure they really lost them before returning home, you worked on dressing the wound. You pulled the gauze snugly around his narrow waist, pausing when he gave a quiet grunt.

“Too tight?” you asked quietly, searching his face.

“It’s fine. I could’ve done this myself, you know,” he mumbled, not looking at you.

You narrowed your eyes. “Aren’t you the one always telling me to accept help?”

Despite his lack of verbal response, his sigh was enough to signify his resignation as the point you’d made.

You hardly registered Namjoon leaving the table to call his father, more focused on the task in front of you. When you finally secured the gauze with tape, you leaned back to examine your handiwork. It wasn’t your best, and certainly nowhere near as neat as Jin would have made it, but it would do. Before you could move away, however, Yoongi’s hand rose to rub affectionately at your head.

“Thanks,” he cracked a smile at you, grin widening when you batted his blood-stained hand away with a barely-disguised look of disgust.

Rather than ream him out for dirtying your hair, an unreadable look spread over your face. “I was worried about you.”

As much as you’d tried to erase the image from your memory over the course of the last few hours, it wasn’t something that could easily be forgotten. It was irrational to think that your nightmares had any relation to what occurred in reality, but fear didn’t have to be rational.

It must have been obvious that something was troubling you more than the fact that they’d arrived home late and injured. There was no other reason for you to be staring into nothing, face screwed up into an expression that looked something like pain.

“Did something happen?” he asked simply, reaching for your hand and pulling it into his grasp when you didn’t resist. That you let his dirt and blood-crusted hand anywhere near your body without complaint was concerning in and of itself.

“No...” you said unsurely, gaze fixing onto the floor, shaking your head as though to dispel the image from your mind. “Not really.”

You heard an intake of breath as though he was about to protest, but Namjoon’s hurried footsteps returning to the table distracted you both. As you caught the troubled expression on Namjoon’s face, you rose to take a proper place at the table, beside Seokjin and Yoongi and across from Jimin and Taehyung.

Namjoon took a seat at the head of the table where everyone could see him, and the sight of his clear distress, hands running over his face, had you unsettled immediately.

“What’s wrong?” you asked hurriedly, business face on immediately.

“My father had someone look into who attacked you at the warehouse and chased you afterwards. The footage from the warehouse wasn’t clear, but based on street cams and red-light cams...” he took a deep breath, grimacing before his next statement. “It was Lee Taemin.”

The speed at which your brows shot up was impressive.

Lee Taemin.

The man who you were supposed to meet up with tomorrow. The man whose family supposedly had a partnership with yours.

“Excuse me?” came Seokjin’s bewildered voice.

“Lee Taemin attacked you? He had to have known it was you, after however long he chased you,” said Jimin.

You gripped the edge of the table harshly, nails digging into the surface. This wasn’t something to be taken lightly – in fact, you were surprised they had the nerve to double-cross Bangtan.

Were the changes Namjoon was looking at earlier a result of their meddling? What would have happened tomorrow if you’d shown up according to plan? What would have awaited you there?

“There’s no way three of us can just walk in there tomorrow,” you said through gritted teeth, fury rising the longer you thought about how close to disaster you’d come because of their betrayal. How had they managed to keep it all secret? Surely whispers should have made it to you by now.

Unless he was acting alone?

Nothing made sense.

“We won’t be going to the warehouse tomorrow,” Namjoon stated, though the resignation in his tone sent a shot of confusion through you. He didn’t seem very happy about that fact, despite the risks being massive.

“And you’re upset about that, because...?” you prodded, sensing something else laying beneath that statement.

“We’ll be going to a party tomorrow night instead.”

Tagging: @shere-khan-the-lizard @wwilloww @propinqxity

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omgreally · 3 years

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Face to Face Rating: E Pairing: Din Djarin/OFC Words: 4,695 Summary: Din Djarin gets a haircut with a happy ending. That's it, that's the shameless excuse for smut plot. This loosely ties into the fic Set in Stone but can be read 100% standalone. Substitute your favourite OC or you for Kit, and please enjoy this shameless, shameless filth!

Content warnings: S M U T, p/v sex, unprotected sex (unless you’re Mando and Girl, wrap it before you tap it, kids)

Read on AO3

---

“It’s getting long.”

The Mandalorian shifts in her arms. He’s lying half across her body, his weight on her chest a comfort in the pitch blackness of the cabin. He often sleeps like this, his head pillowed on her breasts, and the first time it took the girl he named Kit'la a little while to figure out why: He’s listening to the sound of her heartbeat. Something he could never get close to with the Beskar helm in the way.

It warms her, expands the space between her lungs reserved only for him. She knows the stutter of her breath, the skip in her pulse will not go unnoticed with his ear pressed flush to her skin, but he never comments on it. He savors the sacred darkness, the stolen moments in the first minutes after waking, when neither of them have to move or acknowledge anything besides the other.

She strokes the back of his head, threading her fingers through the unruly locks of hair. Hair, the true color of which she still doesn’t know. She’s only ever seen him in half-shadows, in moments where touch was more important than sight - and sight, she’s long since learned how to live without.

But his hair is getting long.

“What?” he asks, his unfiltered voice husky, mellowed by the aftereffects of sleep and - other things. Kit feels the roughness of his stubble and the contrasting softness of his lips brush her skin as he speaks. “What is?”

“Your hair. It’s going to start growing out the sides of your helmet soon.”

He snorts, an inelegant, human sound that makes her smile. He props his chin on her sternum, peering at her in the dark, and she imagines his eyes - are they dark? Or perhaps a pale ice blue? It doesn’t bother her that she doesn’t know, may never know; after all, she counts herself lucky to see mere shadows.

“I’ll cut it before it gets to that point.”

“You do that yourself?” she asks, mock-horrified. His fingers creep up her ribs, tracing the scars there, but she ignores them for now. “With what?” She’s pretty sure she’s never seen scissors on the Guardian, except maybe in the medkit.

“Vibroblade,” Din replies, without a hint of irony. Kit shakes her head back and forth and tsks him.

An idea occurs to her, one she voices before she can think better of it. “Would you...would you let me do it for you?”

She feels him tense, imperceptibly, through the sudden stillness in his fingers and the pause in his breath. Then he shrugs, the bare line of his shoulders shifting under her arm.

“Sure. Okay.”

She’s surprised he agrees so readily - after all, it’s not as if he goes out of his way to show her his face. Twice in shadow, in a closed room when emotions ran high and they were both too concerned with bodies rather than faces - but not in the softer, slower moments between. Those are few, and usually spent like this, locked away as if in secret. Not hiding, exactly, but she knows Din is more comfortable like this, and Force knows he’s earned the right to rest.

“Okay,” she echoes, stroking the back of his neck, his curls. She’s not sure, but she thinks she can feel him smile against her skin.

---

Din sits stiffly in the pilot’s seat, his cloak wrapped around his shoulders like a towel, facing away from her.

His hair is brown. Kit’la isn’t sure why seeing that realization, and that alone, makes her breath catch and her face warm. It’s just hair, and she’s touched it plenty of times before, felt the thick, wavy locks as she’s carded them between her fingers, warm and clumped with sweat. He’s washed it now, thankfully, and it’s still a little damp, covering his ears and escaping the top of his cowl, reaching to the bottom of his neck. She combs any tangles out with her fingers, and he shivers as her nails rub just lightly across his scalp.

She tries not to look at his face. She knows he’s not entirely comfortable with that yet, and she doesn’t want to push him. Besides, this is more than enough to warm her dreams during any nights without him for a long time to come.

“This okay?” she asks as she lifts the scissors, testing their sharpness with her thumb. They’re small, and it’s going to be a mission to get through his hair - it’s thick - but she thinks she’ll manage. And Din seems to trust her.

That realization, more than anything else, threatens to make her hands tremble and her eyes cloud with moisture. She steadies herself with her free hand on the back of his shoulder as he nods.

“It’s fine. Go on.”

The first few snips send clumps of hair drifting to the deck. To Kit’s surprise, Din relaxes after that, as if the first cut was the worst, the one to get over. He’s probably never had anyone do this for him before, she realizes.

She feels humbled by this, such a simple act, and she has to swallow around the lump in her throat as she keeps going with small, measured clips.

“This may not look the best,” she warns as she works. “These scissors aren’t suited for this.”

“It’s not as if anyone but you will get to see it,” Din tells her. And there it is again, the catch in her chest. “Keep going.”

Kit is careful around his ears, her fingertips brushing the outer shell as she guides the scissors around them, and when she feels Din shudder she experiences an echo of it down her spine. It’s not just nervousness prompting his reactions, she realizes, and she’s glad he’s facing away from her sly smile.

When she’s done with the back and sides and it looks reasonably neat, she hesitates, dropping her hands to his shoulders. “Do you - d’you want me to do the front, too?”

There’s only the smallest of pauses before he says, “Yes.”

Drawing a deep breath, Kit’la steels herself before she steps around him. She tries to keep her focus fixed on his hair, really she does, but she can’t help it - her gaze drifts downward and meets a pair of deep, dark eyes, eyes shadowed by well-defined brows, brows that draw together in a slight frown over a strong, aquiline nose. A nose that she has felt nuzzled against her neck, her chest not too long ago. The thought makes her shiver.

Crow’s feet map tiny lines in the skin at the corner of his eyes, and his brow is etched with the echo of his frown. His beard is patchier than she expects - she swears that against her skin, it feels rougher and thicker than it looks - and is speckled with a hint of grey at the edges. His cheekbones are high, and muscle memory in her fingers remembers tracing the outline of his strong jaw in the dark. Translated to sight, he is unmistakable. He is her Mandalorian.

And he is beautiful.

“Does it look that bad?” he asks, and the brows raise a little. The quirk at the corner of his lips is subtle, but there; a smile. Kit’la finds herself releasing a breath she didn’t know she was holding and smiles back.

“What? Your hair, or your face?” she teases, resisting the urge to reach out and run her fingertips from his temple to his jaw. She doesn’t want to overstep. With her touch, at least.

Din shrugs. “Either.”

“No,” she says. “They’re both fine.” She draws another breath before she lifts the scissors to the mess of curls hanging over his forehead. He holds very still.

“Just ‘fine’?”

“Your hair is fine. Your face is...beautiful.” It slips out before she can stop it, and Kit swallows her nervousness, keeping her eyes on the scissors and continuing to snip away.

“Thank you,” Din says stiffly after a moment. “Can’t say I’ve ever heard that before.”

“Never?” He knows what she’s actually asking. He nods, and the scissors almost slip - she hisses a warning and stills his head with her free hand on his chin without thinking. To her surprise, Din leans into the touch, and she can see his eyelids flutter briefly - he seems to crave it as much as he does in the more intimate moments. If not more.

“Never,” he confirms aloud, and the last curl falls. Kit lowers the scissors and looks at him. At his face, not just his hair. He meets her eyes without flinching, without glancing away, and it’s like touching an electrical circuit; his gaze earths in her body and lifts a shiver from her scalp to her toes.

“I’m finished,” she says, trying to clear the hoarseness from her voice and failing. Din nods, but he doesn’t take his eyes off her, not even when he reaches for his helmet. She experiences a flash of disappointment, of longing, one that is quickly tempered as she realizes he’s using the Beskar as a reflective surface to examine her handiwork. He tilts his head, the same way he does when he wears it, and she sees the corners of his lips twitch, his eyebrows lifting a little.

“Not bad,” he says simply. Approving. Kit beams with equal parts relief and pride.

When he doesn’t put the helmet back on straight away, she hesitates - only for a moment, but it feels like an age before she sets the scissors aside and reaches out to card her fingers through his hair. She left enough length on top for it to hang over his forehead, but not in his eyes. It suits him, she thinks, but maybe she’s biased.

She brushes stray clippings from his hair, from his ears, from his cloak around his shoulders. Even without the armor he is broad, a pillar of muscle and tension beneath her hands. They drift down his temple, his cheek, and again she feels it - the way he angles himself into her touch, chasing the press of her fingertips.

“Thank you,” Din says - again, not something she expects. “For this.”

He’s not just talking about the haircut. Something small and soft inside her catches, warming her from her sternum to the pit of her stomach, and she reacts on instinct - leaning down to press her lips against his cheekbone.

It is a touch that others might consider chaste, but for the Mandalorian, it is one of the most intimate. It’s something he’s never allowed himself, and it shows in the way he tenses, the soft puff of a surprised breath warm against her jaw.

“You’re welcome,” she murmurs into his cheek. He smells like soap and leather, metal and sparks, all heat and light and clarity. And he draws her in like a magnet.

There are those who think Beskar is cold, unfeeling, and that the Mandalorians who wear it are the same. But beneath the steel is a heart that burns brighter than the center of any star, threatening to consume her, and she goes gladly. She would do anything for him; she would burn herself up in his atmosphere, blaze out, bright and brief and eternal.

He knows it, he knows it in the way he responds to her touch, in the way he touches her. It’s in the reverent press of his fingers at her waist, the nudge of his nose against her cheek as he tilts his head, the brush of his lips over hers, soft and quick and blistering. She chases his lips and the buzz of his chuckle lifts hairs on the back of her neck; he wraps his hands around her wrists and draws her down, down into his lap, where her knees bracket his hips and she sinks into the encircling cradle of his arms without resistance.

“You’re so good to me, cyar’ika,” he whispers, and no filter or vocabulator could possibly replicate the effect his raw voice has on her - her reaction is physical, visceral, a coiling in her gut that pools heat in the pit of her stomach. One of his hands spreads wide at the small of her back, the other drifting up her side, pushing her shirt up her ribs, his thumb brushing the revealed skin as she arches for him. “My sweet Kit’la.”

“You should let me take care of you more often,” she says, fighting to keep the shake from her voice, wishing for a vocabulator of her own. Her hands seem small against the vastness of his shoulders, but Din gives into the gentle push regardless, leaning back into the chair. Only her toes brush the floor as she shifts her hips forward, and she feels him draw a breath as the cradle of her pelvis settles over his groin.

Kriff - he’s half-hard already.

“I should,” he agrees, and she doesn’t miss the way he plants his boots against the deck and lifts up against her, just enough to feed the growing warmth between her legs with a friction she can grind against. “But then I’d have to return the favor.”

“I’m not letting you cut my hair.”

He chuckles into her neck, and Kit'la shivers at the warm burst of air and the sweep of his fingers back and forth over her ribs, underneath her shirt. “Not what I meant, cyare,” he murmurs, setting the edges of his teeth against her pulse, which she knows is stuttering and jumping in time with her heart.

She can’t see his face like this, but she can feel it, picture it in her mind’s eye as he sucks deep, bruising kisses into the side of her neck. Eyes closed, brows drawn tight, stubble rasping against the sensitive skin of her throat.

Din never takes long to get possessive, to get grasping and greedy with his touches, like he’s afraid that every time, this will be the last time. Maybe he is. Maybe it is. Despite the few seconds of prescience she is privy to thanks to the Force, neither of them truly know what the future holds. Their only choice is to hold now in both hands, to hold each other, as close and as tight as possible.

And the Mandalorian does.

He has his hand in her pants before she even realizes what he’s doing, his fingers working through her curls and seeking her clitoris with devastating, pinpoint precision. She cries out at the sudden press of his fingertips against the sensitive bud of nerves, bucking into his hand; she can feel his feral grin of triumph against her jaw the instant before he drags his lips over her chin and kisses her.

Din is no less needy with his mouth than he is with his hands. He tolerates only a moment’s press of their lips before he parts his and his tongue slips into her mouth, wicked and urgent. He drinks in her moan, swallows it whole, licking sweeping strokes against her teeth and tongue with his own.

His fingers never stop moving, always on the edge of too rough but never quite crossing it, pulling the thread of her pleasure out taut and strumming the tension with each brush of calloused fingertips against her clit. The frission builds between her legs, and she can practically feel the moisture gathering in her slit, already threatening to seep from between her aching folds.

Kit knows she could come so easily just from this, legs spread while his hand works in her pants, mouth overtaken by his, but the more he gives the more she wants to take. He is addictive, worse than spotchka or spice, and her head spins with every stolen touch.

“Din,” she gasps into a break in the kiss - and that’s all she has to say. He withdraws his hand and she whimpers at the loss of contact, until she realizes he’s nudging her knees together to get her pants down over them, underwear too.

She doesn’t even remember kicking her boots off, doesn’t register when Din pulls his shirt over his head. But suddenly she’s in his lap again, half-naked, pressing into him, hands swiping deliriously over his bared skin.

“Gar’ner,” he murmurs, tugging her shirt up to bare her breasts, and he’s not gentle but she doesn’t need him to be. She groans as he twists a nipple between his fingers, shudders when his free hand returns to her cunt, nearly combusts as he slides two digits home inside her, twisting and curling against her walls.

“Fuck,” Kit hisses, arching into his hand as he moves it, precise and rigorous. He’s priming her, she realizes, stretching her open in preparation for him, and her mouth floods with saliva and her belly with molten heat when his other hand leaves her breast to reach for the fastening of his pants.

So far, all her hands have done is paw hopelessly at his chest, his shoulders, distracted by the skill of his, but she forces herself to participate - she slides them down to interrupt his fumbling, although she’s not much more graceful as she yanks at his buttons and tugs the zipper down.

Din’s reaction is marked, though, when she frees his cock and curls her fingers around it; his unfiltered, stuttered groan against her cheek makes her shudder, her inner walls flexing around his fingers.

This time, when he pulls them from her, Kit doesn’t mind at all - especially not when he reaches up and slides his fingers into his mouth, sighing softly around them at the taste of her. It also allows her to shift her hips forward and open her thighs wide around his waist, her knees pressing into the sides of the chair as she slides over him. She uses her grip on the base of his cock to guide the blunt head against her weeping entrance, and they both groan in unison as she drags him once, twice, through her soaking folds.

But Din is too impatient, too eager, too ravenous to let her take her time. Suddenly his hands are on her hips and he’s dragging her down over him, stretching her open, and she gasps and arches as his cock breaches her and begins the slow, achingly powerful slide home.

She grabs his shoulders for support, the dull bite of her fingernails into the solidity of his skin dragging a grunt from his throat. His grip on her hips is just shy of bruising; perfect; a counterpoint to the languishing burn and stretch of his cock sliding through her.

Burying her fingers in his hair, Kit grasps for length that isn’t there any more, remembering belatedly what led them to this. She presses her mouth to his temple, breathing hard, and when her hips finally settle flush to his, she feels his hand at her nape of her neck, tugging her head back.

She closes her eyes on instinct, overwhelmed by how full she is of his cock, of the feel of his skin, of his presence; she is as engulfed by him as he is of her in that moment.

“Cyare. Look at me. ” Din's usually calm baritone is huskier than normal, low and deep in its intensity. “Look at me.” His tone tugs at the deepest parts of her, so that her eyelids fly open without her conscious input, and she meets his gaze with a gasp that draws her out of herself.

His eyes are open, pupils blown so wide that the brown is almost eclipsed by black, and the intensity there makes her clench from her stomach down through her cunt and thighs, curling her toes with its vehemence.

Din holds her there with the force of his gaze, with his fingers digging into her hips, for what feels like eternity, half a second or forever - she’s not sure. Then her hands lift, her fingertips hesitating a millimeter away before she touches his face - and it’s his turn to exhale sharply as she strokes his cheeks, his jaw.

“Din,” she whispers, and he throbs within her, but he’s no longer so impatient, so driven. He lets her linger there, her pelvis flush to his, his cock spearing so deep inside her she can feel him when she swallows. But nothing is so intense as the feeling that fills her as she strokes his face.

She explores his jaw gently, his chin, her thumbs tracing the tremble in his lips and up, across the broad sweep of the bridge of his nose. She travels his eyebrows, learning the planes and angles of him by touch, fighting to keep her eyes open, to commit every single pore and line and hair to memory. She has done this before, but never in the light. Never when she was allowed to see him.

And now it is her turn to whisper the word, “Mesh’la,” and the Mando’a from her lips makes him tense. Kit’la feels it beneath her, inside her, in the spasm of his fingers as they press marks into her flesh. She responds with a slow roll of her hips, the shift of his cock through her a reminder, a prompt: “I’m yours.”

Din growls, a sound from deep in his chest. He is done waiting, lingering. He pushes his feet down and lifts up into her, her toes leaving the deck entirely; she floats, impaled on his cock, the entire universe narrowed down to the exquisite fullness of him inside her. He does it again, and again, working the smooth, velvety thickness of his length through her cunt; she grips him with a flutter of her inner muscles and a gasp, and it’s as if she can feel every vein and ridge as he pushes into her.

Soon enough, he sets a punishing pace, and with no leverage and no points of contact with the floor or anything but his body, it’s all Kit can do to hang on. Her nails prick his shoulders again and the ferocity of his groan makes her dig in harder, and he thrusts and grinds up into her like he’s trying to bury himself with the intention of never pulling free. At this moment - at any moment - she would not complain.

The slow, sharp flame of sensation is already licking up her spine, gathering in the pit of her stomach, at the aching point of her clitoris as it is compressed by the wiry thatch of hair at the base of his groin with every collision of their hips. She could come at any time, she thinks, just let go and float away, ruined by this, by him. But she wants to look at him while she does it, and she wants to see him fly apart underneath her, she wants to see what he looks like when he comes.

It’s a mission for Kit to pull her head back and keep her eyes open, as with every jolt of his body into hers her scalp prickles and whimpering sounds are torn from her throat, but she manages when Din’s face swims into focus. He’s frowning again, this time in concentration, his brows drawn tight over the bridge of his nose, and his eyes are half-closed, moisture from sweat or tears glimmering with devastating gravity in his lashes as they brush his cheeks. He bites his lip against the quiver in them, and she’s not sure who is more overpowered by this - her or him.

“Din,” she gasps, “Look at me.” The echo of his earlier words prompts the lifting of his lids, and she gives in to a full-body shudder and the bow of her spine as they lock eyes again. He’s barely keeping it together, she can tell, and not just from the sounds from his mouth. He babbles brokenly, sounding almost drunk on it - on her.

“Fff- fuck , you’re so - so fucking good - “ Din kisses her, briefly, sloppily, unable to keep his lips and tongue moving cohesively, but it’s okay because it means she can frame her face with his hands and pull back to look at him again. “So soft, sss- so strong, cyare, ugh, shit - I-”

She hushes him with her fingers on his lips, and he kisses them too, drawing the tip of her middle finger into his mouth and biting down lightly on the first knuckle at the same time as a particularly vicious lift of his pelvis strikes the swollen head of his cock into a place inside her that makes her see stars. She cries out, fighting the urge to slam her lids shut and arch into the impending fall of her orgasm, but instead she forces her eyes wide and tips her head forward and focuses on him.

Only on him. Nothing else.

His hands guide the next few bruising thrusts, and her feet leave the floor entirely as he holds her up and stares back at her with his mouth open - wordless, stunned, disbelieving; as if he can’t comprehend that this is happening to him, that this feels so fucking good and it’s real and he has allowed himself this small, bright spark of wonder in a universe that could care less about Din Djarin, the Mandalorian, and what he wants or needs. Kit wishes she could tell him he deserves this and more, deserves everything she can give and even then it won’t be enough because he should have the world; no, the galaxy, the universe and everything in it.

But all she can give is herself. And she does.

Kit'la palms his face and strokes his jaw and keeps her eyes locked to his, even as the blinding rise of pure, physical bliss overflows and floods through her with the inevitability of a dam breaking, a river bursting its banks. Her eyes threaten to close, her body wanting to concentrate only on the input of touch, but she curls her hand around Din’s wide, stubbled jaw and uses the touch to anchor her to him, gasping his name as she looks into the deep, devastating darkness of his eyes.

Din comes. With another one, two soul-demolishing thrusts, he holds himself up, buried to the hilt inside her, and even through the squeezing spasm of her inner muscles, she can feel it as he swells and pumps cords of thick fluid into her. She spreads her thighs as far as they can go and arches her pelvis to take as much of it, as much of him in as deep as she can, and he groans through it, shaking beneath her so hard the chair rocks with the force of it.

Finally, together, their eyes close, and they are still. The only sound in the cockpit is the combined heaving of their breath. Kit sags first, leaning in to rest her forehead against his shoulder, her hands descending the sweat-beaded, muscled flesh of his biceps, tracing scars both old and new.

She thinks she could stay here forever with him inside her, panting against her cheek, spent and sated. Evidently, the Mandalorian feels the same, for he makes no effort to lift her up, to pull out of her. Instead his broad hands drift the length of her back, fingertips tracing her spine, and she shivers with a phantom twitch inside and out as the long digits tangle in her hair, keeping her anchored there with his hands and his body.

Eventually - she’s not sure how many minutes or seconds later - she manages to say something. It's not poetic, but it is true:

“You should let me cut your hair more often.”

Din laughs, a broken, half-swallowed chuckle. And when he speaks, he sounds utterly wrecked, little more than a buzz against her skin as he turns his face to mouth her neck. “Only if we do this every time.”

She pulls back to look at his face. Just once more, she tells herself. Just once.

“Din Djarin,” she says, and the combination of his name from her lips and the hungry way her eyes rove his face makes him feel infinite inside, “If we do this every time, you’re going to end up kriffing bald.”

#the mandalorian fic #din djarin/ofc #din djarin x female oc #smut #standalone #set in stone

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serenasoutherlyns · 3 years

Text

Winding Me Up

or, casey novak is a tricky brat.

casey/alex light smut, light dom/sub dynamics. set around s13. cross posted on ao3!

They stumble into it.

Alex and Casey just won a case together working co-counsel, a heinously complicated custody battle that had been plopped on SVU from family court— grandma wanted the kids, kids wanted dad, dad wanted anybody but grandma, everyone alleged abuse but nobody could confirm it, nobody was telling the whole truth, but they’d managed to settle the best of all worlds by placing the kids with an aunt, ensuring they’d all still see one another and hopefully avoiding the largest resentments. But work wasn’t on either of their minds, except in the exhilaration of victory in a relatively smooth case, for SVU anyway. There’s always a high that comes from winning a case, it’s just usually accompanied by the sinking hole of despair that came along with working SVU cases.

They win the case, they go out for drinks with the squad, classic routine, heightened by the less-depressing nature of the win. Most of them pop out early, Munch first, citing “old man body,” whatever that means, then Fin shortly after. Olivia foolishly agrees to one game of pool with Amaro and Rollins that turns playfully competitive ridiculously fast, she ends up supervising the younger detectives to keep them from causing a scene, leaving Casey and Alex alone at their table.

“I hate to say it Casey, but I am having a wonderful time watching Rollins destroy Amaro over there.”

Casey looks at her colleague with an amused expression. “How many have you had tonight Cabot? And more importantly, how do I get you drunk more often?”

Alex rolls her eyes. “Oh come on, I’m not that drunk Casey. I know how to let loose without alcohol, thank you very much.”

Casey’s eyes light up even more. “And how do I get you to let loose more often?”

Alex gulps, her cheeks heat up as she takes a sip of her beer.

“Seriously Alex, I don’t actually know what makes you tick. You must have interests?”

“Who has time for those?”

“I play softball?” Casey offers, leaving the door open for Alex to talk about herself. Casey hadn’t intended on it, but now that she saw how the fellow ADA was reacting to their conversations, she’s certain that they would be leaving together in the same cab. It was all a matter of strategy.

“I read, I guess.”

“See that’s something! What’s your favorite book?”

“I don’t have a single favorite book.”

“No, no, wrong answer.”

“Why do you care?”

“I’m just interested in you.”

Alex looked at Casey in playful incredulity. “How are you going to tell me what I think, Novak?”

“I can just tell.”

“So you read minds.”

“Faces. And yours is telling me that you do have a favorite book, you’re just embarrassed to tell me.”

Casey leaned over the table as she said it. She knows exactly what she’s doing, but she can’t tell if Alex is catching on yet.

“You’re just winding me up.”

“And what if I am?”

Alex lets that comment hang in the air with a wry smile. Ok, Casey thinks. She’s catching on.

—

It doesn’t take much.

Casey thought it would require more convincing, but Alex is very eager once she gets a couple drinks in. Apparently, what makes Casey feel like catching makes Alex feel like being caught. Except, Casey isn’t just trying to get under Alex’s skirt. Like she said. Strategy.

Casey walks Alex into her apartment, forward while guiding Alex back into the entryway. She flips their positions, Alex between her and the wall. She kisses her slowly, pushing exactly hard enough not to satisfy. She holds Alex’s hands, runs her fingernails on the backs of them. Alex doesn’t remember the last time someone turned her on with her knuckles. Casey pulls away when she notices Alex’s breath growing quick and shallow. She picks up her long slender right fingers, kisses them while looking into her eyes.

“I’m so sorry, I’m being a terrible host, aren’t I.” Casey says in an artificially high, polite tone. “Would you like to sit, have some water or something?”

Alex looks at her, transfixed.

“What’s the matter, Alex? Feeling a little parched?” Casey closes the last word of the sentence delicately, lips parted in an open question. “I’ll do whatever I can to help you out,” she continues talking in the stunned silence she’s worked the woman into. “You just say the word.”

With that, Casey is offering, waiting for Alex to take her up on it. She leans back in, pressing her lips to Alex’s jaw, ear, collarbone. Her touch is light and slow, but Alex is sensitive, letting her breath come out in soft moans.

“You know what you’re doing, Casey, don’t you.” Alex is back in possession of her composure, not really asking a question of the redhead but teasing, assessing how the night would go.

“Who’s reading minds now? I have no idea what you’re talking about, Alex,” Casey replies in the same artificial innocence.

Alex knows, now, the game that Casey is playing with her. She just needs to decide if she’s going to give in.

—

She does give in.

Playing along is just what Casey wants her to do, and Alex knows this. If she was really cruel, she’d’ve let Casey push her away with the teasing. But truly, despite her reputation as a stone cold bitch, she can be very generous when she wants to be. Especially when being generous means falling knowingly into a trap set by Casey Novak, one of the smartest, most beautiful women Alex knows.

And now, because she took the bait, Alex has Casey against the living room wall. It hadn’t been hard to take dominance, confirming to Alex implicitly Casey’s intentions. She’s gentle, she doesn’t push enough to hurt or leave a mark, but she uses enough pressure to get the slightly taller woman squirming against her, arching her back against Alex’s light touch.

“You wanna rethink teasing me so ruthlessly, Casey?”

“That depends. It got me this far.” Casey replies, knowing that openly acknowledging her role in beginning the encounter would bother Alex, who threads her fingers through Casey’s hair, pulling it up into a ponytail, an oddly intimate gesture. It’s a handle, Casey realizes as the elastic snaps behind her, and the thought sends long shivers down her spine. She’s in for it.

“Hmm, ok,” Alex hums, kissing the back of Casey’s neck, the vibrations of her throat against the now exposed skin. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“I think I can handle myself, Alex,” Casey says, and it’s a wild guess. But, it has the effect she hopes for.

“I don’t doubt you, darling, I’m sure you can handle it. But you’re not going to tonight. Unless, that is,” Alex says, whispering in Casey’s ear as she runs her fingernails lightly along her ribcage. “You want me to stop? You just say the word, and you can take care of yourself all. You. want.” She punctuates the last three words with a hard tug to the ponytail. “Got it?”

Casey only whimpered, the sudden roughness of Alex’s touch bringing her to an unfocused state.

“Sorry Casey, but if you want more you’re gonna have to tell me what you want. I know how good you are with your mouth.”

—

Casey wakes up first.

She would’ve expected Alex Cabot to be more of a morning person, but then, Alex had challenged a lot of her expectations last night.

The thought of last night as it came begins to overwhelm her. It’s been a while since she’s been so thoroughly fucked in every sense of the word. She gets out of bed, sees her disheveled hair in the mirror.

She makes coffee and toast but steers clear of anything more, not wanting to scare Alex off with breakfast. She drinks hers thoughtfully, wondering if she wants this to happen again, but her train of thought is cut off by a very sleepy Alex Cabot wrapped in a sheet emerging from her bedroom.

“Good morning, Alex,” Casey says, amused at the sight. “Sleep ok?” Alex heads straight for the coffee.

“You weren’t there when I woke up.” Alex says, with a touch of wounding in her voice. “It was cold.”

Casey can tell that Alex is half joking, half genuinely disappointed, which comes as a surprise. She knows Alex as a tough-to-a-fault, recklessly driven woman from work, she now knows her as a wonderful lover, but this tender side was new, and really endearing. Casey stands up and walks to Alex’s side, taking her hand and kissing her cheek.

“You have my sincerest apologies,” Casey says as she wraps her arm around Alex’s waist. “Warmer now?”

Alex nods in response. “Last night was really fun,” she says, “and you don’t know how long I’ve wanted to kiss you.”

Casey’s startled by the admission. Alex Cabot had looked at her before last night? “Good to know I don’t disappoint. And glad to know that my trap worked.”

Alex hums, “Far from it. Though I resent the implication that I had to be tricked. I am not that gullible, and you could’ve just asked.”

Casey feigned innocence again, “But where’s the fun in that?”

#law and order svu #svu #svu author #fanfic #svu fanfic #svu fic #l & o svu #alex cabot #casey novak #casey x alex #alex cabot x casey novak #casey novak certified brat #alex cabot helpless lesbian #light d/s

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north-peach · 3 years

Text

Whoops, lemme fic it (SW)

So I’ve been tossing this idea over in my head, daydreaming, wordbuilding and talking to myself and I’ve had enough.

It’s time to come out.

So, I tried the SI fic once and I didn’t like how it turned out and it was a good few years before wrote one again. There’s a lot of good ones, done by good authors. Silver Queen, Shadowblayze, Vixen Tail, and Mullk6 to name a handful.

But I wanted a character who knew the depth and breath of canon and could fix it. In Star Wars. With Mandalorians.

Which is usually a self insert, but....wasn’t feeling it.

Then it shifted to time travel. Main characters generally revolved around Bly, Aalya Secura, Quinlan Vos or Anakin, Rex and Alpha-17. Then it was a mix, sometimes Padme or Ahsoka, Jon Antilles or Fay, thanks to @blackkatmagic.

Then it was Boba Fett, Jango, Arla or Jaster even Tarre Vizsla. Korkie Kryze, a mix of his father’s ‘obi’ sound with ‘kote’ as in ‘glory’.

It’s been almost a month since this thought sprang from my head, exactly the opposite of Athena, but here it is.

My first Star Wars time travel fic.

Bly doesn’t wake, not for a long time.

Even if he is aware of the pressure against bare skin and the alternating temperatures that cause him to shiver or sweat to beat across his face.

He doesn’t wake to the snack, crack of the whip against his back, nor to the claws that rake across his face, but as the days pass, it is pain that draws him back from the dark.

The cold metal of manacles around his wrists, the dull throbbing of his knees against cool, packed dirt. He doesn’t move even as chains rattle and as a weak light flickers in tiny bursts even though he can’t quite open his eyes.

Bly takes a deliberate breath, deliberately breathing in long and slow.

Ribs, is his first immediate thought as pain now screams in his head, followed instantly by, back.

His arms are numb, lips cracked, throat and mouth dryer then Tatooine and it feels like someone’s poured sand in his eyes and then glued them shut.

We release our emotions, our pain into the Force. We breath it back in and then stand and carry on. Lives depend on us. The trick to keeping the pain away is it set it aside and ignore it. But you need to remember, Bly, pain is our body telling us we’re injured. You cannot ignore it forever.

It’s her voice in his head, the memories always there as soon as he tugs them and he barely muffles a noise in the shifting of his chains because the last thing Bly remembers is a fractured and shattered thing that provides nothing to help him determine his situation.

Beyond the obvious of captured, separated and tortured.

A breath, another and his fingers twitch as he tries to get his hands to response to his commands.

He moves his eyes, scrunching his face, and ignoring the sting of scabbed wounds and manages to crack his eyes open. He’s in a room, surrounded by stone and bars. An electrical lamp flicker erratically in a halo of barely there light in the distance.

No one is there. He is alone.

He listens, strains his hearing, yet nothing so much as stirs.

Bly goes back to restoring feeling in his body.

A minute, two and then an unpleasant rush of pins and needles as sensation returns to his arms. Bly grits his teeth and clenches his thighs, his legs then curls his toes under his feet, allowing his body weight to force him to rock back, using the momentum to stagger to his feet.

Lights prickle against what little vision he has and the chains jerk and rattle as he uses them as leverage to remain on his feet.

Pain bursts across his back, down his legs, his knees, every motion and contraction of his body, his muscles sends signals of agony to his brain.

“Osik.”

The word is almost soundless, hissed between clenched teeth and formed from harsh, gasping breaths.

Bly cannot help how his body curls over it self, even if it sends the blood rushing to his head and makes him even more dizzy. He braces his feet and refuses to pass out.

He doesn’t know where Aalya is.

He doesn’t know who he was with, what he was doing, if any of his vod’e are here, Bly doesn’t know anything.

He remembers blue and gold, the blue of Aayla’s skin, the gold of her eyes, maybe the blue of the 501st? Was General Skywalker on mission with them?

Was... was Vos there?

There’s nothing but a blank space in his head, so Bly puts that away for now and takes stock of what he has on hand.

Which is, in short, a big fat nothing.

He’s in loose pants, thin material, covered in dirt and blood, no shirt, no armor, no weapons- even the small tools disguised as a ring, bracelet- he’s got nothing.

It looks like he’s chained up underground in a cave somewhere. That’s the only explanation for both his surrounding and the relatively cool atmosphere. There’s a door that’s barely even a door, just a large rectangular slab of rusty bars almost propped against the entry way.

He could probably kick it open, depending on how heavy it was, but that was once he found a way out of his chains-

Bly pauses.

Looks up at the roof of his cell where the chains are anchored.

Well, he thinks, an edge of amusement to himself, If I can take my chains with me, I’ll have a weapon.

__________

Honestly, later, if someone asked how long he was stuck there in the murky darkness working and working to pull the anchor points of his chains from the ceiling, Bly wouldn’t be able to say.

He stops and rests when the injuries on his back crack open, spilling blood down his skin and dripping onto the floor, when his ribs scream at him and his breath wheezes as he desperately tries to breath.

He doesn’t ever stop for long though.

Eventually he gets free, the rest anchor breaking free of crumbling stone and Bly sinks to his knees, wincing as pain flares up again.

A moment of rest, to wait until his breathing slows down enough he can regulate it for sleath.

Then he carefully wraps his new weapon around his shoulders, winding them down his arms. Slowly, he makes his way to the door that is currently the only obstacle in his way to relative freedom.

It was heavy as it looked, but several solid shoves and one frustrated kick and the door was free enough for him to squeeze past it.

Thankfully, he didn’t have to worry about directions at the moment because his cell was located at the end of a hallway and the only way out was forward.

So forward Bly went, creeping along the walls on bare feet, moving steadily down to where a single light was valiantly, but ultimately failing at lighting up the area.

Bly took a breath and walked past, heading deeper into the caves with no way of knowing which way was out, if anyone was waiting for him on the other end or even if he could find a way out.

Bly didn’t care because right now, there was an entirely unacceptable amount of space between him and his General and it needed to be rectified, right karking now.

__________________

Times passes and Bly has to take a breather, has to sit to wait for his legs, his hands, everything to stop shaking even as chills crawled up his skin.

He keeps going, keeps following the eternal hallway he seems to be trapped in. Occasionally he’ll come across other cells, but like all of the ones he checked previously, there isn’t anyone in them. Just chains, manacles, shakes, crude stone tables or chairs.

The weak lights are not quite evenly spaced out, but every cluster of cells has one in the middle of the block. He’s sure he’s passed about six blocks by now, and still no sign of this hallway ending or branching off.

A part of him wonders if he’s hallucinating, but the continuous pain for his body begs to tell him differently.

He trails bloodstained hands against the wall and so far he hasn’t randomly circled back around so he must be making progress.

You were modified to see better in the dark? Compared to humans, or near-humans, Twi’leks vision is considered superior, but without the Force, I’m thinking you’d win at Hide-and-Seek-in-the-Dark.

My favorite color? Tell me, if I said blue wh- no, I’m kidding! It’s gold Bly. W- No, not like my eyes! Like Master’s-

Bly can hear Aalya sometimes.

The way she laughed, said his name or how she would stare at him. When her mouth softened and she smiled so easily.

Bly keeps going.

______

Hours? Maybe days later, Bly hears voices that are, for once, not his or in his head. A soft murmur, nothing clear enough to make out words or the like, but Bly grits his teeth and quickly lunges into the nearest cell and flattens himself in a natural curve of the walls.

He’s lost weight during how ever long he’s been here, so he folds himself easily into the shadows and evens his breath down, ignoring the ever familiar spasm of pain his ribs makes with every movement.

A beat, two, three, longer and still the voices only murmur.

Bly slows moves from his hiding place only to step right back into it as the voices abruptly rise in volume along with a feminine scream of pain that rings off the walls and is swallowed by the darkness that leads down to his cell.

Gently, Bly uncoils his chains.

______

When enough time passes he can make out the heavy footfalls of two armored being’s footsteps and the unmistakable sound of dragging feet, Bly closes his eyes and concentrates on his hearing.

“-Ne shab'rud'niÖ, aruetii-”

“-aruetyc dini'la-”

The sharp sound of metal against flesh, followed by a harsh vocalizer.

“Ne'johaa!“

A faint moan, before one of the men laughs.

See, the thing is Bly isn’t considered Mandalorian.

In fact, Manda’yaim considers Bly and his brothers to be abominations. Soulless things created in a lab. Not to mention General Kenobi’s Duchess is a pacifist in the very worst way.

A Mandalorian with a Mandalorian’s stubbornness, determination and pride to be anything but a Mandalorian.

Good intention’s Satine Krytze may have had at the beginning but erasing everything that makes Mandalor Mandalor was not the way to go about bringing peace to her people.

Especially since the Duchess had the final say on if the Clones of Mand’alor Jango Fett should be considered citizens of Manda’yaim. Or rather, she just enforces Prime’s opinion that clones were not real people and this couldn’t be a people or a part of a people.

Jango Fett may have been some high ranked Mandalorian in certain circles, but the only reason why the clones even knew the languages is because of the instructors who adopted the older batches and how those clones would teach one or two- like Kote who became Cody, who taught Ret who was now Rex.

The language and the customs spread from the clones who were actually wanted down to even the shiniest of shinies. Of course, there were parts of their culture that they developed all on their own.

Being modelled after a Mandalorian, of course, meant that they shared the same traditions and quirks that they did as a consequence of being so closely related.

The colors, symbols and naming to mention a few.

Colors all had meaning, as did their placement, the same with symbols and the bucket everyone wore. Working with the jetiise as closely as they did, their culture took bits and pieces that resonated with the Vod’e and as it did with everything, spread to all the battalions.

But when he hears a threatening form of behave, traitor followed by two words that mean ‘traitorous’ and ‘insane’ preceding what is clearly an armored fist making contact with someone’s bare skin, Bly’s already pretty sure who’s side he’s on.

That’s even before he sees the dusty blue and the gray of beskar in the dim lighting worn by two people dragging what looks like a teenaged girl between them.

Kyr’tsad.

Kriffing, karking-!

Bly untucks himself from the shadows and creeps up behind the two, careful to keep to the walls until he lunges forward, throwing one of his chains between target two’s legs even as he losses a coil of chains around target one’s neck and pulls back.

His ribs scream, his arms shake, but he drops his weight and wrenches the shabuir back, his legs kicking out the catch the small space between armor plates on Death Watch’s lower back to toss him over and behind.

Target the second is already dropping the girl, pale blonde hair visible in the gloom and reaching for a weapon at their belt.

Bly doesn’t give them the chance, jerking his chain back instantly compromising target two’s balance.

Barely ten seconds in this fight and both of them are on the ground. Target one is still choking with the chain around their neck and Bly keeps yanking it back to ensure they stays that way.

The other, Bly goes in for close combat, using his chain as bet he can with his shoulders and ribs kriffed up, but he manages to get enough wrapped around their legs and a single arm that he’s able to jab his fingers into the hollow of their throat and jerk their helmet off.

Eyes, nose, mouth, all places Bly can do some damage, but his strength is flagging so he slams his palm into their nose, once, twice, thrice until the shabuir goes limp.

One down, one to go.

Bly cracks the chain and sends the last stumbling even as he palms a vibroblade and uses the weight at the end of the chain the move himself close enough to-

Bly swings up, twists and lets dead weight fall where it may.

A moment, two, three before he breaths again, carefully, adrenaline pumping through his body. He pulls the chain taunt and swings the blade down. Metal chips, but doesn’t break do he does it again, again, again until it gives and all he’s left with is a manacle around his wrist.

The process repeats until he’s free from the weight of chains and he’s free. An arm carefully wraps around his chest as he struggles to breath, but he forces himself back up, to rifle through the utility belts and pockets to see what other weapons or rations he can find.

The first pocket he searches has a whole flask of water and he immediately takes small slow sips,

He coughs, the taste of iron lingering in the back of his throat, but already his day is starting to pick up. Setting the water back down, he turns his attention to the small body crumpled on the ground.

Gingerly he makes his way over, easing himself to the floor and reaching out a hand-

-before pausing.

All three of them spoke Mando’a. Even in the dim lighting, Bly can see all the bruises up an down the girl’s arms. So he opens his mouth to speak, only to cough, his entire body lighting up in pain as his ears start to ring.

It takes a minute, but when he stops, he carefully wets his lips and tries again.

“Hey, ade.”

Silence.

In the hallway, there’s only the sound of his strained breathing and her soft breaths.

Bly doesn’t know if she’s faking or not. Either way, he can’t afford to take any more injuries.

He coughs again, hunching over and unable to avoid the low groan of pain that crawls up his throat.

He does his best to breath, there in the dark with the girl either genuinely unconscious or faking it. Either way, the pain is distracting him and he’s going to need to sit there for a moment before he attempts any other movements.

Regardless he tries again and ignores how his voice cracks.

“I’mma...I’mma need you to wake up here, ad’ika.”

His back burns where he’s leaning against the wall and he can feel the blood begin to drip again. He doesn’t know how much he’s lost, how many times he’s reopened his wounds, but considering how lightheaded he is, considering how everything is starting to close in on him, it’s probably more then recommended.

The world blurs around the edges and his awareness drifts away for a bit. Somewhere, far away, it sounds like Aayla singing, her voice echoing with the 327th Star Corps.

_____

“Gar shuk meh kyrayc.“

Bly blinks back to awareness.

The girl knees in front of him, short blonde hair framing a pale face. Barely out of childhood, even if she looks like she’s in need of a few good meals.

Then the words register.

He can’t help the amusement that wells up and huffs a laugh he immediately regrets.

“Here,” the girl says as she shoves a fist in front of him.

He flinches back, before stilling himself.

The girl doesn’t react, just holds up the water flask in her other hand.

“It’s for the pain. The tall one carried them.”

A breath, then he reaches out, ignoring the shaking on his hands, to let the girl drop two small pills into his hands while shoving the water at him. More careful sips as the pills go mostly dry down his throat.

“Vor entye,” Bly rasps.

“Ba'gedet'ye,” she says, eyes running over his face, his chest, a wary twist to her mouth. “You’re no use dead.”

Unnecessary for her to repeat that, Bly thinks. Scared, but brave. His lips twitch as he runs a searching gaze over the girl.

Torn clothes, almost identical to his own, only with a shirt and less blood and dirt. Thin wrists, lank and greasy hair, coupled with even more bruises he can see blooming everywhere on uncovered skin.

Including her face, one cheeks which sports several colors that frame lines of dried blood and a split lip.

Gently, carefully, Bly lifts a hand and hovers in front of the injury. Not touching, close, but out of reach.

“And you?”

She blinks, startled. The barest hints of confusion crinkle her brow.

Bly smiles, letting his hand drop.

“Are you hurt, ad’ika?”

A touch of fire burns in her eyes.

“You’re bleeding.”

It’s almost an accusation, the words falling harshly from her mouth.

He acknowledges the point.

“Lek.” He continues, more solemnly, shifting his weight forward to meet her eyes, slowly enough that she doesn’t react beyond tensing her muscles. “But Kry’tsad is not known for being kind.”

Slowly, the girl shakes her head.

A moment of silence passes and the girl watches him. Bly gets his breathing back under control and deeply appreciates as the pounding in his head fades along with the burning in his shoulders and arms.

“By any chance, have you seen a blue Twi’lek in any of the cells you passed?”

“We are the only prisoners in this place. There are none who come here, save for the tall one and the cold one, both of which you killed.”

Bly studies the girl, the way the strain in her features eases as she talks about target one and two’s death, the audible note of gratitude.

“Tion gar gai?“

“What is yours?”

The response to his simple question is instantaneous, her tone now biting and wary. He doesn’t react, only lets amusement tug at his mouth.

“Bly-”

(“There is a name that Mandalorians use when they are disowned or cast out from their clan or family. Some chose this name as a way to seperate themselves on their own terms. Others have their names taken and are left with this.”

“Considering that Jango Fett doesn’t considering us real people let alone his ade, do we call ourselves this?”

A humorless laugh.

“You always were the one who never hesitated to go for the throat, Kote.”)

“-just Bly.”

“Arla.”

Not a familar name, even if there’s something about her face that reminds him of- reminds him.

“Let’s get out of here, okay, Arla?”

The barest hints of a smile as Bly hauls himself to his feets and then turns once he can speak without screaming or making any other noises of pain, and holds out his hand.

Arla hesitates to reach out, before glancing over to the bodies.

“Can I have the blaster if you have the vibroblade?”

“How about we see if there’s another vibroblade you can carry and I’ll take the blaster?”

______

A more thorough search of the bodies produces another vibroblade, a small holdout blaster (which Arla claims), a large blaster (which Bly claims) rations, two lights that work and a new set of clothes and armor for Bly.

He makes Arla turn around while he strips the corpse of the tall one, a.k.a. target one and pulls on the armor under suit, which helpfully compresses his ribs and then begins to strap on armor.

“Were you conscious enough to see how many people there are in these caves?”

Arla’s voice is soft, but it carries well as she immediately goes into an information download.

“We came on a ship, just the three of us. There is no one else here. It’s supposed to be so secure that it doesn’t matter if you manage to escape, there’s no where else to go. Plus someone always comes to check every couple of days. Which is when, if they want you to live, you get food and water. This is where you get thrown when they want you to rot away and die in the dark.”

Bly hums, carefully clicking vambraces into place, pleasure briefly rising up in his chest at the decent fit.

“And the war?”

Arla pauses.

“I haven’t- They kept most of the information away from me, but sometimes I managed to hear things. Like how Kry’tsad has a sky in Mand’alor Mereel’s camp and how they’re planning how to lead them into a trap and kill them all in such a way to send a message.”

Bly blinks, as he finishes up with tugging the last piece in place.

“Mand’alor Mereel?”

Arla makes an agreeing sound.

“Someone let slip they’re calling him Mand’alor the Reformer. Vizsla gets really angry when he hears that.”

Mand’alor Mereel.

Jastor Mereel?

On getting access to the holonet, one of the first things the Vod’e who were interested in Mandalorian history looked up was the state of leadership. Kote was certain that he wanted to see who decided that they weren’t citizens despite being from a Mandalorain.

Jaster Mereel was the father of Jango Fett, before he died on Korda 6 twenty something years ago!

Bly took a breath, before spitting out a curse in Twi’lek, follow up by a very vehement “Force osik!”

Arla didn’t say anything when Bly walked up behind her, only stared to stare, distaste clear in the disgust on her face.

“Needs must, ad’ika. I need to find someone and the easiest way off this haran place is on the Death Watch ship you came in one. Which”, Bly slid the helmet on, the HUB automatically pulling up and activating night vision. “Will be a thousand times easier which me pretending to be Kry’tsad.”

Again, he held out his hand.

“Ba'slanar.”

A smile, small, but undeniably there as clearly seen by the display screen in his buy’ce.

Arla took his hand.

_________

The climb out of haran was nothing to sneeze at, but they made it. Upon exiting, Bly couldn’t help the noise of appreciation he made at the sun setting into the distance. Or rising. Either or. It wouldn’t matter in a few minutes as they would be leaving the planet, deserted and rocky as it was, it offered no appeal in water or wild growing plants.

The ship was there, ramp still down and Bly gently tugged Arla along, right into the ship and take that, General Skywalker!

Plan A, accomplished with only a minor deivation.

Minus the either confused youngling or the apparently very real possibility of time travel.

Aayla was still missing and Bly still had no idea if anyone else was missing or if it was him that was missing and not everyone else. For all he knew, this was something that only affected him and Aayla was completely fine.

Surrounded by the 327th and the 501st, plus droids.

Bly quickly ran through each and every room in the ship, Arla right behind him, gripping her vibroblade, clearing each space before moving on to the next one.

Cargo, armory, kitchen, berths, cockpit and a decent sized corner with padded seats and tables.

Bly also ran a lifesigns sweep from the main computer before he was satisfied. It wasn’t a large ship, but it could comfortably accommodate three to four people so it would be perfect for them.

He holstered the blaster and quickly ran through flight check before initiating the start up sequence.

Arla quickly strapped herself into the co-pilots chair, unable to contain the trains of excitement painting itself all over face.

Ramp up, engines fired, all systems green, Bly slowly poured power into the system and the ship lifted off this karking planet, landing gear folding up and away.

Before he turned around to launch into the atmosphere, he quickly toggled the weapons system, loaded up a missile and fired it without hesitation into the mouth of his former prison.

The resulting explosion of stone, dirt and fire would go a long way to ease nightmares for the next weeks.

Once they cleared the atmosphere, Bly carefully used the HUD to change all teh passwords, security settings and just generally switched out who the ship’s computer’s answered to before tugging it off and gently running a hand through his tangled hair.

“Well, ad’ika. I’ve no place to be, but frankly I could use a shower. How about you?”

Arla look up and smiled, eyes wet.

“Shower and food first. Then we find our people.”

The knot of worry in his chest eased somewhat at the assurance that now he was able to begin his efforts to find out if Aalya made it along with him and if any others did.

“Her name is Aalya,” Bly says, longing heavy in his voice. “I don’t remember much, but if she’s out there, I’ll find her.”

Arla, stands, equal height with him before holding out her hand. She wait unti Bly takes it before speaking.

“Arla Fett. I’m looking for my brother Jango. He should be with Mand’alor Jaster Mereel and the Haat Mando’ade.”

_______________________

....so uh. When I sat down like............................five hours ago I did NOT mean to write chapter one of fic. I guess I did though so....eh. I’ll go polish it up and post it on ao3

#star wars #arla fett #jango fett #bly #aalya secura #bly x aayla #time travel #fic #ficclet #chapter one #fanfiction

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imaginedisish · 4 years

Text

Rebellion - Lies (Ben Solo x Reader) (Star Wars TROS) Part 1

A/N: HEYYYY GUYS OMG!!! So this is my first fanfic in a pretty long time. I haven’t written since June I think. I’m so sorry I’ve been gone...BUT I’M BACK!!! AND I’M HERE WITH A STAR WARS IMAGINE :) I really hope you guys like it. I’m a little rusty, so I’m sorry! I hope you guys enjoy though :) Also, I’ll write for any character, so please don’t hesitate to request. ENJOY!!!! (ps yes the title is based on an Arcade Fire song)

Summary: You (the reader) have an incredibly strong force connection with Ben Solo. You two grew close, training together, constantly being together. It was once you and he that created balance in the galaxy. However, what happens now that Ben is chasing after Rey? jealous!reader.

Warnings: This is a TROS world!!!! So please be aware of spoilers! Language, that’s about it...

Word Count: 2,163

Part 1:

The ground beneath you is cold and harsh. Rocks and rubble poke relentlessly against your skin. Your eyes open slowly. You don’t know exactly where you are, but the room is large. It almost feels like a cave. Stone walls surround you. It’s dark. There’s something in the distance. You squint, and realize it’s a silhouette. Within a second, you recognize who it is. You knew the shape of his body like the back of your hand.

It was Ben Solo.

You push yourself up. “B-Ben,” Your voice is hoarse. You come up to your knees, brushing the pebbles and such off of your arms. You feel so weak. Your head throbs in pain.

Your knees buckle as you attempt to stand up, practically sending you straight back down to the ground. Something makes you feel as though Ben needs you, so you power through the pain. Something wasn’t right. There was palpable tension in the room. It was almost as if the force was telling you something.

Something evil was here.

Ben feels so close, yet so far. “Ben,” You call out, much louder this time. But there’s no response. You walk closer to him. Suddenly, another figure reveals itself. The figure stands in front of Ben.

“You are weak, like a child! Wasted ability and potential!” The figure’s voice is familiar. It's filled with a hatred you had heard before, possibly in a dream, or a voice in your head.

A voice that once beckoned you to the darkness…

“No,” you whisper. It was Palpatine. His face is clear now. The man’s wrinkles are deep, his eyes are dark, filled with malevolence, and sunken in. “Ben!”

You’re running towards the two of them now, but you aren’t getting any closer. He and Palpatine seem to be moving farther and farther into the distance. You feel so helpless. Palpatine extends a hand out towards Ben.

Almost instantly, Ben rises up into the air. You reach for your light saber, pulling it out of its holder. It ignites as you continue to charge forward, its yellow light shining brightly in the dark room.

“I will end the Skywalker line once and for all!” Palpatine’s voice echoes against the ancient stone walls, sending chills down your spine.

You extend your hand out, hoping to to use the force to push Palpatine against the throne that stood behind him, but it doesn’t work. You’re stuck, powerless, forced to watch the man you love die. It feels as though you are trapped behind a wall of glass, or as if there’s some barrier that you can’t cross. You continue running nevertheless, refusing to give up.

Ben rises higher in the air. Palpatine seems to be using the force to pull something out of Ben. It was white and bright. Then it hits you. You know exactly what Palpatine is doing. That’s why he tricked Ben into joining him.

“His life force,” You say, stopping in your tracks.

“Ben!” You scream, wishing that Palpatine could hear you and possibly drop Ben in the process.

“I know you’re here girl,” His voice reaches you. “But there’s nothing you can do. You’re powerless!” Palpatine cackles, his evil laughter makes the walls shake. Rubble travels down the walls.

Palpatine grows stronger and stronger as each second goes by. But there’s nothing you can do. His face begins to gain color, and his wrinkles begin to disappear. His fingers take shape. He’s become human again.

Suddenly, Ben falls to the ground.

You begin to run towards Palpatine and Ben again. You’re quickly realize that you’re able to travel towards the Ben this time. Now that Palpatine had gotten what he wanted, there was nothing you could do to stop him. The damage had already been done.

You reach the foot of the throne, and crash down on your knees next to Ben. You move him so that he lays in your lap. You run your hands through his dark black hair.

“B-Ben, I-I’m so sorry,” You stutter as tears fall down your cheeks.

“You failed him just as your grandfather failed Anakin. Just as your parents failed you,” Palpatine says as he approaches you. “You never even told the boy you loved him. Such a shame. You know, you would’ve lived with this guilt for centuries, just as Obi Wan Kenobi had before you. Yet, you were too stupid and naive to recognize this is all just…”

Your eyes flicker open.

A dream.

Palpatine’s whisper floats around your room. You’re in your bed. You instinctively reach over to the other side, but there’s no one there. Ben hadn’t been there in months. You wanted nothing more than to be reunited with him. You missed him.

Before the First Order, before Luke had betrayed Ben, you and Ben were friends. You were connected through the force from birth. The connection was strong and intense. It didn’t take long to realize why you were connecting with him. After all, Ben was a Skywalker, and you were a Kenobi.

Ben told Luke of your powers, and Luke took you from your home planet to train you. Luke had told you that you belonged with the Jedi, that you belonged with Ben. He said that the force had chosen you two to keep balance within the galaxy and the force.

But that was never a question for you. From the moment you made your first connection with Ben, you knew you were destined to rule the galaxy together. You had always felt as though, together, you could serve the galaxy and make your grandfathers proud.

However, ever since the girl had come out of no where, out of thin air, Ben had been gone. You longed for him. More than all else, you feared for his life. Palpatine had been slipping into your dreams almost every night. You would talk to Ben through the force after each dream, but lately he failed to connect back.

You sit up, and swing your legs over to the side so that you can sit on the edge of the bed.

“Ben,” you whisper, hoping to get through to him.

“(Y/N),” Ben responds. Your heart flutters in your chest. It had been weeks since you had last heard his voice. But you can’t see his face. You feel a hand rest against your shoulder. You whip your head around to look behind you.

There he was. It was Ben.

You take a deep breath. “You’re here.”

“I promised you I wouldn’t be gone forever. I meant that,” Ben says, a small smile playing at his lips. You stand up and run over to him, crashing into his arms the second you get the chance. Your head presses into his chest. You inhale, taking in his scent. You feel like you’re home.

He isn’t wearing his First Order uniform. When he was with you, he was never Kylo Ren, he was always the Ben Solo you knew and came to love. He wore a long sleeved black shirt, scrunched up around his elbows, exposing his lower arms, and loose black pants. His hair was still long, just as it always had been. You pull apart from his chest to get a look at his face. His dark brown eyes glimmer in the light, and his smile stretches across his lips. But you can’t smile back. You begin to think about her; the girl you saw him extend his hand out to in your dreams and visions. You knew it was true. He had feelings for her.

And he was losing his feelings for you.

In truth, Ben had never confirmed his feelings for you. There was never a conversation about a relationship, or romance. You had always just enjoyed each other’s connection and company. It was clear there was something there, but you never verbally communicated those feelings with each other.

That, of course, doesn’t mean you never wanted to. You thought every day about expressing your love for him. Your connection had always been strong enough that you felt as though he already knew without talking about it, but you wanted to tell him yourself.

You continue on. “I thought you might not come back. You’re so wrapped up in-,”

Ben cuts you off, “Her?”

“You asked her to join you, but not me?” You move further away from him. “Explain that. Explain that to me.” There’s a familiar feeling in your gut that you’ve felt before. It’s a fire, a burning sensation that fills you with anger. You had been told throughout your life to ignore those feelings. But now it’s impossible to.

“I chased after her because of Palpatine, (Y/N). He tricked me. You know that better than anyone else. I didn’t mean to leave you.”

“But you did,” You respond. “You left me after all we’ve been through together. I’ve been here for you longer than she has. Why her, Ben? Why?”

Ben shakes his head. “It’s not that simple, you don’t under-,”

“Understand? I don’t understand? You promised me forever, and then you went chasing after her, Ben. You and I are supposed to bring balance the galaxy. I’m supposed to lead you to the light. Hell, I’ve never stopped calling you Ben. I’ve called you Ben from the beginning, and you’ve never stopped me once. I know you, and she doesn’t,” You say, your voice filled with anger. You were channeling the very energy Luke and everyone else in your life had warned you not to engage with. But you didn’t care. It was how you felt.

He steps closer to you. “I’m sorry. That’s why I’m here. I’m going to Exogol, too. I’m ending everything. When it’s all over, you and I can join the Resistance. All of this will be behind us. We can be happy again, (Y/N). ”

You shake your head. “You can’t go to Exogol. My visions, my dreams, you die there, Ben. You can’t,” You plead. You know that if he goes, it could be the end.

No. It will be the end. You had seen it a million different times and a million different ways. He couldn’t escape Palpatine, there was no way he could ever do that. Palpatine would kill him, just as he had done in every vision you had ever had.

“I need to end this, (Y/N). I need to do what my grandfather couldn’t. My old saber is gone. I’ve left the First Order. It’s done. Now I have to finish this,” Ben says.

Tears fill your eyes, and you fall into Ben’s arms. You sob into his chest.

“Shh, (Y/N). It’s all going to be okay. Please don’t worry. I’m going to be fine,” Ben says as his fingers comb gently through your hair.

He would never listen to you. He was far too headstrong; that was always how he was. Ben always wanted to do things his way. Even growing up, he handled training differently than the other padawans. He was always so critical of himself too. Because of all this, you had learned how to talk him off the ledge, but this time was different. There was no talking him out of this one. In his mind, he was already on Exogol, he was already killing Palpatine.

“Please let me go with you Ben. You can’t go alone,” You say into his chest.

“I need to do this myself, (Y/N),” Ben says back.

You lift your head from his chest. “Ben, if you go alone, you’re going to die. I need you to understand that you are not making it out of the fight if you go in alone,” You explain.

Ben shakes his head in disagreement. “I will. I’ll take him on by myself.” Ben pauses, looking down at you.

“Then I need to tell you something Ben. I need to tell you something I’ve always wanted to,” You say to him. It was time. You had waited far too long to tell him how you really felt.

“Don’t. Please don’t say anything. I’m going to make it out of this. You can tell me after all of this is done,” Ben says back.

This wasn’t right. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go. You had a bad feeling about this. You knew something was going to go wrong.

An idea comes to you. You know exactly how to protect him. “Let me go to Exogol with you. I’ll stay on the ship, and I won’t go into the fight with you. But please, let me come with you to Exogol,” You beg, staring deeply into Ben’s eyes. Ben looks away.

“Fine.”

“And promise me that if you need help, you’ll call for-,”

Ben interrupts you. “I won’t need help.”

“You’re being stubborn. If you need help, promise you’ll call for me, please,” You say to him, hoping you’ll be able to sway his opinion.

“I promise.”

To be continued…

Part two

Tags:

@w0nder-marie @loveablecharacterxreader

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