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theidiotwhowritesthings · 1 year

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In a Perfect World, You Love Me [i]

din djarin x female!reader

warnings: injury, mentions of blood, cursing, derogatory name calling, forced drug exposure, hallucinations, light smut, angst, and some angst, and a little more angst just to top it off (actually this isn’t nearly as heartbreaking as some stuff i’ve written before lol), self doubt, anxiety, also cobb vanth is here. it’s not a warning but i love him so i wanted to mention it.🤷🏻‍♀️

word count: 6,961

Summary: On the way to visit an old friend, you and Mando find trouble. Both of you are subjected to a drug that puts you in your perfect world. But, when you can’t tell what’s real and what isn’t, how do you know what to trust?

a/n: bitches be planning out short drabbles about heart break only for it to turn into a long wordy mess. it’s me. i’m bitches. anybody know the show supernatural? it’s a show about like dramatic ass sad brothers who travel the country fighting monsters? (i know you know i’m being sarcastic). i watched that one episode where the djinn puts dean in like a dream world and it inspired this. i wanted to name it ‘din djarin’s djinn dream’ but that seemed a bit too on the nose.

“sometimes it is not love that breaks your heart. it is disappointment.”

-r.m. drake

Grogu was safe. That was the first thought that came to mind. You were so incredibly grateful that Mando had decided to leave the small child with Peli at the shop. It had been a last minute call. Weirdly, you were also thankful that you hadn’t stayed behind. You nearly did. Traveling through the Dune Sea was an absolutely miserable experience between the heat and the sand. It would have been so much more comfortable to just sit in the shop, cuddle with Grogu, and watch Peli con her customers.

However, when Mando mentioned he was going to Mos Pelgo you jumped at the chance to visit Cobb Vanth. It had been ages since you last saw the man, and you were eager to catch up with the marshal. So you climbed onto Mando’s rented land speeder, wrapped your arms around his beskar armor, and the two of you set off. What was supposed to be a simple day trip to greet an old friend and ask for a favor turned into a Maker forsaken nightmare.

Your face was throbbing in pain, you tasted blood in your mouth, and you were fairly certain your right wrist was broken based on the swelling and discoloration. Despite all of that, despite the pain and fear, the thought occurred to you once more. You were so thankful you were here.

“How pathetic.” The smuggler cackled amongst his small crew. “You’re going to protect the Mandalorian from us? You dumb bitch.”

Five dangerous men stood at the rim of the pit you were trapped in while Mando laid motionless behind you. There was a bit of blood pooling from out of the bottom of his helmet, onto the sand, and the only comfort you had that Mando was still with you was the slow rise and fall of his chest.

The smugglers had set a trap that Mando and you had fallen right into. As your land speeder tripped a wire it caused a blast that had both of you falling into a pit. The damned thing was deep enough to leave both of you injured and you prayed that your injuries were worse than Mando’s and he was just out cold for a moment. Your attackers began to argue amongst one another and you stayed on high alert. Mando and you were fish in a barrel. They could rain blaster fire down on you and there would be nothing you could do about it. The only reason you hadn’t grabbed Mando’s blaster to fire up is because you didn’t want to trigger a massacre.

“Shoot her dead then climb down and collect the beskar. Easy.” One smuggler scoffed and pulled out his blaster. You flinched but the loudest of the men, the leader, shoved the blaster’s aim away from you. “What?”

“The moment we try and get off world we’re gonna get stopped by those damned pirates again.” He snapped. “We keep the girl alive and hand her over as the tax we pay to pass free. We keep all the Mandalorian’s armor to ourselves.”

“Who’d want a bitch over beskar?”

“Oh, trust me.” The lead smuggler chuckled and the sound made you cringe. You set your hand in Mando’s gloved one and wished more than anything his grip would tighten around you rather than stay limp. “I know the man running the show right now, and he’s got a weakness for pretty little things.”

You tried to hide the tremble that shook your frame and you whispered for Mando to wake up⏤ for him to hear you. The lead smuggler opened his bag and you grasped Mando’s blaster. As threateningly as you could manage, you barked out. “You come down here and I’ll kill you. You hear me?!”

“Aw, she’s got some bite. Maybe we should keep her instead.”

“Shut the hell up.” The lead snapped and continued to root through his bag. “Where the kriff is that damned spice bomb?” Your eyebrows furrowed. Spice was bad news. It wasn’t something you ever wanted to touch. You had seen what the addiction could do to people, and you had a very bad feeling about what a spice bomb would be. “There it is.”

Panic hit you, and you lifted the blaster to start firing but the leader tossed a glowing red ball down into the pit and the smugglers dove away from the hole. The ball exploded mid way down into a cloud of red dust that rained down on you and Mando. You tried to cover your mouth and nose with the bottom of your shirt, but it was to no avail. Your entire body grew heavy, collapsing on top of Mando’s chest, and a sharp, tingling sensation washed over you before your eyes fell shut.

Din woke with a start⏤ panting and desperate for air. His mind was filled with a heavy fog that he tried to swim through to gather his bearings. There had been a wire. Din noticed it much too late and he remembered the ground swallowing you and him whole. You. Your scream was the last thing he could recall.

His hands drifted to his face and Din hated that it was only then that he noticed he wasn’t wearing a helmet. He blamed the fog. Din scrambled about the soft bed he realized he was tucked into as he searched the space around him for his armor. Din was in a bedroom he didn’t recognize wearing only a pair of sleep pants. Dank farrik. Din leapt out of bed but stumbled rather than landed with any amount of grace. Where was he? Where were you??

He forced himself to take a steadying breath and centered himself.

The bedroom was small. Only a large bed, a clothing dresser, and two nightstands on either side of the bed. The walls were painted a soft blue, two doors leading out, and one wall had a window that spanned nearly the entire length of the room. Din blinked in confusion. Outside was a bustling city with towering pillar-like buildings and early morning light spilling down through holes in the upper shelf casting light on a city that was very much alive. Din knew where he was. He just didn’t know how he got here or how this was even possible.

“Sundari?” He breathed in shock. Din had only seen images of the cities of Mandalore. Sundari, the domed capital city, being the most infamous of all. This must have been a dream. Exactly how hard had he hit his head in the fall?

Din, in all his distraction, hadn’t even noticed the sound of running water until it stopped. He spun on his heel and stared at the door in the corner which must have led into a fresher. Din wasn’t alone. His hand snapped to his hip for his blaster but met air. Maker, he’d be happy when this concussion finally passed. He scanned the room for any kind of weapon he could use and as he grasped the nightstand drawer he froze. Sitting on top of the small table was a holo image being projected up from a disk as decor.

It was a photo of you and Grogu. Din narrowed his eyes at it in confusion. The two of you were at a park of some kind, but he couldn’t recall where or when this had occurred. The door opened, making Din jump in surprise. Fine, concussion or not, he’d fight his way out by hand. However, as if he couldn’t possibly be caught more off guard, you stepped out of the bathroom wearing only a towel.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Did I wake you up?” You stepped toward him and Din stayed frozen in place. Your hands came up to run across his bare chest before settling on his waist where you continued to trace your fingertips up and down in a repetitive pattern. There was so much happening at once that Din didn’t even know what to think. It didn’t help that the moment your skin touched his, his mind seemed to short circuit. “I was trying to let you sleep in for at least a little.”

Ever since you had confessed to him weeks ago that you wanted more than just a friendship Din had been plagued with dreams of you. Visions of you moaning under him as he buried himself into your warmth, of you riding his cock while his hands explored your body, of him simply holding you in his arms and memorizing your features unimpeded by his helmet. But never had it ever felt this real.

“Din?” You tilted your head. Hearing his name from your lips, he shuddered. How was this happening? You staring up at his bare face and whispering his name in concern.

Din tried to open his mouth and speak, but his voice had left him. When you confessed to him, it had taken every fiber of his being to not react. As much as he cared about you, as badly as he wanted you, he knew it was a bad idea. Din knew he had to draw a line to keep you safe. He was dangerous and Din knew it was selfish of him to keep you and Grogu around despite that. He always figured the two of you would go your separate ways when the jedi were found and Grogu was delivered, but Din would never be able to say good-bye to you if he crossed that line. So he lied. Told you he didn’t feel the same and walked away leaving you teary eyed and broken hearted.

You frowned. Your eyebrows furrowed and he had the overwhelming urge to smooth out your brow with his fingers. Trace every inch of your face with his hands. “You look sad, love.” You lifted your hands to cup his face. “Did you have that nightmare again?”

“Wh⏤What?” Din’s voice was quiet and ragged.

“We’re safe now. You don’t have to worry.” You caressed his cheek. “Me, you, and Grogu. We’re all safe. We have a home. Our days of running are over.”

Din shook his head. “No, no. We were in the Dune Sea. I⏤I missed the trip wire and we fell. You were hurt. We⏤”

“Din, that was so long ago. Out of all the bantha shit we’ve dealt with I’m surprised that memory is the one plaguing you.” You said.

Din pulled out of your arms. “It wasn’t. It just happened. You’re lost⏤ You’re hurt. I have to⏤”

“I’m not lost. I’m not hurt. I’m safe, right here with you, in our home. Grogu is still sleeping down the hall. There’s no place safer for our son and I.” You set your hands on his chest once more. “Grogu with his buir, and I with my riduur.”

Din was so shocked by the Mando’a that left your lips that he didn’t even register the soft kiss you pressed in the middle of his chest. Right where his iron heart would be if he had his armor on. You stepped away from him, walking to the dresser off to the side, and Din watched you go until you let the towel fall from your body. He forced his gaze up to the ceiling to keep from staring. Something felt wrong. Was this a dream? Was he dead?

Din didn’t trust the world around him.

You startled awake. A cloud of panic and fear drowning you.

“Mando!?” The nickname left your lips before you even registered a thought. You scrambled to sit up, arms reaching out to try and find purchase, but it was too dark to see anything. Even without your sight, something felt familiar about the material under your body and the comforting smell surrounding you, but the last memory of the smugglers dropping the spice bomb had too much adrenaline rushing through your body for you to think properly.

The wall in front of you shot up with a metallic click and a light blinded you. Hands grabbed your calves and you screamed again trying to kick them off. “Mesh’la! You’re safe!” Mando’s modulated voice filled the air. “You’re on the Razor Crest. You’re in my bunk.”

Your eyes adjusted to the light and you recognized your setting. That’s why it was familiar. Mando’s scent surrounded you as you were nestled in the blankets and pillow he used to sleep. Standing at the bunk’s entrance was the Mandalorian himself. He looked unharmed, but he always looked unharmed when he was covered from head to toe in his beskar.

“Mando!” You cried in alarm and launched yourself at him. He didn’t complain when you wrapped your arms around him tightly. Mando simply held onto you and kept you from knocking him over. This should be awkward considering how he had bluntly said he felt nothing for you only weeks ago. But, you were so relieved that he was safe and alive that you didn’t care. His hands rubbed your back soothingly as he mumbled soft reassurances. “I thought you⏤ I thought we⏤”

“We’re safe, mesh’la.” Mando replied.

You leaned back and he kept his arms around you. “What happened? The last thing I remember…” It hurt to try and pull the memory out of your own head. Spice bomb. Red dust had rained over you and Mando. You passed out on top of him. “The⏤The bomb.”

“It knocked you out.” Mando said. “My helmet filtered it out, I think. I woke up with you on top of me and the smugglers were climbing down. We fought. I won. Then I carried you back to Peli’s.”

“All of that happened?”

“We’re in hyperspace now.”

“How,” You shook your head, “How long was I out?”

“Two days. The spice hit your systems hard. I was⏤” Mando cleared his throat, the sound scratchy through the modulator. “I was worried about you, mesh’la.”

It was only then you realized you still had your hands resting on his shoulders and he had his own wrapped around your waist as you sat on your knees⏤ the bunk making the two of you eye level. You swallowed nervously. “I, uh, it was you I was worried about. Your head. I thought I saw blood when you were out cold.”

“Small injury. Only took one round of bacta to clear up.”

“Good.”

“You, on the other hand,” Mando mumbled. He brushed his gloved fingers across your face. The touch lingered on your cheekbone. The same one that had hit the ground hard enough to make your face throb. Mando pulled his other hand away to wrap around your non-bruised and non-swollen wrist. How much bacta had he used to get all your injuries healed in two days? “Mesh’la, I am so sorry.”

You shook your head. “None of that was your fault.”

Mando kept quiet, as if he didn’t agree but didn’t know what else to say. The sound of a soft coo made you lean forward and peer around the edge of the bunk where Grogu was standing by the ladder leading up to the cockpit. He lifted his arms and waddled closer. Mando released you to pick the small child up. Grogu whined until Mando set him in your lap and you didn’t hesitate to cuddle the boy to your chest.

Thank the Maker, he hadn’t been with the two of you. You let out another sigh of relief. It seemed like you and Mando had gotten out of the pit by luck alone and you don’t know what you would’ve done if Grogu had been harmed during the whole thing.

“Here. Let’s get you some food.” Mando set a hand on your elbow to help you slide out of the bunk. What caught you off guard was when he let his hand travel from your arm to your lower back as he led you toward the ladder. You couldn’t help but let your eyes wander over his entire frame. Mando was a good man. It wasn’t the shiny, silver metal of a Mandalorian you were attracted to or the reputation of a dangerous and strong bounty hunter. You had fallen for the kind and protective man who hid under both of those roles. Mando’s head turned to stare back at you and a thrill went down your spine. He whispered your name.

You took a step away and cleared your throat. Mando let his arm fall away. Your obsession with him, your stupid idiotic crush on him, had you misreading signals left and right. The only reason you had confessed was because you convinced yourself that he was shooting you lingering looks and that every brush of his hand against you was purposeful and not a mistake made in passing.

“I’m sorry.” You mumbled. Mando had made his position clear, and you were done crossing the lines and boundaries he had set.

“Can you get up to the flight deck alright?” Mando asked and you nodded. “I’ll bring you something to eat.”

Mando tilted his head toward the ladder and he waited until you began to climb⏤ as if he was worried you’d fall off mid-way up. When you got upstairs, you settled into the co-pilot’s chair with Grogu in your lap and stared out at the blurring lines of hyperspace. A small smile settled on your features.

The world around you was right again.

Din felt more like himself once he had his armor on. It still felt like the world around him was spinning and nothing made sense, but his beskar was like a heavy, impenetrable comfort blanket. He sat in a kitchen, helmet on, as he stared out at Sundari through a window that sat near a dining table. It seemed the home around him was part of a tower inside the domed city, and Din still couldn’t wrap his brain around that. The sound of footsteps startled him and he turned in time to see you padding down the hall with Grogu in your arms. He pushed to stand⏤ seeing the small child putting him at ease.

“Why do you have your helmet on?” You asked after handing Grogu to him. The child bounced in his arms chanting a recognizable sound asking for food. “Are you leaving already? Don’t you want breakfast?”

Din stayed quiet. You moved around the kitchen with the ease of someone who did this regularly, and he watched you make a meal. It didn’t make sense, he didn’t understand, but he couldn’t deny the attraction he felt toward you being so domestic. Especially after you had just claimed that he was your partner, your husband, your riduur.

“Come here, cutie.” You cooed to Grogu and he let you take the boy from him. You set him in a little high chair and set a bowl of food in front of him. As per usual, Grogu didn’t hesitate to begin scarfing down what was in front of him. You lovingly pressed a kiss to his head then walked over to lean at the corner of the kitchen island next to him. “Din, please talk to me.” He clenched and unclenched his fists. “You’re starting to scare me.”

“I’m sorry, Mesh’la.” He sighed.

You had shifted even closer to the bar stool he sat on. Din tensed when your hands settled on his thighs and you stepped between them. Slowly, you took his hand in yours and began to peel his gloves off. Din sucked in a breath, but couldn’t find a complaint to speak. You did the same thing with his other hand. Finally, your hands rested on his helmet, but you didn’t move. Not until Din gave a small nod. You pulled his helmet off carefully, respectfully resting it on the counter, and Din felt his features soften as he stared at you. Maker, you were beautiful.

“Din, listen to me, I love you.” You said. A pretty smile spread across your features and you took his face between your hands. “But if you don’t tell me what’s going on, I am going to kick your ass.” He chuckled and leaned into your touch. Was Din losing his mind? If this was insanity, it felt so good that Din really didn't think he minded. “Are you… Are you having one of your mornings?”

“One of my… mornings?” Din furrowed his brow.

“You know, when the nightmare doesn’t end.” You whispered.

Din shook his head. “This isn’t a nightmare. It’s a dream. A dream I don’t deserve.” He let his hands rest on top of yours with the plan to pull them away, but he was too weak to actually go through with it. Din sighed, “I lied to you.” A flash of confusion crossed your features. “I said I didn’t care about you in the same way you felt about me, but it was a lie. From the moment you stepped onto the Razor Crest I haven’t been able to get you out of my mind. Mesh’la, you are my world.”

“Din, are you…” You paused then a small laugh left you, “Maker, are you talking about when we were trying to get to Mos Pelgo, still? I confessed to you and then we got caught weeks later and…” You shook your head. “Don’t scare me like that. When you said you were sorry and you lied, I was worried something had happened. It’s just a bad morning. They always pass.”

“What are you talking about?” Din asked.

“Fine. I’ll jump start your memory.” You pushed up on your tiptoes and then sat on his thigh. Naturally, his hands went around your waist to keep you from falling and your hands wrapped around his neck. “You confessed to me. It happened months later. You’re an incredible bounty hunter, but you move slow as hell, Din.” He narrowed his eyes. “It was right after we decided to keep Grogu with us. Become a real family. For the record, it also took you way too long to propose to me too.”

Din could picture it all and it made everything so much more confusing. Had that happened? No. Not yet. Yet? Had he meant to think of that word? Yet? Din wasn’t planning any of that, but it sounded right. No part of him thought he deserved you or Grogu, but Maker this was what he always wanted. It was the life he craved, but was too broken to admit aloud.

“But,” Din tried to find a tether to hold him in reality, “Sundari. We live in Sundari? Mandalore is dead.”

“No, it wasn’t. The poison the Empire caused faded away. We rebuilt.” The sound of a door chime made you glance over your shoulder. “Kriff. She’s here early.” You slid off his lap. “Grogu, we’re gonna be late! Let’s get you cleaned up so Soran can walk you to school.”

Din watched you scoop Grogu up, the boy gave him a wave he returned numbly, and the two of you disappeared down the hall. Were his fears the reason he was confused? What if what you said was right? He was just trapped in a nightmare and it was keeping him from living his life. Din had finally taken the leap, taken the chance, and found his perfect home. Now, his fear was crawling back and trying to ruin it again. Din always did this. He always fought himself. It was why he had denied your initial confession and wasted so much time in the first place.

Moments passed, he could hear you moving around the home with Grogu. Until finally the door chime rang again. Din stood up and faced the hall. Seconds later, you stepped back into view. You gave him a bright smile.

“Alright, where were we?”

Fully accepting this for what it was, Din marched toward you. Your feet came to a stuttering stop and an excitement filled your eyes. You knew what he was doing before even he knew entirely. Din basically tackled you, pressing your body as tight as he could to his chest, and crushed his lips to yours. You responded immediately. Your hands wrapping around his neck as his tongue found it’s way past your lips. Din let his hands trail down your back, over your ass, under your thighs, and with ease began to pick you up. Just like with the kiss, you were on the same page as he was. You jumped just enough for him to lift you off the ground and your legs wrapped around his waist⏤ locking your ankles at his back.

Din had planned to carry you down the hall, back to the bedroom, but he felt you grind against him and that plan went right out the window. He slammed you against the wall, lips leaving yours to trail down your neck. Maker, he wanted you. Keeping you pinned to the wall with his hips, relying on your grip around his waist and neck, Din pulled his hands away so he could grab the collar of your shirt. He ripped it down to the middle of your torso so his mouth could reach your breasts.

“I liked that shirt, you know.” You gasped, but the way you kept trying to find friction against his hard on told him you didn’t like it all that much.

“I’ll buy you a new one.” Din replied before leaving open mouth kisses down your chest. One hand went back to cup around your thigh and the other yanked your breast band down so his mouth could wrap around your nipple. The unholy moan that left your lips nearly made him come undone right then and there.

“You’re going to be late to work. They need you today.”

“Mesh’la, I don’t kriffing care.” Din said after pulling his lips away from your breast. His mouth found its way back to yours and after leaving a messy kiss there he pulled away only far enough to speak. “As far as I’m concerned the only place I’m needed is right between your thighs.”

Din licked into your mouth, and he was startled when your hands untangled from around his neck. Then, with great proficiency, you began to unlatch his armor. His vambrace and left pauldron fell to the ground with a heavy thunk. “How did you do that so fast? How’d you know where the latches were?”

“I’m your wife, dummy.” You unlatched his right one, it joined the other on the floor, then you ripped the cloak out from under the top of his chest piece and pulled down on the collar of his shirt so you could leave too soft, teasing kisses against the hollow of his throat. “Now, either keep carrying me down the hall to our bed or drop me on the floor⏤ I don’t care, I just need you to fuck me.”

Din was not going to make it to the bedroom.

You rose from your seat with Grogu nestled in your arms sleeping. It hadn’t taken long for the boy to fall asleep between the warmth of your arms and the silence of hyperspace. As you drifted toward the door, Mando spoke up.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m gonna put him in his hammock is all.” You whispered.

Mando glanced over his shoulder at you then nodded. “Good. Come back up when you’re done.”

Your eyebrows raised in surprise but you gave him a quiet confirmation before leaving the cockpit. You made your way down the ladder slowly and carefully so you didn’t wake or drop the little green gremlin snoring against your chest. You chuckled and rubbed his back while crossing the cargo hold. When you set him in the hammock, he stirred briefly and you took the time to lightly rock the hammock while humming him a lullaby. Only when you were convinced he had fallen back into a restful sleep did you find your way back to the cockpit.

“He’s down for the count.” You joked and dropped back into your chair.

Mando flipped a few switches on the panel before spinning the pilot’s seat so he was facing you. Your eyes widened and you shifted awkwardly in place. The weight of his heavy stare on you was intense. It burned into you and for a brief second you were sure he could see straight into your soul.

“What’s going on?” You asked. “You okay?”

“I could’ve lost you.” Mando whispered. “I don’t know what I would have done.”

“It’s over, Mando. We don’t have to think about it anymore.”

“It’s not over, mesh’la. There will always be another fight, another opportunity for someone to take you from me.” He argued.

Mando wasn’t wrong. Your lives were a constant battle to maintain the upper hand over all the people trying to take Grogu and harm both of you. It was the exact reason why you had found the courage to confess to him in the first place. You stupidly convinced yourself that you didn’t want to lose anymore time⏤ waste another second. The silence in the cockpit was agonizing. You wanted so badly to break it, but you had no idea what to say to do so.

Luckily, Mando did not have that same problem.

“Come here, mesh’la.” He motioned you toward him with the curling motion of his fingers. You swallowed the lump that had suddenly formed in the middle of your throat like a rock. “Please.” The word was spoken softly, but there was a firm undertone that made it feel less like a request and more like a command. You stood up and took the single shaky step that was required to put you in his reach. Mando’s hands found your hips and he startled you by pulling you into his lap. With a yelp of surprise, you were forced to rest your knees on the outside of his thighs. The moment you were situated Mando spread his own thighs further so each of your legs were pinned between him and the chair and you were even more open to him. “Oh, sweet girl…”

“Mando. What⏤ What are you doing?” You whispered. Your entire face felt hot⏤ kriff, every inch of you felt hot.

He shook his head, his hands roaming up and down your sides, “I never should have said no to you. What happened, it made me realize how much,” Mando raised a gloved hand to your face, “how much I care about you.”

“Wait, really?” You breathed. It was the stupidest kind of response to give and you hated that you just blurted it out. Mando chuckled in response, and you shook your head. “Mando, maybe you’re just… feeling this way because what happened was so fresh. We should give it a little time⏤”

“I spent two days waiting for you to open those pretty eyes for me, sweet girl.” Mando cut in. “I’m not losing another second with you.”

The hand fell from your face to rest on your shoulder and, with the other still on your hip, Mando pressed you down on top of him. He shifted his own hips so he could drag the hard bulge in his pants against your core. A sharp gasp of surprise left your lips. Mando kept you pressed against him and when he dragged his hip against yours again the sensation caused you to groan this time.

“Dank farrik.” Mando grunted as he bucked up against you⏤ this time you moved your own hips to add to the friction and he moaned. The sound of him losing control shot straight to your core and you let your hands rest on his chest so you could grind into him more. Maker, you wanted to hear that sound again.

Mando sat up straight and the only thing keep you from tumbling off his lap was the hand he wrapped around your waist. He reached past you, hands hitting switches and buttons, and suddenly the entire panel of flickering lights went dead. “Mando?” You questioned. He hit one more switch and you glanced over your shoulder to watch as the windows darkened until the lights of hyperspace couldn’t be seen. Nothing could be seen. A hiss of pressure release, then a hand took hold of your jaw to turn you back so you faced forward.

“Mesh’la.” Mando whispered. Before you had only heard his unmodulated voice from a distance, as he was eating out of sight or lying in his bunk with the door closed. But, now it was closer than you could ever imagine. He mumbled your name and you could feel the movement of his lips just barely brushing against yours⏤ his hot breath on your face. “Say you want me, mesh’la.”

You took in a deep breath and nodded. “I want you, Mando. I’ve always wanted you.”

Rather than pressing his lips to yours as you wanted, Mando lifted you with ease and pressed you against the control panel. Something sharp was jabbing you in the back, but you didn’t care. Mando’s leather gloves roughly yanked your pants down, underwear and all. You had lifted your hips just enough to help him, but when you lowered yourself back into a seated position you hissed at the cold metal against your bare skin.

You lifted your hands to find his shoulders, you wanted to feel his face, but Mando’s hands grabbed you by the wrists and pinned them to the panel by your head. He leaned over you and slowly dragged his hard cock, hidden behind his flight suit, against your already dripping wet lips⏤ but it wasn’t the only lips you wanted touched.

“Kiss me, please.” You begged and tried to lift your head to find his, but he leaned back just enough to avoid you. “Mando, I want to feel you⏤ all of you⏤ please.”

“Not yet, mesh’la. Be patient.” His entire weight was pressing down on you. “Good girls are patient, and only good girls get rewarded. Is that what you want, mesh’la? To be my good girl?” You nodded, breathless from the agonizingly slow way he was grinding into you. “Words, mesh’la.”

“Yes.” You gasped. “Please, Mando, please⏤”

“How lucky am I?” Mando hummed. “To have such a pretty girl begging under me. I’ve wanted to make you fall apart since the moment you stepped onto my ship.” You tensed as an alarm began to faintly ring at the back of your mind. Something inside you was trying to warn you. Mando kept whispering loving words on top of you. “You’re mine, mesh’la. You’ve always been mine and you always will be.”

“No.” You tried to squirm out from under him, but Mando was much too large and much too heavy for you to even move an inch. “No, no, no.”

Taking the hint, Mando released your hands and jumped away from you. Breathless, you tried to sit up and gather your bearings. “What is it, mesh’la? What’s wrong?”

“This is wrong.” You shook your head.

“No, it’s right. This is what you want, this is what I want.”

“No, it’s not.” A sob left you. “You don’t want me. You said so yourself. You don’t want me. This isn’t right.” Your head was beginning to pound in pain and Mando’s voice sounded like it was suddenly far away. The cold metal under you was beginning to turn hot and the firm smoothness of the control panel was taking on a new texture⏤ something grainy that shifted under you. The darkness turned to a blinding light and you gasped as pain began to settle into you.

Your face was throbbing, you tasted blood in your mouth, and your right wrist was aching. Now you had a pounding headache as well. You blinked your eyes, trying to clear the blurriness out of your vision, and you saw a man climbing down a ladder into the pit you laid in. The smugglers. The spice bomb. Your hand tightened around the blaster you had taken from Mando and you lifted your heavy arm to fire at the man. It hit him in the back and he fell from the ladder and landed motionless only a few feet away.

You blindly fired shots up to the ridge of the pit. Over and over⏤ not knowing what else to do. You fired so much that you never noticed the sound of someone else’s blaster mingling with yours. A familiar voice was calling out to you, but it wasn’t Mando. Your heavy arm sunk back into the sand, blaster falling loose, and your eyes began to droop in exhaustion.

You wished it was Mando calling for you.

You woke up slowly. Your entire body was sore and it took straight willpower to get your eyes to stay open. There was a thin cot underneath you and a flickering fire ahead of you. A groan fell from your lips as you tried to sit up.

“Whoa, whoa,” A familiar voice said, “Slow down there, little lady.”

“Vanth?” You tried to turn to find your friend, but a warm hand kept you from moving too much. Suddenly, Cobb Vanth was kneeling beside you with a charming grin. Your entire body sagged in relief. “You have no idea how happy I am to see you right now.”

Vanth rubbed his jawline and gave you a wink, “I am much better looking than those damned smugglers, huh? How’d you and Mando get caught up in all that mess?”

“Mando!” You sat up quickly, immediately wincing when a sharp pain shot through you.

“Maker, darling.” Vanth scolded. “Your tin man is doing just fine. He’ll feel just as shitty as you when he finally wakes up.”

You glanced around and just as Vanth said your companion was lying on a small rolled out cot of his own. The firelight dancing as it reflected off his beskar. “He’s really okay? I think he had a head injury.”

“He’s fine. I promise you.” You nodded and Vanth offered you a canteen of water. As he asked, you began to tell him the story of what happened. It didn’t take long until you reached the point of the story that made your cheeks warm. Vanth noticed your hesitance and bumped his shoulder into yours. “Say your piece.”

“They threw a spice bomb and… and some weird shit happened.”

“Yeah, a spice bomb will do that to you.”

“What is it?”

“Depends. What’d you see?”

You paused before shrugging. “I was on the Razor Crest. Traveling with Mando and Grogu. Like always. It was… it felt so real.”

“Probably glitterstim then.” Vanth made you drink more water. “I have no idea how you broke out of it.”

“What do you mean?”

“The drug should’ve put you under. Place you in a happy haze of the thing you want most and trap you there for as long as the drug runs its course. Too much and you can end up dying in that perfect little world.” Vanth explained. “Usually, you can’t get out unless someone hits you with an antidote. Something to cancel the effects of the glitterstim. Unless…”

“Unless?”

“Unless you shock yourself out of it.” Vanth shrugged. “It all happens quick. In the first few minutes you either fall into the spice’s trap or you snap through it. The fact that I saw you wake up and shoot that smuggler is quite the feat, darling. How’d you do it?”

You wrapped your arms around your legs and rested your chin on your knees. The drug in your system deemed your perfect world to be Mando confessing how badly he wanted you. How pathetic was that? You didn’t stay under because even in a drugged out haze your mind knew that it was fake. Mando didn’t want you. Not the way you wanted him. Tears filled your eyes. Vanth didn’t press for you to answer and instead set his arm around your shoulder as a comfort. You leaned into him and fell asleep.

Every single part of Din’s body hurt. It reminded him of when the mudhorn had tossed him around like a ragdoll. Every atom in his body though, despite the pain, screamed danger. Din forced himself to sit up, blaster drawn. He was in the desert, by a fire in the dead of night. Across from him, he saw Cobb Vanth sitting there casually. Din’s blaster was pointed at him, but Vanth just gave him a slight wave.

“Hey there, brother.” He greeted. “You can put the blaster away.”

“What⏤” Din began to ask, but then his eyes landed on you. Your head rested against Vanth’s thigh and he had one hand resting on your shoulder. Part of your face looked bruised and even from this distance he could see your busted lip.

“Smugglers got the jump on y’all. Hit you with a spice bomb.” Din holstered his blaster and cursed. Dank farrik. Whispers of his dream world lingered in his mind and Din had to shake his head to try and rid himself of the way your lips felt against his skin. “You’re lucky.”

“This is lucky?” Din asked dryly. Maker, his body ached.

“Little lady here broke free of the spice dream.” Vanth said. Din’s eyes widened in surprise. He didn’t know what he wanted to know more⏤ what your perfect world had looked like or how you had broken out of it. Vanth’s hand was tracing shapes on your shoulder as you slept and Din frowned at the touch. Coming from an imaginary world where he was fucking you, his wife, to reality where you were sleeping against another man was jarring. “You got stuck in it. Tell me, Mando, what was your perfect world?”

You were. You were his perfect world.

But, Din couldn’t bring himself to admit that in his current reality.

#the mandalorian #din djarin #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #mando #mando x reader #mando x you #mandalorian x reader #mandalorian x you #cobb vanth #din djarin smut #a smidge of angst #idiots in love #pining

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taehyungsgrowl · 1 year

Text

the last time - knj x reader

you find yourself at my door just like all those times before

you wear your best apology, but i was there to watch you leave

or namjoon is asking for another chance with y/n (feat. yoongi x reader)

pairing: namjoon x reader

genre: angst, smut, fluff

warnings: on again / off again relationships, angst (duh), namjoon doubts himself a lot, dry humping, penetrative sex, riding, spanking, creampie, hickies, overuse of the word baby, yoongi is a king, jimin might have a crush on seokjin, did y/n fumble the bag? is this toxic?

rating: 18+

word count: 7.4k

italics = flashback

A/N: hi friends old and new!

i think it's close to a year since i've posted a fic on here and this is the first bts fic i'm posting so please be nice! i started this back in november and got like half of it done then and then the holidays and other life distractions got in the way but! i'm done!

i was listening to the last time by taylor swift when inspiration struck

please! let me know what you think!

“I see you everywhere I go… I… I miss you,” his voice cracked as the last word left his lips. The lips that missed caressing every inch of her. The lips she missed whispering into her hair all the broken promises

His heart tightened as he watched her swallow back tears before she spoke for the first time that night, “You don’t get to miss me, Namjoon. You don’t. Not when you keep leaving. I can’t keep doing this. Every time you leave - just hurts more than the last,” she stopped talking, her eyes looking up at the dark sky trying to recollect herself.

“Y/N, please. I - I know I don’t deserve it. Don’t deserve you, but…” Y/N flinched when his hand grabbed her forearm. She silently cursed the way his touch still sent electric currents through her body no matter how small that touch was. All it did was remind her of all the times with him she was actively trying to not think about.

Because no matter how good things could be with Namjoon, he’d shown time and time again - they wouldn’t last.

He said it himself the last time he stood on her porch like this.

“I… really am - it’s not… you.” he sighed, watching the tears roll down her cheeks. His hand twitched as he stopped himself from reaching forward to wipe them away for her. Namjoon wasn’t one to struggle to find the right words. In fact, he always knew the right thing to say - but now, nothing he said was coming out right.

“Maybe because this isn’t the right thing…” the small voice in his head whispered. He shook the thought away. It had to be the right thing. He knew Y/N deserved better - she just loved him too much to see it.

“It’s not you, it’s me? Are you kidding me Namjoon? At least give me one good fucking reason - don’t I deserve to know why you’re giving up on us?

“Y/N,” he pinched the bridge of his nose as he exhaled out her name. “I’m sor-”

“I should know better by now.” she interrupted him. “Just… go. Leave like you always do.”

“Joon,” hearing her say his name brought him back to the present. “Things are different. I’m different.”

“I’ve changed too, Y/N!” he feels rushed to get the words out - too afraid they’re going to choke him before she hears him out. “That’s the thing, baby. Our love was never the issue… it just wasn’t the right time for me… please.”

His wet lashes made his dark eyes look even more intense.

“I’m seeing someone else.”

Ice ran through his veins as her words hung in the air between them. He shook his head as if he could somehow make her take those words back.

“You don’t love him,” he kept shaking his head, “I know you, Y/N.” She wouldn’t be hearing him out if she did. She wouldn’t be holding back tears if she did. She couldn’t love someone else when he was still hung up on everything about her being.

His eyes scanned her face for a telltale of a lie, but he found none. Her eyes were earnestly apologetic and it made his stomach turn. The guilt that swam in her saddened gaze told him enough.

Namjoon reminded himself to breathe - he was too focused on trying not to throw up. His body was reacting to the emotional pain and he couldn’t exactly wrap his head around it.

“You knew me. You don’t know me anymore. I… I don’t wanna hurt like this anymore, Namjoon.” she sighed, entirely spent on the way her evening had developed. “Please leave… and don’t come back.”

“I can’t promise you that.” Namjoon’s jaw clenched and unclenched. “I’ll go,” he took a step back, stepping out of the porch light. He hoped being out of the light would better hide the way his eyes were swelling with more tears. But even if Y/N couldn’t see him clearly - she knew. She could hear it in his voice.

“Take care, Joon,” she took her own step back and closed the door before she did something stupid like run straight into his arms. Every fiber of her being begged to be wrapped in his arms, but she was done listening to her heart when it came to Namjoon. She needed to let her brain do the thinking - as much as her heart wanted to keep making the decisions, it kept getting too wounded to continue.

—

Jimin paced his living room enough to start making Seokjin dizzy. “Jimin,” Seokjin warned, “sit down,”

“I’m sorry, Hyung… I just don’t know what to do. I haven’t seen him like this in well… forever. Y/N and him break up and get back together all the time… I think something changed.”

“Well, has he said what happened?”

“No! That’s the thing - he won’t talk to me,” Jimin pouted. After his roommate got back from seeing his ex, Namjoon had hardly left his room at all. He was mopey and avoiding any talk of what happened that night at all costs.

Jimin had tried - he really had. He had stayed up late a few times hoping to catch Namjoon (lately it seemed as if Namjoon only left his room when he thought Jimin was asleep or away), he had tried coming home from work early to try to get Namjoon to talk to him - but nothing was working. He knew he had to call in for backup.

“Have you considered that maybe he needs some time? That he isn’t ready to talk?” Jin placed his arm on Jimin’s shoulder trying to comfort the younger man. “Sometimes, people need some space,” he tried to reason.

Jimin shook his head. “It feels different this time.”

Jin nodded. He forgets that some of Namjoon’s friends don’t know him as long as he’s known him. “Let me try to talk to him, yeah?” The corners of his mouth twitched when he saw Jimin’s eyes light up. “Can’t promise it’ll be any different, but I’ll try.”

Jimin wrapped his arms around Jin, knocking him back against the couch they were sitting on. “Thanks, Hyung!” Jimin pulled back, slight pinkness in his cheeks at his own sudden physical affection. “I’ll leave you to it then! If you leave before I get back can you please lock the door?” he asked, already up and grabbing his keys from the table. “Thank you again, Jin!” he waved off giving Seokjin some (unwilling) alone time with Namjoon.

Jin let out a heavy sigh and stalked over to Namjoon’s room. “Kim Namjoon. I know you know I’m here,” he knocked on the door, “Let me in,”

Behind the closed door he heard Namjoon groan.

“You may be able to avoid Jimin, but I’m not playing around, Joon,” his tone was serious. Namjoon could hear it in Seokjin’s voice. There was no use in fighting Jin when he had his mind set on something. Unfortunately for Namjoon, that something was for him to talk about what happened. Something he kept trying to avoid - because well, saying it out loud made it to real for him.

Seokjin remained still until he heard the bed behind the door creak and slow footsteps approach. He fought the urge to smile, knowing his smugness would only shut Namjoon further.

Namjoon opened his door and treaded back to his bed, letting his best friend trail behind him. Jin took a seat on the bed after Joon got back under his covers. One look at him and Jin knew. Namjoon, who usually kept his face clean shaven, now had on at least five day stubble. His eyes were bloodshot from the constant tears.

“Hey,” Jin’s tone was softer than before. “Talk to me,” his hand had found its way to Joon’s knee and he kept it there - slowly rubbing reassuring circles with his palm.

Namjoon looked up at the ceiling wishing his bedsheets would swallow him whole, “She said she’s seeing someone else. I… really fucked it up this time, Jin.”

Seokjin sighed, still patting Namjoon’s leg, “You remember what you said when you broke up with her?”

Namjoon finally met Seokjin’s soft gaze. He wanted to curse him for bringing it up. He kept silent, allowing his friend to continue.

“You said you thought she deserved someone better - no matter how many times we told you that you were making a mistake.” He held Joon’s stare firmly, “Can you blame her for doing what you wanted her to?”

Namjoon’s face felt like it had been in a permanent frown these days. “I shouldn’t have let her go. I need her in my life… even if it’s not how I imagine… I… can’t let her go, Hyung.”

Seokjin nodded. As much as he loved Namjoon, he knew he had really messed up with Y/N. He remembers the first time Namjoon called for a break with Y/N. She had been inconsolable.

Seokjin’s phone rang for the second time that night - Y/N’s name flashing brightly on the screen. He looked over at Namjoon - passed out on his couch, clutching a throw pillow. He tried to wrap his head around Namjoon’s thoughts.

He knew just as well as anyone just how much Namjoon loved Y/N. You’d only need to be around the two for a minutes to physically feel the love they both radiated for each other.

But he also knew Namjoon. Namjoon who doubted himself more than anyone doubted him. No matter how many admirers he had - he struggled to believe it. Namjoon who would subconsciously sabotage himself out of fear of failure.

Namjoon who was on the edge of leaping into something great, but finding a way to run from it.

Seokjin exhaled as he answered the call, “Hi, Y/N,” he waited for her to say something.

“I’m sorry, Jinnie,” her voice quivered and he could tell she was doing her best to sound okay for him. “I… called Joon.” Seokjin kept quiet, unable to tell her he watched as Namjoon blankly stared at his phone when she called. “I’m sorry - I don’t know why I called you. I just hoped he’d be there. This isn’t on you, I’m sorry,” she shut her eyes shut wishing she could take back the desperation that drove her to calling her ex’s best friend.

Having been on the receiving end of heartbreak himself, Jin could relate to the despair that he heard in her voice. “No need to be sorry. I don’t know if I should be saying this to you but he loves you, Y/N. More than I think he realizes. I’m not telling you what you should or shouldn’t do. And I don’t know all that goes on in his head, but I know he does.”

Seokjin knew how happy Y/N made his friend. He knew Y/N had gone through a lot with Namjoon breaking things off, but maybe it was a selfish part of him that just wanted his friend to be happy.

“You need to tell her that,” Jin shoved Namjoon a little until he made enough space for him to lay down besides him. He placed his hands behind his head and stared up at the ceiling as well. “You won't get anywhere hiding out in your room. You've got the kid worried sick,” he couldn't fight the smile that tugged on his lips at the mention of Jimin.

“Before you were ever her boyfriend, you were her friend. Remind her of that,” his shoulder nudged Namjoon's.

Namjoon remembers the first time he kissed Y/N - it was one of those core moments that would live in his heart forever. It was like the world paused just for them.

They had planned to meet to study together - but somehow, both burnt out from staring at their textbooks and screens, ended up going for a walk around the neighborhood.

Which turned into them walking endlessly into the evening, bumping shoulders and sharing giggles.

Before they knew it the rosy pink sky started to deepen into an indigo blue. The cool autumn air making them walk closer and closer (although Namjoon would take any excuse to be close to her).

It was that night that Namjoon realized how his heart beat a little faster when she was around… how his cheeks hurt from smiling so much when she’s with him…

The closer the two of them got to her house, the more he wished the night wouldn’t end.

For a moment, he couldn’t hear what Y/N was saying - but it was like alarms where going off in his head.

I like her… he thought.

He grabbed her arm and faced her. She stared up at him with wide eyes - in that moment, the silence between them was as loud as sirens.

Y/N, who had come to the realization that she had started to have feelings for Namjoon long before he did was frozen in place.

The look on Namjoon’s face could only be described as longing.

The longing in his eyes as they shifted between her eyes and her lips. His lips parted slightly. His breath stuck in his throat.

With a steady hand, he lifted her chin up slightly. Before Y/N was able to get a single syllable out, Namjoon was leaning down, gingerly placing his lips on hers. His eyes shut as his lips connected with hers.

The kiss was quick - but the Earth spun in slow motion. He swears he can still feel the ghost of Y/N’s lips kissing him back that night.

Because she did kiss him back - the plumpness of his lips pressed against hers made her momentarily dizzy. She didn’t have a thought to kiss him back - her body simply responding to his as natural as it was to breathe.

Kissing him felt like the first gasp of air after being under water.

—

“Are you gonna see him again?” Hobi was sprawled out on her bed, head hanging off the edge, scrolling through his phone. Y/N looked up from the blank page on her screen. Her deadlines were approaching, but she couldn’t bring herself to finish (or start) her assignments.

“See who again?” she asked closing her laptop.

“The cute guy from the coffee shop. Or are you seeing someone else and didn’t tell me?” he rolled onto his belly and looked up at her. Hobi wanted her to move on from Namjoon. The thought of his name alone made him want to gag. There were so many guys Y/N could be seeing instead of being hung up on the one who kept breaking his own promises.

Not that a long time had passed since their break up, but Hobi didn’t see the point in waiting. He believed the best way to get over someone was to get under someone else.

“Yoongi?” She felt her face warm up. What did seeing someone these days even mean?

She’d gone on a few dates with him - she was right to tell Namjoon she was seeing someone else, right? Was she jumping the gun by telling him? Why should she care what Namjoon thought about who she was seeing? Was she seeing Yoongi?

She had lost herself in the sea of endless questions she hadn’t registered what Hobi had said.

“Hello?” he waved his hand in front of her face.

“It’s been a couple dates, Hobi,” she sighed, “He’s sweet,” her bottom lip was caught between her teeth - a nervous habit her best friend knew all too well.

He was sweet… and charming… and handsome - and overall, she liked him.

She wasn’t looking to meet anyone else right after the break up (no matter how much Hobi insisted), but things with Yoongi fell so naturally into her lap.

As if Yoongi could sense she was thinking about him, her phone started buzzing, his name glowing on her screen before she could hide it from Hobi.

“Answer it!” he whisper shouted as if she had already picked up the phone. “Hurry!”

She rolled her eyes at her friend, but did as he said and answered the phone. “Hi,” Her fingers pressed down on the volume button, turning it as low as she could to keep Hobi from overhearing. He caught on quick and gave her the biggest pout he’d given all day. She made a mental note to make up for it later.

Yoongi chuckled softly before greeting her with his own, “Hi,”

Y/N learned from her first date, that Yoongi liked phone calls. Sure, he texts when he needs to, but prefers how clear, concise, elaborate, comforting - phone calls can be. He said there were just certain things that could never be as well expressed through a text rather than a call.

“I didn’t catch you at a bad time, did I?” he drummed his fingers over the marble of his kitchen counter.

“No, I just got done with some work,” she was done for the day - whether the work was completed was another story.

“Come over.”

“To your place?” the butterflies in her stomach fluttered at the thought alone. She had yet to go over to his place. After the last date, she planned to. Her mind was set on going home with Yoongi.

The furthest they got was steaming up the inside of his car with her on his lap and heavy breathing.

All before the little voice (that sounded too much like Namjoon for her liking) was urging her to go home.

Yoongi could hear wheels turning in her head and he held back a laugh.

“I made dinner,” he said, smiling into his phone, “You haven’t tried my cooking yet and I’m honestly doing you a disservice if I make you wait any longer to try it,” he chuckled. “Come over while it’s still hot.”

She laughed, making Hobi raise his eyebrows at her as he tried to listen in on their conversation.

“If you insist, how can I say no?” It didn’t feel like they were still talking about his cooking.

“Texting you my address - I’ll see you here.” It wasn’t a question because he knew she would be making her way to his place.

Y/N rushed to get ready to meet Yoongi at his place - after kicking Hobi out for critiquing every outfit she tried on. She decided not to overthink it and wore her favorite pair of jeans and a cozy, off the shoulder sweater. So what if what she wore underneath was pretty and pink?

As much as she wanted to get over Namjoon - she also wanted to do this for herself. After weeks of feeling inadequate and questioning so much of her past relationship, she wanted to feel wanted. Apart from that, she couldn’t deny the attraction she felt for Yoongi.

She convinced herself it was purely surface level attraction, but deep down she knew there was more to it - she was just too scared to dig deeper.

Yoongi was different than Namjoon - he was comfortable in the silence that Namjoon often fought to fill with his thoughts. In the ways that Namjoon acted on impulse, Yoongi was deliberate - everything he did had a rhyme or reason whether he voiced it or not.

She didn’t know Yoongi long, but one thing she had picked up on was just how consistent and transparent he was. With Yoongi, it didn’t feel like mind games.

Yoongi smelled woodsy and fresh - like walking down by the river with autumn leaves falling from the trees on a crisp morning. It was as comforting as it was exciting. As she pulled away from the hug he greeted her with, her tummy flipped with nerves. She was glad he was dressed just as casual as she was. His black pants hung lowly on his hips, exposing a dark grey waistband, and of course a simple black long sleeve shirt. His hair, which was now brushing the nape of his neck, was pushed back away from his forehead, a few long loose strands framing his delicate features.

The initial awkwardness of being in his home for the first time quickly subsided as Yoongi brought her into his kitchen as he finished prepping their meal. Y/N’s eyes scanned what she could of his place. It was a lot cozier than she expected, but kept very clean with little touches of Yoongi throughout.

For example, she had clocked six guitar pins scattered across his coffee table, bookshelves, and piano. Of course his piano that he had facing the largest window in his living room had a guitar pick laying on top it - along with other knick knacks like a framed photo of him and his friends, music sheets, and a lighter.

“Can I help you with anything?” she offered, standing at the sink, rolling her sleeves up to wash her hands.

He chuckled, shaking his head. “I’m just about done,” he brought the spoon out of the pan and dipped his index finger into the sauce that covered the spoon, brining it up to his lips to taste. She tried not to let her mind wander as he sucked his digit clean.

Yoongi washed his hands and grabbed a pair of wine glasses from his cupboard, closing the fridge door with his hip after getting an expensive bottle of wine out of it.

Their dinner date felt straight out of a rom com. Her cheeks were beginning to hurt from how much she was laughing. The sparks flew between them effortlessly.

She tried hard to keep him out of her thoughts while she was with Yoongi.

But even as she breathed in Yoongi’s scents… even as she tasted the wine off his tongue… even with his hands under her sweater, pawing at her breasts… she could hear Namjoon’s voice.

She shook her head as if she could shake away the thoughts. By now, Yoongi and her had made it to his living room. She sat on his lap, her fingers laced with his long hair, letting his hungry lips crash against hers.

Yoongi pulled away from her kiss, his eyes scanning her face. “What’s wrong?” his brows were furrowed deeply, slowly lowering his hands out of her sweater.

Her cheeks flamed hot with embarrassment. She wanted to grab his wrists and keep his hands touching her. She wanted him to make her forget. Her eyes prickled with tears she tried to blink back.

“Nothing!” she cursed herself for ruining the moment. She wanted this. Wanted Yoongi. She wasn’t sure if she was trying to convince herself as much as Yoongi.

He took her chin between his thumb and index, getting her to look at him. “You know we don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable doing —”

“No! It’s not that!” she interrupted him.

He stayed quiet for a moment scanning her face. “You sure?” his thumb lightly grazed her lower lip.

Y/N nodded quietly, her hands finding a home in his hair. “I want you,” her lip jutted out further into a pout. She didn’t want to have to explain to him all the thoughts of Namjoon she carried in her heart.

“What do you want?” he pressed his thumb against her lips intentionally this time.

Yoongi watched the saliva that connected his thumb to her lips as she released him from her mouth. “Fuck,” he rasped, smearing the saliva over her lips, coating them in the glossy sheen. “So fucking pretty,”

His words made her stir in his lap, feeling the way his length hardened beneath her.

Y/N closed her eyes as she opened her lips to take his thumb into her mouth. She felt the weight of this digit against her tongue and she suckled on it gently. Yoongi’s other hand caressed her cheek, “Open your eyes,” Her eyes met his dark gaze and it made her suck on his thumb with more force. “Need you to tell me what you need from me, okay?”

“Want you…” she mumbled inching closer to kiss him. The friction her movement created made her gasp against his lips. “Want you to fuck me…” she exhaled into the kiss.

Yoongi chuckled against her lips as his hands roamed up and down her sides finding the hem of her sweater and pulling it up above her head. His eyes traveled down her now exposed collarbones and down to her breasts. The sight of her in her pretty pink bralette, swollen lips, and wide eyes, pleading him to fuck her was enough to drive him insane.

He knew just as well as she did that this was new. Neither of them had even brought up the ‘what are we’ conversation. For now - they were just Y/N and Yoongi.

“Yoongi,” she whined as the cool air made her shiver. He flashed her a quick smile and connected their lips again. “Let me take care of you, baby.”

He adjusted her until she was laying flat on his couch with her head propped on the arm rest. “This okay?” he asked as he rolled to hover above her, holding his weight by his arms that rested on either side of her.

Baby…

Y/N’s mind replayed every time Namjoon greeted her by taking her in his arms and mumbling the word against her lips. Every time he came back to her, with pleading eyes, and the word dripping with atonement.

Baby.

“Wait,” she sighed, shifting herself to sit up. Yoongi climbed off of her, taking the spot next to her on the couch. “I’m sorry… I can’t do this,” her bottom lip shook as she tried to stop herself from crying.

Concern flashed his face before he picked her sweater off and handed it to her, “Nothing to be sorry about,” his brows furrowed, “You okay?”

She nodded her head, quietly putting her top back on. “Yoongi,” her head hung low as she stared at her lap, “I wanted to so bad,” her voice quivered, flashing her eyes at him, “But I… can’t stop thinking about my ex,” she admitted, wanting the earth to swallow her whole.

It was humiliating enough to have to stop hooking up with one of the finest men she’d ever met but having to admit to him why just made her want to die.

Yoongi nodded slowly, the flush of his cheeks subsiding. “Is it bad that I’m relieved it’s not because of me?” he jokes trying to ease the tension between them.

“No! I promise it’s not you. It.. it’s me. It’s him.”

He held out a finger to shush her, “Hold that thought.” He walked into his kitchen while Y/N followed him with her gaze.

Yoongi joined her again by handing her a little dish of vanilla ice cream “Here,” he said, taking a spoonful of his own ice cream into his mouth. He sat down besides her, his leg folded beneath him as he faced her.

Y/N stared at him, her cheeks warm as she fought her racing thoughts.

“I like you,” he blurted out in the only way Yoongi knew to blurt things out - softly spoken and nonchalant with an underlying firmness that made you know he meant it with all his conviction.

“Before you say anything,” he continued, amusement in his eyes when he saw her face show her panic. Y/N had never been one to hide her emotions - her face always ended up giving her away.

“I’m not expecting more than whatever you want this to be,” he pinched his lower lip between his thumb and index finger as he thought out out his words, “I like you, but…” he patted her knee softly, “I know you still got someone else on your mind,” he offered her a half smile, “But… if you need a friend,” he shrugged easily, “I can be that too,”

“I’m sorry,” she looked down at her hands. She thought he must hate her for dragging him into her mess. Must hate her for setting up expectations she couldn’t even meet because her heart still longed for someone else.

“Y/N,” he shook his head laughing, “I mean it. Look at me,” he waited for her eyes to meet his. “I’m glad you told me when you did. I would have felt a lot shittier finding out afterwards.”

“It wasn’t fair to use you to try to get over him,” she finally admitted out loud. Both to herself and Yoongi.

“You don’t owe me an apology. I’m serious,” he frowned. “Tell me about him.”

She looked up at him, her heart beating louder. “He’s… I miss him,” she hung her head low, “I know I shouldn’t because he hurt me… and I was the one who didn’t want to give him another chance, but… we’re best friends.” her voice cracked as she spoke the last word. The silence that lingered heavy in the air between them. “I’m sorry. I know this wasn’t what you asked me to come over for. And I should really just get a grip,” she rambled mindlessly wanting to fill the space.

Yoongi shook his head, “Hey,” he surprised her when his arms found their way around her shoulders pulling her in under his arm. “It’s okay. I didn’t mean to make you upset,”

“No,” she shook her own head, “It’s not your fault. Like, I know we weren’t… perfect, but he can make me so happy and… I miss him,” she admitted again. Hearing her own voice say it out loud again made it really sink in.

She felt immensely guilty for many things. One of them being not hearing Namjoon out when he came to her that night. Maybe she had expected more than he could give her.

She closed her eyes wishing she could hit reset and be in a place when her and Namjoon were good. They weren’t always like this.

She half laughed through a sob, shaking her own head. “You’re a good guy. And I like you too - but you deserve someone who can give you what I can’t,” she sniffled, as he nodded, understanding where they stood with each other.

“Can I be honest?” he asked, setting his dish on the coffee table.

“Of course,” she nodded.

“I think you still love him.”

She didn’t say anything. Just nodded, avoiding Yoongi’s eyes.

“And you should talk to him.”

Her eyes snapped up at him. As scared as she was to give Namjoon another chance - the idea of living without him in her life felt scarier. Namjoon was the one person who could, with a brush of his fingers on her skin, could wash away her worries. He was the one who would make her sides hurt from laughter. The one who pictured growing old with. The one she loved.

“Not saying you gotta get back with him if that’s not in the cards,” he chuckled, “But… at least talk it out so you can know if you’re able to move on or not. Get the closure you need, I guess.”

—

Before Seokjin left he left strict instructions with Jimin on looking out for Namjoon. Jimin made sure to promise him he would threaten Namjoon with another visit from Seokjin if Namjoon didn’t get up the next morning for breakfast.

As happy as Jimin was that his roommate did in fact leave his room the next day, he was a little disappointed that they wouldn’t be having Seokjin over for breakfast.

Namjoon put on a brave face for Jimin - offering to take out the trash, tidying up the dishes and take out containers that had piled up in his bedroom, making his bed, and even cleaning the bathroom.

But if Namjoon was being honest, he was just trying to keep his mind occupied. He had spent the night scribbling away in his journal the million ways he wanted to talk to Y/N. Pages of apologies littered his brain. He needed to talk to her, but like Namjoon had been cursed with the pattern of overthinking and he wanted what he was going to say to be perfect. Even when Seokjin told him it didn’t need to be perfect - it needed to be honest.

Namjoon thought he was his most honest self when he had time to think about what the right thing to say was.

He was still thinking of how to approach his conversation with Y/N when he was interrupted by a soft knock on the door.

Y/N stood there, eyes wide, soft gasp leaving her lips as she looked up at him. After having been the one knocking on her door before, he was left speechless seeing her standing there.

“Y/N,” he breathed out her name.

She got goosebumps on her skin hearing his honeyed voice say her name. “Can I come in?”

Namjoon hurriedly got out of the door frame and invited her in. They took a seat at his dining table, the silence palatable between them.

“Y/N, I know -” he started before she held her hand up.

“Please let me say what I need to before I change my mind.”

Namjoon shut up and waited for her to speak. He felt like his heart was going to burst out of his chest. He wanted to reach over and touch her.

“Do you know what the most frustrating thing about you is?” She didn’t give him a chance to answer before she continued, “You’re the first person to lift those around you up. You’re supportive and caring, and see the good in people,” she smiled softly, “But you can’t seem to extend that to yourself all the time.”

Namjoon looked away. He knew he had a weak facade, he should have known she could see through it and know he wasn’t deserving.

“You deserve the good things. You deserve love.” His eyes met hers, cheeks warm from the realization that she seemed to know what he was thinking. Her words echoed in his mind. You deserve love. He wanted to believe it. He wanted to accept it. He had tried so hard to push it away thinking he wasn’t worth the fight - wasn’t worth the effort. Namjoon had been so blinded by his own insecurities he had failed to see the way that Y/N had been fighting for him.

Namjoon hadn’t noticed the tear the rolled down his face until Y/N reached over and wiped his cheek. He grabbed her wrist gently and kissed her knuckles, closing his eyes. “I’m sorry for all I put you through.”

“I missed you. A lot,” she confessed, gently taking her hand back.

“Why do I feel like there’s a ‘but’ coming?” he hoped his chuckle would mask how nervous he really was.

She sighed, her eyes intently looking into his. “I love you, Namjoon. As much as I tried to make myself hate you… I can’t. And…” she offered him a half smile, “I’m not quite ready to give up on us yet.”

Namjoon thought he was dreaming. He could hear the blood pumping in his ears. He knelt on the floor at her feet, taking her hands in his, “I promise I’ll make it up to you every day of my life, baby.”

Hearing that word fall from his lips again felt so right. It made her feel like she had finally made it back home.

She stood up, pulling him up with her. His arms found their way around her waist, “You don’t know how much you mean to me,” he leaned down, pressing his forehead to hers. “I love you.”

Y/N took the opportunity to close the small gap between them and pressed her lips to his. Namjoon stumbled back a bit before regaining his footing. He held her close and savored the taste of her lips on his.

Out of breath, Y/N pulled away, her nose brushing against his, “We still gotta a lot to work on you know…” the corner of her lips twitched as she fought a smile.

“I know,” he whispered. “But I’m willing to do it,”

“Good,” she pushed his chest lightly until he was pressed against the wall.

She kissed him again with much for fervor than before. Her nerves were on fire as she chased his lips. Their lips molded against each others, quickly finding their rhythm as if no time had passed.

Namjoon took her hips and his hands and switched them around so she was caged between his broad frame and the wall. He caught her lips with hers again as he took her wrists in one of his hands and raised them above her head.

His lips met her wrists as he kissed them gently, making his way down her arm kissing every inch. “Wanna show you how much I missed you, baby…”

“Joon,” she whined, bucking her hips towards him.

His lips were now latched on her neck, kissing and nibbling on her skin enough to leave a mark behind. With her hands still in his he pulled her closer, leading her to his bedroom, never once breaking the kiss. He kicked the door shut before the stumbled on to his bed. He hovered above her. His broad shoulders trapping her below him. She grasped his biceps to pull herself up into a sitting position. Namjoon sat on the bed and pulled her into his lap. His hands placed firmly on her sides, sliding into her shirt, feeling her soft skin against his finger tips. He pulled back when he felt her hands pulling at the hem of his shirt. He chuckled at her attempts and took her hint and discarded his shirt on the floor before reaching down to take off her top as well.

Y/N squirmed in his lap, feeling the tickling sensation along her ribcage. The friction of her weight pressing down on his hardening member was making Namjoon dizzy. He took one hand and cupped her chin, pulling her in closer for a kiss.

“I love you so much,” he mumbled against her lips as he felt her smile against his own.

She moved her hips as they kissed, growing antsier and antsier by the minute. She felt her arousal pooling in her panties and the feeling of Namjoon’s bulge pressing against her center wasn’t enough. She needed to feel him inside her again.

Y/N raised her hips and Namjoon helped her tug her shorts off along with her panties. His own pants quickly following. She sat back down on his lap, his hard length nestled between her glistening folds. She slowly moved up and down his length, teasing herself and him before he even entered her.

He dug his fingers into her hips, stopping her mid-track. “I can’t take anymore teasing.” he rasped. “I need to be inside you.”

Y/N leaned down to kiss him, pulling away with a bite to his lower lip.

She grabbed his cock at the base and began to jerk him in her palm a few times before aligning her entrance with it. His head opened her up and she slowly sank down on him. She hissed quietly at how the stretching ached.

“Fuck,” she cursed. He was not even all the way inside her pussy when she began to rock her hips, helping him ease into her.

“God, baby.” he choked out.

She missed this. She missed him.

Namjoon’s eyes fluttered shut feeling her warm wet wall pulsing around his cock. His large hands grasped at her hips, almost holding her still as she eased on to him. His blissed out expression made her want to keep him at her mercy like this forever.

“Oh god,” she moaned, her nails digging into his chest when his tip finally brushed against her cervix; she sat snugly on the entire stretch of his cock. Her bottom lip was caught between her teeth in an attempt to hold in her moaning.

“Let me hear you, Y/N,” hearing him say her name in such a desperate tone made her walls clench around him.

Namjoon gently started to guide her hips, but he wanted her to be in control. He wanted her to use him to make herself feel good.

The wet sounds that filled the room as she bounced down on his cock were enough to almost intoxicate Namjoon. Skin slapped together found a pace that worked for her.

Y/N could feel every inch, every vein, being hugged tightly by the walls of her dripping cunt.

“You’re so tight.” he growled, his hand smacked down on her ass when she began to pick up the pace.

She was way passed the point of forming coherent sentences; Y/N was rapidly chasing her orgasm to the tune of her moaning and whimpering.

“Keep going. C’mon, cum for me.” he bucked his hips up me meet the roll of her own.

His guiding words help send her over the edge. Her body convulsed and pulsed around his cock, edging him closer.

Y/N crumbled around him, cumming all over him. Watching the way her eyes rolled back and her chest bounced along with her was enough to make him’s throbbing member explode inside her.

He groaned out her name as he spilled himself into her pussy. Her grinding and bouncing became sloppier and sloppier until she came to an exhaustion, making her collapse on his chest when he slipped out of her.

He held against his chest, softly kissing the top of head, breathing in her smell. His long fingers lazily tracing patterns along her back.

Just when he though Y/N had fallen asleep listening to the way he heart beat slowly regained its normal speed, he felt her lips leaving tiny kisses on his chest. She nestled her face between his pecs and left a wet trail of kisses.

“Y/N?” his hands raked low enough to squeeze her ass.

“Mhm?” she mumbled before turning the little kisses she left on his chest into a bite. She sank her teeth into his flesh teasingly, sucking a hickey between his collarbone and nipple.

They fit together like two pieces of a puzzle. The bliss that Y/N felt being in Namjoon’s arms went far beyond any post-orgasm buzz.

But she was serious when she told Namjoon they still had a lot to work on. She knew she would have to burst the bubble the laid in for the moment.

She rolled off of him and under his covers, nestling herself under his arm. Instinctively, he wrapped his arm around her.

“Joon,” she turned to face him. “This is the last time we can… end things and be… okay.” She watched his face carefully. She loved him with her entire being, but she knew her heart could only handle so much more pain. She was going out on a limb for him because she believed he would do the same for her.

“I love you so much, I… don’t think I could handle another heartbreak like before,” she let out a deep breath, “I want this to work, but… you have to talk to me, Joon.”

Namjoon searched for her hand underneath the blanket and squeezed it firmly. “I promise. I promise that was the last time I hurt you like that, baby. I need you to know that.” He sat up a bit, reaching for his nightstand and grabbing the small leather bound notebook that sat on top.

“I have something for you.” He handed her his journal and flipped to the page that started his written apologies. “They’re not perfect. I was actually working on these before you came,” he blushed. “Been trying to make it right. Wanted to tell you how sorry I was.”

He watched as her eyes scanned the pages, “I thought I was dreaming when I saw you at the door.”

“Do you trust me when I say I love you?” he spoke it so softly, his deep voice almost vibrating in the space between them.

Her eyes were glassy from reading his apologies. She made the choice to love Namjoon every single day - insecurities and all. She made the choice to make their relationship work. Through the words scribbled on his paper, she knew he felt the same way.

She nodded, tears spilling over.

“Don’t cry, baby,” he pulled her closer, wiping her tears away.

“I’m crying because I love you,” she laughed through the tears.

“Never wanna be the reason you cry anymore,” he pulled her on to his chest again and held her there. In that moment, he felt like he was holding his entire world in his arms.

thank you for reading! just tagging a couple friends i've talked abt with this fic hhfkvhdndjvndnfmf jchsdhvcjdh

@desertsunflower00

@wonhosmistress

lmk if you would like to be tagged in any other fics!

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aanoia · 1 year

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Hii! So i was wondering if you could do a fic on JJ finding out that reader sh (self h4rm) and it just ends up in fluff?

I totally understand if you don’t want to write something like that for obvious reasons, but I’ve asked other people before and they said they would do it and they never did.

thanks!

Of course! I'm so sorry it's so short, I'm super tired haha

You cut?

JJ Maybank x reader

Summary; JJ walks in on reader doing something that breaks his heart

Warnings; TW self harm, blood, cuts, broken glass

Words; 863

If you are struggling please reach out. To me, or someone you trust. Please. I will sit and listen to your problems all night. Coming from someone who has attempted suicide and who self harmed for years, in the end it does not help. I understand the feeling of never getting better, but please try. I am here for everyone.

Requests are welcome and encouraged! I have an anon submission box and you can ask in comments!

Thinking of writing something for book Finch from All The Bright Places, opinions? Suggestions?

I sighed as I turned the shard of glass around in my hand, watching it as it glinted in the light from my lamp. I lifted my shorts so my thigh was shown and gently ran my fingers over scars, some old, some new. Some weren’t even scars, they were just scabs from last week. I positioned the glass in my hands so it faced my thigh and took a deep breath before running it across my leg with pressure applied.

I didn’t feel anything at this point, the only evidence of a cut was the red line slowly growing. It wasn’t deep, just enough to draw blood. I was too much of a wuss to go deep. Too weak. I cut again, this time quicker. And again. And again. And again until it became a blur of red. A single tear fell from my eye, which dropped and the salty water stung the cuts. I wiped my cheeks before standing up and walking towards my desk where my bandages were, ignoring the feeling of blood slowly dripping down my leg.

“Surprise!” The door flew open and I gasped. “So my plan for tonight is we’ll cuddle, maybe fuck, then watch dis-” JJ froze as he saw me, leg stained in red. It was silent for a moment as we stared at each other, and I prayed the ground would swallow me whole.

“You cut?” He asked quietly, his voice breaking slightly. I closed my eyes as they filled with tears, nodding my head.

“I’m sorry.” I whispered and his arms wrapped around me quickly. Sobs shook my body as he ran his hands through my hair, trying to be strong but I could feel his own body shaking with tears.

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” He whispered as he slowly pulled away. He wiped the tears from my cheeks and grabbed my hand before gently leading me to the bathroom.

He helped me sit on the counter before kneeling down and rummaging through drawers. He placed bandages and neosporin on the table before standing up straight and grabbing a few squares of toilet paper and folding them into a square. He quickly grabbed the small wrong in the shower and got it wet in the sink. He took the toilet paper and soaked up the blood on my leg before gently wiping the stains off with the rag. He threw the rag in the sink and grabbed the neosporin, twisted off the cap, and rubbed it over the cuts. After he was done, he grabbed the bandages and had me lift his leg so he could wrap it all the way around.

He didn’t waste a second to hug me after he was done wrapping. He held me tight in his arms as I inhaled his scent, fighting off the tears.

“I love you.” He whispered into my ear.

“I love you too, thank you.” I responded and he pulled away.

“Anytime. But, next time you want to cut, call me. Please, baby. I don’t want you to feel so desperate you need to hurt yourself. Will you find me next time?”

I nodded and he smiled before placing a soft kiss on my lips, his hand cupping my cheek. He pulled away and rested his forehead on mine.

“Ice cream?” I asked quietly and he laughed through his nose before picking me up and throwing me over his shoulder, careful not to apply too much pressure to my thigh. I laughed as he sped down the stairs and to the kitchen. He placed me on the counter and opened the freezer, searching it for the ice cream.

“Where are your parents by the way?” He asked as he moved stuff around.

I swung my legs back and forth, watching him with a smile. “Business trip, they will be for the next two weeks.”

He paused and looked back at me with a suggestive look. I snorted and shook my head and he pouted before turning back.

“Aha!” He cheered, pulling out two ice cream cartons and grabbing spoons from the drawer. He held up the spoons with a smile. “Let’s go.” He said and ran to the couch. He set down the ice cream and spoons before jumping onto the couch.

I laughed and followed him to the couch. I picked my favorite ice cream and handed JJ the other before getting onto the couch and grabbing the remote.

“What should we watch?” I asked, scrolling through the different apps on my TV.

“Moana. Duh.” JJ deadpanned and I laughed as I opened up Disney+.

About halfway through the movie JJ wrapped himself around my body, clinging on like a sloth. I gently ran my fingers through his hair as he listened to my heartbeat, smiling every time my stomach shook with laughter. The last fifteen minutes of the movie played as I noticed JJ’s slow breathing. I looked down and softly smiled as I noticed his relaxed face. He was sleeping. I gently kissed his forehead and let sleep take me over as well. The slowly melting ice cream was completely forgotten, the real heartbreak of the story.

#jj maybank x reader #jj mayback imagine #jj mayback x reader #jj maybank #jj maybank x y/n #obx imagine #obx x reader #romance #obx fic #obx netflix #obx3 #obxedit #obx s3

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resowrites · 2 years

Text

On Hold - oneshot.

Summary: Phone sex between Henry and his girlfriend goes awry…

Pairings: AU!Henry Cavill x Girlfriend!OC

Warnings: NSFW 18+ only, light smut (mention of f masturbation)/innuendo, dialogue heavy, banter/British humour, fluff, language, pet names, nondescript OC body type/appearance, hastily written/lightly proofread.

WC: 1170

My work must not be copied, reposted, or translated elsewhere. Likes, follows, reblogs and comments are thoroughly welcome and appreciated! Gifs/pics not my own. I hope you all enjoy and thanks for visiting!

On Hold - oneshot.

"Oh, yes, good evening. Er, before we get started, can I just check the rates per minute?" She laughed.

"For the third time this week, you’ve got the wrong number. Now, piss off."

"Wait! This was the number advertised!"

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. In a phone box about twenty minutes from here." Henry could practically hear her pursing her lips, annoyed.

"Well try ringing from there cos you’re blocked on this number."

"Wait, I don't need long, just tell me what you’re wearing…" She grinned into her screen.

"Hang on… are you that knobhead who plays Superman? Can’t you find some actresses to bring back to your hotel?"

"Nah, they think I’m too old."

"Aww, have you told them how much you're worth?" He roared with laughter.

"Are you gunna touch yourself for me or what?"

"You’re an hour late darling, sorry."

"What d'ya mean? Did I wake you? I thought you sounded sleepy."

"No, I'm just laying in bed."

"At 9 pm? What you been up to?"

"Oh I didn’t tell you did I… got a new wand delivered. Great fun. Submersible too." There was a slight pause.

"Well, careful… don’t electrocute yourself." She smirked.

"Don’t worry, it’s rechargeable."

"Wow, and it lasted that long?"

"Longer than you." Henry snickered.

"Well you haven’t broken up with me yet, so it can’t be that good…"

"I was waiting till I got my strength back," he scoffed, "I’m not joking, I still can’t move my legs."

"Hang on, let me lie back for this," she giggled, "well you can hardly blame me! It’s been days since I’ve seen my beloved. She won’t even send me any pictures…" She rolled her eyes.

"Does she know you’re calling me right now?"

"Oh stop it, one bloody woman’s enough. Now take ‘em off."

"Take what off?"

"You know fine well."

"I really don’t."

"Yes you do. Off, now. Or are they still on the bathroom floor?"

"Says the man who probably took his off in the lift." Henry scoffed again.

"Christ, I’ve never known a woman make me work this hard for it from hundreds of miles away," she yawned followed by a long pause, "hello?"

"Sorry, if the line goes dead again it means I’ve fallen asleep." He giggled.

"That’s it, I wanna speak to someone else."

"What, like a manager?"

"D'ya know what I’ll just hang up and dial again shall I?! I might get through to someone nicer!"

"Sorry, it’s only me and Big Sandy tonight."

"And is she busy?"

"Well she’s only got two hands." Henry snorted.

"Fucking hell, why me Lord?"

"Oh darling, are you having trouble? You might wanna take something…"

"Well it'd be bloody wasted on you!"

"You’re telling me, fuck that wand is good."

"… How many times?"

"Six." He frowned.

"Yeah, right."

"What? That’s only six more than you’ve given me."

"Well it’s not my fault I can't vibrate! What do I do? Stick a battery up my arse?!"

"Tsk, typical man, always putting his needs first." Henry cackled.

"Did you even think of me at all?"

"No more than usual."

"Oh, I see. Still got the hots for the new weatherman on channel five then?"

"You mean the one who looks like you ten years ago but with a straighter nose?" He harrumphed.

"You know you're lucky I'm not there right now, you’d be getting a smacked arse."

"You wish."

"I do! You’re going over my knee the minute I get back."

"Only if you make it past the porch…" Henry smiled fondly.

"Christ I remember that time, how long had I been away?"

"Six weeks. You even tripped over a parcel." He laughed.

"… God I miss you."

"You’ve only got one more week, soppy bollocks."

"Way too long… please come visit me. You’re missing out big time on the food here."

"Darling you know how busy I am with work. How are the interviews going?"

"Awful, thanks."

"You poor sod, I know how much you hate talking about yourself…" Henry smirked.

"Oh fuck off, there’s only so many times you can answer: ‘so what’s the hardest thing about playing Sherlock Holmes?’”

"And what do you say? The accent?" He almost choked on the drink he'd been sipping.

"You know, all things considered… you're not in a very good mood."

"Can’t smile wide enough, thanks. I’m just knackered."

"Oh sorry darling. Do you want me to let you go?"

"No, it’s alright… gotta wait for it to recharge anyway."

"Oh, well then you better rest up for tomorrow."

"Hmm, think I’ll aim for ten." Henry sniffed sharply.

"Yeah well, enjoy it while you can cos the thing's going out the bloody window when I get back."

"Well there’s no rush…"

"Oh yes there is. I'm gunna drown you in how much I've missed you."

"Right, I'm hanging up. At least I don’t have to talk to the wand."

"Wait!"

"What?"

"What position you lying in?" There was a short pause.

"On my side, why?"

"… Which tit’s pressed into the mattress?"

"You’re a perv."

"Tell me!"

"Hang on, let me check…" He laughed, exasperated.

"For fuck's sake, why can’t we just have phone sex like a normal couple?"

"Cos you’re a pillock." Henry smiled.

"You love me though."

"Eh… you’re alright."

"Say it!"

"Ugh, don’t make me."

"Say it, or I’ll call you every hour on the hour until you do," she gave a heavy sigh, "oooh."

"What?"

"… Make that noise again." She tutted.

"Definitely not."

"Oh go on, you know I need you."

"Why, what happened to your hand?" He bellowed with laughter for what felt like the hundredth time since the call began.

"I love you darling."

"Me too. Seven times, in fact." Henry's eyebrows shot up.

"I thought it was only six?"

"It was but then my phone rang and it startled me." He started laughing so hard she could hear his headboard shaking.

"It wasn’t the weatherman by any chance?"

"I wish. Oh wait a minute, you work in entertainment. Try and get his number for me."

"If I do it’ll be to warn him."

"Mmmm you should have seen him today, talk about a warm southern front." Henry sighed.

"Why aren’t you like this when I’m around?" She bit back a laugh.

"I dunno, it’s like some terrible weight’s been lifted."

"Right well then I’ll bid you goodnight, shall I?! Tuck yourself up warm okay? And kiss our boy for me."

"Will do. Oh and be sure to rinse that shower floor, wouldn’t want you slipping tomorrow morning." She could almost hear him grinning.

"I mean it, I love you darling." There was another brief pause.

"Love you too."

"See! that wasn’t so hard, was it?"

"Either way, I’m disappointed in myself." Henry chuckled.

"Night-night wagon."

"Night, buggerlugs."

It was just as she hung up that a thought crossed her mind. He meanwhile sighed and switched on the tv. A few minutes later his phone pinged and he beamed once he opened the message.

To be updated on when I post please follow @resowrites and turn on post notifications.

@marytudorbrandon @luclittlepond

#henry cavill #henry cavill fandom #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill fluff

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keepsdeathhiscourt · 2 months

Text

Pairing: Elijah Mikaelson x Original Female Character

Rating: Mature (18+ Only)

Story Summary: It's been ten years since Lucie LeMarche last set foot in New Orleans. But when she's forced to return to bury the woman who raised her, she finds herself pulled into the midst of rising supernatural tensions in the city. Entangled in a web of intrigue and seeking answers, Lucie must learn to navigate a powder keg of warring factions, family secrets, and old wounds if she hopes to survive.

Warnings: Canon Typical Violence, Language, Death, Mourning, Mental Health Issues, Family Drama, Gore, Depictions of Violence, Death

Series Masterlist

Read on AO3

Chapter 9: Pressure

Klaus pinches the bridge of his nose, doing his best to keep his temper in check. It’s proving exceptionally difficult. He’s getting close. He just needs to be patient for a little longer.

Full of displaced energy, he paces the length of the sitting room, wearing down the fibers in a 500-year-old rug. The object of his frustration sits in a wing-back chair in front of him, posture rigid and fingers clutching the armrests. Unease radiates off of her in waves.

They’ve been here for an hour now, sequestered in this quiet corner of the manor. For all his blustering, all his threats, questioning her has been more tasking than he’d expected.

She answers his questions politely enough. Things like:

How do you know Elijah? He saved my life.

What were the two of you planning? Nothing.

How are you able to do magic in the city? I don’t know.

Round and round they go in this dizzying little dance. She’s a stubborn thing, determined to circumvent his questions at every turn, to lie without lying. If he were anyone else, he might believe her. She’s but a novice compared to Klaus’ expertise in falsehoods. And he has had a millennium to perfect the art of getting people to talk. It is rather a point of pride.

Though she doesn’t give him the answers he’s looking for, the time elapsed isn’t without value. The entire time, he’s been sizing her up, surveying her every reaction. He knows her tells. She taps her fingers when she’s holding back, crosses her legs when a question makes her particularly uncomfortable. He uses these as his lead line, following faithfully until he has her where he wants her.

They will get there and soon.

If his unnaturally long life has taught him anything, it’s this: everyone breaks. It’s only a matter of finding the weakest spot and applying the right amount of pressure.

Most times, that pressure is violence. People respond very well to it. He doesn’t harm her, is determined not to unless she leaves him no choice. Not out of any notions of chivalry, but because he doubts it’ll be effective. And, ultimately, he will need her compliance.

“I’ve told you everything I know.”

“Really?” he asks, voice flat.

“Really.” Her fingertips press into the armrest. Not entirely the truth, then. It’s no matter, Klaus has done his research.

“I’m disappointed with your dishonesty. And here I thought we were getting along so well, but I suppose there’s nothing to be done,” he says, forlorn. He turns to her then. He wants to see her face for the next bit. “I’ll have to look for answers elsewhere then. Perhaps that charming little cousin of yours can help me, or maybe the pretty bartender from Rousseau’s.”

“You wouldn’t.”

Oh, but he would. He knows it and he knows she does too because her eyes flash with disbelief, anger, and then go bright with fear.

He restrains a grin. And there it is, the first crack in her defenses.

He watches her without a word as it spreads, fracturing like porcelain, and it is a beautiful sight to behold. When she exhales a broken shuddering sound, he knows he has her.

All she needs is one last little push.

“It’s frightening really, how easy technology makes everything.” He pulls his cell from his pocket and unlocks it. In his periphery, she fidgets uncomfortably at the non sequitur. With an air of disinterest, he continues, “For example, all I have to do is press this one little button and someone on the other line will snap darling Arabella’s neck like a baby bird. Hypothetically, of course.”

His thumb hovers over the dial button. Their eyes meet, locked in a life-or-death game of chicken, each waiting to see who caves first.

Her fingernails dig into the wood, nail beds white. Her cheek twitches, her eyes blaze in a last-ditch attempt at resistance. He moves his finger to make the call and—

“Wait!” she blurts out, and he has to repress his satisfaction. “Wait, I’ll tell you whatever you want to know. Just please don’t hurt her.”

He takes his hand off the button, sets the phone within reaching distance on a nearby end table. “How very sensible of you.” Her chest heaves, as if she’s run a great distance. “Now, tell me how you came to be in league with my brother—the truth this time, love”

He hears her inhale as steadies herself and settles into a nearby chair, waiting patiently for her to gather her thoughts. She starts slowly, telling him of her arrival in New Orleans for a funeral, her lack of affinity with her own kind, and finding Jane-Anne’s body. He listens to the exposition absently, tucking the information away somewhere to be fetched should it prove relevant at a later date. Then she mentions his brother and his interest piques.

“A few weeks ago, a pair of nightwalkers attacked me on the Riverwalk. An Elder in the French Quarter coven sent them after me.”

“Of course.” Klaus has to suppress an eye-roll. Why is it that every time he turns his back, there’s another witch with a finger in the pie?

She shoots him a pointed look. “I held them back for a time. But there was no way I was going to walk away from it. That’s when Elijah stepped in.” Klaus snorts. Now that does sound like Elijah. “I was in pretty rough shape so he took me somewhere safe to see to my wounds-”

“This is all very precious, but will we arrive at an answer to my question anytime soon?”

Annoyance flashes in her eyes once more and this time, she puts a voice to it. “I’ll get there much faster if you don’t interrupt me.”

“Apologies, apologies,” he says, hands raising in a placating gesture. He can’t help a small, amused smile. She is a fiery little thing. “I’ll hold my questions until the end. Continue.”

“While he was cleaning me up, we talked. He told me about your family’s own trouble with the witches.” He straightens in his seat, leaning forward a fraction. Her eyes widen, as if catching his sudden intensity, because she adds, “He didn’t tell me much, only that the witches have some sort of leverage over you and brought you back to town to distract Marcel.”

His eyes narrow, assessing her. When he doesn’t detect any hint of a lie, he eases into his chair.

“That’s when he offered me a deal. His protection and resources for information.”

“What kind of information?”

If she’s irritated at his interjection, she doesn’t show it and Klaus doesn’t particularly care. He senses she’s reaching the zenith of the tale.

“On the witches, the vampires. Anything that might be connected. I refused, at first.” Klaus quirks a brow, savoring the mental image of the bewildered fury that Elijah undoubtedly experienced at having his careful plans thwarted. “I was going to go back to my life in New Mexico. I wanted nothing to do with any of it.”

“But things change.”

“Things change,” she echoes with a faint nod. “Let’s say I have my own score to settle with the witches now.”

In the fire's light, her eyes burn like melted copper. Her jaw tightens imperceptibly. It’s something he recognizes, has seen demonstrated many times over; mostly in himself. A consuming desire for retribution.

A shadow crosses her face, and the light dims, something sadder chasing it away. “And here we are.”

“Here we are,” he repeats, shifting to rest his ankle over his opposite knee. “But you missed one key detail.” Her head shoots up, expression curious. “You’re a witch. One that's used magic in Marcel's New Orleans and lived to tell the tale."

“Elijah...had a theory. My powers aren’t connected to the ancestral well like the rest of the coven. They’re weaker for it, but also means that whatever Marcel uses to track magic use, it keeps me off his radar. I’m…I’m sure that was a big factor in Elijah’s plans, but what those were, he never told me. And it’s not like I can exactly ask him now.”

He suspects there’s more. There will be time enough for that later. For now, he has exactly what he needs. It’s better than he could have anticipated, this little gift that his brother all but delivered to him on a platter.

Marcel has his secret weapon, his ace in the hole. And now Niklaus has his.

All that he has to do is keep her hidden. Miles away from New Orleans, protected by bayou and forest, there’s no better place.

She adjusts in her seat, a rustle of fabric that shakes him from his thoughts.

They’re at their limit for tonight. The girl, Lucie, is exhausted. He can see it in her slouching posture, the dimness of her eyes, and the dark circles beneath them.

He rakes a hand through his hair and concedes to his own exhaustion.

"That's enough for now," he says, rising. “The room at the end of the hall is mine, and Hayley’s claimed the one nearest the door. Take your pick of any of the others.”

He senses Hayley’s unsettled presence at the door where she’s been listening in for the last thirty minutes in a woeful attempt at subterfuge. Her breath catches, anger rolling off of her in waves.

Wolves and their tempers.

“Hayley, would you be a dear and show Lucie to the upstairs?” Hayley appears in the doorway. When Lucie hesitates, he adds, "Don't worry, love. It's not a full moon. She wont bite."

Hayley shoots him a sour look, then ushers for the witch to follow.

Two sets of footsteps retreat down the hall and up the creaky staircase. Klaus listens until there’s nothing left but the dull rumble of distant conversation before settling in with his thoughts.

The witch will know about Hayley and the baby soon enough if Elijah truly hasn’t divulged the full truth. Embers roil in his gut, hot and angry and so sudden, that he takes a moment to recognize the emotion as protectiveness. A desire to rip out her throat and silence forever her knowledge of his child. The ferocity confuses him. He stamps it down. Protectiveness leads to love and love leads inevitably to disappointment and betrayal. He slows his breath and curates his thoughts until the heat fades and there’s nothing left but cold pragmatism.

He needs this witch alive, needs her powers if he hopes to one-up Marcel in this drawn-out game of power. And if she should prove a complication, there’s no reason he can’t do away with her later.

____

The tall, model-esque woman leads her through trimmed hallways and up the staircase to the second floor. All the while, neither woman speaks a word.

Lucie watches her long brown hair swish back and forth across her back as they go, still wondering at this unexpected third party even as they come to a halt just beyond the top landing.

She expects the woman to show her to an open room and then leave her to brood in peace. Instead, she turns to her, arms crossed over her green tank top and looking unmistakeably angry.

Great.

Still, she doesn’t speak. Lucie shoots her a look as if to say what do you want?

The other woman eyes her head to toe, sizing her up. It doesn’t take a body language expert to see the blatant disdain radiating off of her. She huffs in annoyance, attempting to side-step the new hostile to find a bed to face plant into.

An arm darts out, followed by a body blocking her path.

Lucie rolls her eyes, stepping back so she can look her in the eyes. They’re almond-shaped, almost golden, and glinting with distrust. “Do you mind?”

“Listen, I know I have no say in you staying here, but we need to get a few things straight." Lucie’s brow arches, mirroring her posture, and she waits for her to continue. “I don’t know where Klaus found you or what your deal is, but I’m done with witchy bullshit. So if you even think about doing anything to me or my baby, I’ll kill you.”

“Noted. Any more threats or can I go to sleep? It’s been a hell of a day.”

Hayley eyes her long enough for Lucie to wonder if they’ll spend the entire night in the hall, and then, finally, takes a step away and frees her path.

Lucie doesn’t think, just grabs the handle of the nearest door and slips inside. It closes behind her with a soft click, the wood grain smooth and cold where it meets exposed skin as she presses her back against it to hold some of her weight.

Though it’s well into the later hours of the evening, she doesn’t bother with the lights. She feels a distinct aversion to the idea. The overhead light would bring the room into relief and only confirm the harsh reality of her situation, of the uncertain future now before her.

So she leaves it off, not that it matters in the end. The moonlight filtering through the open curtains is bright, bathing everything in a deep blue. It’s more than enough to navigate her way around the mahogany dresser, tiptoeing around a priceless chest to the bed. It’s the focal point of the room, the wooden knobs of the headboard intricately carved. Even in the dark, she can tell the craftsmanship is fine, and ornate but somehow more elegant than gaudy.

She settles on the edge, the plush mattress creaking under her weight. The comforter is soft as kicks off her boots and draws her knees to her chest.

The glass window is slightly clouded, a testament to its age, alongside the brittle-looking panes framing it. Beyond it, the night is clear and quiet. Growing up around the hustle and bustle of New Orleans, she finds the silence oppressive. It makes her uneasy, finding it hard to settle even as her thoughts turn back to the night’s events.

As angry as she is at Arabella, as unsure about her role in Violette’s death, she can’t bear the thought of Klaus harming her. Or Cami, for that matter. Yet the second part of his threat would have frightened her more if she hadn’t seen the two of them interact at Rousseau’s. She remembers the soft way he’d looked at her. True, she doesn’t know Klaus well, but something tells her he doesn’t look at just anyone like that.

In the end, she hadn’t told him much — not as much as she could have. Still, Lucie’s skin crawls, unable to escape the wrongness, the sensation of having resisted and yet somehow moving right where he wanted. Like a marionette on a miniature stage, dancing with the illusion of autonomy but the strings guided by someone else’s hand.

She isn’t sure how long she stares out the window, knees hugged into her chest. Only that at some point, she cracks open the window and finds her way under the thick covers. There’s a weight to the air here that the city lacks. Dense like the blanket holding her in place.

She’s on the verge of sleep, eyes growing heavy—

Wait. Did she say baby?

____

After the first night, Lucie finds herself mostly alone. She’s scarcely seen hide nor hair of Klaus since his interrogation, and Hayley makes herself scarce. On the odd occasion they cross paths, the interaction is clipped to the barest amount of communication necessary.

Not that Lucie minds. She’s content to give her new housemate a wide berth. Call it a healthy mixture of standoffishness and self-preservation. Despite a lifetime in a coven of witches and decent working knowledge of vampires, she knows relatively little about werewolves. And though she’s fairly certain they aren’t a threat unless there’s a full moon, she isn’t willing to stake her life on it. Besides, something tells her that, wolf or not, Hayley can hold her own.

So she keeps to herself, stifling curiosity down in pursuit of other distractions. The house—even if it can even be called that—is massive in a way that borders on ridiculous.

She spends a lot of time exploring. At first, it’s with the hesitation of a child afraid of being caught out of bed. But with each venture, she grows bold, until the trepidation abates and is replaced with a surprised realization that Klaus isn’t lurking in the shadows to bust her and banish her to a locked cell somewhere.

She passes by him one evening, on her way to the kitchen, tries to sneak by the parlor where he’s slumped in an armchair, arms draped over the rests and angled toward the fireplace. Burning logs crackle and pop, the shifting flames illuminating his features in a warm flow. His eyes are fixed on it, reflecting the smoldering embers. Long fingers wrap around a glass of amber liquid. The acrid, earthy smell of bourbon reaches her as he takes a sip, expression indecipherable but markedly serious.

She’s been watching too long now from the doorway. It’s time to move on. When she steps forward, an ancient floorboard creaks, and she finds herself no longer looking at his profile but into tired blue eyes.

Freezing like a deer in the headlights, she waits. For what, precisely, she isn’t sure. Some form of cruel retribution for sneaking about and disturbing his privacy. He’s certainly the tit-for-tat type.

“Long night?” It’s stilted, uncomfortable, but she isn’t sure what else to say.

He stares at her for a stretch of seconds, as if she’s a particularly frustrating riddle. She watches the glass tip; the bourbon disappearing into his mouth.

“Something like that,” he says evenly. “Tell me, do you normally skulk about everywhere like a restless ghost or is this a recent development?”

“No skulking, just ah…going to the kitchen.”

He blinks at her, a vague glassiness to his eyes, but alert nonetheless. Then, slowly, he inclines his head and turns his attention back to the flames and whatever he’s puzzling over in his head.

Lucie recognizes the dismissal. Normally his imperiousness would make her bristle, but mostly she’s relieved and mildly bewildered.

Stunned, she can only manage a small ‘goodnight’ before she leaves him to his drink.

____

If there’s one thing Lucie has these days, it’s time—in abundance. Long uninterrupted stretches with no occupation and no purpose beyond running down a clock that only resets itself at the end of every day.

All the while, Klaus plays his cards close to the chest. He doesn’t tell her how long she has to stay here, or what he’s planning to use her for. In fact, beyond the night in the parlor, she only catches glimpses of the Hybrid over the first few weeks. A pass by in the hallway, the muffled sound of his voice behind closed doors late into the night.

He offers her no deals, no equal partnership in his plans. To him, she’s a toy. A magic dispensing wind-up doll, fetched when it serves a purpose and then promptly placed back on the shelf to gather dust when its utility is done.

In a way, Lucie is relieved to be left alone on her shelf. She’s had more than enough of threats to last a lifetime and engaging in small talk seems like an acute form of torture.

She resigns herself to it, this strange half-life she’s found herself in, and waits for Klaus to determine a use for her. But it’s its own brand of hell, being trapped inside your own head.

There’s too much time to think. And so often these days, her thoughts turn to her ghosts. It’s like they follow her, Peter whispering her ear over her shoulder or Violette leaning over her at night. All the what-ifs and why-nots bounce echoes on an endless loop, intermingled with fury and guilt.

It forces her to dwell on the culmination of all the emotional turbulence she’s been at the mercy of since she arrived back in Louisiana. Likely even longer than that, if she’s being honest with herself. It shouldn’t surprise her, this inevitable come-down, but it does. The uncertainty and fear of those first days out here in the middle of nowhere trickle away from the drudgery of routine and boredom of an indefinite stay. It isn’t long before it twists itself into a lingering melancholy.

There’s a slowness to everything she does during these autumn days that blend seamlessly into one another, like wading through knee-deep mud. All the while, the pain creeps in and makes a home in her chest—dense like swallowed stones.

Every day, she makes it a point to acquaint herself with another part of the manor. She gets to know the stern faces outlined in faded oil paintings, learns which rooms get the best sun in the morning and which offer the most shade in the warmer parts of the day. She roams the hallways until she knows which boards creak and which parts of the wallpaper are starting to peel. If she expects familiarity to breed fondness, she is sorely mistaken.

Every priceless vase, every draped bolt of rich heavy fabric grates makes her uneasy. Like four centuries of inhabitants are watching her with judgemental stares. She judges them back with equal fervor.

Any lingering doubts or confusion about Klaus’ permissiveness about letting her have free run of the place are conclusively stamped out when she finally ventures out onto the grounds.

It’s early morning and uncommonly chilly. The grass is tipped with crystals of frost as she steps out on the front porch, wrapping a long cardigan tighter across herself. It’s one of several articles of simple, but sensible pieces that had turned up nearly folded on her bed a few nights into her stay. At first, she suspected they were loans from Hayley, but the fit of the clothes debunked the theory. After all, the other woman is long-legged and has at least half a head on Lucie. She figures the most likely option is that Klaus compelled some poor woman to part with a chunk of her wardrobe. At least she hoped that was the case. In those first days, she spends extra time examining the garments for blood.

The air is crisp, whispering promises of a rapidly approaching winter. At the edge of the horizon, the sun is a faint line of pale yellow. She watches it creep its way higher and higher from the east.

She tries her best not to think of Elijah. Most of the time, she does a good job. But now and then, in more idle hours when the harder feelings grow teeth — like this one—she thinks of him, wondering where he is and what he’s doing. Sometimes, trying to decide if he’s even alive.

Beyond the exposed, sprawling orchard, the entire property is walled in by nature. Dense thickets of brush and jagged trees almost certainly conceal steep inclines and murky marshland. Should she run, a broken neck or tumble into a bog would likely do her in, if whatever made its home in the harsh wilderness didn’t find her first.

Lucie feels stranded in a way she’s never experienced before.

____

In these sluggish, lonely days, she finds her greatest solace in a corner room on the first floor.

She would be hard-pressed to name a single book she’s finished in years, but she finds comfort in the study all the same.

She’s nestled into the cushions of the window seat, an ancient volume cracked open over her lap. It’s late afternoon. The breeze beyond the window is soft as it combs through blades of grass. She resists the urge to crack the window open. The room always smells of polished wood and parchment and spice. It’s become one of her favorite things, enough that she’s loathe to disturb it.

The page rustles as she flips it. A compendium of genealogy, the neat, scrawling script, outlines centuries of New Orleans bloodlines. She’s ginger with it. The book is undoubtedly priceless just like most of the collections that line the shelves.

She pauses. This section diagrams the branches stemming from one of the casket girls. Lucie skims the lines without really seeing, her vision blurred by the sudden prick of tears. It’s October 22 -what would have been her brother’s thirtieth birthday. They should be out celebrating, instead, she’s a prisoner in some bayou, and her brother, her brother is…

She closes the book with a little more than necessary. The nearest pillow suffers its intended fate instead, careening through the air as she chucks it blindly to the side as she cries out in frustration.

She watches its path. It bounces once, twice, and settles by the doorway, right next to a pair of bare feet.

Mortified, she follows the long legs upward to a pair of wide eyes and a bowed mouth with slightly parted lips.

Hayley blinks at her. Lucie’s face is hot as she averts it, batting desperately at her damp cheeks.

“Do you need something?” Her gaze fixes beyond the window, her voice thicker than she’d like.

“No...no,” Hayley says behind her. “Just heard a noise and thought I’d check it out.”

Lucie clears her throat and nods. When she finally dares a sidelong glance at the doorway, Hayley is gone.

She thinks the incident is forgotten, that maybe by some miracle, Hayley had missed the worst of her outburst. Until the next morning, when she’s greeted by the smell of cooking oil and the distinctive crackle of frying food as she descends the stairs.

Feeling better if not somewhat drained after a night of crying into her pillow, she follows the noise, rounding the corner into the kitchen to find Hayley hunched over the stove.

Her back is to her, but she must hear her enter because she says, “There’s a plate for you over on the table. If you want condiments, get them yourself.”

Lucie is glad she can’t see her bewildered expression as she pours herself a cup of coffee. She settles into a spot in the sunny breakfast nook and pulls the plate toward her for inspection.

The toast is burned at the edges and the eggs are a bit shiny. Lucie is grateful all the same. Knowing a peace offering when she sees one, she seizes a fork and spears a piece of egg into her mouth. The texture is interesting, but the flavor is good. She’s never been a picky eater.

Not long after, Hayley slips into a chair across from her with her own plate.

They each dig into their respective breakfasts, both seemingly content to sit in silence. Lucie tears a corner off her toast, using it as a vessel to scoop up her eggs.

“Listen, I get what it’s like, being dragged into all this and not having any say.” Lucie’s gaze darts to her face, confused. “God, I suck at this. What I’m trying to say is maybe I was a little harsh with you that first night.”

Hayley doesn’t seem the type for apologies, but she thinks this is as close as it gets.

She struggles to find a response, settling on a soft, “Thank you.”

Hayley nods, taking a long gulp of orange juice. “I meant what I said, though. Mess with me or my baby and I will kill you.”

Fair enough. They return to their meals in silence. Though, perhaps one that’s less uncomfortable than before.

She spares Hayley the odd glance, gears in her head turning all the while.

Hayley huffs after a few minutes pass. “I can hear you thinking from here. Whatever it is, you might as well ask before your ears start smoking.”

Lucie’s head pops up, locking eyes with Hayley. She only looks mildly annoyed.

“You keep mentioning a baby. You’re pregnant?”

“You didn’t know?”

“Nope,” she says around a bite. “Should I have?”

“I guess not,” Hayley shrugs. “I figured if Klaus didn’t tell you, Elijah would have.”

Lucie stills a little at the name, gingerly setting down her fork so it doesn’t clatter against her plate. Hayley seems suddenly subdued. It seems obvious now, sitting across from her in their home, but she forgets sometimes that Elijah existed here, and lived a life beyond their harried encounters. It occurs to her that the woman across from her likely feels his absence just as keenly. Does she ever feel betrayed too?

She wants to bring it up, but can’t find the words, their peace is still too tenuous. All she manages is a slight shake of her head.

“Well, it’s true. Say hello to the resident knocked-up werewolf.”

“And the father?”

Hayley gives her a pointed look, waiting for her to put the pieces together.

“Klaus? You can’t be serious. I thought vampires couldn’t have children.”

“They can’t,” Hayley confirms. “But werewolves can. And Klaus is a hybrid, so…”

Lucie tosses her head in disbelief. “Elijah mentioned the witches had some sort of leverage over Klaus but never specified what. It makes sense now.”

“‘Leverage’,” Hayley snorts, putting down her glass of orange juice. “That’s a nice way of saying that they kidnapped me, took me to the bayou, and performed some freaky ritual to connect me to Sophie Deveraux.”

Lucie pauses, something else clicking. “The witch that performed the spell, it was Jane-Anne, wasn’t it?”

“For all the good it did her.”

And another piece of the puzzle falls into place. For the first time since she came back, she thinks she’s starting to understand. Losing her daughter in the Harvest Ritual and no doubt desperate, Jane-Anne performed a spell to link the mother of Klaus’ unborn child and that’s how they’d brought him here.

Horrible, but objectively it fits. But it still doesn’t explain what their end goal is.

She sighs, trying to put it all together is giving her a headache.

“You’re doing it again.”

“Huh?”

“Thinking too hard.”

#elijah mikaelson fic #elijah mikaelson x oc #elijah mikaelson x ofc #keepsdeathhiscourt fic #original female character #elijah x ofc #elijah x oc #the originals fic

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whumpacabra · 9 days

Text

fucked.

Implied past kidnapping, implied human trafficking, implied attempted ransom, missing persons, referenced scars, referenced past character death, fictional politics

[Directly follows The Runt]

“So… we’re fucked?” Alex leaned against the barn wall, looking down at where Brian was sitting on the floor with his back to the opposite wall. The boss had an ice pack held against the back of his head, having passed out at the sight of Wes’ bloody mess of a corpse.

He hadn’t liked the prick much, but still, it was a pity to lose him.

Poor fucker.

“Probably.” Brian wheezed hysterically, closing his eyes with a shudder as Aaron and Lydia began to drag the body bag from the stall. “Heard the gunshots. Called you. Saw the car making its way down the road. I already assumed the worst but…”

“What time is the buyer getting here?”

“22:00. We have - what - five hours?” Brian shook his head with a groan. “We can try refunding the money - ”

“This isn’t the kind of business that does refunds, boss.” Josh looked up from his chunky laptop, precariously balanced on his knees. “We either give him what he’s here for or we are, as Alex put it, fucked.”

The heavy beat of silence was unceremoniously broken.

“Well, this was a bust. Good knowing you boys then.” Lydia huffed, dusting her hands off and wrinkling her nose in disgust at the now empty but still gory stall. “I’ve got a 15 hour shift tomorrow at the clinic and I’ll be unreachable if you’re being tortured or maimed. Maybe kill yourselves if you can’t wait ‘til after the weekend for my help.”

“Thanks, Lydia.” Alex rolled his eyes as the doctor left. Aaron, covered in dirt and blood looked between the fresh shallow grave in the horse field and the cluster of desperate criminals in the barn.

“I’m out.”

“Aaron…” Brian sighed, eyes half desperate and half understanding.

“I was only here for the O’Hare ransom. We shouldn’t have fucked with Josh’s bullshit.”

“Hey! My bullshit was gonna make us rich - ”

“And now it’s gonna get you all killed. I’m out.”

“And how do you plan to pay off your debt to Hummel?” Alex blocked Aaron’s exit, despite being slightly shorter than the brute. Blue eyes glared down at him, defiant.

“I’ll figure something out.”

“And if you don’t?”

“Then at least I’ll keep on living a bit longer than you fuckin’ idiots - ”

“Alright.” Brian’s voice was harsh and cold, his tone final as he pushed himself off the ground and tossed the ice pack aside. “Enough fucking around. Let’s find the target and get him back here before the buyer shows.”

“And if we don’t?” Aaron huffed, crossing his arms. Brian shrugged, nonchalant.

“Then we run. No shame in cowardice if it keeps us alive.”

—

“What’s wrong?” Jackson knew a personal call from Nathan during his dinner break wasn’t good news.

“Tierney and East are missing.” As predicted, that was not good news. “Last seen around closing time at Deitelbaum’s yesterday. Christ, Jackson, I know you said not to involve police with East if I could help it but Tierney is missing too and the last thing I need is the fuckin’ O’Hare’s breathing down my neck - ”

“I know, I know Nate. Thanks for telling me. Fuck.” Jackson breathed, fighting his own panic.

There were several possible scenarios - maybe the pair just wandered off and got lost, maybe they got kidnapped by some random serial killer, maybe they got kidnapped by someone looking for an O’Hare’s ransom, maybe -

Maybe someone found the Wolf, after all this time.

“I’ll let you know what the cops tell me. They’re focusing on Tierney, assuming it’s a ransom kidnapping considering his family but… I’ll let you know.”

“I appreciate that, Nate. Thank you.”

“Don’t do anything stupid, John.” Nathan hung up, and Jackson laid his head down on the desk with a groan.

“I know coming back from a two month vacation gallivanting across the continent is rough, Jackson, but you’re too old to be so bitchy about it.” Beth peered into his office, head poking through the door before she stepped inside and closed the door behind herself. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing you’d care about.”

“Probably. I don’t care about much. That’s why I’ll outrank you soon enough.”

“Watch it.” There was no bite to his warning, and Beth could tell.

“This about your…new boyfriend?” She chose her words carefully, as much as Jackson would have sputtered and argued about that codeword for the Wolf. The offices were all bugged, even if their personal phone’s weren’t.

“Yeah. God - wish I didn’t - fuck.” Jackson sighed, cradling his head in his hands. He had taken too much time off work chasing Liza O’Hare; any more personal days and that would be pushing the limit, suspicious, even for someone with his shining reputation.

“Anything I can do to help?” Beth’s eyes were hard and clear.

“I thought you hated…my new boyfriend.”

“He’s a prick and I don’t trust him, but he’s still your boyfriend and I’m still your best friend. What can I do for you?” For all her whining and cold shoulders, Beth was above all loyal. Jackson couldn’t have been more grateful.

“Can you head to his address and just…ask for Nate. Tell him I sent you, alright?” Jackson scribbled the Holloway Home’s address on a scrap piece of paper and handed it to Beth, who quirked a brow but nodded.

“Yessir. You owe me.”

“Hey, what happened to being best friends?”

“As my best friend, you owe me, Jackson.” Beth smirked as she left the office, clocking out early. Unlike the bumbling cops assigned to this case, she was more interested in results than fucking around. She would find them.

(But would she find them before - ? No. She would find them before…anything happened. She didn’t care if anything did happen to the Wolf. She was just doing this for Jackson. She had a reputation to uphold. That was all.)

—

Liza shuddered at the photographs. She knew one of the scars, the dull jagged mark from a knife plunged into a meaty thigh. She had stitched him up personally after that near death experience. It was when she had reluctantly begun to trust the fiery former soldier who risked life and limb for people who didn’t deserve it.

She shook herself from the memories, grounding herself in the increasing panic of now.

Liza had enough contacts to intercept the call that went to Jackson, listening in to the line as she reached out to her technologically savvy friends who could track East down. But her family name made her hair stand on end.

(O’Hares didn’t pay ransoms. She knew that better than most.)

She had a pretty good idea who would be petty and stupid enough to try and ransom her baby brother, and she knew they had no idea how valuable the Wolf really was. How desperate, how dangerous his buyer would be.

They were out of their depth.

And, hopefully, that made her job easier.

(Provided Jackson didn’t try to use his departmental powers to interfere, there was a good chance she could get her brother and old friend out of harms way.)

[Directly before In the Dog House]

(Part of my Freelancers: Changing Tides series)

Taglist: @stargeode @sacredwrath @genuineformality

#whump #kidnapping #held for ransom #human trafficking #missing persons #scars #minor character death #fictional politics #freelancers #wooooo montage time :]

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yerevasunclair · 2 years

Text

Another Miracle

“Your heart is beating very fast.” Ned said as he snuggled his head on her chest. It’s already been an hour or more since they finished and he thought they’d have calmed down by now.

Cat kept her silence as she kept stroking his hair and keeping his body against her, still figuring out how to express her baffling emotions.

How did this happen? She asks herself once again.

Because we didn’t use protection, idiot.

But why would they need one in the first place? How could they remember to use it at that moment of desperation as well as victory? They’ve survived many crises, from being nearly overthrown from their business, to the defiance of their children, to the disparities of their judgement and methods. They were falling apart during those five years but neither of them would see their marriage collapse and be broken into irreparable pieces.

“I should roll off now.” Ned attempted to relieve her of his weight, knowing it was causing her discomfort but Cat tightly wrapped her limbs around him as if her life depended on it.

“Me neck is stiff, Cat.” He nuzzled his nose on her clavicle.

“Oh, I’m sorry”, Cat released him from her hold and turned to the side where he lied.

He faced her to adore her small and lovely face that was speaking of many worries she’s been trying to hide. He caressed her cheek and his thumb brushed her lips, waiting for her to open up to him.

“Ned, I have to tell you something”, she took his hand and held it to her side. She just had to tell him directly instead of taking the leisure to present it in some other fancy manner.

“What is it about, love?”

“I’m pregnant!”

“Really?” he grinned in surprise as well as disbelief. That was always his response to the news.

“Do you want a boy or girl?” she asks him.

“We have too many sons. We need another little lady like you. By the way, when did you find out?”

“3 days ago. At first, I thought I was starting to go through menopause so I went to the doctor to ask advice how I can manage through this stage. The doctor gave me a general check-up and the tests revealed that I was actually pregnant.”

“Pregnant at 47. That’s a miracle.” he said.

“Yes, we’ve always prayed and tried hard to have one last baby. But that was when Rickon was still two and a half years old and you thought that your football team lacked a calm and composed midfielder because the six pups were all aggressive.”

“You named our kids the Stark Wolves of Winterfell Football Club and that inspired me more to create our logo and jersey shirt designs. Hahaha.”

“You printed so many! Four designs in four different colors for each of us.”

“And accidentally, for Phoenix.”

“Phoenix?”

“Our Player #8. Minisa Phoenix, if it’s a girl or Sean Phoenix, if it’s a boy.” Ned said with so much enthusiasm, missing the pleasure of teaching another toddler some kicking skills.

“My mother and grandfather’s first names.. I love that.” Catelyn smiled and thought that Sean or Seana would be the most perfect, since it means ‘God is gracious’ or ‘God’s gracious gift’.

Then he prattled on, “You told me that time you might be pregnant, so I impulsively called the shop to have another set done and they finished it within the day! I claimed it right away, had it gift-wrapped for the upcoming baby shower and when I came home, you told me it was a false alarm. I’ve hidden it in that old briefcase above the cabinet ever since...Cat, you’re crying...”

She hadn’t noticed until Ned told her that and wiped the tear flowing to her nose with his gentle finger. His touch made her break down.

“I just don’t know if I should be happy or sad. I don’t know why I’m pregnant now when it’s already too late and dangerous, Ned. I honestly don’t know if I can do this.” she said as she covered her weeping face with her hands.

She tried to be hopeful, comforting herself with the fact that she has friends in their 40s who were blessed enough to have 2 children with no complications at all. Yet, she also has some friends who have been unfortunate, miscarriages and stillbirths that are either explained by common causes or occurred by chance even when they did everything right. As for her, she believes she was most likely going to lose this child that she wished they never had this child in the first place. She could not bear, much less imagine the anguish. Now she prays to God, quietly but deeply like never before, to please give her good health and great strength to bring this precious gift out into the world.

“Come here, Cat.” Ned moved closer to her and invited her to the safety of his arms. He didn’t know what to say. He thinks she’s a bit silly for doubting herself, considering she’s an athletic woman who first had twins and 4 single births. She has completely given up smoking and drinking alcohol decades ago before becoming a mother and she has top doctors to look after her. Would it help to tell her nothing would go wrong? Would that defeat her apprehension? No. He’s learned better not to invalidate her (or even his) feelings anymore.

“I’m just as afraid as you.”

He kissed her forehead, loosened his firm embrace and rubbed on her back to allow her to breathe. Being with her was the best that he could do and that was all the reassurance that she needed.

-end-

for @pattarainn

@nedlynstan

@ladycatofwinterfell

@shining-m00nlight

#ned x cat #nedlyn #modern ned stark #catelyn stark #ned x catelyn #cat x ned #catelyn tully stark #eddard x catelyn #eddard x cat #eddard stark #game of thrones fanfic #house stark mafia au #pre-clyde

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imgoingtofreakoutnow · 9 months

Text

FRET NOT, DEAR HEART - 1

Summary: After losing the battle against Vecna, the Hawkins gang has to care for their wounded, and since one of them is still a wanted criminal, they have to get creative...

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Eddie Munson

Warnings: fix-it fic, angst (only for this chapter, i swear), blood and wounds, mentions of death and panic attacks, some swearing here and there, SPOILERS FOR ST4 VOL2

Word Count: 2.7k

A/N: I've been working on this for quite a while now so I really hope you enjoy it! This is basically a prologue and the next few chapters will come out in the next few days. A huge thanks to @tripleyeeet for hyping me up and just being supportive through it all!!

Links: AO3 / MASTERLIST / CHAPTER 2

\_/

Steve was going too fast. The camper was barely able to avoid the cracks in the tarmac and the fallen trees blocking half of the road. The entire structure shook at every bump, almost as if it was about to fall apart at the next one. They were riding in a death trap, already filled with enough death as it was.

Max was barely alive. Every breath that left her throat felt like it was to be the last. Holding her tight in his arms, Lucas had half of his face covered by bruises and blood. Steve could hear the soft chanting coming from him, escaping his lips like a prayer.

“And if I only could… I’d make a deal with God…”

However the gentle, broken melody was lost in the other screams and cries that filled the vehicle.

“Eddie…”

Dustin was sobbing as he was holding Eddie’s head, tears of both fear and pain running down his cheeks, but he seemed to have completely forgotten about his broken leg. “Eddie, please… please, hold on.”

“He’s losing a lot of blood…” Robin started laughing nervously, her hands covered in Eddie’s blood. “Wow, I-I-I- had no idea there could be this much blood inside a human being…”

“Robin, not helping!” Nancy was ripping every piece of fabric she could find, handing them to Robin and Erica, who —just like all the other kids— looked like a walking corpse.

“Keep pressing on the wound!”

Robin nodded, doing as instructed. “Yes, ma’am.”

Nancy started applying pressure on one of the bigger wounds with a clean cloth but even that was immediately flooded with a wave of blood. She shook her head, fear crossing her eyes.

“We gotta take him to the hospital.”

Steve laughed bitterly. “Yeah, right. Why don’t we hand him over to the police altogether?”

“If we don’t, his wounds will get infected! And Rob’s right, he’s losing too much blood and unless you know how to stitch up a wound-”

“I know how to do that.”

Four heads turned towards Erica, including Steve before remembering suddenly he was the one driving and barely keeping them all alive.

“How?”

Erica turned towards Robin’s wide eyes and shrugged. “I read a book about it once.”

“Great…” Nancy sighed, shaking her head again.

If her hands hadn’t been covered in blood, Steve was sure she would’ve pinched the bridge of her nose.

“We don’t have time to be picky, Nance!”

The girl turned quickly towards Steve, her expression a mix of anger and exasperation. “Even if I agree to let an eleven year old stitch up wounds-”

“I’m sure I can do it.”

Nancy shot a quick glare at Erica, who seemed to remain unfazed by that, before looking back at Steve. “We still need a place to hide him. A safe place.”

“Yeah,” Steve nodded, taking a sharp turn at the next crossroad, “I’ve got that.”

“Alright.” Steve tossed the keys to Erica. “The first aid kit should be somewhere in the kitchen, same with the sewing kit. The big key is for the main door and the plastic thing-y is for the alarm.” Erica was already running away from the camper. “You have thirty seconds before it sends a signal to the police so be quick with it!”

“Got it!”

He shook his head as his eyes lingered on the walls of his house. It seemed so alien after everything that had happened in the last few days, a memento of a life that didn’t exist anymore. However, Steve didn’t miss it. No matter how messy or scary that reality was, it was much better than the pampered and selfish way he had lived before.

“Nance? Rob? You good?”

With Eddie’s arms around their shoulders, the two girls were able to raise him up and bring him off the camper. Nancy was steadier in her steps, while Robin’s legs were as wobbly as pudding but didn’t falter once.

“We can manage,” Nancy assured, giving a quick nod both to Steve and to herself.

“He’s still losing so much blood…”

“Robin.”

“Focusing, I’m focusing.”

Steve nodded back. “I’ll bring the other three to the hospital and then come back as soon as I can.”

“Don’t-” Steve turned around. Dustin was standing just beside him, a heavy panting leaving his lips with each breath. “Don’t let him die.”

Nancy gave him a small smile. “We’ll do what we can.”

“I know you will.”

As they walked slowly towards the house where Erica was holding the door open for them, Steve turned the engine back on and rushed down the road. There was no time to waste worrying when he could do nothing yet.

The knocking on the door echoed through the forest behind Steve’s house. A lone owl took flight as Steve continued knocking. “Girls, it’s me! Come on, open-”

Robin opened the door, launching her arms around Steve’s neck and pulling him tight into a hug. “Thank God, you’re alright!” Steve had no time to return the hug or let out a pained gasp that Robin was pulling him into the house and closing the door behind. “What took you so long?”

“Hawkins is a fucking mess. Half of the roads are torn apart by the portals and the other half blocked by fallen trees. I had to change route so many times I lost count and wait for Lucas and Dustin’s parents to arrive at the ER before leaving them there on their own…”

He passed a hand on his face. Back at home, the few hours of sleep of the past couple days were starting to hang heavy on his body. He was craving the softness of his bed so badly.

“And Max?”

Steve shivered. He could still feel it, the sensation of Max’s body in his arms. She was breathing, of course she was, but the way her snapped limbs hanged so lifeless was going to haunt him for a long time; maybe forever.

“She was sent to surgery the moment we stepped inside.”

Robin finally exhaled. “Good.”

Steve looked at the light coming from the living room. Shadows were moving back and forth, but he didn’t move towards it. He stood still in the darkness of the hallway, too scared of what was waiting for him to actually take one more step.

“How is he?”

Robin didn’t notice the tremor in his voice. She just followed the direction of his nod before she turned back to him. Her eyes jumped from one place to the other, never really settling anywhere as she started fidgeting with her hands. Steve knew that expression too well and didn’t like it one bit.

“Well. He’s… breathing.”

“Okay.” Steve waited for a good minute but nothing else left Robin’s lips. “Any more details?”

Robin shook her head with a sigh. “It’s easier if you see it for yourself.”

She moved towards the living room but Steve didn’t move an inch. He couldn’t point out why he was so scared. He had already seen Eddie covered in blood, his flesh torn apart as more blood spilled from the open wounds with each and every breath. He had already seen him at his worst and —rationally speaking— he knew whatever Erica had done, couldn’t be worse than that. Nevertheless… terror was gripping his heart with its cold claws.

“Steve.”

When he came back to the moment, Robin was once again in front of him. Her hand was holding his, squeezing softly as a small, reassuring smile appeared on her face.

Steve took a deep breath and, when Robin walked away from the hallway, he finally followed her. And when he saw what was going on in the living room, all the air seemed to disappear from his lungs.

The carpet on the floor had lost its white color, now painted with different hues of red. Part of Steve's brain wondered how he was going to explain that to his parents, before his eyes moved to the three figures near the couch. Eddie was laying on it, covered in bandages like a mummy, but unlike one of those he was still breathing… and shaking.

“Why- why is he shaking?”

Erica cleaned her hands in a towel nearby before throwing it away —on a huge, dirty pile— and turning to him. He could still see remnants of blood under her nails. “I cleaned and stitched up the wounds as best as I could but…”

She stopped and lowered her gaze, her shoulders slumped in defeat. Steve had often questioned the fact that the girl was truly only eleven, but in that moment he saw it. He could clearly see how small she was compared to everything that was happening around her, to what they had tasked her to do. They were all mere specks of dust in the great scheme of things.

“It’s not your fault, Erica.” Nancy moved next to her, gently rubbing her back. “You did an amazing job.” Erica kept her gaze to the bloody ground.

Then Nancy met Steve’s eyes. Hesitation crossed her face before she spoke, maybe hoping she could find at the last second a better way to say what she had to. But she didn’t.

“The wounds were already infected.”

Nancy kept talking but Steve didn’t hear any of the other words. A sudden static noise filled his ears. He tried shaking it away but, for some reason, it wouldn’t go. The fear was back, crueler than before, clawing its way to his heart.

“Steve?” He turned to Robin, her eyebrows knitted in worry. “You okay?”

“Yes, I-” he shook his head, “I’m just… can’t we do something though?”

“Do you have any penicillin?”

He barely registered Nancy’s question but shook his head. He was so tired he could hardly put together any words in the right order. “I- I don’t think so.”

Erica sighed, crossing her arms. “Told you.”

“I might have some at home,” Nancy muttered, “but I won’t be able to bring it before tomorrow, at the very least. My mum will go crazy the moment I step home.”

“You’re right.” Steve sometimes forgot that normal people did actually have parents to go back to. Parents who cared and worried. Parents that were there when needed. “You should all go home, your parents must be worried sick.” His eyes went back to Eddie, who was still breathing quickly. “I can handle this, I think.”

Erica raised her eyebrows. “You think?”

“I mean, he has a fever, right? So I should just…” Steve opened his mouth to speak but nothing came to his brain. “What should I do?”

The eleven year old shrugged. “Whatever your parents did when you were a child.”

“So?”

“Oh. Uh…”

“Keep him hydrated. He’s losing tons of liquid with all that sweat. Damp a towel with warm water, not cold water —never cold water— and tap his face. It’s a really good sensation. And even if he’s shivering, don’t cover him. You need to let the heat go away. Also, do you by any chance have Tylenol in the house?”

Robin finally looked around, only then noticing all the wide eyes and raised eyebrows staring at her. “What? I was a sickly child.”

Steve nodded. “I might have that.”

“Good, it helps lower the fever. But don’t force him to take it when he’s unconscious. You don’t want him choking on the pill, do you?”

“Way to put a man under-pressure, Rob.”

She shrugged again walking backwards towards the entry door. “Better safe than sorry.”

“We really should go now. I’ll call you tomorrow to let you know about the penicillin, okay?”

Steve nodded as Nancy followed Robin towards the exit. Erica wasn’t moving though. She was still near the couch, staring at Eddie’s shaky figure. Steve walked towards her and stopped just beside the little girl.

“Thank you for what you did today.” He whispered, as if he was worried about waking Eddie. “You didn’t have to do this and yet you did. It was very brave of you, Erica.”

She didn’t say anything for a while. They both just stood there, next to each other, watching the guy who fought hundreds of bats on his own and lived. His curly hair was sticking to his sweaty forehead but Steve stopped his hand before it could go and move them away.

When the noise of the engine starting reached the two of them, Erica finally moved towards the door. “Just keep him alive, Steve. Don’t ruin my efforts.”

The last thing Steve heard was the door closing behind her before silence settled in the house.

The clock was ticking in the kitchen, its sound echoing against the empty walls and in every empty room. It was deafening and all Steve could think of was destroying it once and for all.

He could still hear his thoughts, however the last thing he needed was his own mind talking hopeless nonsense into his brain.

He turned back to Eddie. Somehow, he looked even worse than two seconds before.

“This was really not how I pictured you coming to my house for the first time.”

The words filled the room like a warm, unexpected sunny day in winter time, silencing the storm of his thoughts and filling the stale quietness of the house, a stillness he never managed to get used to.

As the seconds passed, the realization of the meaning behind what he had just said hit him like a basket ball in the face. “Not that I pictured it thoroughly or anything,” he added, his words fumbling over one another, “just… the normal amount, I guess.”

He could feel his ears slowly heating up as his eyes fell back down to Eddie. His eyelids still closed, his mind focused on the fight against whatever disease was threatening him from the inside.

“Why am I even explaining myself…” Steve whispered, passing a hand through his hair. The sticky feeling that met his skin prompted a sudden wave of disgust.

“God, I really need to shower.” But he didn't move, nor tore his gaze from Eddie.

Steve finally dared to move away those rebellious curls from Eddie's forehead, but his hand jolted away the instant his fingertips touched the other's skin.

“Fuck, you’re scorching hot.”

Forgetting altogether the shower, he headed to the kitchen and grabbed a bowl, filled it with warm water —under Robin's instructions— and managed to find the last clean towel in the back of a drawer. Then he went back to the living room and sat on the floor next to the couch. The carpet was slightly moist under him, but he didn't mind. The rest of the carpet was no better.

“There you go,” he said, as he gently passed the damp cloth over Eddie's forehead. “I really hope this makes you feel a little bit better.”

He was probably imagining it but Steve could swear he saw the muscles on Eddie's face relax ever so slightly. He was still shaking, he was still boiling in his own skin, but the small crease between his eyebrows had disappeared.

A corner of Steve's mouth couldn't help but be pulled upwards.

“You heard the kid, Munson,” Steve murmured, as he continued his motions, “I cannot have you die on my watch or she will kill me.”

He slowly passed the cloth over Eddie's cheek, unconsciously lingering a little bit too long than he should've. A blaring red alarm started crying out in his head, but for once Steve ignored it. “So you gotta survive, okay? You have to fight and win, understood?”

Eddie didn't answer. He kept breathing and shaking, the bandages around his neck and waist tensing up at every slight movement. It seemed a puppet about to fall apart, its limbs ripped at the seams, barely holding onto the body.

Before his mind could stop him, his free hand found Eddie's. He held it as tightly as it could, until he felt Eddie's ring dig into his palm.

“Please, Eddie.” The desperation in his voice broke those few syllables in a silent begging, as Eddie became more and more blurred as tears filled Steve’s eyes. “Please, hold on a little longer.”

#stranger things #steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things 4 #i have caved to your love #annie writes

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warmaidensrevenge · 2 years

Text

Eddie will do whatever it takes.

Vamp!Eddie x Vamp!Plus size reader

If you want to read my other work you can find it HERE

Umm well let's go.

Warning: 18+, angst. Language, mentions of blood drinking, and smut

Summary: You walked away from Eddie for the last time. He is going to make you his no matter the cost.

Chapter 4: Love exists

Eddie laid there listen to you sob. He was crying too. The bond should have never been broken. He was happier that way. Yeah maybe the want to have you was wrong. But everything else wasn't. This situation was hard because you were vampires. You couldn't be a normal couple. You couldn't live in the real world. You couldn't walk in the sun or have a family. He hated that.

He got up and wiped away his tears and marched to your room. The door was locked but he didn't care. He kicked it open and it startled you.

" I need you to promise me right now that you are not gonna order me away again. Because this is the last time you walk away from us."

You sat up and stared wide eye.

" Promise me!"

" Okay. I promise."

He walked up to the bed to face you.

" This fucking bond has really fucked things up for me. But I do know that I love you. And it pisses me off that you think I don't. I don't know you. But y/n I want to. You're not giving me the chance to. I won't live this life without you. You are the reason I'm here. And I know that you didn't want this. But that's to damn bad because I'm not leaving you. We have something here that's worth whatever bullshit that comes our way. And I refuse to let you keep pushing me away. You love me. I know you do. So you don't get to just walk away. We’re gonna grow. We need to grow. Because every minute that passes I want you more. But we need to get to know each other outside of this fucking curse. Because you and I are more than this. And you know it. You keep saying you want to be alone. But you and I know that's not true. You've been waiting for me. And I didn't know it. But I was waiting for you too. So stop resisting me. Because baby if you give me your heart. I promise I won't break it. You already have mine. So please let me have yours."

Eddie watched you climb out of bed to stand in front of him. The sweet smell of you invaded his nostrils.

"God you smell so fucking good."

You took a few steps back." What? You think death smells good?"

"What? No! You smell like Christmas." He said closing the distance. He could hear your heart pick up. It had changed when the line broke. Your chest rose and fell rapidly.

" Eds I...."

" You smell me too don't you?"

You nodded. He was close enough that he could feel your hot breath against his chest. He thanked God he took off his shirt earlier. You put your hand on his chest making all his hairs on his arms stand up. You pressed your nose slightly into the middle of his chest. His breath hitched. You sent goosebumps all over. He saw you take a deep breath and let it out slowly. It made his body shake.

You looked up to him. He felt like a tower looking down at you.

" Rain. You smell like rain." Your voice barely above a whisper.

" Is that good?" He lifted his hand and ran his thumb across your jaw line.

" Yes. I love the smell of rain."

He kissed you lifting you up. You wrapped your legs around his waist. Your fingers found his hair. As you continued to kiss he laid you down.

" Wait. Stop."

Eddie groaned. He wanted you. But he lifted up just a bit to meet your eyes. Your lips were swollen and were partly agape.

" I know I want this too. But I have to tell you. If we can smell each other. That means something."

" what is it?"

" It happens when we fall in love. It's what happened to Peter and Nicky"

Eddie rolled off and let you sit up.

" Does that mean we can't control it?"

" No. It means we're are supposed to find each other. We're mates."

" We're mates?"

" Yes. I've been looking it up." You said while getting up and grabbing a large old book that was holding on to dear life at the seams.

You sat back down and shuffled through some pages before landing on the one you wanted. Eddie moved closer to you and held your waist.

" ok. So the thing we had when I made you is called a Sire bond. There are two ways to break it. One is to turn off our humanity. And the other was for me to release you."

"you released us?"

"I didn't know I could. But when your uncle wanted you to go home with him, I thought for you to just go. And when I felt that pull Sammy was there. I wanted to end his. And it did."

" Haven't you always wanted the connection to break"

" Well yes but I wanted to make sure that you and Sammy were ok. I just felt like I needed to know where you were. So that you were safe."

He kissed the top of your head.

" So look there's this other bond. It's called a blood bond.... I know about this one. Because Peter and Nicky have it. The day our sire bond broke, they attached themselves to one another. That one is impossible to break."

" Is that why you didn't want me to drink from you again?"

You closed the book and set it down on the beside dresser. " Yes because I don't want that connection to be why we are together."

" But now we know that we are suppose to be together. Why not be with me in every way we can?"

" Because like you said. We don't know each other. We can't really have a normal life. We know little to nothing about each other and I want to get to know you too. I've always wanted to get to know you. You have always been this outgoing eccentric person. All through school you were always the person who helped people. Always cared for the ones who needed it. I admire the way you didn't let others get to you when they called you a freak. You were never a bad person. But I know that you embraced it as some sort of defense mechanism. And that was so strong of you. I always liked you for that. Also, you're crazy talented. I remember this one time during the summer before senior year. Jake took me to the Hideout. To my surprise your band was performing. I always wanted to see you guys. But I never had the guts. I never smiled so much in my life until that night. You were so good up there. All of you were. I just could tell you know. That you guys were so much bigger than Hawkins. That all of you were meant to be on a stage with thousand of people chanting your bands name."

Damn baby why didn't you talk to me.

" I wanted to talk. I did. But there was Jake. And I was scared. Scared that you wouldn't like me. Well because of the way I look."

Eddie tightened his grip around you.

" and well later that night, I knew just to forget about my feelings....when your set was over you went to the bar for some water. You were right next to me. Jake had gone to the restroom and I was like this is my chance to say hi. Say something...anything. But when you turned to walk away. There was this split second that our eyes met. And it's like you saw right through me. Like I was invisible. "

" No you weren't. I saw you that night. I do remember because it was our 7th time playing and the crowd was the biggest we've ever had. I remember seeing you walk in. You were wearing this black jean jacket with studded spikes on the shoulders. I remember you wearing black lipstick. Something by the way you totally pulled off. You had on this laced see through top underneath and some leather pants that fit you just right. I remember thinking how gorgeous you looked. But then I saw your date coming in after you, putting his arm around your shoulder. I was just like damn. I'm not the type of person to steal other peoples girlfriends so...I kinda just ignored my urge to keep looking at you. Then after I saw you at the bar alone and I went to get something to drink and I was gonna say hi but I felt bad. So I didn't. Then the first week of school started and you were in a couple of my classes. And I wanted to talk to you then but you're boyfriend was there too. So I just didn't. Then you were gone. I heard you ran away and figured you were with him so I didn't think about you anymore."

" I uhh I wished you did. Maybe we could have had something."

" Well we have something now."

You nodded and climbed into the bed and got under the covers. Signaling for him to join. Once you two were in he pulled you to lay on his chest.

" Let's hold off on the sex for a while ok? I want to know you y/n. Let's just catch up on what we missed."

" I would like that very much."

You were rubbing circles on his chest. Eddie could smell your scent fading. It must only be when you're turned on. That's cool. Now he could tell whenever you wanted him.

"So baby what do you want to know? Ask me anything."

You finally relaxed against him. He loved it. You were finally letting him close.

"So umm what would you say is your favorite way to spend the day. I mean before this."

"Well I use to play with my band a lot. And make D&D campaigns. It was such a fun game. Always had a blast."

" Well maybe tomorrow we can get what you need to play. And possibly if it’s ok. You can show me how to play."

"Yeah?"

" If it's cool with you."

"Hell yeah it's cool with me. I think you just got sooo much hotter. I don't know how that's possible. But yet here we are." He moved his free hand and touched your cheek. Then pulled away and hissed kissing his fingers after.

" You are such a dork Ed's"

" Well you like dorks soooo...."

You giggled. " yeah I guess I do."

"So what about you?"

"I always liked to read. Whenever it would storm. I would got outside on the porch and wrap myself up in a blanket with a hot chocolate and read. Something about adventures and daring sword fights. It just got to me. I always pictured myself in those stories. Probably some ranger roaming the wilderness. Truthfully it really was the best time."

That’s why you smell rain.

" Yeah you are definitely gonna be good at D&D."

Eddie could feel you smile. " Looks like we are kinda home bodies huh?"

" Yeah that sounds right."

"Ok so you ask a question."

" Umm alright. What are the top 3 lessons you would teach your younger self."

You were quiet for a moment. " let's see. Uhh always fight for what's right. Love hard. And uhh don't let what others say about you hurt you too much. You are beautiful inside and out."

"You are beautiful inside and out y/n."

" Well sometimes I don't feel like it. Sometimes I wish my brain would just shut up. All I can hear sometimes is people calling me 'wide load' and other nasty things. Maybe one day I will be ok with myself. But it took me a long time to get here. So it's gonna take a bit to break that train of thought."

"I am more than happy to assist in your endeavors my lady."

You picked up your head and rested your chin on his chest.

" Where you always this sweet?"

" Shhh. Don't tell anyone. I got to keep my reputation as a heathen."

" Your secret is safe with me sir." You zipped up your lips and tossed the imaginary key away.

" You're so cute." He grinned.

" If people only knew how kind and pretty you are. They would have never assumed you were evil."

" Ehh it's cool. I never really cared what they think about me. As long as the people close to me know who I am. I'm good."

" Well I'm happy that you are. But what's gonna happen when you try to get your name cleared and the whole pariah thing keeps you?"

" Welp." He sighed " it's not like they can keep me there. But I know I didn't kill anyone. So hopefully the justice system with figure out the truth."

"You know we could always just charm them. It's really easy."

" Seriously? We can really do a lot huh?"

" Yeah sorry again. I'm such a bad vampire maker."

"Please. You‘re still learning about stuff. I don't expect you to know everything and then teach it to all of us."

" I promise I'll be better ok. I'll be better for you."

"You're already the best. And I can't wait for you to show me what you know. But first let's keep talking about us. I want to know everything."

You smiled and agreed.

You guys talked all night until you fell asleep in his arms.

" I love you y/n. I'm sorry I couldn't get to you that day. I will do whatever I can to protect you. Even if I have to die for real this time." He whispered. He kissed the crown of your head and drifted off.

...

Weeks had past. You two only left the bed to eat and visit his family once in a while. You were everything he ever wanted in a partner. And you admitted that he was too. Long hours of talking and laughing was all you need to give him your heart. He had learned so much from you that it made his head explode.

It was one night that you guys got ready for bed when he smelled your sweetness. You were wearing this beautiful silk strapped nightgown. Eddie couldn't keep his eyes off of you when you went to play some music and then crawled into bed with him. You gave him a quick but sweet kiss before laying down.

" umm Eds. Do you think we could try something tonight?"

He couldn't help his grin. He knew what you wanted. He could smell it. That sweet vanilla and cinnamon radiating from your core was intoxicating. He rested on his elbow and put his hand on your stomach looking you in the face.

" What should we try baby?"

" I want you. But umm. I have a confession."

" Oh." He tried to play coy. Like he didn't already know what you were going to say.

"I'm not a virgin or anything. But see when I was made I was....so uhh it kinda grows back. I know it's gross but I can't fix it."

Eddie leaned in and kissed your shoulder. He lingered there for a minute before moving closer to your face.

" It's not gross. It's perfect. Every time will be like our first time. As long as it doesn't hurt."

" No it doesn't. It just bleeds a little."

Eddie chuckled. "Well lucky I love blood so..." He started moving his hand down between your legs.

"mmm" you moaned when he pressed his fingers against your clothed clit.

He could hear your heart pick up when he ghosted his lips up your neck.

You grabbed his hand to guided his fingers around showing him how you liked it.

"Already so wet for me huh baby" he whispered in your ear.

" mmm eds" you whimpered

You pulled your hand away now that he knew what you wanted. You held his hip pulling him closer.

You jerked when he ripped off your panties and tossed them somewhere into the dark void of the room. Your knees shot up and he put his fingers through your folds.

"Oh my sweet girl. You want me don't you."

You turned to face him. "yes eds. Please."

He groaned at your begging. " Such a well mannered baby aren't you." He said more of a fact then a question.

" please Ed's make me yours."

" Oh you’re already mine. All mine." He said into your mouth before he kissed you so intensely that your body shudder.

You gasped when he put a finger inside your core. He felt a small resistance when he broke your hymen.

" Oh fuck baby. Taking my finger so good."

Your small moans were so pleasing to hear. He wanted to record it so he can listen to forever.

He gave you a moment to relax. Then he pumped slowly. Your hips buckle when his finger curled up. You made a very audible moan when he touched your g-spot. He could feel his pre cum dripping down his shaft. He swore his dick had never been this hard.

He felt your release after a few pumps. Your whines filled the room. He pulled away his hand and was about to lick them clean when you grabbed his wrist. Within the blink of an eye you had him pinned under you. Your wonderfully thick thighs made his hips disappear. Still holding onto his wrist you sat up and he massaged the meat of your thighs. He saw just a bit of blood between his knuckles. He tried to pull his hand back to lick it but your hold on him was firm.

You gave small kitten licks to clean him up. When his knuckles were clean. You sucked on his finger that was inside of you. He lifted his hips to finally get some friction, squeezing your thigh so hard he was sure he would leave bruises. You started to move your hips. Rubbing your sex against his bulge. Sounds of frustration left his mouth. Annoyed with the thin layer that separated his cock from your cunt. He sat up and laid you on your back. He bit your neck softly as you worked on his boxers. He kicked them off as soon as they got low enough. He kissed his way down to your chest. Licking and sucking on your collar bone. Your fingers dug into his shoulders as he made way to your breasts. He pushed one up to kiss it over your silk gown. He moved lower leaving a trail of kisses. While lifting your gown up to your breasts and saw the scars that covered your stomach. He felt you tense when he kissed as much as he could.

" So beautiful baby." His words made you relax again.

He was finally where he wanted to be. He held your thighs apart and blew onto your cunt. He was just about to put his mouth on you when you pulled on his hair softly.

" No. I'm doing this. We're going to be connected forever. I want to be."

You hesitate for a minute before you gave him a nod and let his head go resting yours back into the mattress. He licked a slow strip between your folds circling around your nub. He lifted his head and swallow.

" mmm sweet like honey." He said before diving back in.

The mixture of your juices and blood was an elixir from the gods. He continued to lick and suck until he felt your body tense again. But this time from an orgasm. Your cum on his tongue was the best thing he's ever had on it. Even blood couldn't compare.

As you climbed down for your climax you pulled him up and kissed him. Moving his cock into your entrance. As soon as his tip touched your warmness he thrusted as deep as he could.

" FUCK! " he groaned. Your velvet walls felt like the were pulling him in.

"Geez baby. God you feel so good."

He didn't know you could possibly get any tighter but when you clenched down on him he couldn't help throwing his back. His thrust became sloppy and quick. His release making it's way to you.

You pulled him back to meet your eyes.

"Forever?" You whispered.

Eddie put his forehead against yours. "Forever."

You moved your head so your lips could touch his neck.

He was so close and he could feel you were too. You never stopped lifting your hips to meet his.

" Go ahead baby. Bite me. I want to be yours."

You sunk your fags into the crook of his neck. As you suck he could feel your release. You pulled away and licked his blood off of your lips. Pulling him into your neck.

" Drink eds. Please drink."

And he did. Your deliciousness poured down his throat while he fucked through his and your high. You dug your nails into his back causing feral snarl from him. He was spent after.

Eddie released his bite from you and placed the softest kiss he could give over the marks he left. Still panting he lifted to look at you, but your eyes were closed with a satisfying smile that made you glow. When you opened your eyes the grey in them were now red. Your eyes were beautiful before. But now they were bewitching. It was as if your lips called to him without parting. He gave so many kisses after. You had to beg him to stop so you could breath.

You both were drunk in love. He couldn't believe he waited so long for you. He would be kicking himself for the rest of time.

After many more kisses and cuddles you two entangled bare bodies together and fell asleep.

...

The following morning Eddie woke and you were gone. He listened for you and he could tell you were in the kitchen. He heard the clinking of glass. You must have been getting some food for you both. He didn't know how he could go back to drinking that mess now that he had your pureness running through his veins.

"Hey someone got lucky last night." He heard Sammy entering the kitchen.

He gasped. "Girrlll you didn't."

" Umm yeah."

He must have seen your eyes.

" Oh you lucky bitch!"

You and Eddie laughed.

" Well how was it? Was he...you know...big."

Even though he didn't want Sammy to know that. He was really curious in what you thought.

You hesitated for a second. " Huge."

Eddie threw his fist in the air in victory.

" Damn. And to think I gave him to you "

" Shut up loser. He was always meant for me."

Got that right baby.

"Yeah sure whatever...so can I borrow him sometime?"

" If you touch him. I'll kill you!"

That's my girl.

" GEEZ. I was joking. There's no need for fangs."

Eddie felt a sudden coldness.

" Red looks good on you."

Eddie heard Peters voice. Next thing he knew he was standing next to you.

" She said stay away from her!" Eddie shouted

He felt your hand in his when Peter laughed

" I see you chose him. What a waste. You and Nicky could've had such a good time with me." Peter snickered

Eddie was about to charge but you squeezed his hand.

" That's enough. You need to stop acting like this. Just be happy with Nicky and leave us alone. I don't want to banish you. So if you like staying here. You will stop!"

Peter scoffed.

" I order you to stay away from us."

Peters eyes widened. He started to walk backwards cursing under his breath.

"This isn't over" he said as he disappeared from view.

" Please let me kill him y/n." Eddie pleaded

" No Ed's. He will keep his distance now."

" Damn guys this is so fucking awkward." Sammy commented. " well I'm gonna go find something to do. Umm if you guys hook up again. Feel free to be as loud as you want."

"SAMUEL!"

" I’m kidding. Damn y/n you changed...I like it." Sammy laughed while exiting the kitchen.

You look at Eddie with a loving smile. "Common I want you to teach me how to play D&D."

Eddie lifted a brow. " Maybe after we uhhh we go again."

You giggled as Eddie pulled you towards the room.

" Wait I didn't get us food."

" Baby your all that I need."

...

@salenorona23 @b-irock @eddiethesexy @tessab154 @potatos-library @browneyes528

#fanfic #eddie munson #eddie munson x female original character #eddie munson x you #stranger things #eddie munson x plus size reader #eddie x reader #eddie my beloved #eddie x fem!reader #eddie x y/n #vampyr #vampire #vampire eddie x reader #vampire eddie munson #vampcore #plus size reader #eddie x plus size reader

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strandbuckley · 1 year

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Tagged by @chaotictarlos

Rules: Post the first lines of your last 10 fics posted to ao3. if you have less than 10 fics posted, post the first lines of all your fics.

My Bloody Valentine

“Well that was eventful,” Carlos said as he slid the loft door shut behind them, clicking the lock into place.

“That’s an understatement babe,” TK chuckled, kicking off his shoes and moving into the living room. “I just wish we could have one normal date. I’m sorry our plans got ruined.”

“It’s not your fault baby. Why don’t you go grab a shower? I’m gonna set the alarm and then I’ll join you.”

TK looked down at himself and cringed. He’d been able to clean most of the blood off his hands and arms before leaving the restaurant, but his shirt looked like a lost cause.

“At least it’s not my blood this time?”

Closed For Maintenance

TK fidgeted with a loose string in the bottom of his hoodie, wrapping it around his finger until his nail went white, before unraveling it and doing it again. He wasn’t sure what was eating at him. He knew better than to assume Carlos asking him to talk about something was bad news. Carlos wouldn’t spring something on him like that. Even so, when Carlos had uttered those three words over dinner, the food in TK’s mouth had turned to ash. He nodded wordlessly at his fiance and resigned himself to picking at his suddenly tasteless dinner until Carlos was finished. Now he was sitting across from him on the couch, torturing himself until Carlos spoke.

By My Side

“Carlos Reyes, I swear if you don’t sit your ass on that couch I’m calling your mother.”

“I’m not an invalid TK,” Carlos huffed. “I can get my own water.”

“I know you’re not honey,” TK soothed, setting the glass down on the coffee table and running a hand through Carlos’ dirty hair. He hadn’t had a chance to shower since the accident, having to settle for the quick sponge baths and dry shampoo given in the hospital. “But,” he continued. “You have a broken leg and two fractured ribs. You’re looking at a twelve-week recovery minimum. And that’s just for the leg. I know you hate it, but you’ve got to take it easy.”

“I am taking it easy,” he grumbled. “I’ve barely moved off the damn couch for two days.”

Unconventional Methods

TK didn’t know why he was awake. Typically there were only a few reasons he’d be awake at 3 am. He hadn’t had a nightmare, they’d been few and far between in recent months. There were ringing alarm bells or lingering smell of smoke in the air (thank God) and no early morning proposals to be made (the matching gold rings in the dish on their bathroom counter took care of that). He didn’t have to pee and no part of his body hurt, so there was no reason he shouldn’t have been dead to the world.

I'll Be Cleaning Up Bottles With You (On New Year's Day)

Carlos wasn’t used to sleeping in. Even on days when he wasn’t working, he was up by sunrise to go for his run, stopping on the way home to pick up muffins and coffee for himself and TK to enjoy before his husband ran off to work or before they started on whatever responsibilities they had for the day. Today, however, when he rolled over to check his phone, he was appalled to find that it was almost noon.

There was a straightforward explanation for his laziness, New Year’s Eve. He and TK had invited over their friends to the loft for a party the night before. They’d kept it relaxed and fun, nothing vastly different from the other 126 hangs that happened at their house, aside from the presence of Judd, Grace, and Charlie. However, they’d stayed up well past midnight, and frankly, Carlos was too old for that shit.

The Holiday Season

“Buck, Buck! Dad! Wake up! It’s Christmas Eve, you gotta get up!”

“Wha-?”

Buck was barely awake enough to brace himself as Christopher clambered onto the bed, flopping down right in the center of Buck’s chest. Two small hands held his cheeks, and he leaned in to press their noses together as he spoke.

“Buck, get up.”

Buck slowly opened his eyes, going cross-eyed as he tried to focus on Chris. Eddie groaned next to him, rolling over and blinking blearily at them.

“Good, you’re up,” Christopher said, sitting up but not moving from his position on Buck’s chest. He said it as if he’d already forgotten that it was his commotion that had ripped them from their peaceful sleep.

The Set Up

He didn’t hate Austin nearly as much as he thought he would. It wasn’t even close to what he was used to. Everything was smaller than in New York, people were much closer, not in a physical way, but in an emotional one. They knew everything about each other and news traveled fast. Everyone in Austin proper had known about him and his dad before their plane even touched down.

They’d known about his injury before they’d even met him. They’d expected the limp and the sour attitude that came along with a career-ending leg break. His dad’s new team had looked at them with pity for a few days, feeling somewhat guilty every time he went to the firehouse to visit or bring his dad lunch. That was until he started hanging around and kicking their asses at foosball and video games, which earned him a little respect, the amount of which grew every day, until they were friends.

Christmas Tree Farm

Winter in Austin was a different kind of cold. TK was used to snow and ice, all of the things that came with winter in the North. This was a different kind of cold. This cold seeped through his layers of a hoodie and coat, chilling him to the bone. He pressed a little closer to Carlos, wrapping his chilled hands around his bicep as they walked through the Christmas market set up downtown.

“Are you cold babe?” Carlos asked.

“A little,” TK admitted, breath clouding around his face as he spoke.

“I’m getting you a better jacket for Christmas. I don’t like you being cold.”

“I don’t like it either.”

“We can go home if you want. We can do this on a day that’s less cold.”

“Nope. We promised Noah we’d have a Christmas tree when we got home and I will not disappoint him.”

Hot Chocolate Weather

“I’m not liking the way this looks,” Carlos grumbled, stepping away from the window where he’d been peeking out at the storm. The plastic blinds crackled when he released them and TK pushed down the urge to fuss about him bending the pieces. It was a pet peeve he'd never been able to get over after years of being scolded for peering through the blinds of rented apartments in the same fashion. As if sensing his frustration, Carlos gently adjusted the bent piece before drawing the curtains over the window. Out of sight, out of mind.

“Do you think it’s gonna get bad? Judd was saying something about tornado weather.”

TK really hated storms. They weren’t an anomaly in New York but something about the humidity of the South and the potential for tornadoes made it worse. Plus past experiences with storms, rain, ice, dust, or otherwise, he was understandably wary of weather that wasn’t sunny and blue skies.

Paper Rings (Buddie's Version)

It started as a joke really. Buck wasn’t sure where he’d gotten the notion, maybe from that stupidly catchy Taylor Swift song May had been so insistent on playing all summer. Something about it had wormed its way into a small corner of his brain and he couldn’t shake the words.

I’d marry you with paper rings

He’d thought about marrying Eddie. Of course, he had. A small part of him felt he and Eddie had been married for years, had been married since they’d stopped posturing over a man with a grenade in his leg and became some semblance of friends. Since Eddie had looked him in the eyes, stupidly large hand on his shoulder and ridiculously soulful brown eyes filled with so much sincerity and concern, and said “There is no one in this world I trust with my son more than you.” He’d thought about it more recently, as they crossed the threshold over one year of dating. He thought about the pages of bookmarked rings he was hiding from Eddie on his laptop. He was months away from clicking the button to buy one, they had time, but he wanted it more than anything.

Tagging: anyone who wants to :)

#tarlos #tarlos fic #buddie #buddie fic #tag challenge #my works #my fics

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riotstarruika · 2 years

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Courfeyrac & his hat, part II.

The Libertine Rating: T Words: 1.9k AO3 Version

The tavern is busy, bustling with excited patrons here to let themselves loose at the end of a working week. The air is thick with the scent of tobacco smoke and with the muskier odour of masculine sweat. It is dimly lit, save for a marked-out staging area at its centre; Courfeyrac cannot see the fight occurring within it over the heads of the assembled crowd, but he can hear the grunts of exertion and the occasional stomach-churning thud of a blow meeting its target, between the cheers and jeers of the assembled audience. The tables and chairs have been pushed against the walls, though most have abandoned their seats in favour of pressing closer to the spectacle before them. Bahorel is somewhere near the front of the crowd; when last Courfeyrac saw him he was theorising earnestly with a stranger, debating each fighter's chances and praising the reigning champion's physical prowess.

"If he had more matter between the ears I'd think him a useful asset to our cause, but I'm certain the man has never had a political thought of his own in his life. A thug for hire with blood on his hands, and not the kind we should be open to consorting with. I won't say too much here, except that I've heard rumours – ones I am inclined to believe – that he was a porter at Avignon when Marshal Brune was killed." Bahorel had muttered as an aside, for Courfeyrac's ears only, the last through gritted teeth.

Courfeyrac cuts a careful path through the crowd, clutching his cane and two drinks in the circle of his hands. He feels more than a little overdressed – if there's another top hat anywhere in the room, it is not on its owner's head, but he isn't willing to let his own hat out of his sight in such rough and ready company. Bahorel – glimpsed, briefly, through a gap in the crowd as a blur of mustard yellow and white shirt-sleeves – is marginally better dressed for the occasion, though that waistcoat is truly terrible, perhaps his worst to date, which is an achievement. Courfeyrac gave up any attempt to impart his wisdom and good taste in Bahorel's direction long ago, but that check in that colour palette still pains him. A winning smile and several polite pardons get him to Bahorel's side, where he offloads one of the cups and turns to take the measure of the fighters before them.

The champion in question is a great mountain of a man: he is at least six feet tall, broad of chest with the proportions of a Hercules and arms as thick as tree-trunks. Atop an equally brawny neck, out of place perched on top of that lumped mass of glistening flesh, is a comically small head; the man looks like a bird of prey with all his feathers plucked.

His opponent is a much smaller man: wiry, with a shaggy crop of dark hair and a face ugly enough to suggest he is no novice at this particular game; that nose has surely been broken several times before. Both are bare-footed and stripped to the waist, bare chests shiny with sweat and heaving with exertion.

"My little sister used to strike harder than that," the challenger taunts, as a glancing blow deflects off one cheek, grazing the shell of his ear as it goes wide, over his shoulder. "Worse yet, she scratches, she bites; a vicious creature at six years old, yet she's mellowed in to quiet the young lady – though, I still pity the man that crosses her more than I pity your opponents."

The defending champion grunts in response. He withdraws his fist, then lurches forward again, elbow raised for another strike. His opponent smirks lopsidedly, inviting further violence. The man-mountain swings for that crooked smile, but the smirking man steps aside at the last moment, flitting out of harm's way with the fluid steps of a dancer.

He laughs, and in doing so reveals a set of chipped teeth, stained red with blood. "Lumbering titan, you have grown slow in your seniority; how sad it is that you've been so long without a fair fight."

He ducks beneath another blow, kicking out at the back of the larger man's knees. The champion doesn't go down, as was likely the intent, but he does stumble, and that stumble allows his opponent to land an open-handed slap to his cheek, unopposed.

"Cheeks of pure stone, just like your skull – is there anything inside it, I wonder? What gorgon put that curse upon you? Perhaps you have met my sister –" Bahorel makes an amused, approving noise at the commentary. If it is a deliberate taunt, and not simply the man's internal monologue, it's a meandering one; perhaps he has already taken a few blows to the head while Courfeyrac was obtaining their drinks? Either that, or he is inebriated himself. He is remarkably steady on his feet if that is the case.

Courfeyrac sips his drink, as he watches the fight proceed with interest. He cheers occasionally, when the flow of the fight moves him to it; the smaller contender's blows do land where he means them too, but the man-mountain is made of stern stuff, and shakes them off as easily as the hills shake off their loose rocks in a landslide. Courfeyrac is fond of underdogs, and the challenger is certainly that, despite his agility, so Courfeyrac finds himself cheering almost exclusively for him.

The challenger lands a kick to the groin, and pauses, lowering his guard for a moment to laugh – he must expect such a blow to be incapacitating, but either the champion is made of marble in truth down there, or he has taken precautions against the tactic. He strikes before the challenger is ready for it, a bone-shaking blow to the jaw that sends him sprawling. He staggers backwards, slips on the edge of the hemp matting beneath the fighters' feet and goes flying in their direction. Courfeyrac sees the back of his head approaching rapidly, before he goes down himself with an abrupt landing that knocks the air from his lungs and makes his teeth feel as though they rattle inside his jaw.

The challenger is on his feet again in less time that it took him to fall. Courfeyrac is left sprawling on the filthy floor at the edge of the ring; his glass has gone flying out of his hand and its contents has splattered up the legs of Bahorel's trousers. His hat has been knocked aside as he fell – it has vanished somewhere between the legs of the crowd, where it's sure to be crushed beneath uncaring feet.

"Your pardon," the man looms over him, and grins down at him; he looks like some wild savage creature, blood from a split lip pouring into his mouth, dripping off the tip of his unshaved chin and down onto his bare chest. He has Courfeyrac's hat in his hand, and he thrusts it towards him. Courfeyrac catches his eye for a moment before he turns to face his opponent again; somewhere within the grotesque display that is his smile there's warmth, too. Courfeyrac scrambles to sit upright and snatches his hat out of the man's loose grip a fraction of a second before he dives for his opponent's legs.

Bahorel laughs, and places a hand on his shoulder. "That was decent of him; that hat you're so fond of would've been flattened." He extends a hand to help him up. Courfeyrac rises with more dignity that he'd fallen with, and brushes the dirt off the skirt of his frock coat.

He watches the rest of the fight with renewed interest, scrutinising the kind stranger, seeking the measure of him. He is badly groomed, with hair that doesn't appear to be cut into any particular style. His body is that of a sportsman, rather than a labourer – he is well muscled, but his arms aren't exceptionally so, and he has the soft stomach and softer hands of one accustomed to an idler lifestyle. His trousers are of a higher quality fabric than Courfeyrac would have expected – finely woven, with a nice sheen to it, between the stains and patches of dirt off the floor. The man is not a worker, as most of the tavern's patrons appear to be; he has money, though only one with a good eye for double-milled cloth would know it from his current appearance.

The fight does not proceed in the challenger's favour; it ends when a particularly vicious blow results in his head hitting the floor, and the referee finally calls an end to the ordeal. He does not appear to be in poor spirits about his defeat, however; he gets the last word in with an rather florid, backhanded compliment that sails over most of the crowds' heads, and any celebrations from their audience are more muted that Courfeyrac suspects they would have been had the fight gone the other way. Audiences like an entertainer, and this man certainly has the capacity to be just that.

Courfeyrac approaches him while he is in the middle of putting his shirt back on, unsure whether his commiserations would be welcome, but certain that he owes him his thanks for saving his hat. "That was an interesting fight. I was told the only rules were no biting and no gouging, but that still seemed far from fair…"

"I would've had him if they had let me go at him a little longer," the man says, gamely, and wipes the blood away from mouth with his sleeve. "It's a war of attrition with these colossi."

"I am quite certain that you are mad," Courfeyrac says, amused, "but thank you, for this." He tips the brim of his hat, now safely back where it belongs, in indication.

"It is a nice hat. Wouldn't want it to end up beneath the boots of this rabble." The man gives a louche shrug.

"Might I buy you a drink, in thanks?"

"I never say no to that." The man smiles, and with less blood on his teeth it's far less horrifying this time. He extends a filthy hand in Courfeyrac's direction. "Grantaire."

Courfeyrac takes the offered hand somewhat unwillingly – his gloves are ivory in colour, and stain easily – but he shakes it, and answers, "Courfeyrac."

"A pleasure."

Courfeyrac orders a bottle of wine with three cups; Grantaire follows him to the table Bahorel has claimed for them, possibly through force or intimidation now that there is no more entertainment to keep people from their seats.

When introduction is repeated for Bahorel's benefit the pair of them take to each other immediately; the talk turns swiftly to the fight, and to Grantaire's assessment of the champion's character: "A most unsavoury fellow. I suppose it won't surprise you to learn he is a bruiser for a gang of petty thieves, and perhaps some not so petty murderers –"

Courfeyrac, curious as to his new acquaintance's political leanings, makes use of a brief lull in the conversation to attempt to steer it in such a direction as may reveal them: "Tell me, M. Grantaire, what do you make of the law of justice and love?"

#canon era #barricade day #courfeyrac #Grantaire #my fic

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sunshinelulusplatoon · 2 years

Text

Arriving at Alterna, Lutarna and co got the drill digging as signals from down below were being picked up.

“So this is Alterna,” Lulu spoke, awe by the place, “the idea that humans lived here once.”

“It is interesting. More of it is underground though given time I bet some of it has collapsed,” Lutarna spoked.

“COMMANDER! WE’RE IN!!!” a sanitized shouted.

Following the guards, Lutarna and Lulu hopped into the ink rails as they led down further into Alterna.

Arriving into Grizz’s labs, broken weapons’ parts were scattered around, there were old salmonid parts and eggs lying about as it gave the place a old rotten musty smell; both girls scrunched their noses up. As guards set up hacking equipment, others set up generators to power this portion of Alterna. Once ready, the scientist went to work getting into the system.

Passing the time by playing table turf, Lulu and Lutarna were on even wins when the guards came up.

“We’re in the system Commander,” the sanitized guard spoke.

“About time,” Lulu remarked as she got up with Lutarna.

Moving over to the desk set up with a laptop, Lutarna got on as she went hunting for things.

“So what exactly are we looking for?” Lulu asked.

“The layout and formula for the hairy ooze,” Lutarna replied, “We need to find it so we can understand how it’s made to refine it.”

“Why does it need to be refined?” Lulu then asked, “And what are you planning to do with it?”

“It needs to be refined because as it, it will kill a sanitized by over simulating their lungs and mind when being “revived,”“ Lutarna explained as she continued to look.

“Revived?? The shell are you planning with this stuff?” Lulu questioned puzzled and concerned.

“When the time comes I’ll show you,” Lutarna replied with a smirk.

Making noise on screen, the girls looked at the laptop as Lutarna finally found what she was looking for.

“Is that the formula and process?” Lulu questioned with a raised eyebrow, “I’ve seen the sanitize process and it’s not...that complicated?”

“This is a mess. It’s a surprise it even works. I understand what is going on but there is way too many extra steps,” Lutarna huff in annoyance at seeing Grizz’s work, “Also his short hand is awful as well as his hand writting.”

Once all data was collected, everybody met back up at the top as the last of the lights down below were shut off.

“Tomorrow, get Neiko and a team together and start exploring the old cities here. I want to see if any remains survived as well as any documents and other things. I’m sure Ao would pay a pretty penny for them,” Lutarna chuckled.

“So, why do you want to keep O.R.C.A off line anyway?” Lulu asked as she pulled Lutarna to the side.

“...because I think it’s running off an older version of my engine,” Lutarna replied.

Lulu had to blink.

“So you think it’s you????” Lulu questioned concern.

“Not exactly. More so built off the same system built for my creation and there is only one person I can think of that would have done it,” Lutarna huffed.

Lulu looked confused.

“Professor Obo Hamifuji was the other professor who worked on me. As Daisy built me and trained me, Professor Hamifuji tested me. To be honest, I never liked him. Too...in his ways and ideals. I think he had a thing for Daisy but I could never be sure. O.R.C.A’s thoughts and speech patterns follow too much of my older ones. I wouldn’t be surprised if the professor made a copy of my systems before they were to shut me down,” Lutarna explained.

“That’s crazy. So you think he survived?” Lulu questioned.

“Long enough to help build this place, yes. Whether he got on the Polaris, I don’t know. And honestly, I could care less,” Lutarna replied, “If I had purpose for that AI, I would download it and move it to the Metro, but it’s space wasting by doing that.”

Pouting as Lutarna began to walk back to the aircraft, Lulu sighed as she followed

#commander lutarna speaks #SunshineLulu Talks

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sleepymarmot · 5 months

Text

High Noon (1952)

[Watched on November 30th]

Recently, around Thanksgiving, I came across a post mentioning a certain critically acclaimed western that also might be the vilest, most racist movie I’ve ever had the misfortune to see. Someone commented with a similar sentiment, and mentioned High Noon as a better classic western. So it suddenly jumped to the top of my watchlist, and the short runtime made it suitable for my hurried last-minute viewing session on the last night of the month. I appreciated the coincidence of the protagonist trying to prepare for noon while I was trying (and failing) to finish the movie by midnight. For one of us, the deadline was more literal than the other.

I was enjoyably disoriented by the beginning of the movie: until about halfway thorough I didn’t know who I was supposed to root for. The focus on the three young cool cowboys during the opening titles naturally associates them with the sympathetic narrator of the song. Then we see an old marshal marrying a girl young enough to be his daughter — is this going to be a film about the law being unjust, rigid, and conservative, are the outlaws going to liberate the girl from an unequal marriage? Well, apparently not, this isn’t the way High Noon chose to be subversive.

At the end, I expected either the townspeople to be overwhelmed by their guilty conscience and come out in support of the marshal, outnumbering the outlaws — or for the marshal to make one final grand speech and be tragically shot down. Then I remembered this was made under the Hays Code. Still, I was somehow surprised when the western’s climactic scene was… a shootout in which the protagonist showcased the superiority of his skills and spirit. (He saves the horses! That’s what proves him to be a good guy, above everything else.) It took me way too long to realize that the song was not just literally about the events of the film, but “Do not forsake me, oh my darling” is the heart of both: the wife stands by her husband, and it’s the two of them against the world (both the outlaws and the town). I guess love is real after all!

“Accidental marathon”: both the previous film and this one happen in real time. I swear I didn’t arrange this!

Other notes:

Nice cinematography. I’m fond of the high contrast black and white.

Took me the entire opening sequence to remember why that one face felt so familiar. (It was Lee Van Cleef.)

So so so hard to tell which of these identical men in identical clothes is which.

Helen has the kind of face I’ve only seen on drawings and paintings before.

Both Helen and Amy have equally weird accents in different directions.

The women are pretty stereotypical but they’re real characters. Wow!

This somehow ended up being my first Grace Kelly movie, even though Rear Window was one of my top candidates for the next viewing.

Re: the fistfight in the stable: stop it guys you’re scaring the ho(rs)es

I was losing attention in the middle (no fault of the film, I just have a broken sleep schedule, which is why I was postponing my monthly movie in the first place), but the action sequence woke me right up.

Wikipedia: “Lee Van Cleef made his film debut in High Noon. Kramer first offered Van Cleef the Harvey Pell role, after seeing him in a touring production of Mister Roberts, on the condition that Van Cleef have his nose surgically altered to appear less menacing. Van Cleef refused and was cast instead as Colby, the only role of his career without a single line of dialog.” Outrageous!

#high noon #liveblogs and reviews #blah blah blah

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greypetrel · 1 year

Note

For the kiss and tell, do I name just the OC(s) or the prompt to go along with it as well?

Just a few (too many) ideas:

Dionysos / Luke: a kiss shared during a game

Dionysos / Apollo: kissing them to shut them up

Seren's parents (maybe when they first met? It's Ireland after all 😜) sharing a kiss in a heavy downpour of rain

Orestes / Dylan, the OTP: kiss to resolve suppressed romantic/sexual tension

Shahra / Winnie / Mr Darcy (or any combination thereof): a kiss after joining your lover in the shower

Pick the one you wanna do the most 💜

Love, Aimée

Hello! <3

Thank you for the lots of prompts! I did one, may return to do some others… And in writing. I've not been so inspired with TLB, but this may be the way to kick me back in again!

For all the others who don’t know what this is about: These are characters from the webcomic I’ve been writing and drawing (the colours are made by one of my dearest friends, who’s not on Tumblr actively for me to tag) in the last years: @thelastbacchae. It’s Greek Mythology set in the modern day. Seren is a Classic enthusiast who went on a school trip and had a too close encounter with Dionysos, who now lives with her as the house cat. It turned out that Seren’s parents… Already knew Dionysos, and Circe as well.)

I wanted to post a couple, but this was something I had in mind since LONG and… My hand slipped. And I’m wordy.

Seren's parents (maybe when they first met? It's Ireland after all 😜) sharing a kiss in a heavy downpour of rain

There really was no point, then. The refusal stung bitterly at him, as much as one big part of his brain told him he has been overly lucky to get out of that room with just a bloody nose, not broken, a black eye and bruises all over. And two gods walking behind him, quarrelling fiercely amongst them, as they never seemed to stop doing.

The last three weeks had been a blur of events, and he felt his life turned upside down, in the worst possible way. He celebrated his first year in Dublin, his Diploma in Old Irish for his PhD, and acceptance on the second year of Early Irish. The exam session was oncoming, but he wasn’t worried about that. That was, indeed, the least of his problems.

The biggest one, now, was how ever he was going to explain to professor Byrne the poor state of his appearance. He watched himself in the reflection of a car, and he looked like he ran face first against a double decker. Very unbecoming for a Trinner assistant, he knew. He just hoped that Trinity had a more lenient environment than Oxford. Or he was fucked.

The second problem, was the fact that he apparently had made friends with none other than Circe. Sorceress, daughter of Helios, the very same. She was nice company, normal enough or striving to be so. They met when they both were new at university, and he caught on pretty quickly that there was something weird with her. For once, she enrolled in a post-graduate course and had no idea on how universities worked. He had been told many times that he was “Born an old man”, his social life was close to zero, outside books and old ruins, but she beated him in stride. They clicked, he helped her out, she told him who he was. It was as good as it could get, being underdogs together.

And then, her friend came by in town. Her friend who was Dionysos. Her friend who was suddenly VERY interested in him, because a friend of his -Tom didn’t understand if it was a boy or a girl, they called them John and Ariadne interchangeably- had to… Reincarnate. And he was supposed to be the father. Apollo told them so.

What Tom didn’t know, beside the fact that he should really have paid more attention to Plato’s theory, apparently, was that ancient deities are apparently terrible matchmakers.

Because the supposed mother was none other than Johanna Connelly. The most beautiful girl in the camp, a brilliant name in the Microbiology Faculty, so much so that her name was known even in Humanities. And, an activist.

Tom knew her. Tom knew her on sight, and it would be a lie saying that when they told him, his heart didn’t skip a beat at the idea and suddenly fell like the main character of a fairy tale.

Except, gods are real, but fairy tales aren’t, and Johanna and him lived on different planets. She was popular, fashionable, had lots of friends she went out with, she was Irish and could be found on campus distributing fliers and informative leaflets about this and that social cause. Once she tied herself to the doors to protest for equal rights. Tom never saw anything so beautiful, like Queen Medb facing the ire of Conchobar and kicking him out of her palace, powerful and unstoppable. And it was rumoured her brothers were activists up in Belfast, fighting for the reunification. Some said IRA, whispered as a secret. But Tom heard. And he was but an English bookworm, with a penchant for ancient Celtic history that always made him too enthusiast in speaking, a heavy Hampshire accent on his own, socially awkward, knew nothing about fashion, and too shy and timid to enter some social protest.

It was impossible, as three weeks of setting ups showed. And there’s really a long way two gods can go to set you up with another mortal. A long way. But it wasn’t enough if none of them was Aphrodite or Eros, and one of the pair refused to call them, refused to force her into something she may not want. It didn’t feel right.

He tried to talk to her, tried to bring her flowers -but he chose Orchids for their meaning of beauty and charm… And she protested that he spent money on flowers that were imported from so much south, releasing pollution into the air with who knew how many consequences, the planet wouldn’t survive so long if we keep wasting fuel for orchids. She was right, and he was mortified. He should have thought it. Diotima -Circe- had grumbled that there was no need to be so bitchy about it. But he stopped her. They tried again. And again. Going to a party she was at didn’t work, he didn’t find an excuse to greet her and she started dancing with one of her friend. Or was it a girlfriend?. Same pub? He got caught to drink by a group of friendly people, and by the time he could look up she was gone. They had no lesson in common, couldn’t study together.

Desperate, he listened to the rumours. He sought a group of young militants for Ulster Independency. Not the IRA, of course. Baby steps.

Diotima had told him it was a terrible idea. Dionysos scrunched his nose at the methods, grumbled it was his brother’s territory and he could help little… But admitted it could have worked. Just show up, see what they’re talking about, we’ll bring you out if it escalates.

The situation didn’t escalate so quickly. He entered a cell of young people, found by the two gods, and for the first time it was nice. He used his mother’s surname, O’Sullivan, instead of his father’s, told them he was Irish, but his family had to move to England. Gained sympathies. He had brains to him, which was appreciated, he could talk about philosophy and the reunions he attended were just that. Talking.

For a minute, Diotima and his conscience telling him that it was wrong, he should lose them and get out while he still could, it was all right. It was fun, it was nice, he felt part of something bigger and he felt amidst friends.

So much that, this evening, he told them.

Told them his surname was Calvert, just his maternal grandfather was Irish, that he grew up in Southampton, was English, but loved Ireland more than he could say, and felt so welcome.

They didn’t take it well.

By the time Diotima flashed them, becoming incandescent as the sun for a moment, and Dionysos flicked his fingers a purple haze -Dionysos hummed Jimi Hendrix’s song as it did- rose up in the room, rendering everyone too stunned to do much but flop on the ground and laugh in an alcoholic stupor, he was spitting blood, his nose bleed profusely, one of his eyes was so swelled he couldn’t see, and he was so sore that breathing hurt.

The two brought him out, Circe fed him a very bitter plant that made his bleeding stop, and here they were, returning home under a sky that promised rain, dark and cloudy as his mood. He left his umbrella in the flat, and someone took his wallet. He had no money to go back home -gods tend to forget of the practicality of life, at least Circe apologized- and so he was walking, all the way to Rathmines, feeling hopeless and stupid.

“This was the stupidest idea ever! How could you think it would work?”

“Oh sure, because the orchids were so effective!”

“Orchids to an environmentalist! What a great idea!”

“I grew them myself, they didn’t pollute anything!”

“Sure, cow-head, because mortals contemplate the fact that flowers grow when you step!”

“Said the one who made one friend and spat everything out!”

“At least my mortal friend doesn’t hate me! When was the last time you even saw John? Eh? When the Beatles split?”

“You’re insufferable!”

“Said the god of ritual madness!”

Tom couldn’t take it one minute more. He had enough. So, he took the situation in his hands, and for once in his life gave in to anger, turning on his heels and yelling right back.

“Would you please stop it?!”

They did, both snapping their heads toward him, surprised. Tom straightened his eyeglasses on his nose, broken but better than not having them. He could see through the cracks.

“It won’t work, no matter how hard you try. I let myself hope miracles could happen and look at me. I’m hurting all over, I will be kicked out tomorrow because I was stupid about this whole story, and without this PhD, I have nothing! I’ll end up digging some place random, never publish my own research, and for what? For running after a fairy tale?”

He leashed out, clenching his fist at his sides and swallowing some more blood that trickled down his throat from his nose, the agitation opening wounds up again.

“I am sorry I made you lose so much time, it was fun spending time with you and Circe, you’re my best friend and I love you. But sincerely, I’m out. I give up. Find another guy.”

If Circe looked down at the pavement, with real sorrow, Dionysos just glared at him with some threat. Like a panther stalking its prey, golden eyes closing down at him, lips contracting in a thin line.

“There’s a prophecy.” He hissed, gravely.

“I don’t care.” Tom debated, shrugging. “It’ll come true whether I’m trying or not. Or it was another Thomas Calvert, or another Historian. I… I’m sorry. I can’t do this, not anymore.”

Tom was, indeed, sorry. He turned on his heels, leaving them. Remotely, he could hear the noise of a step, some breath taken too quickly, before Circe spoke. “No. Let him go.”. He was grateful for her, really. She was company when he was alone, and he was sad to have disappointed her in helping with her family. He would have bought her some baklava from the place she liked most. If she ever showed up on Campus again.

He turned a corner and he was alone, none following him. That was good. Now if the sky, or Zeus at this point, would just start raining, he would have been satisfied and allowed himself to cry. As childish as it would be, he needed crying. He really like Johanna, he admired her strength, her willingness to fight so fiercely for others, for people she didn’t even know. He wasn’t like that, and would never be. His place was in the back of a library, submerging in another world, another time when things were, apparently, easier. Or at least, certain in their ending. The present had not the certainty of history, if you didn’t know the future. Or if the future you knew clearly didn’t talk about you.

Vaguely he could hear faint steps behind him, of a person who was running. A person with heels, from the concitated click-clack of heels. He couldn’t care less. The streetlight was red anyway, he just stepped on the side to let the runner pass easily.

But, to his surprise, he felt someone grabbing at his elbow, strongly, and try to turn him around.

The panic from the afternoon he just spent rose up again instinctively, and his first reaction was to resist the movement and crouch down again, to protect himself. Not another time, please. Not today.

Nonetheless, the hand of his elbow resisted, and it became two hands, one on the opposite shoulder, clenching down.

“Hey! Hey, it’s me! I’m not gonna hurt you!”

He froze on his spot, not daring to open his eyes. Or well, the one eye that was functional at the moment.

“I’m so sorry, I heard… I came as fast as I could. Did they…” The hands shifted. “Oh, feck, what did they do to you…”

There was a sad rage in the voice that was speaking to him. A feminine voice he knew, even if he never heard them with that tone of voice. It was a voice fit for indignation, for speaking up, for denouncing and for justice. The tenderness was… Weird. In a nice way that poked directly at his heart and at some budding feeling. He opened his eye, tentatively, and…

… And Johanna Connelly was staring at him, frowning in disapproval, but with a weird turn of her lips. Something that, again, spoke of tenderness.

“I-I’m sorry.” He told her, instinctively, trying to retract from her.

“Of what?” She snorted, shaking her head in a wave of loose curls. “I am sorry for you. I was there to pick my brother up… And he told me what happened. He recognised you in that room. I was close by.”

She confessed, calmly. It didn’t seem like she hated him.

“There was…?”

“Yes, Oisin. That idiot. Tall, red leather jacket. Tell me he didn’t…”

He remembered him. So Circe and Dionysos DID got him in the right group after all. He hadn’t bothered to ask for everyone’s surnames.

“He didn’t.”

“He didn’t even stop them tho. Oh, I’m going to punch him.” She groaned, furrow deepening on her face.

Tom could not make out heads from tail about why exactly she was there. Sure, by his many trials to approach her, she must remember him… But running after him after he was beaten?

“I- There’s no need to. I was stupid about it, and… Johanna, right?” He cleared his throat, embarrassed and dying to change the subject.

“Yes. And you’re Thomas. From Celtic Studies.”

“I-… Do you know me?”

“Orchid lad? How could I forget!” She laughs, briefly and clear, patting his shoulder and offering her arm to take. “Genius English that can take every Irishmen on Gaelic and even speaks some Welsh? You’re not so invisible as you think you are.”

The way she said it, with a warm smile on her face, it really seemed like a compliment. He smiled back, taking her arm with his and letting her lead him across the street. They exchanged small talk, topic going to something lighter and less consequential. He told her he was going to Rathmines, and that he forgot his wallet in the jacket back there, with his umbrella. She promises to bring everything back to him, should she kick every one of the idiots in the group herself. She assured him he would not have been fired, no matter what those pompous stuck-ups at Oxford would have said. This was no England anymore, luckily.

She brought him to a bus stop and put some coins in his hand, telling him he would have given them back later, it was not a problem.

“It’s really the least I could do, after my brother just… Watched as a bunch of eejits beated you because you happened to be English.” She snorted.

“It is not a problem, for you? You seem very active and… Well…”

“The rumours?” She sighed, heavily, crossing her arms before her chest. “Don’t tell me you believe them, please. Some people just see anyone standing up for civil rights and shout at the IRA. I hate this situation. I hate this country.”

It broke his heart a little, in compassion. He could relate wanting to get away from a country you don’t like. He already ran from England, after all.

“It’s not so bad. You have no Margaret Thatcher running for PM, at least…”

She laughed at that, turning towards him with a bigger smile.

“But living in London would be so fun.”

“Tell me after you look at the rental prices.”

He laughed as well, joining her. For a minute, they laughed together, and she leaned her hand on his arm again. Tom’s heart beated fast. She wasn’t so difficult to talk to, after all. Quite the contrary. She looked up again, smiling.

“I’m sorry about what happened, really. You didn’t deserve it.”

“Don’t mention it. You shouldn’t have run after me like that. I appreciate it! But I… I must not have made a good impression to you.”

Johanna’s smile faltered, head leaning on the side.

“Why so? You’ve been around for some time, yes, but what did you do wrong?”

“The orchids. And… Well.” He indicates himself.

“You’re pointing at the whole of you.” She noted, amused.

“Bookworm, human disaster, I’ll show up tomorrow with the ugliest pair of extra eyeglasses ever. I actually like tweed.”

She laughed again, loud and boisterously. Very little feminine, but Tom couldn’t care less. She was even more beautiful.

“It’s not that bad, and come on. It could be worse.”

“… It could be raining?” He couldn’t help the quotation, a dope smile creeping on his face. Crooked and ugly, but happy. She didn’t seem to mind that he wass beaten up, and smiled back, the same glint in her eyes.

“Want to dig up some cemeteries? I could do some studies over corpses and skeletons…”

And then, as on clue, a first drop of rain fell down, hitting Johanna’s hand. Big and fat. A second followed, on Tom’s nose. A third, a fourth, a fifth… And suddenly, it was heavily pouring over them, on their own with no umbrella, Tom didn’t even have a jacket to be gallant and cover her up. They laughed, madly and furiously, Tom made a bold move and circled her shoulder under his arm, dragging her against the wall of the closest building for the small repair of the roof up above. It wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing. Johanna patted on his chest, clearing her throat.

“Your bus is coming.”

“Oh.”

A pause, both looking at the double decker slowly approaching. With disappointment.

“Would you like to lunch together, tomorrow?” He asked, abruptly, averting his eyes suddenly as he realised that he was still hugging her shoulders and now asking her to lunch together. “Ah… So I can give you back your money, that is.” He corrected.

“I’d like that. Very much. Even if you don’t have the money. 12:30 at the Campanile?”

“Y-yes.”

“Good.”

And with that, and all of a sudden, as the bus was getting closer and closer, she pushed up on her toes, grabbed his pullover on his chest to bring him down and meet his lips in a soft, sweet kiss, slick with rain, but very careful not to hurt him. Delicate, but not casual. He kissed her back, closing his eyes and sighing into it, heart beating a crazy rhythm in his ears.

“Now, Orchid lad, go home and get some rest.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He couldn’t but smile at her, at the faint blush on her high cheekbones.

She snorted again, shaking her head and bringing him to the bus again, by his arm. She got assured he had enough for the ticket, and waved a goodbye as he stood to watch her.

“I’m sorry for the orchids. They were pretty.”

“You were right about them. I’d find you better flowers. If you’d like.”

She laughed again. Masculine and unapologetic.

“You’re so English, asking please and thank you even for flowers!”

“Shouldn’t I do it?”

“Stop it! But no. It’s cute.”

Tom couldn’t reply with anything in time, as the doors of the bus closed between them. All that was left was wave each other goodbye with their end, equally blissful smiles on both faces.

Maybe, after all, Tom shouldn’t give up.

He would have brought a double dose of baklava to Circe. And maybe some tartare to Dionysos. He said he favoured raw meat, after all. He would have apologised to both of them. Maybe fairy tales did come true, after all.

#modern myths #modern mythology #greek mythology #dionysos #circe #the last bacchae #writing petrel #urban fantasy #ireland #I do wonder who was this John Ariadne incarnated in uwu #Surely the band reference is very casual

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