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quickspinner · 3 years

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Snake in the Silk

Written for the @lovebugs-and-snakecharmers Sprint Challenge, using the @mlweeklyprompts Next Door Neighbors. The fic is supposed to be 45 minutes plus "editing," but I kind of doubled the length in editing, so...oops.

I received a lot of prompts for my 500 follower celebration that I never used (although I did end up writing a surprising number of them eventually, when I looked at the list), and I was sharing them with the sprint server as possible future prompts. One of them involved Luka getting an exotic pet, which collided with the neighbors thing in my brain, and thus this fic was born.

As always the irrepressible Dingo King belongs to Verfound, who's kind enough to let me use him.

Rated T, mostly for innuendo and language

Find it on AO3

“I hate you,” Luka fumed, keeping the phone pressed to his face as he kicked his door shut behind him. “I hate you so much right now.”

“Not true,” Dingo said cheerfully over the phone.

“I’m serious, you jackass, I can’t trust you with anything!” Luka threw his bag in the corner with probably more force than he should have, and then winced. He set his guitar case down more carefully.

“Also not true,” Dingo said, a little sheepishly this time. “Buuuuuuut I’ll grant that maybe you shouldn’t have trusted me with this.”

“I didn’t have a choice,” Luka snapped as he stomped through his apartment. “Juleka was with me, and Evan’s a freaking pansy, and—” Luka stopped dead and sighed as he stared at the empty cabinet—the cabinet he had personally, carefully refurbished and remodeled to be as escape-proof as possible. Not that any of that did any good, with the door sitting ajar. Luka swore and only barely resisted the urge to kick something. “If anything happens to him,” Luka warned his best friend, “I will murder you, do you hear me?”

“Fair,” Dingo sighed. “Look, Lu, I seriously am sorry, and I would never have left except I had to work, and as soon as I can find an excuse to bail I’ll—”

“No,” Luka gritted out. “No, it won’t matter if you’re here or not. Don’t lose your job over it. I’ll figure something out.”

“It’ll work out, Lu. That stupid snake adores you, he won’t stay gone for long.”

Luka made a frustrated noise in the back of his throat and grit his teeth around the things he wanted to say. “I gotta go,” he finally managed to grind out. “I’ll deal with you later.”

“Right.” Dingo laughed nervously. “I’ll bring takeout and beer and then we’ll turn your place upside down looking for the little bugger.”

Luka hung up without saying anything else, and jammed his phone in his pocket. He put his face in his hands and screamed quietly, then dragged his hands down his face and surveyed the empty enclosure again—as if Sass were just going to show up and slither right up his favorite branch and flick his tongue out like ‘Sup .

Okay, he needed to think. It wasn’t the first time Sass had taken a little pleasure jaunt. Think. How many places could a four-foot corn snake find to hide in a small apartment like this? Luka didn’t even have that much stuff, so he shouldn’t be that hard to find.

If he was even still in the apartment. Luka swallowed hard. That had never been much of a worry on the Liberty, since while there were about a billion little crannies that a snake could crawl into, most of them were unpleasant for a cold-blooded reptile, and at least he couldn’t escape the ship entirely. But here, who knew? And this was the first time he’d escaped since Luka had moved into the apartment, so Luka didn’t know what his favorite places were likely to be, and—

And standing here panicking was not doing anything to find his beloved pet. For all that Sass was a little shit of an escape artist, Luka had raised him for years and he loved the quirky little snake and his stupid little snakey face with those bright black eyes and—

“Come on, Sass,” Luka muttered, looking around helplessly. “Don’t do this to me.”

Okay. First things first. Luka swung the front of the cabinet open wide, so that if Sass did decide he preferred his (very comfortable, Luka thought with a little pout, he had done a lot of work to make sure it was) home to whatever random, dusty corner he’d managed to find, he could get back in. Probably if nothing else, Sass would come back when he was hungry, if…

Luka sighed, and took Sass’s little pool out of the bottom of the enclosure to dump it out and refill it with fresh water. He made sure the heating mat was at the right temperature, and checked under the substrate and poked around among the various hides—damnit, he’d worked so hard to make this habitat, and that stupid, ungrateful little—

A muffled but clearly audible scream broke into his thoughts, and Luka froze. There was a second, yelping shriek— from the apartment next door, he suddenly realized, and he ran for his apartment door, knocking over his guitar case in his haste to get it opened.

He’d barely had time to turn from his door to the next door down when it burst open and a young woman stumbled out of it, eyes wide in panic. She collided with Luka and he grabbed her arms on instinct.

“Are you okay?” he asked stupidly, as she looked up at him.

“I—there was—” she panted, clearly still panicked. “A snake in my panties!”

Luka stared at her for a moment, uncomprehending as he took in big blue eyes, pink cheeks, and a soft mouth that was opening and closing without saying anything, and then she balled her hands into fists and closed her eyes and shrieked, “There’s a huge snake in my underwear drawer!”

Understanding hit him like a lightning bolt. “Oh thank God,” Luka sighed, and the young woman gaped at him as he moved her aside and went into her apartment.

“Wait, what are you—” she spluttered. “Where are you going? Hey!”

Luka halted about four steps into the apartment, abruptly realizing that he didn’t know where he was going, and she crashed into his back in her rush to follow him.

“Sorry,” Luka said, turning and holding his hands up placatingly. “Sorry, it’s just—my friend was watching my flat, and he let my pet snake out and I’ve been frantic to—find...him…” It struck him all at once that the young woman currently staring at him had wet black hair hanging around her shoulders, and a red and black polka-dotted silk robe wrapped haphazardly around her very nice body. It was still sticking to her in places and he suddenly felt like his tongue was glued to the roof of his mouth.

“That thing is yours?” she demanded, pushing her wet hair back and gripping her robe more tightly closed with the other hand. “I don’t know whether I’m mad at you or just relieved the whole building isn’t...infested or something.” She looked around nervously. “So there’s no more? Just the one?”

“No,” Luka laughed, burying the fingers of one hand in his hair. “No, no, no infestation, just one irresponsible best friend and my freaking Houdini-wanna-be pet snake. I’m so, so sorry he scared you, but if you show me where he is, I’ll get him out of here and you can get—uh, get on with your day, um….Miss.”

“Marinette,” she sighed, tugging the robe around herself a little self-consciously, her cheeks turning an attractive pink. Shit, she was cute, and this was really awkward. Ugh, Luka was going to kill Dingo, and maybe Sass too for good measure.

“Luka,” he said, offering his hand. “I live next door and I promise I don’t let my snake out all willy-nilly.”

Marinette snorted and covered her mouth with one hand as Luka blinked at her, feeling his face slowly turning red. “I can’t believe I just said that,” he muttered under his breath, and Marinette laughed aloud.

“Come on,” she giggled. “This way. Um, watch your step...I’m still getting unpacked and all and...okay that’s a lie, it’s always this messy, but it’s organized, I swear—”

“Hey, I’m not gonna judge your housekeeping choices, trust me,” Luka told her absently as he followed her down the short hall. “I don’t think I’m in any position to judge you at all, given the situation. Even if I did that kind of thing. Judge people, I mean. I—I don’t, or I try not to, at least—” He paused and took a deep breath, trying not to let it out as a frustrated sigh.

Marinette pushed open a door and edged into the room—her bedroom, it was immediately obvious. She stayed pressed up against the wall. “It’s, um, over there,” she said, pointing to a pink and black chest of drawers, the top drawer of which was hanging open. “I just opened the drawer and there it was and I—” She fluttered her hands.

Luka went over to the drawer and surveyed the contents. “I don’t see him,” he sighed.

“What?” Marinette’s voice jumped several octaves.

“It’s okay, he probably just—” Luka reached out, and stopped just before he touched anything, hand hovering over the rumpled pile of silk and lace in the drawer. “Uh…” Luka looked back at Marinette. “I mean, do you mind if I…” he gestured weekly at the drawer full of underthings. “See if he’s underneath this stuff?”

“Oh,” Marinette blushed again, but waved a dismissive hand, shifting nervously. “Go ahead. Do what you need to do. I just want you to find it.” She cracked a small smile. “Thanks for checking, though.”

“Sure,” Luka grunted, carefully lifting a pair of lace edge panties from the top of what had probably been a neat pile before Sass decided to rummage it into a nest. He shifted things aside carefully, trying not to look too hard at any of it. “Come on, you little shit,” he muttered. “You’re killing me here.”

“Um, could you actually, uh...maybe hand me a pair of those?” Marinette said, and Luka glanced back at her in some surprise. She was still pressed back against the wall and her face was red again, and she was clutching her robe tight around her, fingering her wet hair as she fidgeted— oh .

“Oh, yeah, uh...any particular...color?” he asked weakly. She seemed like the kind of girl who liked to match. Which was such a weird thing to be thinking right now. He was definitely going to kill Dingo. Slowly . Maybe feed important bits of him to Sass before he murdered his beloved pet, too.

“Anything’s fine,” Marinette replied, with a slightly hysterical sounding laugh.

Luka lifted another pair, trying not to think too hard about which pair he grabbed and what it might say about him. He tossed the panties to her, and then quickly turned back to the drawer.

“I’m just gonna step outside for a minute,” Marinette muttered, and Luka swallowed as he heard her bare feet pad away.

“This is the weirdest fucking day,” he muttered under his breath, carefully moving more underthings aside and trying not too hard to think about what other kinds of things a lady might keep in her underwear drawer. Ugh, why did the damn drawer have to be so deep—wait, was that—

Luka picked up a distractingly pretty blue pair decorated with black ribbons, and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the familiar tip of Sass’s tail sticking out. “Got you, you little shit.”

“You found him?” Marinette said behind him, and Luka jumped. She was wearing shorts and a t-shirt now, and she’d pulled her wet hair back into a ponytail. She stood on tiptoe to look around him, though she still kept back behind him.

“Yeah, now I just have to get around to his head and get him out without spooking him,” Luka said, reaching into the drawer again. “The last thing I want is him musking all over your things because I grabbed him too quickly and startled him.”

Marinette wrinkled her nose. “I don’t know what that means, but it sounds gross.”

“Trust me, it is,” Luka said, removing another pair of Marinette’s underwear and adding it to the pile he’d been making on top of the dresser. “I am really, really sorry about this. I shouldn’t have trusted Ding—my friend. He’s got a good heart but he’s a little loose on details.” In the drawer, Sass shifted, and lifted his head, tongue flicking out curiously, a pair of teal, scale-patterned panties draped over his head. Luka bit back a laugh. “Hey, buddy,” he murmured, moving his fingers near Sass. Sass’s tongue flickered once, and then again, scenting, and then he moved forward, sliding out from under the pile of panties to glide onto Luka’s hand. “There we go.” Luka brought his other hand forward to move under Sass’s body, and finally, carefully, lifted the pile of snake out of Marinette’s underwear drawer. Far from looking stressed, Sass seemed as relaxed and laid back as ever, gathering his nearly four-foot length into Luka’s hands like nothing was amiss. It kind of made Luka want to shake him, but that would have been really dumb, so he didn’t. He sighed with relief instead, feeling his shoulders go slack as Sass poked his head up towards Luka’s elbow.

“I wasn’t imagining it,” Marinette murmured, keeping behind him, but still leaning on his arm to peep curiously around him at Sass. “He really was that big.”

“He’s pretty near his full growth,” Luka agreed, and lifted Sass up to eye level. “Which is why I built you that nice, big habitat and made it so comfortable, so that you had room to be you. I can’t believe you just bailed on it.” Sass swayed forward, bumping his snout against Luka’s face. “Yeah, it’s me, you little dummy.”

“Does he bite?” Marinette asked, and Luka snorted softly, moving his hands to keep the snake supported as Sass began to slither up his arm.

“Not usually. Sometimes he bites me just to make a point, but not enough to hurt,” Luka told her, “For the most part he’s well socialized, and friendly. Really, he’s harmless to anything much bigger than a rat. I promise, you were never in any danger from him. I’m sorry he gave you such a scare, though.”

“Can I...can I touch him?” Marinette asked, as Sass slithered across Luka’s shoulder and extended his head out a bit, tongue flickering. Luka grinned at her.

“Yeah, sure. Here, let’s just...” He backed up a step and sat down on the edge of Marinette’s bed, then reached up and took Sass off his shoulders to gather him between his hands again. Apparently no longer inclined to stay put after his little panty-nest nap, Sass began to slide up his arm again as Marinette set down next to him. She reached out a tentative finger to stroke Sass’s body as the snake moved up towards Luka’s shoulder. “Oooh, that’s so weird,” she said, but she was grinning, and Luka chuckled.

“I’ve had him since he was a baby about the size of my hand,” Luka told her, closing one eye as Sass poked his snout into Luka’s cheek. “I was freaking out, thinking that I’d lost him. I’m sorry we interrupted your day, but I’m grateful you found him, and didn’t hurt him.”

“Hurt him ,” Marinette laughed. “ He just about gave me a heart attack. I just moved in, you know, and—well, I’d seen a mouse a couple of times so I was already a bit jumpy, and then I saw that and suddenly I was sure the whole place was crawling with pests. Which was maybe a dumb thing to think, but I...it’s my first time living on my own and I guess I’m a little paranoid.” She shrank a little, reaching up to tug at her still-dripping ponytail.

“I don’t think there’s any reasonable reaction to finding a snake in your...er, unmentionables.” Luka coughed as Marinette snickered.

“Unmentionables,” she snickered. “You sound like an old man.”

Luka laughed with her, only a little self-consciously. “I, um... don’t think you’re going to have a mouse problem anymore,” he commented, stroking a swollen place in Sass’s belly. “I guess that’s why Sass ended up here. He probably smelled it.”

Marinette eyed the lump in Sass’s otherwise sleek form with a conflicted expression, but she only sighed.

“If it’s any consolation, I’ve been here a few months and I haven’t had any pest problems,” Luka continued.

“I don’t guess you would,” Marinette laughed, looking at Sass. “They can probably smell him and stay away. Maybe I should borrow him sometimes.”

“Well, clearly I could use a better babysitter,” Luka chuckled. “So if you’re interested, we can definitely work something out.” He turned his head to look at Sass, who was draped along his shoulders again. “No more hunting, though. That mouse could have messed you up, you little jerk.”

Sass yawned, tongue flickering, and then stuck his head down the collar of Luka’s shirt. Luka rolled his eyes. “I should let you get back to your day,” he said, standing up. “And I should get this guy back into his cage.” Sass slid further into Luka’s shirt, and then reversed course, his head peeping back out. “What are you even doing right now?” Luka asked him. “Missing your heat rock?”

Marinette giggled. “He’s kind of cute, actually. He’s very pretty, with those markings...wait, is that him?” She caught the edge of Luka’s sleeve, lifting it slightly to reveal the top of the tattoo on his upper arm.

“Yeah,” Luka grinned, shifting so she could see it better. “I love that one. They made him look amazing.”

“They really did,” Marinette said admiringly, and then her eyes widened slightly and she dropped his sleeve, moving back as her face reddened. “Um, sorry.”

“No worries,” Luka chuckled. She was really adorable, and sweet when she wasn’t screaming. She’d certainly warmed up to Sass quick enough, too, so he gave her points for courage and open-mindedness.

“Well, it was very nice to meet you, Sass,” Marinette said to the snake, bending down slightly to be eye to eye with him. “Next time I’d appreciate it if you’d wait for an invitation, though.”

Sass slid up and away from Luka, stretching out toward Marinette as if planning to explore her shoulders next, but Luka put a hand under him and lifted away. “None of that, Casanova,” he told the snake, redirecting Sass back to his own shoulder. “Let’s get you home.”

Marinette walked them to the door, and when she opened it, Luka paused on the doorstep. “Um, thanks again for being so understanding,” he said, trying not to stare at her too intently. “I’m glad to have met you, Marinette. If you ever need anything, well.” He gestured vaguely. “I’m right next door, and I owe you.”

Marinette smiled at him, pink tinging her cheeks, and his stomach did a little flip. “Thanks, Luka. I’m glad to meet you too. I’m sure I’ll see you around.”

“Yeah, definitely,” Luka smiled back, and then practically fled back to his own door. “See you.”

She gave him a little wave before closing her door, and he was grinning widely when he opened his own.

He took Sass straight back to his enclosure, and Sass eagerly slid from his hands, beelining for his favorite warming spot. “I’m really mad at you,” Luka told him. “I was worried. I’m definitely still killing Dingo.” He couldn’t keep his face stern, though, a smile twitching his mouth. “I might owe you big time, though. That was a hell of an icebreaker.” Luka sighed, and shut the enclosure, making sure it was securely latched.

He went back to the door where he’d dumped his bags, and picked up his guitar case, leaving the suitcases where they were for now. He got out his guitar and settled down on the couch with a sigh.

He lost track of how long he’d sat there, playing a soft tune that reminded him of blue eyes and giggles and silk. When his phone buzzed in his pocket and brought him back to himself, he could see sunset colors through the window.

“Oi, mate,” Dingo said when Luka picked up the phone. “I finally escaped—ooh, poor choice of words...I mean I’m off work now. I’ll grab some takeout and meet you at your place so we can—”

“I found him,” Luka interrupted, wincing a little. He probably should have texted Dingo hours ago to let him know.

Oh well, the bastard deserved it.

“You did?” Dingo repeated, obviously relieved. “Yes. Good. Okay. Welp, cancel that then—”

“Oh, no,” Luka interrupted him. “You’re not getting out of bringing me dinner. I still need to kick your ass.”

“Not exactly incentivizing, mate.” Dingo sighed. “You want your usual?’

“Actually,” Luka said, thinking fast. “I’ll text you my order in a minute.” He hung up before Dingo could protest, stuck his phone in his pocket, and went out the front door.

“This is stupid,” he muttered to himself, rubbing his palms on his jeans before he knocked on Marinette’s door.

She opened the door and her curious expression morphed into a smile. “Luka.” She was fully dressed now and made up to boot, and just as cute as he remembered.

“Hey,” he managed to get out, and hoped his smile didn’t look too manic. “Um, my asshole best friend is bringing me takeout to make up for being a dummy, and I’d really like to buy you dinner to make up for earlier.”

“Oh,” Marinette’s expression shifted into uncertainty, and she bit her lip. “I’d hate to intrude…”

“If you’d rather, I can just bring your food over when it gets here,” Luka offered. “But you definitely wouldn’t be intruding, I’d love for you to join us. Totally your call, though. You don’t even have to decide now. Do you like Thai?” He pulled out his phone to show her the menu.

“I love Thai,” she admitted shyly, taking the phone he offered her. “Um...but you really don’t have to…”

“I want to,” he told her sincerely, and the smile she turned up at him made his heart rate kick up a few beats.

“Okay,” she said, and he nearly stopped breathing as she pulled up his contacts. “How about I just add my number and you can text me when he gets here, and...I’ll come over for a little bit, if you guys really don’t mind.”

“Y-yes, yeah, definitely, go ahead,” he said quickly.

Smiling to herself, Marinette did just that, and then sent herself a text before she handed him back the phone. “I’ll text you my order, it’s a little complicated,” she told him, “and then I guess I’ll see you in a little bit.”

“Yeah,” Luka smiled at her. “Looking forward to it. I’ll text you in a bit.”

He managed to make it back into his own apartment without cracking, and then he had a (very quiet, since she was still next door) freakout in his living room as he texted Dingo both of their orders and hit send. He found himself in front of Sass’s cage, trying to slow his pulse with some deep breathing. Sass was looking right through the glass at him, and if Luka didn’t know better, he’d have thought the little bastard looked smug.

“I’m still mad at you,” Luka insisted, but the grin splitting his face probably wasn’t very convincing. “Don’t look at me like that.” He sighed. “Dingo’s never going to let me hear the end of this. If she’ll even speak to me ever again after she meets him.”

Well. That was a problem for future Luka. Present Luka just got the number for the hot girl next door, and she thought his snake was cute, and—

“Yeah, this dinner with Dingo is going to be a disaster,” he laughed helplessly, flinging himself down on the couch.

#quickspins #lukanette #endgame lukanette #lukanette endgame #luka couffaine #marinette dupain-cheng #miraculousladybug #miraculous ladybug #neighbors au #meet-cute #i'll never not know you #a single spark #quickfic

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daemoninwhiteround2 · 3 years

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The idea of alpha Tim being like “ah my good friend Kon who is gorgeous and powerful and completely amazing, I’m so lucky to have a great friend” and of course is a little in love with Kon, but who isn’t it? He’d never dare presume or try to force his feelings like a brute! He’s happy to have such a wonderful friend! Meanwhile omega Kon is like “Tim, notice me, Tim, I love you, like romantically, I want your knot and mating bite, Tim, I am giving you my jacket to cover in you in my scent, not because of any pure hearted intentions” out here knowing this is his alpha, how on earth to get his alpha to see the same light? came to be in a random thought and won’t leave me alone

Bart is watching with popcorn and cackling at these two pining idiots

Anon, your mind!!

Tim hangs the jacket up with tender care, takes a moment to admire how it looks nestled amongst the others.

Someone snorts behind him and although he knows it'll just feed into their, their delusions, Tim's incapable of stopping his shoulders from tensing defensively.

"Friends, huh?" Jason asks, derision dripping from every syllable.

"Yes," Tim rejoins, keeps his head high as he sails past further into his apartment. "Did you have a reason for being here? Because if not, I'm-"

"Tim!" Dick cries as he sticks his head out of the kitchen. "You're back!"

Tim's steps stutter and he can feel Jason at his back. He fights to keep his face smooth even as he's feeling increasingly like he's being herded.

"Dick. What are you two doing here?" he repeats.

"Can't an older brother come hang out with his younger brothers?"

Tim raises an eyebrow. "I'd maybe believe that of you, Dick, but we spent most of yesterday together. And you brought Jason."

His and Jason's relationship is a lot better than it was, but they'll never be at the casually-dropping-by-one-another's-houses level.

"Ah, well," Dick ducks back into the kitchen and, from the sound of it, riffles through Tim's cutlery drawer. He emerges with a tray covered in little containers and bowls, a pile of forks and spoons in the middle. "I thought," he walks past Tim, forces Tim to take a couple of steps back to give him enough room, and goes into Tim's living room. "Maybe we could watch a movie?"

Tim follows Dick, Jason close enough behind him that Tim can smell him. Jason actually has a nice scent, once Tim got used to the acrid trace of the Lazarus Pit that threads through it, but Tim still presses his nose to his shirt collar to inhale the echo of Kon's scent that got passed along from the jacket.

He thinks he disguises it well enough, lifting his arm, making it look like he's wiping his face on his shoulder, but Jason scoffs behind him.

"Gotta go with the intervention first, Big Bird. Timmers' got it bad."

"Intervention?"

"Jason!"

Tim and Dick exclaim in tandem.

Jason snorts at them and throws himself into the couch, which creaks alarmingly. "We both know you didn't buy it."

He leans forward and starts opening containers. The savoury, spicy smell of chilli fills the air and Tim instantly starts to salivate.

He narrows his eyes, swallows, and weighs up the possibility that Jason has done some sort of Pavlovian experiment on him up against the possibility that Jason's cooking is just that good.

In all honesty it's probably a bit of column a, a big of column b.

He sighs and settles into an armchair that's close enough to the coffee table that he won't have to get up to get refills. "I don't need an intervention."

Jason points a fork at him. "Kid, you kind of do."

Welp. There's Jason's I'm-giving-you-a-hard-truth tone.

"I don't," Tim mutters into his chilli and shoves a massive spoonful into his mouth.

Fuck that's good.

Dick shoots Jason a glare. "Jason's not right - but he's not totally wrong either, Tim. What are you doing with Conner?"

Tim glares into his bowl, stirs it around needlessly. If he had to have this conversation with anyone in his family, these two are probably the best to have it with: he would've flung himself out the window, suit or no suit, if Bruce or Damian were here, and Steph and Cass would probably just encourage him.

He pushes down the voice that mocks him for wanting his ex, and his ... Conner's ex here to encourage him.

There's a long beat of silence as they allow him to chew and swallow the chilli he has in his mouth.

"There's nothing between us," he bites out.

"You're wearing his jacket, Tim," Dick says, all carefully and soft and Tim has the brief, blinding urge to throw the bowl of chilli directly at his face.

"Don't fucking talk down to me," he snaps, temper and scent flaring.

Dick leans back and Jason's scent swells up. Tim knows it's an instinctive response to angry alpha, but that doesn't mean that it doesn't work.

He sighs. "Just - don't know? I'm not a kid or a victim you have to handle."

They sit in silence for long enough that Tim is almost at the bottom of his bowl.

"I'm just worried about you, Tim. I - uh, I know what it's like, to want an omega who doesn't want you."

Tim looks at the two of them. Jason's chasing the last bits of his chilli. Dick's looking at Tim. Tim knows that it would never occur to Jason that Dick's talking about him, and from the way Dick's eyes dart to Jason and go sad, just for a moment... Yeah, there's been no improvement on that front.

"It's not worth it," Jason offers.

Tim bites back the first rejoinder that comes to mind, that of course Conner is worth any wait, any pain, any longing.

From the way a muscle in Dick's jaw visibly twitches, and Dick looks away to look out Tim's window... Tim thinks he might agree.

"You can't just wait forever. That's not fair to you or Conner." Jason looks directly at him and Tim, to his shame, is startled by the depth of regret in his eyes. "Pining forever after someone who doesn't want you - it just hurts you. Conner probably misses having his friend around." He lounges back against the sofa and smirks at Tim as though to cover the lasp in visible emotion. "Either shit or get off the pot."

"Vivid," Tim says dryly.

Jason snorts.

Dick looks at Jason in silence, his face inscrutable.

There's a long beat of silence again before Tim leans forward, refills his bowl and turns on the TV. He offers the remote to the others but they both decline, so he just flips through the Netflix catslogue until he finds something appropriately mindless and settles in to watch a movie with his brothers.

"I gave him my fucking jacket Bart and he just thanked me and left!"

Bart crosses that one off their list.

"I swear, I'm just going to strip naked in front of him and tell him to fuck me."

The way they're going, even that won't work.

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deiliamedlini · 3 years

Text

WIP Wednesday

I’ve mostly been just writing the newest pirate chapter that I posted yesterday (subtle plug hahaha), but this was what I was working on just before. This is from the same fic as this WIP Wednesday. I don’t want to post this one yet because it still kind of sucks (like this, which is not edited at all), so I’m still fixing everything I have so far before actually posting. But today isn’t called Post a Fic Wednesday, it’s called WIP Wednesday, and this is a WIP!

Essentially, Link is tasked with training Zelda to defend herself after a series of Yiga attacks on her life. After some time, they’ve become good friends. She has him come to her room for lessons she doesn’t want ‘on the record’ basically, which is why Link is chilling in her room in this section. Totally not to make things unnecessarily dramatic.

~~~

When Link arrived that night, Zelda wasn’t in her room. He poked around for a moment just to make sure, and then relented to sit on her bed to wait for her, setting down his belt on the chest at the foot of her bed as he always did.

It was unusual that she wasn’t there. However, for the past several days, he’d been finding her waiting for him at the window, usually watching him scale the building with a look that betrayed her awe and her horror.

By her bedside were notebooks and tombs, all with marked pages. They ranged from geography, to biology. His hand reached out to take a book about plants, but he heard footsteps in the hall, followed by the booming voice of King Rhoam.

“Shit,” he muttered, looking around quickly before he slid into the closet just as Zelda’s door opened.

“—with the new treaty. I think that would be useful.”

“Yes,” Zelda agreed, softer than her father. “I think that would work, but we’d have to find a way to incorporate the Gerudo as well. Urbosa is instrumental, and I don’t believe we should keep her out.”

“That’s favoritism.”

“That’s being practical,” she challenged.

Rhoam chuckled. “You are learning well, Zelda. We will contact Urbosa immediately to inform her and see her position.”

“Thank you.”

“Well,” Rhoam said, “I’m going to head to bed now. Is there anything you need, or are you all set?”

“I’m fine; thank you.”

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” he said wistfully.

“Since the Yiga attack? Yes, quite a while.”

“I’m sorry I haven’t been as attentive.”

“No, but it’s really okay. I know the thought is there.”

There was the sound of rustling fabric that Link assumed was Rhoam hugging Zelda.

Then, “What’s that?”

Link peeked his head out to see what the king meant, and when he saw his belt still on Zelda’s trunk, he groaned as quietly as possible.

Zelda was fast, though. Her eyes darted around, looking for him, but she simply tsked, a lie springing to her lips far too easily. “It’s Link’s. He left it after we trained, and I didn’t feel like searching for him afterwards, so I just brought it back with me. I’m going to return it in the morning.”

“Ah,” Rhoam said, picking it up. “You should have gotten it back to him immediately. Looks like there’s some stuff he needs on here. I’m surprised he didn’t seek you out.”

Zelda swallowed and shrugged. “He’s diligent. Maybe he didn’t want to leave his post. Or he has spares. Or, most likely, he knew I’d just return it in the morning.”

“Hrmm, true.” Rhoam examined one of the daggers. “You should keep it in your wardrobe rather than laying around. What if someone did manage to get in here? A Yiga, or some other threat? Then you’ve just left a whole arsenal at the foot of your bed.”

“Then I’d just have weapons at my disposal to defend myself.” Zelda took it and made her way to her closet. “But I understand your point, father. You’re paranoid but—” Zelda yelped in surprise at the sight of Link innocently standing hidden in the closet, his head between two of her dresses.

“Zelda?” her father asked, hurriedly turning to her. “What is it?”

With a quick motion, Zelda pulled the dagger out just a bit and slid her thumb along it.

She turned to Rhoam with a light stream of blood moving down her wrist. “I cut myself. Don’t worry.” Handing Link his belt, as if she were hanging it up, she closed the door, giving him an exasperated look as she did.

Rhoam bit his lip nervously and handed her a nearby cloth. “Good thing you two haven’t covered blades yet. Make sure Link gives you all the safety protocols first. We don’t want that to happen on a larger scale.”

“Yes, father. I know.”

“Need any help with that, or are you all set?”

“I’m just going to wash it out. It’s fine, but thank you.”

“Okay then. Goodnight, Zelda. May the Goddess watch over your sleep.”

“Goodnight, father.”

Rhoam looked her over one more time before closing the door behind him with a tell-tale thud.

Zelda breathed out a sigh of relief. “You almost gave me a heart attack.”

Stepping out of the closet, Link grinned at her and tossed his belt right back onto the chest at the foot of her bed. “You were late.”

“I’m the Princess of Hyrule. I’m not late.”

“Terrible logic,” he said, snorting. But he grabbed a wash basin and brought it to her.

“Thanks.”

He watched her dip her hand into the water and flinch as it lapped over her wound. Resisting the urge to help her, he grabbed the top book from her pile instead.

“No, wait!” Zelda said, crossing the room quickly to try to snatch the book from him, hand dripping still.

“Plants and Horticulture of Hyrule Field.” He raised his eyebrow and flipped to her bookmark. “Are you planning to start a gard—oh!” A grin spread over his face as he read the words on the page. “Guardian technology? Hoarding your blasphemous texts, are we? Are you going to start tinkering with them again?”

“You know I’m not allowed to, so give it back!” Zelda burned red and grabbed his arm to try to pull at him, but with one hand, it was a losing fight. Still, she tried feebly, knowing he’d already seen it, so there wasn’t much reason to really fight anyway. It wasn’t as if he was going to rat her out either. She was simply at the mercy of his teasing for a few moments.

“How did you even get ahold of this?” he chuckled, turning the page at random as his eyes scanned over the words. “Isn’t half of this stuff forbidden to be this close to the castle?”

But they both answered at once, the obvious answer hitting him immediately as Zelda was ready to confess: “Purah.”

This time, Zelda just crossed her arms. “I wanted to… experiment. So, I have a fake cover on it in case someone nosey decides to grab the book! You know my father is paranoid.”

“I do know that.”

“It’s just harmless fun!” she said, still feeling the need to defend herself and her thick tomb. “I’m never allowed to have fun, especially with the books they make me read. I want to read about the blast radius the Guardians have while powered by a massive ancient core! And I want to know the components of a Sheikah slate, so, so badly. My father won’t let me do any of it. I just want to read something that isn’t so political!”

Link hummed and nodded. “That’s true. Those books are the worst. My favorite was, gods, what was it called? An Economic History of the Merchant’s Guild of Hyrule. That’s the one that only spit out rupee facts that you kept telling me, right?”

She blushed a bit more fiercely this time at the level of attention Link had paid her without her realizing, and she pushed him by the arm. “Okay, get out.”

He watched her turn redder by the minute and turned back to her to tap his fingers against the hardcover book tucked in her arms. “You know I’m not making fun of you, right? I think it’s admirable how much you prepare.”

Letting out a breath, she threw herself back onto the bed and slammed her book into her forehead with a groan.

Link chuckled and pried the book from her hands. “I’m serious. You’ll make a good queen.”

Her eyes suddenly darted up to his. She wasn’t sure she’d ever heard anyone tell her that, except maybe her father during her moments of absolute despair when he knew she needed to be cheered up.

Flipping the pages of the Guardian text, Link narrowed his eyes, flipped another page, glanced at her, and then flipped the page again. He waved the book in front of her face. “You wonder why the Goddess doesn’t like you; it’s because you write in your books. Ink is permanent you know.”

She ripped the book from his hand and hit him in the arm with it, doing her best not to let her laugh at his jab break through her angry façade. “I’m aware.”

Watching a drop of blood trail down her finger, Link reached out and cupped her hand in his just before the long trail dropped onto the page. “That’ll stain almost as much as ink. You should wrap that up.”

Zelda let him lead her back to the water, keeping the blood in his hand until they were safe. He dipped his hands in first and shook them out, noticing that there was only one rag.

“Thank you.”

“You really shouldn’t have done that, you know,” Link said, watching the water turn redder.

“I had to think fast, okay? Try ‘thank you for not letting me get caught in your closet, Zelda.’ If I can do it, so can you.”

“Fine. Thank you. I appreciate you covering for me, but you didn’t have to injure yourself to cause an appropriate distraction.”

“You’re so annoying,�� she breathed. “End it at ‘thank you.’”

“Why do you put up with me?” Link laughed, handing her the rag.

She wrapped it around her finger, letting the wound clot. “Because.”

“Because--?”

“Because. Because I just do.”

“That makes no sense.”

“Fine. Because I think you’re amusing. Whether that’s a good thing or not is dependent on the situation.”

Link grinned softly, barely noticeable in anything but his eyes.

Zelda watched him, content in their mutual silence.

But even that had to end.

After her cut had stopped bleeding, Zelda pointed to the empty space in the room. “Okay. Get on the ground.”

“Demands, demands, Princess.”

#wip wednesday #legend of zelda #botw au #pre-calamity au #link #zelda #zelink #writing #I have an innuendo issue in this fic which includes the title. Oops

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marvelousstevetony · 3 years

Note

Hi! These prompts are from a while ago but I was just wondering if you could do

28. You’re so cute when you’re sick and needy.

47. Hiding sneezes

52. Did you just sneeze?

For stony? Like, maybe Steve and Tony are cuddling in bed with Steve cuddled into Tony’s chest, and steve keeps moving randomly. So Tony is wondering what’s going on and then figures out Steve is stifling sneezes into his chest and one comes out weird-ish? So maybe he blesses Steve and Steve gets really nervous because he’s been hiding his sneezes because he doesn’t want to move away from Tony... but Tony really doesn’t mind and finds it cute that Steve is so sneezy and that he feels safe/comfortable sneezing into him because he’s so tired he can’t get the energy to move away? Bonus: maybe Tony tells Steve to stop stifling and tells him he really doesn’t mind him sneezing into him? 😅😅😅

I’m sorry if that’s confusing and really specific. I just love the idea of Steve sneezing into Tony 😅. Feel free to tweak it as much as you want. Also, you don’t have to use all three prompts if you can’t figure out a way to.

Love your writing so much and thank you for the awesome content! :)

Hello, sweet anon! Thank you so much for this ask🥰 I love specific prompts since I don’t have to get too imaginative myself, lol! I would probably end up writing the exact same thing if I didn’t have prompts to go by😅 I hope you enjoy this small ficlet, and let me know if you have any other prompts you’d like me to do!

—————

“You’re still in bed?” Steve quirks an eyebrow at Tony who’s leaning back against the headboard, gaze focused on the tablet in his hand, tapping rapidly at the screen.

He’s wearing the glasses he keeps on his bedside table, because even if Tony doesn’t want to admit it he does need them, especially in the morning when his eyes are still adjusting to being awake. His hair is a rumpled mess, and his t-shirt is creased, probably from moving in his sleep since he sleeps restlessly when Steve gets out of bed.

He looks so good and soft, though, Steve thinks, with his glasses slightly askew and his morning hair, and Steve can’t help but smile at him when Tony looks up to see him leaning against the doorframe, hair wet from shower and wearing the soft sweatshirt he always puts on after working out.

“Well, my boyfriend left me while I was still sleeping to go for a run at 8 in the morning,” Tony says and smirks as he puts down his tablet, “on a Saturday, might I add.” He puts his arms over his head and stretches, sighing as he lets them drop back down onto the bed with a thump.

Tony’s eyes narrow for a second and twinkles with something mischievous, then he pats the empty slot beside him on the bed. Steve sighs, but he finds himself unable to deny getting back into bed with Tony and pads over the hardwood floor to sit down on the edge of the bed.

He’d woken up early that morning, even for him. He could tell it wasn’t time to get up yet, because the sun hadn’t risen, and when he’d looked at his phone to check the time, it was only 5:30. He had tried to go back to sleep, but he felt... odd. His head had been heavy and his eyes felt so tired. His nose had been a little stuffy, too, just enough that it felt uncomfortable to breathe through it. When he had tossed and turned for the better part of two hours, desperately wishing to doze off again but with no luck, he decided he might as well get up and go for his daily run. That would surely clear his head and freshen him up, Steve had thought.

It hadn’t.

“It wasn’t worth getting out of bed for,” Steve admits as he slip off Tony’s glasses, then strokes his thumb across his cheekbone.

“No?” Tony asks smugly and reaches around Steve to pull him him closer until Steve slings his feet onto the bed, shuffling into Tony’s sleep-warm embrace and resting his head on Tony’s shoulder.

“Definitely not,” Steve murmurs into the fabric of the white t-shirt and snakes his arms around Tony’s waist. He suddenly feels like he could sleep for hours without waking, and in the moment he wants nothing more than to just bury himself in Tony’s chest and resign to the steadily increasing exhaustion he feels all over. “Maybe we should just stay here all day.”

Tony snorts fondly and places a kiss into the shower-damp, blonde hair. “Not that I’m complaining, but weren’t you the one harassing me for still being in bed just two minutes ago?”

“Hmph,” Steve grunts and nuzzles his face into the crook of Tony’s neck. “Don’t listen to me, I’m stupid.”

That makes Tony laugh, and Steve can feel the way his skin stretches, can imagine how his eyes crinkle, when he smiles. “You’re not stupid,” he assures and sighs contentedly as Steve shifts underneath the duvet, getting comfortable against him. “We can lie here as long as you want.”

They stay like that for a while, both of them on the verge of drifting off to a slumber when a slight buzzing in his nose demands Steve’s attention. He wrinkles his nose, then presses it into Tony’s collarbone when the tickle becomes more persistent. He can tell he’s going to sneeze when his eyes start tearing up, but he can’t get himself to move. All of a sudden, he realises how lethargic and achy his limbs feel, and before he has a chance decide whether or not he should lean away from Tony, the itch crests.

He ends up stifling two silent sneezes into Tony’s chest, head jerking a tiny bit, but he keeps it mostly under control and gives a tentative sniffle when he hopes he’s finished after the double.

He isn’t, though, because a sudden sneeze creeps up on him before he can swallow back the urge. He stifles it again, but this one is more forceful and makes his entire body jolt when he smothers it into Tony’s clavicle.

Then, Steve tenses, because Tony shifts, and Steve was sure he was asleep. He wasn’t, though, and he must’ve felt the random movements coming from Steve since he asks, “You alright?”

Steve just nods, praying Tony will let it go and close his eyes again. But, of course, the itch resurfaces, and Steve would very much like to talk whatever deity is watching over him in this instant.

He gears up to silence yet another sneeze, holding his breath to avoid an attention-grabbing gasp and hoping that maybe luck is going to be on his side and make the tickle disappear before it peaks. It doesn’t disappear.

Steve squeezes his eyes shut as he stifles the sneeze, but this time it’s just too strong to fully mute and he involuntarily lets out a squeaky sound at the end, “hgnxt-tsCHiew!”

Exhaling slowly, Steve bites his lip and tries to stay as still as possible.

“Did you just sneeze?”

Shit.

A million thoughts run through Steve’s mind when he tries to decide how to answer. Should he deny it and try to act ignorant? Or maybe he should just admit that, apparently, he’s caught a wicked case of the sniffles. He weighs his options, but he never gets to voice either thought, because the itch returns with such urgency that he hurriedly turns away from Tony.

“huh-uhhETCH’oo! uhTSCHH!” The sneezes tumble out with such force that Steve feels it burn in the back of his throat, and he gives a few coughs in surprise before launching into another duo of sneezes. “Heh... ehCH’sshh! EISH’oo! Nng...”

Steve groans, a pained sound that proves just how bad he feels.

“Bless you!” Tony exclaims and rubs a comforting hand on Steve’s back. “Where did all those come from? Wait—“ Coming to a halt, Tony sits up a little straighter and tugs at Steve until he rolls onto his back, a bleary and woozy expression on his face. “Steve, those convulsion... why have you been trying to stifle your sneezes?” Tony looks at him with a confused and somewhat disapproving glare. “You know you shouldn’t do that.”

Steve sniffles a good few times, then lets out a stuffy sigh. Now that he’s been busted he might as well just admit to it all. “‘M sorry,” he croaks, voice gravelly from the throat-scraping sneezes. “We were all cuddled up, and I didn’t want to move, but I didn’t want to sneeze all over you either...” He shies away when Tony runs his index finger down the bridge of Steve’s nose, feeling the congestion begin to settle like concrete in his sinuses. “Sorry, I’mb all gross ndow.”

“You’re not gross, not at all,” Tony says and shakes his head, then pulls Steve’s head down onto his chest again. “Here, lay back down,” he soothes and offers Steve a small, affectionate smile.

Steve hesitates at first, but he finds that he has no will to pull back and lets himself be persuaded into settling into the warmth of Tony and the blanket.

“eh’Cchdt!” Steve holds back another sneeze that he muffles into Tony’s t-shirt, followed by a violent shudder that goes all the way from his shoulders to his toes. “Guh... sorry, I keep sdneezi’g.”

“It’s alright, sweetheart. Bless you, by the way,” Tony says sincerely and nuzzles a kiss to Steve’s temple. “You know you don’t have to hold them back like that, right? You can just sneeze. I really don’t mind...” Tony voice is all soft and fond and a little concerned as well.

Steve blushes, glad that Tony can’t see his face and the way his cheek turn crimson at the sentiment. “Are you, uh... are you sure?” he asks nervously.

“I promise I don’t mind,” Tony guarantees and cups Steve’s jaw, inching his face closer until he can catch Steve’s lips between his own, proving that he really doesn’t care about whatever super-soldier-germs Steve is distributing. “Plus, you’re cute when you’re all sick and needy. I didn’t think I’d live to see the day where you’re the one suggesting we stay in bed all day,” he adds when Steve has to pull away to breathe.

Steve huffs against Tony’s mouth, then ducks his head to cough. His coughs are starting to get a rough, tired edge to them that tells Tony this is more than just the sniffles and that Steve really has caught some awful cold.

Tony curls himself a little tighter around Steve, encompassing him in both legs and arms as he sniffles quietly.

Then Steve sniffles again, more eagerly this time, and Tony knows by the wavering sound that he’s trying to fight off another bout of sneezes.

“Just sneeze, honey,” he coaxes, smiling to himself when Steve nods and draws in a series of short breaths. “I got you...”

A final, unsteady inhalation launches Steve into a fit of congested, tired-sounding sneezes that he muffles into Tony’s collarbone. “Huh... huptCH’ushh! uhh? Uhhushiew! Hh-h! HuhhISShhuu! snffSNFF! Oh...”

The release feels so good that Steve can’t help the quiet moan that follows the sneezes. He rubs his nose back and forth on Tony’s chest, clearing the lingering itch before relaxing into the comforting embrace.

Tony feels a rush of warmth and affection surge through him from the small, contented noises coming from Steve, letting himself bask in the glory of Steve’s body pressed this closely against his own. “This is really nice,” he says, voicing his thoughts bluntly.

Steve hums quietly. “Yeah,” he agrees and squeezes Tony a little tighter. He lifts his head to look into Tony’s warm, brown eyes through his blurry vision. The love and devotion he sees when he meets the caring gaze is clear, though, and his voice goes sweet as sugar when he continues, “You make being sick a lot less crappy.”

With a smile stretching from ear to ear, Tony leans down to rest their foreheads together. “You get sappy when you’re sick, Rogers,” he chuckles, brushing his nose against Steve’s.

Steve smiles, too, but it’s more serious, it’s earnest, expressing sincerity in a way only Captain America himself can embody. “You make life a lot less crappy, too.”

#my fic #stevetony #anon #ask box #i love them so much okay #sick cuddly steve #mcu

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yadds · 4 years

Text

Heyyyy so guess who’s not dead! Anyway, for anyone that’s interested, I’ve decided that I’m not posting ongoing works until I’m done with them then will post as I’m editing. Sorry! However, I do have an excerpt that I like a bit that can stand alone, so here it is! Also, despite the sexual nature of the initial conversation, this is pre-starker and isn’t really much about sex.

Minor background info: Tony has come back from the dead and is still with Pepper but they’re having issues. Meanwhile, the Starker bromance is developing and they hang out quite a bit.

____________________________________________________________________

“Spit or swallow?” Peter asked out of the blue as they sat on the couch watching reality tv.

Tony’s eyebrows were about to climb right into his hairline. “Excuse me?”

“Spit or swallow?” he repeated, over enunciating. “What are your thoughts?”

“Just to be clear, we’re talking about…” Tony trailed off slowly.

“You know, bjs. Blowies. I’m sure you’ve gotten one once or twice,” Peter said with a roll of his eyes, tossing several pieces of popcorn into his mouth.

“Yeah, might have happened on a rare occasion,” Tony responded dryly. “Well, honestly I can take it or leave it on the receiving end, doesn’t make that much of a difference to me.”

Peter’s head tilted back and forth, considering, before shrugging.

“When giving though, I generally don’t like either. Don’t get me wrong, I love going down on people and making them feel good, but I prefer if they don’t finish in my mouth. Obviously I’ve done it before and may very well do it again so I guess I’d probably say swallow? It’s already there, so why make a mess?”

Peter’s attention was now fully on Tony, the TV forgotten in the background. Tony glanced over and smiled wryly when he saw his gaping mouth and red cheeks. “What’s with the stunned mullet impression? Did you not literally just ask that question? Am I going senile already?”

Peter cleared his throat and turned back to face the tv again. “Uh, yeah, I uh I did ask. But I was thinking more on the receiving end - I wasn’t expecting you to talk about giving.”

One of Tony’s brows crept back up. “Oh? And why is that? Because you think I’m a selfish asshole in bed as well or because you think I’m shy?”

Peter shook his head quickly, not catching the amused tilt of Tony’s lips. “No, no of course not! I just didn’t know that you, uh, you know, partake, in partners of the, uh, male persuasion?” If Peter shoveled any more popcorn into his mouth after the desperate handful he just shoved in there, he was going to suffocate.

“Huh,” Tony said thoughtfully. Had they really never talked about this before? “Well, weird phrasing aside (because that was weird, kid, what’s up with that?), I thought it was pretty common knowledge that I was bisexual.”

Peter shook his head again, glancing back Tony’s way. “Nope, definitely not. At least not in any of the articles or interviews online. I mean, yeah, there are a few sources that mention the possibility of you not being completely straight, but they all sound like speculation.”

Tony was speechless for a minute. He watched Peter notice the extended silence and seem to realize what he just said, curling forward and burying his face in his hands, ears bright red.

He finally gathered enough wits to say, “Well, then I guess it was just common knowledge among people who actually know me. SI probably paid off the men I slept with - because heaven forbid the infamous playboy figurehead be seen with a man back in the day. I honestly never paid attention to what exactly was in the press, just made sure I was in it. If I’d known, I definitely would have been more blatantly obvious.”

He was quiet again for about five seconds before he pulled his leg up on the couch and fully turned towards Peter. “I’m sorry, I tried, but I can’t just let this go. I knew you were a big fan, but sounds like you’ve really done your research, Pete.” He couldn’t drop the shit-eating grin on his face.

Peter flopped all the way forward, shoving his face into his knees, groaning. “Can we not do this?” he whined. It only took another ten seconds of pointed silence before Peter broke. “Ugh, okay, so I may have had a crush on you when I was younger,” he admitted. “A teeny tiny, definitely not life-consuming, crush.”

Tony laughed. “And when was this?”

“I don’t know, it started when I was like 13 probably.”

“And you thought you should google my sexuality to see if, what, you had a chance with the guy four times your age that you’d never meet?” Tony didn’t think he’d been this amused in a long time.

Peter sat back up and peeked at him just to throw him a glare. “Yes, because thirteen year olds are so logical, especially when it comes to hormonal urges.”

“Never would have pegged you for being into older men.”

“Really? Because most people aren’t surprised - I apparently just radiate ‘twink with a daddy kink’,” Peter said matter-of-factly.

Tony choked, coughing loudly. “I’m sorry, did you just, in a roundabout way, call me a Daddy? In a way that has nothing to do with my daughter?”

“I- can we talk about something else now?” Peter squeaked.

“That...is probably a good idea,” Tony agreed, feeling his own cheeks heat.

They both stared very intently at the TV, trying to think of anything else.

After a while, Peter spoke up. “Why would you do it again?”

“What?” Tony asked, confused.

“Sorry, I’m back on the spit or swallow question,” Peter explained.

Now it was Tony’s turn to groan. “I thought we were talking about something else.”

“Yeah, something that’s not my personal and very embarrassing past. Now that I have the question, I can’t think of anything else.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Fine. So why would I do what again, exactly? Give a blow job?”

“Well, I mean, that too, considering that you’re still with Pepper and I’m 99.9999% sure she doesn’t have the right equipment for that. But I was talking about spitting or swallowing. Why would you do either? You said you don’t like it.”

“Relationships are about compromise Pete, even in the bedroom. And I don’t hate it when I’m in the mood for it.”

“What a ringing endorsement,” Peter said flatly. “Yeah, there’s gotta be some compromise, but that should be more along the lines of maybe trying new things that you may not have done on your own but are open to. Doing something you definitively, straight up don’t like in bed should not be one of them.”

Tony looked at Peter, perplexed. “I...don’t even know what to say to that. When did you become an expert in this?”

Peter shrugged. “You’d be surprised how much of my time as Spiderman is spent just lending an ear when people are having a hard time. And sex and relationships come up a lot because I guess it’s easier to talk to a random person in a mask than to someone you know. I try to just listen and not to give advice most of the time, since I’m not an expert and everyone’s situation is different, but sometimes people are in circumstances that are dangerous, emotionally and mentally. So I took a couple relationship health and psychology classes my freshman year in college and read up on some of these things to know what to say.”

Tony’s heart warmed, hearing how earnestly Peter wanted to help people. He smiled softly. “Never thought you’d use that on Tony Stark, did you?” he joked.

Peter scoffed. “Please, you were like, the poster child for a lot of these issues. I like to think you’ve finally gotten wiser in your ‘old age’, but I’ve mentally given you several high-handed pep talks.”

Tony was taken aback. “Oh? And what was the subject of these pep talks?”

“Mostly self-worth and your complete lack of it.”

Tony chuckled again. “Well maybe you haven’t heard, but I actually have an unrealistically high opinion of myself, kid.”

“Yeah, do you think that if you keep talking about it loudly enough, you might start believing it?” Peter asked, eyebrow raised.

“Excuse me? I am one of the richest, smartest people on the damn planet. I single-handedly created a superhero while a prisoner in a cave. I created clean energy that can power the planet and I’m pretty sure I’m damn close to being able to end poverty,” Tony rebuked, getting irritated.

“I know, so why do you still feel like it’s not enough?” Peter asked with a shrug, pointedly not looking at him. “All those amazing accomplishments, things no one else would be able to do, but how often do you think about that instead of the few mistakes you’ve made?”

Tony crossed his arms. “Get out of my fucking head, kid,” he grunted.

Peter turned to him with a grin. “You think I should change my degree plan and become a shrink?”

“Definitely not. You’re pretty much done anyway and I need you in my labs, not consoling lunatics like me.”

Peter reeled back exaggeratedly. “You’re quite presumptuous, Mr. Stark, assuming I’ll be working for you.”

“You’d better,” Tony insisted.

“Is that a threat?” Peter asked cheekily.

“Definitely.”

Laughing, Peter settled back into the cushions and resumed his popcorn eating.

After several minutes of watching TV in silence, Peter turned back to Tony. “You know I still think you’re just as amazing as you try to say you are, right?”

Glancing at Peter out of the corner of his eye, he shook his head at Peter’s earnest expression. “No clue why,” he said wryly. “But yeah, I know. Thanks, kid,” Tony said, smile soft as his hand came up to grip the back of Peter’s neck before pulling him into a hug.

Tony cleared his throat and sat back before saying gruffly, “Now shut up and watch...whatever the hell it is you’re making me watch.”

Peter snorted but kept his mouth shut. And as he settled more comfortably under Tony’s arm, his back pressed up against Tony’s side as Tony’s arm draped across Peter’s chest, Tony had to wonder if this is one of the things Pepper had been talking about.

But as he felt the warmth of Peter pressed against him, felt the soft rise and fall of his breathing, felt the proof that Peter was alive and safe, Tony shook away the thought.

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So I’m starting to see a pattern - I tend to write like hell during the fall and winter and not during the summer at all. So apparently I have an off-season lol. Hopefully the pattern continues for the next few months and I can get a few projects finished!

#starker #pre-starker #starker endgame #fic #ficlet #yadds writes #idek #im so out of practice tagging #and i just don't care right now

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concussed-to-pieces · 4 years

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Stay Safe Part Three: Vibroblade Mettle

Fandom: The Mandalorian [Star Wars]

Pairing: Eventual Mandalorian [Din Djarin]/Reader

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: Welcome one and all, welcome to what I like to consider my specialty: a good ol’ dustup. Also this chapter is very long, I do apologize. Enjoy!

Tag List: @wrestlingfae @toxiicpop @helplessly-nonstop @huliabitch @culturalrebel @literal-fand0m-trash @sinnamon-bunn @fioccodineveautunnale @hxldmxdxwn @lizajane3 @thewaythisis @nellyneko

Part One [Should Have Known Better]

Part Two [Tranquil Turmoil]

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains graphic depictions of gore. Stay safe!]

The morning of the long-anticipated fracas broke blessedly clear.

You wrapped the blanket around your shoulders and got to your feet, tiptoeing past the still-sleeping shock trooper.

Someone had hung your clothes up to dry. A certain cape and flight suit were also slung over the indoor line, and beskar armor was laid out in uniform rows on a blanket off to the side.

Your eyes fell on the form that was currently propped up beside the door, his arms crossed and the chin of his helm resting on his chest. All he wore at this point was a thin liner shirt and compression leggings; for some reason he had kept his gloves and boots on. Again, you were uncertain if he was actually sleeping, or simply being very still. You chose to err on the side of caution and carefully, so carefully, you crept to where your clothes hung.

They were still a little damp, but you could definitely put them back on. The mud was gone as well. Rinsed out with the rain, no doubt.

Risking another glance at the downright underdressed Mandalorian (he hadn't stirred), you yanked your threadbare intimates off the line and quickly shimmied back into them under the cover of your loaned tunic. Moving as swiftly as possible, you hauled up your pants and then jerked the oversized tunic over your head to trade it out with your own. There was a heart-stopping moment where your elbow got caught in the tunic's shoulder before you managed to free yourself without any excessive noise, stumbling slightly.

The whole process took maybe three harried minutes, but when you looked over to the doorway again you noticed with a jolt of horror that the Mandalorian's head was now tipped against his shoulder slightly, as if to turn it away from where you were standing.

"Sorry." You whispered, feeling silly for worrying when you received no reply. Your hands neatly folded the borrowed tunic and you tucked it under your arm as you heard the child wake up. "Good morning, sweetheart." You murmured to them, tracing a finger over one of their oversized ears while they yawned and rubbed their eyes. "Let's get some breakfast and leave these two to rest a little more. Big doings today. Need to be at our best."

The baby wriggled in their bassinet, tiny hands clasping at your tunic when you lifted them up.

You turned to depart, but paused by the door curtain. "Hey, say goodbye to your papa." You urged them softly, freeing up one of their hands to flap it enthusiastically at the slumbering man on the floor. The baby giggled, clearly enjoying this new game. "He's working really hard, so we have to work hard too, okay?" You informed the child gravely, beeping their nose afterwards. "Can't be whining about Nevarro. We've got to be strong."

...

The Mandalorian took the child off your hands shortly after he emerged fully-armored from the barn. He didn't actually say anything, he just extended his arms and you got the gist.

You watched him walk away, gloved fingers gesturing animatedly at the baby. It was as if they were having a conversation without words, the baby offering him contemplative noises in response to his motions.

Winta, Omera's child, tugged on your sleeve. "Mama asked me to come and get you. She said you have a really important job tonight so she wants to make sure you're okay." The child relayed.

"Lead the way, kiddo." You replied, your brow furrowing in confusion. What could Omera possibly want with you?

After her child brought you to her, Omera sent the young girl on her way and then indicated for you to sit on the porch alongside her. You were silent for several minutes while the woman patched a hole in one of their sieve baskets, unsure if she needed the time to gather her thoughts.

"Winta's father, my husband, was a strong man." Omera murmured, her brown eyes far away. "He believed he could protect everyone, much like your Mandalorian seems to believe. But…" She inhaled, turning to look at you. "He was not invincible. A moment came where a choice needed to be made, and he sacrificed himself for the greater good."

"What…" You gulped, your words suddenly refusing to cooperate. "Wh-What happened?"

"A contingent of Klatoonians circled around to the hut that we had hidden the younglings in." The older woman said softly. "Winta's father made the choice to protect the children and provide them a distraction so they could escape."

Your heart ached for her. No wonder many of the villagers seemed to look upon Omera as a leader of sorts. Her husband had paid the ultimate price to save the future of their settlement, a price that left her counting the cost every day. And now…

The realization dawned on you that the reason for this conversation was...that future had been entrusted to you.

"Nothing and no one is getting past me. I swear." You promised her, meaning every word. "We've all trained for this. With Cara and the Mandalorian, and everyone's planning, I know that-"

"Are you prepared to make the same choice my husband made?" Omera interrupted, her question devastatingly pragmatic. "Are you prepared? What if one of your friends must make that choice? What then?"

"I…" you hesitated. Friends. "I don't really know. All I know is that I'm going to do everything I can to keep everyone safe. No matter what it takes." You clenched your fist. "You have to count the cost and take the plunge sometimes."

"Let's both hope that our costs will be low in the light of tomorrow's dawn." Omera extended her hand and you clasped her forearm, her own fingers cupping your elbow. "Your Mandalorian seems to care for that child very much." She observed, seemingly at random until you followed her gaze to where the armored man was sitting on a rock.

He was shifting his weight back and forth, absently knocking out a rhythm on his cuisses. The child played in the grass at his feet, waving their arms as the man aimed more of those odd gestures at them. His fingers were strangely nimble for someone wearing such thick gloves. You wondered privately if it was some kind of secret bounty hunter code.

"If you don't mind me asking, was...was your husband good with children?" You queried.

Omera shook her head with a wistful smile. "Maker, no." She chuckled. "At least not at first. Until we had Winta, he was a nervous wreck around the younglings. But once she was born, he…" She trailed off, her smile fading. "Excuse me, I'm sorry. I'm still...it's-it's difficult to talk about him." She squeezed your arm apologetically. "Hold on to your friends for as long as you can. You're still so young."

A lump of uncertainty swelled in your throat and all you could do was nod in response. Could you even call them friends?

The Mandalorian suddenly barked, "spit that out!", the sharp order making both you and Omera look up. When you glanced over, the armored man was on the ground trying to wriggle what appeared to be the business end of a mudjumper out of the child's mouth.

You snorted, struggling to stifle your giggles and almost succeeding. Until Omera erupted into peals of laughter, that is. The Mandalorian's shoulders shot up around where his ears would be, and he slowly turned to look for the source of the noise. As strange as it was to say, you could tell he was sheepish just by the little two-fingered wave he directed at you.

The armored man scooped up the child once the mudjumper crisis had been averted, long strides carrying him to where yourself and Omera sat. "You two see something funny?" He asked. Maker, was he being playful?

"Nope!" You squeaked. "Nope, nothing at all."

"Does the little one do that often?" Omera inquired, smiling again when the Mandalorian heaved a sigh and nodded rapidly.

"Ask them, they're the ones that ended up keeping him from choking most of the flight here." He replied, tilting his head in your direction.

"He's young, everything is new and interesting." You surmised.

"He's fifty." The Mandalorian said flatly. "This is a little old man in nerf's clothing. Don't be fooled."

"No he's not." You crooned, taking one of the proffered tiny green hands and gently swinging it back and forth while the baby babbled happily. "With those eyes? They're just a sweet innocent little baby convor."

"With the killer instinct to match." The Mandalorian retorted. "Did you see that mudjumper? This kid has a slimy body count."

"Do you?" You asked the child, smiling when they shrieked in reply. "Have you got a body count, baby bird of prey?"

"For tonight." The Mandalorian said, suddenly back to being all-business. His rapid changes of conversation would be the death of you. "I know you're stationed with the little ones. If everything goes as planned, you won't even see action."

"I can hope, but I'll be ready either way." You murmured. Omera's hand squeezed your arm again and the widow got to her feet, waving goodbye to the baby before she departed with her mended basket. "Her husband had my job and he…" You trailed off, swallowing. "I-I guess I'm a little worried." You admitted quietly.

"I don't want you pulling any heroics." The armored man grunted. "Enough of these people are hellbent on being the front lines. They've never been able to think about revenge before, and now that they are, well." He turned, actually looking at you. "You have the important job. Foundlings are...excuse me, younglings are the only way this place will live on."

"I understand." You hesitated, then asked, "can I hang onto that vibroblade for tonight? The one I've been practicing with?"

"It's yours." The Mandalorian answered firmly.

"What, no, that thing's power cells alone probably cost a fortune. Just let me use it ton-"

"I said. It's. Yours." The man growled, propping his boot up on the porch. You got the impression that he was glaring. "You need it, you use it, you keep it."

"I hope I don't have to use it." You mumbled, wishing you didn't sound quite so scared.

"For your sake, I hope you can use it if it comes down to it."

…

I hope you can use it if it comes down to it.

You scoffed to yourself, pacing back and forth in front of the hut doorway. More than anything, you prayed that the front lines would hold. You prayed that everyone would stay safe and that you wouldn't have so much as a glimpse of action.

Your prayers appeared to go unanswered when you heard the crash crash crash of ground-shaking footfalls. The children began to whimper amongst themselves, one girl bursting into tears when a thunderous salvo went off. That would be the AT-ST.

You knelt beside the little girl, doing your best to soothe her panic. "It's just loud. Just noise. Like thunder, you know?" You reasoned quietly, relieved when she blinked back her tears and nodded.

There was the sound of running outside, and the guttural yells of the raiders began to reach your ears. That boded poorly. The barricades were supposed to funnel them to the villagers, had the place already been overwhelmed?

Your brow furrowed. "Stay put, and stay quiet." You instructed Winta, doing your best to keep your voice steady. "You're in charge of the others if I have to leave at some point. I'm counting on you, Sneaks."

The little girl nodded solemnly, holding the baby in her lap. The large-eared being blinked up at you with those enormous eyes, lower lip quivering slightly.

"Hey now, it'll be okay. Don't you worry!" You cajoled, rising to your feet with an easy smile. You turned on your heel to go check the doorway again--

You caught a fleeting glimpse of a hulking form and then the stock of a blaster rifle slammed into your stomach, crushing all the breath out of your lungs with a single, calculated blow. You crumpled to your knees, retching. The world spun in grayscale, a set of boots dizzily coming into your field of vision.

The barrel of the blaster pressed against the side of your head.

The younglings.

The younglings! Move, damn it!

All of Cara's training rushed to the forefront of your brain and you lunged into the raider's legs, knocking him flat on his back. His shot went wide, blowing a hole in the ceiling overhead. In the breathless second before he comprehended that he had missed, you managed to draw the vibroblade. Swinging from the side with all your strength, you watched his face tear under the brutal assault of the steel.

It was terrible. It was so much worse than you could have imagined. What had you even been thinking, getting involved in something like this? This was nothing like the brawls you had gotten into over mining deposits or repair jobs. This was a thousand times worse.

A moment came where a choice needed to be made, and he sacrificed himself for the greater good.

Could you make a choice like that? Did you trust yourself with a choice like that?

A soft whimper from behind you effectively put an end to your moral quandary and your eyes narrowed.

You staggered back up, sucking wind, your shaky fingers tearing the knife loose. Armed with the whirring blade, legs akimbo over the limp form, you weren't even afforded the time to move forward before another Klatoonian made their way through the door.

You lowered your head slightly, gripped the vibroblade a little tighter and gritted your teeth. The raider foolishly wasted his opportunity to attack you immediately, deciding instead to leer at the terrified younglings behind you. That is, until he seemed to notice the body you stood over, his eyes widening and the blaster he held jerking upwards.

At that point it was too late. You were already on him like a wild nexu, yowling and snarling as you used the momentum of your attack and lower center of gravity to tackle him backwards out of the hut. Your elbow rammed into his arm, knocking the blaster to the side before he could use it.

Half of the fight is the noise you make. If you're louder, you're stronger! You're scarier! Cara's instructions rang in your head.

You braced the pommel of your blade with your palm and shoved it home between the helmet and armor just like the Mandalorian had shown you. It was strangely simple, the raider gurgling and flailing their arms before collapsing.

You yanked the blaster from his limp hands, fumbling to find the trigger on the unfamiliar weapon. This was bad. They weren't supposed to have even gotten this far! Something must have gone wrong on the front lines. Had Cara or the Mandalorian been taken out?

Focus. Don't panic. Focus. You inhaled, staggering a bit as another bombardment from the walker rocked the ground. That was the problem. They hadn't gotten rid of the AT-ST yet. No doubt all manpower was currently dealing with that issue, leaving gaps in the front line that the raiders were exploiting.

You tore your eyes away from the body in the dirt beside you, glancing around. The Klatoonian raiders appeared to have the upper hand. The AT-ST loomed in the distance, its two red viewports glowing like the eyes of a massive beast. Everywhere you looked, you saw villagers engaged with the raiders. It was chaos.

You pulled the trigger as a knee-jerk reaction when a raider rushed at you. The gun had more kick than you expected, bucking hard against your shoulder and the raider was still coming for you. You frantically fought with the trigger, realizing almost too late that the gun needed to be primed before it could be fired.

You braced yourself better this time and your aim was true, dropping the raider what felt like bare inches away from you.

Count the cost and take the plunge.

Your back straightened up and you returned to your origin point, nervously shifting your weight back and forth on trembling legs. Despite your fear, despite your inexperience, you vowed you would not be moved from this spot. Protect the younglings.

The fight felt like it just went on and on. You pulled the trigger again and again, your shots missing more often than not, and when the gun ran dry you fell back on the vibroblade. It didn't matter whether you entirely stopped the raiders that were running by the hut, you reasoned, as long as you took a chunk out of them on their way through.

It was not...particularly glamorous. Your knees were shaking, stomach rolling, jaw clenched. Nothing at all like the propaganda imagecasts, where there was always brilliant sunlight and wind blowing while someone gave poetic rallying speeches. This was an ugly fray in the dirt, a true skirmish, and you were scared out of your mind.

Nothing and no one is getting past me. Nothing and no one is getting past me. Nothing and no one is getting past me. The phrase cycled like a mantra, something for you to latch onto as you struggled.

Like you were doing the drills with the Mandalorian, you could practically hear him barking louder! and you obeyed, snarling and snapping your teeth when you engaged the enemy. You operated on sloppy muscle memory from all the training, all the instruction that had been crammed into the last few days carrying you through the fray. Several times you missed your openings and then you panicked, resorting to brute force to deal with the problem at hand. You knew you were too stiff, constantly flexing your fingers to keep them from cramping up.

The vibroblade was getting hard to hold, its handle slick with blood and the sweat from your own palm, but you doggedly kept at it.

Your arms were so heavy.

How the hell does he manage this in full beskar?!

Several villagers came to your aid at different points, blaster fire briefly taking some of the paranoid burden off and reminding you that you weren't alone in this. You were grazed in the shoulder by a raider's shot when you missed another strike, the pain bright like lightning behind your eyes, but it wasn't as if it made your arm any heavier. Shake it off and keep going, rookie! The adrenaline will hold the pain!

You would take care of it later.

Right as your second wind was abandoning you in the dust, there came the high shriek of abused metal. The walker, it seemed, had finally taken the bait, toppling into one of the ponds. Not two moments later, it exploded spectacularly in a massive fireball.

Your ears still ringing from that, you almost didn't catch what happened next. You glimpsed a helmeted form climbing up one of the barricades, and then-

"Kote!" The Mandalorian roared triumphantly, slamming his gauntlet into the center of his beskar chestplate. The metal rang like a bell, echoing across the battlefield and drawing all eyes to him. Gods knew he certainly cut an impressive figure, silhouetted against the burning walker.

The Klatoonians seemed to slowly realize that their largest advantage was now a smoldering pile of refuse, and the ones left alive began to flee back into the woods in a panicked rush. The villagers pursued, borrowed weapons and makeshift spears urging the raiders off of their land with deadly force.

You dropped to one knee, your breath wheezing in your chest with every inhale. That whole event blew Cara and the Mandalorian's drills clean out of the water. You felt like you could sleep for a year.

Younglings.

You got back up.

There were only six bodies littering the ground around you, but it had seemed like an insurmountable force while you were fighting. Now you were a little embarrassed at your level of exhaustion. Again, you wondered how in the world Cara or the Mandalorian managed while lugging their various armaments and protective gear.

You stumbled back inside the hut full of children, startled when two more of them silently crawled into your lap alongside the kid once you plopped down. "It's all but over. Few more minutes. You all did so great." You praised them, smiling tiredly and bumping their foreheads with your own. "I know that was pretty loud stuff, but you guys kept your cool. I'm very proud." Your throat burned, voice grating painfully from all the no-doubt incredibly intimidating noises you had made.

"Are they going to come back again?" One of the little boys asked, his eyes wide.

"I don't think so. Your parents did a fantastic job at keeping you all as snug as womp rats in a haystack." You bit your lip, a little overwhelmed with the myriad of tiny, tear-streaked faces staring pensively up at you. Maker only knew how bad you looked right now. "Hey, the words to that song I taught you all got spooked right out of my head. Can you guys help me remember it?" You asked, grasping desperately for something to distract and occupy.

"Will you pay, can you pay…" Winta trailed off uncertainly.

"Calamari flan!" Another child supplied helpfully, wiping their eyes. "Build a ship as best as you can." More variations. You felt yourself getting a little misty, but you chalked it up to a combination of relief and exhaustion.

The children slowly curled up around you, little voices arguing sleepily over the lyrics in a matter of seconds. The baby snuggled into the crook of your forearm, their tiny thumb tucked into their mouth.

Stars, you were tired.

Your eyes kept sliding closed only for you to jerk them back open seconds later. Your mouth was still dry and sour with leftover adrenaline, every muscle aching from the exertion of the earlier battle. The younglings drifted off one by one, their discussions dissolving into nothingness.

When Cara shoved open the flap of the hut she looked fresh as a daisy, if a little damp. "Holy sh-stars." She whispered, just barely curbing her swear in time when she spotted the mangled raider. "How did you-?"

"Can you round up parents?" You requested softly, indicating downwards at your full lap. "I don't think I can move currently."

She nodded, retreating from the hut. You buried your face in the sleeping baby's robe, inhaling their clean scent in an effort to ground yourself. They were fine. The younglings were safe. You had succeeded.

Somehow, somehow, you had succeeded.

The Mandalorian was the next one in, his dark and bulky form sparking a momentary rush of panic. You had your knife out and in front of you before you could even think, the vibroblade whining in your tight grip as you clutched the children close.

"Easy." The beskar-wearing man breathed, raising his hands. "Just me. Just me." He glanced around, then crouched and leaned in. "Parents are on their way. There's some wounded, but no dead."

"No…?"

"Yeah." A sob rattled your aching chest at his affirmation. "Steady. It's over now." He rasped, easing the knife out of your trembling hand and switching it off. "I saw your work outside. You're really something, aren't you?"

You were positive you were hallucinating the warmth in his tone. "Had to...keep them safe." You reasoned sluggishly. Then, "How do you move in that stuff? Feel like my arms are going to drop off."

"Practice." He replied. His helmet tapped your forehead and you realized you had dozed off for a second. "Stay with me, stowaway. We're almost done."

"Mmhm." You mumbled, obediently keeping your eyes open. He didn't move away though, simply maintaining the even pressure of his cool helm against your heated skin. It gave you something to focus on, something to help you stay conscious.

Battered, weary parents filtered in one by one, children getting picked up or ushered out still half-asleep. Omera hugged you fiercely tight before she departed with Winta, her gratitude warming your whole body.

"Sleep now?" You asked the Mandalorian hopefully as he rose.

"We need to know how much of this blood is yours." He muttered, pulling you upright. He grunted in surprise when you nearly collapsed, quickly grabbing hold of your belt to steady you. "Focus, stay with me. Do you remember getting hit?"

You cast your mind back over the disjointed memories of fighting, scrunching your eyebrows in thought. "My shoulder hurts." You remarked intelligently.

"Is that the only spot?" The Mandalorian questioned, his fingers already prodding.

In reply, you scooped his hand up and proceeded to thump it clumsily on the middle of your chest. "Burns to breathe."

All you remembered after that was the way that the world tilted and your cheek pressed against his breastplate.

…

It was raining.

Rain was so rare on Nevarro, a gift and a curse. Places flooded rapidly, but the moisture farms would flourish for months. Divining was regarded with a healthy amount of superstition, for in the water witchery of dowsing rods one could theoretically gain enough insight to keep their wells from drying and their steads from peril.

You hummed sleepily.

Rain was so, so rare. You should get up to watch it.

When you opened your eyes, you realized you were not on Nevarro. The memories came hot on the heels of your realization, the younglings, the fight-

You sat bolt upright, wincing in pain when your shoulder protested the rapid movement. "Ah, ouch-"

"Don't you even think about getting up." Cara's stern voice made you flinch guiltily, and you tucked your leg back beneath the blankets. The soldier loomed over you, a broad smile softening her features after a moment. "Glad you're awake. You snore like a bantha, y'know."

She passed you a tankard full of water and you hungrily gulped, the liquid dribbling down your chin. "Where's-" you rasped.

"Shush, you're so bad at this. Everyone is fine. Everyone." Dune stressed. "You just sit where you are and keep your shirt on." She settled down onto a small stool beside you, leaning forward and clasping her hands. The thick waves of her dark hair hung over her face as she joked, "It's good to have you kickin'. That baby's been gettin' on my last nerve. Oh, and the one with the big ears, too."

"I'm sorry." You whispered, ludicrously feeling as if you had been shirking.

"Don't apologize." Cara chided you. "I'm sure Mando'll come breezing back in here with at least two brats in tow. You can feel sorry then."

"How long did I sleep?"

"Through the night, half into the afternoon." Cara waved a hand. "Usual rookie nap. You probably blew through your calories for the entire week just from shaking, right?"

"How'd you guess?" You mumbled, a little embarrassed.

"You know, I haven't always been this much of a badass." She laughed at the incredulous look you sent her way. "I'm serious! I know it's hard to believe that I wasn't assembled in a factory, chiseled from the Maker's own marble to slay, but the truth is that I am human. I've been scared stiff loads of times." Her hand landed on your good shoulder. "The important part is still going to work, even when you're scared stiff. So I'd say you succeeded."

Your stomach growled, making you grimace. "Speaking of calories…"

Cara got to her feet, moving to the doorway. "Hey! Mando! They're awake! Stop playing in the mud and get me some stew!" She shouted.

"How are the younglings holding up?" You asked.

"They're fine. Resilient little buggers. With some luck, most of the younger ones will think it was a nightmare." Cara sighed, her shoulders slumping. "They bounce back."

You heard steps sloshing through the puddles long before you actually saw the armored man, and you couldn't help your smile when he did come into view. He was covered in mud up to his thighs, his flight suit spattered liberally across the knees and elbows.

"Good to see you conscious." He greeted you, handing Cara a steaming bowl. "The sleep after battle is the best kind."

One of the children dragged at his arm, their body also covered from head to toe in grime. "Come on Mando, we have to keep learning!"

"Learning?" You asked curiously. "What are you teaching them?"

"Something important. It's," the Mandalorian hesitated, one large hand resting on the child's head. "It's a little like that song you showed them."

"Can you pay, can you pay, Calamari flan?" The child grinned, hammering out a rhythm on the Mandalorian's beskar-plated forearm. "Clean my ship as fast as you can!"

"Yeah. Like that. But different." The armored man shrugged, not seeming overly bothered by the little one currently beating a tattoo on his arm. "Rest up while you can. There was some significant structural damage during the raid, so we'll have our work cut out for us over the coming weeks."

Strangely, the implication that you would be staying didn't cause you distress. "I don't want to be dead weight, so you'd better not do too much without me." You requested, offering him a wry smile.

He cocked his head to the side, then nodded. "'Course."

…

Over three weeks of laborious rebuilding later, you found out what he had been teaching the younglings. There had been some secretive fumbling, a few slip ups that had you suspicious, but you were just as surprised as everyone else when the children all filed into a line in front of the evening bonfire.

The baby was there as well, held in the arms of one stoic Mandalorian. The children all bore old pots and pans, salvaged from the makeshift target range, and your brow furrowed as they dropped into strange stances.

"They wanted to learn." Was all the Mandalorian said, shrugging and carefully setting the kid down on the ground. Then, he raised his hand and struck himself on the chest like he had done during the battle.

The beskar rang out and the younglings started their performance, Winta carefully enunciating a string of words in a language you could only assume was Mando'a. The children stomped and reeled in unison, each one hammering enthusiastically on their own 'armor' and then the armor of the next child in line to keep time.

Cara whooped and started clapping along when the Mandalorian actually moved with them, his greaves rattling as his boots scuffed their way through the motions of the dance. For a dance it was, wheeling and enthusiastic. His modulated voice quietly echoed Winta's, prompting her occasionally when she got stuck on certain words.

The baby squealed and waddled around, waving their arms in delight at all the commotion while the other adults began to clap in time. The whole display had your emotions knotting in your chest. The younglings had clearly put a lot of time into learning all the steps of this particular dance, their little faces scrunched up in concentration. And overseeing it all was the sturdy form of the Mandalorian, his beskar glowing orange in the firelight while he chanted softly. It was beautiful, achingly familiar and yet alien all at once. Comradery, children at play, songs you didn't know the words to…

You watched his hands as Winta shouted, "Oya, oya manda!", realizing that his careful gestures were lining up with the cadence of the song. He was saying things with his hands. That was what he had been doing at the kid before! You felt a little stupid for not putting that information together sooner, but now you were seized with a burning desire to know. What other secrets did he keep close, tightly wrapped in beskar?

The kid wandered your way and you scooped them up, holding your palm flat so they could beat their tiny hands down onto it as if they too were clapping along. Their massive ears perked up and they babbled madly at you, making you smile anew.

When you glanced back up, you could have sworn the Mandalorian was looking at you.

Then again, it might have merely been a trick of the wavering light on his helmet.

...

It wasn't until much later in the evening that you finally mustered up the courage to enquire about the song. After you had tucked the kid into bed, you quizzed him on it. "What is that called? The song and dance, I mean."

"It's a piece of my culture." The Mandalorian informed you solemnly. He had posted up at the doorway by Cara, one ankle slung over the other in a relaxed pose. "The Dha Werda Verda. We're taught a few verses when we're young so we can learn how to move in sync with one another. If you step wrong, oftentimes that means you're punching your neighbor in the head. We try to learn how to avoid that early on."

"Oh. So it's kind of a training thing?"

"In a sense, yes. But at the same time…" He paused, brushing his thumb absently down the center of his breastplate. "It's tradition. The Mandalorian culture is not a peaceful one by nature; our expressions of art are made for war." He tilted his head towards you. "There are over seven hundred verses in the Dha Werda Verda alone. It serves as both poem and battle cry."

"And you just taught it to a group of younglings." You deadpanned.

"I taught them a little." He corrected you. "Just like your song that you taught them. They'll make their own versions of mine soon enough, and theirs will be associated with peace. With safety." He shifted his weight, staring off into the darkness. "I did not...I didn't have anything else to offer them."

"I wouldn't say that. It's because of you and Cara that a lot of them still have parents." You pointed out. "I bet these people will tell stories about you two!"

The Mandalorian cocked his head, looking back at you. "It's thanks in no small part to you that they still have younglings to pass the tales along."

Well, that was a weighty thought. You silently mulled it over, concluding, "I don't need them thinking about me like that. I'm not really...well, you know. Heroic. Not like you and Cara."

Cara spoke up from her position on the porch, dryly saying, "take the damn compliment, will you? Not every day that a Mando wants to share glory."

The Mandalorian huffed, muttering something under his breath that had Cara reaching over to punch him in the arm. You chuckled at their antics while you watched them bicker with one another, a strange sense of peace coming over you.

"So, what happens if you take that thing off?" Cara asked suddenly, her head tilted slightly to look up at the armored man. "They come after you and kill you?"

"No." He was silent for an inordinate amount of time and you thought that was the end of his explanation, but then, "You just can't ever put it back on again."

Cara raised an eyebrow at him. "That's it?" She sounded disappointed, and you couldn't really blame her. After the gravity of everything that you had heard regarding Mandalorians and their helmets, it was a little anticlimactic.

The Mandalorian nodded.

"So you could slip off the helmet and go settle down with that beautiful young widow?" Cara gestured outwards at the village with her bright blue glass of spotchka. "Raise your kid, sitting here sipping spotchka?"

You took a noisy slurp of your own spotchka for emphasis, grinning at Cara when she chuckled.

He scoffed, shaking his head. "We raised some hell here a few weeks back. That's...too much action for a backwater little town like this. Word travels fast. We might want to cycle the charts and move on."

Cara murmured, "I wouldn't want to be the one that's gotta' tell him." Her hand waved vaguely towards the bassinet where the child slept peacefully. "The kids love him, y'know."

"I'm leaving him here." Both you and Cara gawked up at the armored man, startled by his announcement. "Traveling with me...that's no life for a kid."

It was a reasonable thing to do. Practical, even. He was a bounty hunter. That didn't exactly scream 'conducive to child-rearing', last you checked. But why did he sound so torn about it if he had already made up his mind?

"I did my job. He's safe. Better chance at a life." He continued stiffly after a moment.

"It's gonna' break his little heart." Dune's tone was faintly accusatory.

"He'll get over it." The Mandalorian replied quietly. "We all do."

The three of you stared out into the darkness in silence for a good while after that. This felt...strange. On the one hand, you could understand not wanting to endanger the kid any further, but the idea of making them sad about anything...this concern was a new phenomenon.

You had always been a firm believer in the notion that children were smarter than adults gave them credit for. It had made it easier to justify not saying goodbye to any of them when you headed off on your next grand adventure; you reasoned they would put it together on their own and really, there was no need for long, drawn-out farewells.

But now, for the first time you could remember, the idea of leaving was...it made you anxious. And it wasn't even you that was preparing to leave!

"Wh-When do you want to-"

"Two days, maybe." He cocked his head at you, "I can't bring you back to Nevarro. But you don't have to stay here if you don't want to. I'm sure if I put you on a platform, someone can get you to Nevarro."

"I...can I think about it?" You implored, relieved when he nodded.

"Give me your answer tomorrow."

…

"Thanks for coming along."

"It's no trouble. About time I started pulling my weight in the security department anyhow." You checked your knife for the hundredth time and Cara grinned at you.

"Nervous?" She teased quietly.

You winced. "Is it that obvious?"

"Listen, you've got nothing to worry about out here aside from falling asleep due to boredom. I promise." Cara assured you, giving your shoulder a light tap. "I just walk the perimeter out of habit at this point. There's been no issues for weeks."

"I know, I just…" You were loathe to continue, certain that you would sound like you were whining to this veteran of a soldier. "I guess I'm still a little uneasy from the big, uh. Fight."

"The first sip of real action usually leaves a bitter taste in your mouth." She murmured. "I'd be concerned if it didn't."

Oh. You glanced sidelong at her, studying her face. "Does it fade away after a while?" You questioned.

"Yes...and no." Cara seesawed her hand with a grimace. "Everyone reacts differently. Some people can process it, some people crush it down into a little ball until it explodes." She shrugged. "You never know." Her eyes focused on a point somewhere behind your left shoulder and she came to an abrupt halt. "Who…?"

You turned to follow her line of sight and your brow furrowed. It was not someone from the village, but it also didn't appear to be a Klatoonian. Not nearly bulky enough. The long-barreled rifle on their back caught your eye.

"Stay close, we're following them." Cara whispered, already stalking forward.

The two of you flitted from tree to tree, pursuing the oblivious figure. They had something in their hand, something that you could see blinking red every now and then, and they were heading towards the settlement at a steady pace.

They finally stopped at the edge of the treeline, slinging the rifle off of their back. It took them a few minutes to get set up, nimbly attaching a scope before hoisting the gun and beginning to calibrate the viewfinder.

Cara motioned for you to stay put, the soldier slinking ahead to the next tree. You had a death grip on your vibroblade, finger hovering over the button. A quiet, persistent beeping noise drew your attention and you searched for the source, locating it a second later in the form of a tracking fob attached to the person's hip. It blinked red and you realized that this person was a bounty hunter.

A bounty hunter. Did that mean they were after someone in the village?

A shot rang out and you cringed back against the tree, only realizing after a moment that it had been Dune who shot first. A commotion rose from the village, the sound of the blaster no doubt attracting the attention of anyone who heard it.

You rushed forward to Dune's side as she rolled the smoking body over with her boot. The fob on their belt continued to blink and beep softly even after she yanked it free. "Who were you tracking, buddy?" Cara mused aloud, very clearly unphased by the fact that she had just ended this individual's life. That made sense, though. How many times had she done this before?

You heard a rattling sound that seemed to be rapidly approaching from the direction of the village. Beskar. "Oh boy." You said weakly.

"What, what's-" Dune paused, obviously hearing the noise as well. "Oh. Well, brace for impact." She grimaced. "Mando drop inbound."

With a resounding crash! the Mandalorian stormed the treeline, not even bothering to break his stride so he could maneuver around the underbrush. He somehow exuded fury, his tense body language screaming danger danger danger!

Unconsciously, you shifted so Dune was between you and him. She shot you an amused glance, standing her ground with her arms crossed.

The armored man slowed only marginally once he appeared to notice the two of you, his shoulders slumping. "What happened?" He called, his voice rasping through his modulator.

"We caught a hunter." Cara replied, waving the tracking fob. "Fob doesn't sound like it's for you or me. Or for this lovely person who is currently cowering behind me." She ribbed you, making you huff in embarrassment and shuffle out from the safety of her shadow.

He obviously wasn't on the offensive anymore but Maker, he was terrifying when he was! The Mandalorian extended a hand to take the fob, moving in a slow circle and then halting when he faced the village. "It's for the kid. They're...they're after the kid." He gritted out a word you didn't know, "Osi'kyr," then dropped the fob on the ground and crushed it with one violent stomp. "I have to take him and leave." He said after a moment of staring down at the destroyed object.

"They'll keep coming?" Dune asked.

"Where there's one, there's more." The Mandalorian sighed heavily, "I know hunters." He pointed at you suddenly. "Choice?"

It took the barest split-second of thought. "I'm with you." You hesitated, then added, "I can help keep the baby safe."

"Good." He sounded like he was relieved, of all things. "We have to move fast."

Part Four

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #eventual romance #slow burn #the mandalorian imagine #the mandalorian spoilers #din djarin imagine #fight fight fight #I love me a good swing sesh #also dancing #who doesn't love dancing #pedro pascal

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reversecreek · 3 years

Note

✵ zloane , bravier , nyla and sean

ZIGGY & SLOANE

their first impression of your muse:

sexy. tugged on her hair literally the first time he saw her hadn’t even had a conversation bt was just like target? located. going? ✈️ annoy her. probably initially just thought she was only at the skate park bc sean was n was like 🙄 then she cld actually skate n he was like 😏 liked that she gave him shit. found it funny pushing her buttons. liked her eyes. probably was like wtf is in the fuckin water in this town yo why all my friends got hot sisters that shit aint right tryna make me a dog....... not that he was even. phased by betraying those boundaries bt. still. i won’t lie his main first impression was probably jst damn bit hot when she glares at me like that. KJHFSGKSJHGKGHSFKGH

current impression:

knows her a little more than he likes to know people. favourite person to argue w. can possibly skate better than him bt if she said so he’d be like “ur off ur fuckin tits man” n then practice secretly on his own for hours that night n get 9457295 scrapes. doesn’t like talking abt her dad like him so one time he put a firework in his mailbox n never admitted it was him. has reactions to youtube videos tht make him snort. quite funny in general rly. drinks a lot not that he can judge it’s just sometimes he notices n once he even snatched her cup n drank the rest so she couldn’t. played it off as their typical fuckery bt he isn’t sure what that feeling was. hasn’t been concerned often enough to know it by name. finds her hot at inappropriate moments like when a movie chara’s dying n he’s meant to be sad. finds her hot when she pisses him off too. thinks mayb she likes the excuse to hold onto him when she rides on his vespa but he kind of likes it too so he’s not about to call it out bc “he isn’t about that deep shit”.

are they attracted to your muse?:

KFJHGKJGHFGKFHSGKSHGKSFGH. imagine i was jst like no <3... yes. he likes to act like he’s less so than he is bt it’s obvious.

something they find frightening about your muse:

i wouldn’t say it frightens him bt sometimes he catches her looking at him a certain way n it unsettles him but he doesn’t know why. usually just pretends he didn’t catch it.

something they find adorable about your muse:

he likes her short hair he’s always ruffling it n tugging on it. whenever she hs bumps n scrapes n bruises from falling off her board n getting back on over n over again jst never giving up or giving a fk. when she acts like she isn’t jealous.

would my muse sacrifice themselves for yours?:

umm. no. he’s an asshole. KGJSHFKGHSKFHGSKFGHKGH. sighs.

would my muse go on a date with yours? platonic/romantic:

no..... sees that as dangerous territory wouldn’t wna blur the lines. looks away.

one word my muse would use to describe yours:

baddie. FKGJHSKGHFGSFHGSKGHSFKHG. demonic (when they’ve had a fight).

would my muse slap yours if they could?:

no. he loves to argue w her but it never feels that Real u know... more like flirting. even when they’re rly pissed off. wld never enter that territory he hates shit like tht w a passion. cue round of applause from the audience for this absolutely low bar.

would my muse hug/kiss yours?:

i feel like they’re not rly huggy people...... ziggy probably puts his arm around her a lot tho he loves doing that. hs kissed her more times than he can count too n doesn’t plan on stopping

BRADLEY & XAVIER

their first impression of your muse:

funny. mean in a more digestible way than she was used to. he had barbs n she liked the way people winced when they tried to swallow his company. when she got paired w him for a class project she met his eyes across the room n he didn’t quickly look away like most ppl. something abt that intrigued her. a sharp fingernail inside her head kept having to itch at something n she realised it was the urge for him to call her a bad name. this weird craving to hear an angry word inside his mouth just for her. she used to think that’s what someone wanting her was like. still does sometimes. this both pissed her off n caught her attention which is a bit of an accomplishment fr someone who gets bored by everyone n everything.

current impression:

his heart’s more good than she expected. it felt a bit like having a cat drop a dead mouse at ur doorstep that u don’t know what to do with when she realised that. she felt uncomfortably like her mother when she couldn’t get out of his bed bc she was too depressed n that rly made her feel like. ill honestly. he did all the right things but suddenly she just felt sick abt the whole situation which is Not the normal reaction to ur bf caring about u but bradley doesn’t understand ppl caring abt her. felt more like pity. she thinks he’s better off. she misses him sometimes bt then she reminds herself she doesn’t miss people. does a good job of believing it. one of the best ppl she’s dated not that she’d say it.

are they attracted to your muse?:

yes..... ws probably. unhinged n rabid when they were dating. very good at hiding it now however. cold at the drop of a hat.

something they find frightening about your muse:

that he witnessed her being vulnerable............ literally grosses her out so much like she’d rather die than. anyone see her like that. when they were dating she’d get paranoid her dad wld somehow find out too n smthn wld happen to him for it. it ws definitely weird for her like the fact she even cared enough to consider tht.

something they find adorable about your muse:

adorable is rly not a word that fits into bradley’s vocabulary GHSFGHSFKGHSFKG bt hm. maybe if he ever tried to tell her what to do one time even casually. she’d b like awww..... u think i do what anyone tells me? that’s so fucking sweet.

would my muse sacrifice themselves for yours?:

in most cases no :/..... however if it was smthn to do w the guys that work for her dad then ya she’d put herself in danger to avoid him being in it.

would my muse go on a date with yours? platonic/romantic:

i mean she has in the past bt bradley’s idea of dates is like. starting a bar fight together. getting thrown out of a club n both falling over into trash cans in a dingy back alley. stealing a car. breaking into a random house n fking in a stranger’s bed. fking in the bk of a movie theatre w a horror movie screening. definitely not dinner or anything like tht. she wldn’t now........ they’re not exactly in a place fr that.....

one word my muse would use to describe yours:

ex. whatever. i know it’s not one word but “some guy”. FGHSKGHFGKSHG >_>

would my muse slap yours if they could?:

no. she’s a violent person bt not xavier.

would my muse hug/kiss yours?:

NO hugging...................... she fronts like she wldn’t kiss him bt like. if a discussion got heated n they were in each other’s faces who’s to say.

NYLA & SEAN

their first impression of your muse:

strange little fella which is a very high compliment. kind of reminded them of an animated turtle come to life in the human realm altho they honestly don’t have an explanation for that it’s just the way their brain works. they love the turtles in finding nemo tho so maybe there’s some sort of correlation. very nice face. they kind of wanted to hold his head like a bowling ball just so they could examine it properly. i feel like when they first met him they probably reached out n smoothed a sticky label onto his forehead that said ‘catfish in chernobyl’ n they had one on their forehead that was blank n then they just wafted a pen mid air n were like ‘wanna play guesses?’ even tho that isn’t the name of the game. as if that was just. a completely normal introduction to someone. FGKHSKHGSFKGHSFKG. feel like sean wld have rolled w that tho so nyla was like :P i like.... if they played another round they’d give sean another sticky label that said ‘the loneliest whale in the world’ n then it’d start a whole conversation abt how nyla thinks they can speak whaleish. (whale spin on elvish).

current impression:

sean makes them think of that artificial blue raspberry flavour some popsicles have n how it’s always rly fun when they stain ur tongue. sweet n exuberant n leaves a bright impression. he lets them ride on his skateboard sometimes rolling along being lead by them holding his hand n nyla likes to shut their eyes like they’re a bird sailing above the clouds. one of their favourite things to do especially when the sun’s out. bc of this nyla thinks sean was a bird in his past life but not a greedy one like a seagull or a plain one like a pigeon. maybe a bluebird bc of his eyes. he makes them laugh a lot. they entrusted him to babysit their children (as pictured) in his hair for a whole day and night once n they had lots of fun with him so nyla thinks he’s very trustworthy and kind. he also is rly easy to talk to like they cld randomly be like “i’ve been thinking lately that maybe homer simpson could’ve been a good figure skater” n sean wldn’t look at them like they’ve lost their marbles he’d just go w it. they like his company a lot.

are they attracted to your muse?:

😏

something they find frightening about your muse:

ummm nothing in particular altho one time when they were rly tripping out bc his eyes are blue n it got them thinking abt the ocean n they always think they can talk to ghosts underwater so they were kind of like. thinking abt ghosts whenever they looked him in the eyes. maybe covered their own w their hands n if sean asked why they told him abt it. suddenly he shut his eyes to make them feel better n it turned into a whole thing where nyla had to lead him around the party like a guide dog.

something they find adorable about your muse:

his nose. watching him talk to his siblings. his hands.

would my muse sacrifice themselves for yours?:

😌 yea

would my muse go on a date with yours? platonic/romantic:

yes............ feel like they’d have fun if they went anywhere tbh........ cn imagine them at a fair eating from the same cotton candy n chattering as they point out things. nyla trying to do that hammer game where u make the meter reach the top n lifting the hammer in the air n falling backwards bc it was heavier than they anticipated.... sean yelling like man down man down..... mayb they take a tab n suddenly the fair is so scary they’re like 😳 we’re in danger...

one word my muse would use to describe yours:

silly (affectionate). sailor (also term of endearment). gnome (same thing again). cool.

would my muse slap yours if they could?:

no ur sick....

would my muse hug/kiss yours?:

ya to both. jst suddenly had a vision too of nyla being cold one time n clinging to sean from the front like a bushbaby in a hug as he carries her around. suddenly this mode of transportation hs happened more thn once (godmod) (contact my lawyers if u dare bebe) (bitch) (i take it back) (it wasn’t right alli it jst wasn’t right) (pelase forigev m eim shakign)

#juvinile #ziggy | sloane #bradley | xavier #nyla | sean #drugs tw #abuse tw #mayb implied fr some briefly mentioned aspects of bradley's mindset #this was such a bertha bt i did it as special treat for allison my beloved.....

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addictedtofiction03 · 4 years

Text

Firefighter-in-Training

Eddie walked through the door to the sound of music softly coming from the living room. He placed his keys into the bowl and shed his jacket, putting it on the coat rack. He padded quietly through the hall and entered a room that was shadowed in the light of the television and the lights off their tree. His heart nearly exploded at the sight of his husband of three years, and his twelve-year-old son curled up on the couch, fast asleep.

Eddie smiled as he walked over, pressing a kiss to the crowns of each of their heads. He moved to sit next to the two people who made up his entire world. He sighed as he leaned back into the soft cushions of the chair, feeling his vision sway from the exhaustion that he racked up from his shift. He opened his eyes when he felt fingers sliding through his hair and turned to see Buck looking at him lovingly.

"Didn't hear you come in."

Eddie reached up for those fingers, pulling them to his lips, pressing a warm kiss. "I just got in a few moments go," he whispered, not wanting to wake Chris up as well.

"How was your day?"

Eddie closed his eyes again. "It started off slow, but once that bell rang, it was one call after another. It was crazy today. We had one call where this lady ran a red light, trying to chase down this man in a Santa Hat. When she ran through the intersection, she plowed into a bus and caused it to jackknife into the opposite lanes where it hit three cars."

"Holy shit…" Buck sighed before scowling. "Of course, that would have to happen on my day off. I wish that I could have been there."

"There were car parts and glass everywhere. It took hours to clean up."

"Damn holiday drivers…sounds like it was a crazy scene."

"You want to know the most insane part?"

"What?"

Eddie snorted as he recalled the details from the scene. "There were only minor injuries."

Buck blinked as surprise filled his eyes. "Wow… that is amazing. What was the woman thinking?"

"But that is not the craziest part. The part where the man in the hat was nowhere to be found."

Buck snickered. "It sounds like someone was hitting the holiday punch a little too soon. Unless that man was the real Santa…" he said, trailing off as his eyes filled with wonder. "What if-"

"No," Eddie piped up, wanting to stop his man before he started spouting off some crazy Santa fact. He knew that his husband had an insane knack for looking up random topics when he was bored. Eddie's eyes dropped to the little boy between the two men. "He's sacked out. What did you guys do today?"

Buck peered down at Chris, who starting to stir at the sound of the voices. "We had a very busy day. We went to the store. Then we came home and baked some cookies. We even made a homemade gingerbread house. After that, we ate some pizza and watched movies until we fell asleep. He wanted to wait up to see you, but he passed out about an hour into Christmas with the Kranks."

"Sounds like you had a lot of fun…" Eddie said as Chris stretched out his arms, and his eyes lit up as they fell on to Eddie.

"Daddy!" Chris smiled brightly with a voice filled with glee and reached for Eddie. "I missed you!"

Eddie chuckled as he gathered Chris up in his arms, placing him on his lap. "I missed you too," he said, kissing Chris on the temple, taking a moment to breathe in Chris's sweet scent that was mixed with Buck's. It was his favorite since it was the scent of home.

"What about me? Did you miss me?"

Eddie narrowed his brown irises at his husband. "I don't know… It was kind of peaceful without you today. It was kind of nice," he said with a teasing note.

"Well…" Buck huffed, turning away from him, crossing his arms with a cute pout of his face. "I see where I rank in this family. You don't miss me all day. Then you come home and snatch away the boy that was keeping me warm."

Eddie snickered. He knew that Buck was playing along with him. "Oh baby, you have no idea how much I miss you every day," he said, taking Buck's hand into his, but Buck pulled away, which made Eddie look at him. Buck was glaring at the television, and Eddie would have laughed too, but he also knew that sometimes his husband didn't know when someone was teasing him or joking around.

"You actually think I wouldn't miss you?" Eddie chuckled slowly at Buck's still pouting face. "I miss you the moment you are not in my vision. I miss you the moment you leave our bed. I miss you the moment you are not beside me. I will always miss you until I take my last breath."

Buck pulled his attention away from the television to look to Eddie. Eddie could feel the room start to sizzle with energy. Or maybe that was his body igniting from the smokey gaze across from him.

Buck broke the trance by clearing his throat and looking down at their kid. "Hey Buddy, do you remember what I said about the bag?" he asked.

Chris perked up, sitting up straight with an excited smile. "We can give him the bag now?" he asked, clapping his hands.

"Mmmhm," Buck nodded. "Can you go grab it for me?"

Chris wiggled off of Eddie's lap until his feet touched the floor. Eddie's brows furrowed as he watched his son slowly make his way out of the room.

"What bag?"

Buck smiled. "You'll see. So you really did miss me?" he asked him, shyly.

Eddie shook his head as he moved until he was sitting next to Buck. "You bet I did, and if Chris was in bed," Eddie reached up to cup Buck's face pressing a hungry kiss to lips. Buck sighed into the kiss before Eddie pulled back. "I would show you just how much I missed you."

Buck moaned quietly. "Don't start something you can't finish, Ed."

Eddie pressed another kiss to the corner of Buck's lips. "Who says I'm not going to finish? Because I plan to later." He smirks as he could hear Chris's shuffled footsteps filling the room. "Later?"

"Later."

Chris walked over to Buck with a small red bag in his hands. Buck smiled brightly at him. "Great job!" Buck said, pulling Chris on to his lap. "Now we give it to Daddy," Buck said, and Chris smiled back as he passed the bag over to Eddie.

"This is for you," Chris giggled as Eddie takes it into his hands.

"What is it?" Eddie asked, looking at the bag.

"It's your Christmas present," Chris told him.

Eddie frowned. "Christmas isn't until next week," he pointed out. "If it's my Christmas present, I should wait until next week when you open yours."

"Buck said that this present couldn't wait."

Eddie glanced up at Buck, who was nodding at him.

"It's true. Open it," Buck urged softly with a smile that had Eddie pulling the bag open. Buck could feel his heart begin to pound as Eddie worked through the sea of tissue paper until he reached the bottom. He had to close his eyes as a note of confusion washed over Eddie's handsome face. He opened them to see Eddie pulling his hand out of the bag holding the blue rolled-up fabric that he had placed in that bag a few hours before.

Eddie pulled at the piece of tape holding it all together and unrolled it to reveal that it was a onesie. On the front, it had the LAFD logo in the corner, and on the back, it had the Los Angeles Fire Department in large white letters with Firefighter in training below it in red. "It's a onesie," he said, turning to look at the two of them.

Buck nodded. "It is," he smiled as Eddie turned it around to look at the other side.

"Who's having a baby?" Eddie asked, looking to his husband. "Is it someone we know?"

"It sure is."

"Who?"

"We are."

Eddie stared at him quietly for a few moments, and Buck watched as Eddie connected the dots in his mind. Those beautiful brown eyes filled up with so much light, Buck felt like he was staring into the sun. "We are?" Eddie swallowed, trying to keep the bubble of hope bursting. They had been working so hard, fighting long hours with fights and broken hearts, for this moment.

Buck nodded, blinking rapidly. "Yep. We are. I received a call early this afternoon before I went to pick up Christopher from school. It was Mrs. Weiss calling to tell me that our baby is on its way as we speak. The mother has already signed away her rights, and we will be given a call once the baby is born."

Eddie felt a wind hit his body as the news sank in. But it was not an awful feeling. No. This feeling was great as this wind knocked down every door around them, freeing them from their current struggles of facing the possibility that this moment would never happen. But it did...and it is happening. For them! "Why didn't you call me?"

Buck shrugged. "Because you were at work, and I didn't want to tell you over the phone. I wanted to see the look in your eye when I told you the news and didn't really feel like sharing this moment with the house just yet."

Eddie swallowed painfully. "This is really happening," he said in awe. "We're getting a baby." Eddie reached over, taking Buck's hand into his. "We're getting a baby," he said again as joy filled his soul.

Eddie was so filled with excitement that he jumped to his feet and pulled Chris off of Buck's lap. "Chris... we're getting a baby," he smiled at his son, twirling him in his arm. "You are gonna be a brother." The room was filled with Chris's squeals as Buck rose to his feet, watching the duo that filled his world with so much love.

"Daddy! Let me down!" Chris laughed as Eddie tickled him. As he laid him back on the couch and Eddie turned to his partner.

"We did it," Eddie said, placing his hands on Buck's hips, pulling him closer. "We really did it! I love you so much, Evan."

Buck said nothing as he leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to Eddie's lips. "I love you too," he whispered against his lips.

Eddie pulled back. "Wait… Do we know if it's a boy or a girl?"

Buck shook his head. "Weiss didn't say. I don't care. I hope we get a girl to be honest, but I am good with a son too. I mean, we already have the perfect son. Now we just need a perfect girl."

Eddie frowned at Buck. "But the onesie says firefighter in training…" he reminded.

Buck snorted as he wrapped his arms around Eddie's waist. "Don't let Hen hear you say that," he snickered. "She would probably smack you for it."

"When are we gonna tell the family?" Eddie asked.

Buck lifted his shoulders. "Hmm… That is a good question. Maddie will be pissed that I didn't tell her. Hell, everyone would be pissed if we didn't tell them. But I want to savor this moment, so how about a few days after we bring our baby home."

Eddie nodded. "Our baby… I like the sound of that."

Buck pressed a kiss to the tip of Eddie's nose. "Me too. Except I love the sound of it."

"Always trying to outdo me."

Buck snickered. "Didn't hear you complaining the other day with the Nutella. I fact you were loving."

"YOU ATE MY NUTELLA??!"

Eddie and Buck froze and turned to see their son staring at them with wide eyes wearing a broken expression. "Ooops…" Buck trailed off as Eddie shook his head and turned back to Chris.

Buck took in a deep breath as he nibbled his lip as Eddie tried to explain to Chris what happen, but couldn't help but to fall in deep laughs. There was nothing that could kill his mood because they were getting a baby. He remembered someone telling him that December was the month of miracles, and he finally could see that they were right.

#evan buckley #Buddie #buck and eddie #eddie and buck #Eddie Diaz #9-1-1 #911 #911 on fox #oliver stark #ryan guzman #buddie fic #team buddie #daily buddie #gif is not mine #just the one shot #these two boys #are my soul #christopher diaz #my dads

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when-they-write-stuff · 4 years

Note

I LOVE your writing!! Can I request another prompt? 66--strek--Go big or go home!

Thank you! This prompt was super fun ~

- -

Right, Stiles thought, there was nothing to it. Go big or go home, Scott had said, and it was as simple as that. Stiles wasn’t a coward— he was one hundred and forty-seven pounds of pale skin and fragile bone, but he wasn’t a coward. He could totally do this.

He faltered in front of the loft door, though, two cups of coffee in hand. Suddenly, go big or go home seemed like a bad idea. And he’d much rather go home.

But the door slid open before he could turn around and flee. An unimpressed Derek stood on the other side, one eyebrow raised in expectation. Stiles chuckled and shifted from foot to foot, offering his best innocent grin.

“Ah, Derek. Fancy seeing you here?”

“What.”

“Monosyllabic, I can tell we’re starting this morning with a bang,” Stiles said, skirting around the Alpha and plowing into the loft. Maybe if he talked fast enough and refused to back down, this could all be over before either one of them could blink.

Or before Derek could rip his throat out, at least. That too.

“Coffee,” Stiles said, turning toward Derek and shoving it into his hand. Derek took it with a confused expression and stared at the cup for a second, before giving Stiles a flat look.

The man's hair was sticking up in random directions, Stiles realized, and he was wearing nothing but a pair of boxers and t-shirt. Stiles was pretty sure he hadn’t left the house that early— it’d been eight when his alarm clock went off. And by the time he escaped the coffee shop, it’d been nine. How long did big-bad Alphas sleep in on the weekend?

“What,” Derek said. “Is this?”

“Uh, coffee?”

“Why.”

“Well, clearly because you’re not a morning person,” Stiles said, moving to the couch and plopping down. He propped his feet up on the coffee table and took a nervous sip of his own drink. It was still too hot, stinging his tongue. Derek trailed after him, looking more than a little murderous.

“Stiles, what the hell are you doing in my loft?”

“Bringing coffee, Sourwolf, are we going to keep repeating this over and over again?”

“Why.”

“Because,” Stiles said, wincing a little. “Go big or go home?”

Derek stared at him. Stiles sat up, setting his coffee on the table, and looked at the Alpha nervously. Once more, this seemed like a terrible idea. He should’ve come around lunch. Or dinner. Or literally any other time when Derek didn’t look like a sleep-deprived murderous teddy bear in his boxers.

“Look,” Stiles said, threading his fingers together. “We’re friends. Right?”

Derek stayed silent. Stiles swallowed.

“Um, yeah, we’re friends. And friends do friendly things, right? Like… get each other coffee sometimes or get breakfast on weekend mornings. Cause that’s, uh, what friends do. Do you know where I’m going with this?”

“I have no idea where you’re going with anything, ever,” Derek said flatly. Stiles winced.

“Do you want to get pancakes, Sourwolf? Or something?”

“Pancakes.”

“Yes.”

“Or something.”

“Yes, Sourwolf, this is how words work. Although usually, in a conversation, people converse back and forth, not repeat the same sentence over and over again like a broken record.”

Derek’s eyes flashed red. Stiles gulped.

“I meant that as nicely as possible. Broken records are great!”

Derek looked like he was torn between physically throwing Stiles out of the loft and sitting down to dwell on everything he’d just said. Stiles sighed and studied his face, accepting the fact this might take a little while. He should’ve known better than to listen to Scott. Of course, the puppy Alpha didn’t actually know what he was advising Stiles to do, but that was a problem for another time, was it not?

“You want to get breakfast,” Derek said after a moment. “With me.”

“Um. Yes?”

Derek looked like he wanted to ask why again and Stiles thought he might combust if the man did. Slowly, Derek sank into the seat opposite Stiles and just stared at him. Stiles licked his lips nervously, fighting the urge to get up and run.

“Stiles,” Derek said. He almost looked a little dumbfounded. “We’re… friends.”

Oh god, here we go again. “Yes, Sourwolf.”

“And this is a friendly thing?”

Stiles narrowly resisted facepalming. He’d been working toward this for weeks— little things that he was pretty sure Derek had no idea about. Like dropping by at random times with a movie or dinner, or hanging out before or after training to ‘do homework’.

He was pretty sure he was being stupid— dammit, he was pretty sure this crush was stupid— but if Stiles couldn’t woo the resident Alpha werewolf then he sure as hell was going to friendship the shit out of him. Whether Derek liked it or not.

“Yes,” Stiles said again. “Friendly, Derek. That’s this thing people do when they don’t actively hate each other.”

“With me.”

“Oh my god.”

“You’re both idiots,” a voice said behind him. Stiles squawked and spun around to see Erica plodding into the room with a tired-looking Boyd trailing after her. Erica’s hair was pulled up in curlers and she was wearing bright pink pajamas. Boyd was wearing nothing but sweatpants.

“Oh my god,” Stiles said, turning away. “You guys are here.”

“Yeah,” Erica said, snorting. “Or have you forgotten that we live here, idiot. Isaac is too, but he’s still asleep. Don’t worry, that pup can sleep through anything.”

“You’re here,” Stiles said again, his face turning hot. Derek was giving him a strange look and that wasn’t helping anyway. “Here. In the loft.”

“Now who’s the broken record?” Erica laughed. Stiles groaned, burying his face in his hands.

“I hate everything.”

“I really don’t understand you, Stiles,” Boyd said. Stiles lifted his head and winced when he realized Derek was still staring at him. He shot the dark-skinned beta a glare.

“Can you two leave. Please?”

“Why?” Erica asked, a smirk playing along the edges of her lips. “So you can ask Derek out in privacy? Because that clearly wasn’t working very well.”

Oh, shit.

Derek’s face did a few things and he blinked, looking from Stiles, to Erica, and then back. Stiles was pretty sure if the floor was ever going to open up and swallow him whole, now would be the perfect time. But he’d never been so lucky.

“Ask me out?” Derek said, looking confused. “When?”

“You two are literally so helpless.”

“I wasn’t asking you out,” Stiles said quickly. “I was asking if we could get breakfast. As friends.”

“Right,” Erica said, laughter in her voice. “Friends with benefits?”

“Erica, shut up!”

Derek was looking at him strangely now. Stiles pushed himself up so hard, he shook the coffee table and his coffee went spilling. Tripping over his own feet, Stiles backtracked toward the door with his hands raised. Derek’s brows were drawn together; and Stiles figured he had at least thirty seconds before the Alpha actually figured things out.

“I’m just gonna— yeah, I’m gonna go— have a nice day!”

Erica called his name but Stiles ignored her, sliding the loft door open and then shut, leaning against it heavily. He blinked a few times and then shook his head, cursing himself.

Have a nice day?

Stiles hated Scott. Things were never as simple as ‘go big or go home’.

He hurried down the hallway and could’ve sworn he heard the sound of the loft door opening again. Stiles stumbled down the stairs, sure if he moved fast enough he could make it to his jeep and be gone before Derek caught him. And then… and then they could never talk about this again.

Stiles was good with never talking about things again. And Derek never talked much in the first place.

Except, Stiles didn’t make it to his jeep. He was racing across the parking lot when his name echoed through the air and Stiles stumbled to a stop, freezing. He clenched his jaw and turned around to see Derek approaching, still only in his boxers and a t-shirt.

“Derek,” Stiles said. “I can explain.”

“Explain breakfast?”

“Yes. Wait, no. Maybe. How good of an explanation do you want?”

“Stiles,” Derek said, and it was in that tone. The one that made Stiles feel like he was twelve, not eighteen. The one that Derek always used when Stiles was being an idiot. And he wasn’t being an idiot right now, dammit.

“Don’t ‘Stiles’ me,” he said. “Just tell me you don’t see me that way and ‘we’re better off as friends’ and I promise everything can go back to normal. I won’t even look at you weird again.”

Derek blinked at him. Stiles crossed his arms, trying to smother his mix of hurt and embarrassment.

“I wasn’t trying to be weird. I swear.”

“It wasn’t weird,” Derek said.

“I wasn’t trying to be creepy either. Just so you know.”

“It wasn’t creepy.

“Then, dammit, Derek, can we please pretend this never happened? Because I’m really good at doing that. Trust me, I’ve been rejected plenty of times before.”

“I’m not… trying to reject you,” Derek said slowly. Stiles blinked.

“What?”

Derek’s ears turned red and he shuffled his feet, not meeting Stiles’s gaze for the first time that morning. And suddenly, Stiles felt different. Emboldened, maybe. Go big or go home, right?

Dammit, Scott.

“Derek,” he said, stepping forward. “Will you get breakfast with me?”

“As friends?”

Stiles winced. “I mean, yeah it could be—”

“Or,” Derek said, cutting him off. “Dinner tonight. As… more?”

Stiles stared at him. Derek suddenly looked nervous.

“Or not.”

“Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Dinner,” Stiles said. “Now.”

“Now?”

“No,” Stiles said, shaking his head. “Not now. Tonight. As more. Not friends. But we could still get breakfast! Cause I’m starving. Also not as friends?”

Derek looked at him for a moment as if Stiles was a puzzle he couldn’t figure out. Then he glanced down at himself and looked back up at Stiles and said, “I’m in my boxers.”

And Stiles thought he was an idiot. But maybe Stiles was too. Because seriously— breakfast? Brunch was where it was at.

“Erica’s going to laugh at us,” he said. Derek glowered.

“She already has.”

“She’s going to do it again.”

“We could not go back inside at all?”

“You’re in your boxers,” Stiles reminded him, barely suppressing his snort of laughter. Derek’s ears turned red again.

“Drive through?”

Stiles grinned. Right, he thought, he was kind of awesome. Go big or go home, Scott had said, and it was as simple as that. And this? Stiles was one hundred and forty-seven pounds of pale skin and fragile bone, and he was going to get drive-through breakfast. With Derek Hale.

“Drive through,” he said, Derek’s face softening in relief. And not as friends.

Take that, Erica.

- -

(support your overcaffeinated and underpaid student writer? Seriously, I’d adore you guys so much). https://ko-fi.com/rh27writer

#sterek #send me prompts!#teen wolf drabble #writing #stiles stilinski #derek hale #literal idiots #samslave

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im-not-a-satanist-i-swear · 4 years

Text

How (Not) To Catch A Deer

Chapter 1: How Could Anyone Look At That Face And Be Okay?

Notes: This isn't exactly a slow burn, but it's not one of those 'Hey let's fuck, oh by the way, I don't know your name' ones either. The hardest part about this was probably choosing the chapter title, because I came up with a bunch and had trouble picking. If anyone's even reading this, I'll add the alternate titles I came up with in the notes at the end of this chapter, and lemme know which one you liked best. Check me out on Wattpad @ninjapickles49 Thanks, and enjoy.

Wade wasn't addicted.

That was the one thing he was sure of because, firstly, his healing factor prevented him from getting addicted to anything. And second, he would never let himself want something he couldn't have—

[Liar.]

—no matter what White said. It was unprofessional.

He wasn't addicted.

And yet, here he was, for some reason, on the subway for the millionth time, going somewhere he didn't need to go for the millionth time. Hiding his face in the shadow of his hood, trying not to bump into strangers for the millionth time. Attempting to swallow his anxiety and the creeping feeling of claustrophobia for the millionth time.

All so he could stand there and watch—

[Stalk, you mean.]

{Admire!}

—the figure on the other end of the subway car.

Wade had lost count of how many days or weeks it had been. It probably wasn't that many, but it seemed like he had been coming here forever. Getting on the subway every morning of every weekday, sitting or standing on the opposite end of where the object of his obsession always sat. Trying to stifle his slowly building panic as more and more people crowded on, headed to their jobs. Then came the moment of relief, the deep calming sigh Wade always released as soon as he was the familiar mop of hair and scuffed satchel. He remembered the first time he had seen that satchel and hair, unusually clearly.

Wade getting on the subway that day had been a complete random choice. He had realized—quite suddenly—that after all the time he'd spent in New York, he had never seen the Statue of Liberty. Not up close. It was a split-second decision to hop on a subway that went across the city; he didn't have any plans that day. And for once he thought it'd better to go in his civilian clothes.

He would draw less attention that way, melding into the crowd of people; almost like he was one of them.

[Almost.]

And it was less likely that he'd be attacked, threatened, or banned from the place that way. Some people didn't respond well to a large, loud man in a red leather suit and mask, even if he left most of his weapons at home.

So there he was, standing in the corner of the subway car, keeping his head down, face hidden under the hood except to glance around and make a mental note of the people getting on and off and how many there were.

White was lecturing him about being stupid while Yellow sang Crazy Train very off-key and the people around him were talking as they filed in from the station. Wade was inching away from people that got too close, beginning to think this was a bad idea without his suit, and a few seconds from bolting out the doors—Statue of Liberty be damned—when his gave happened to land on one of the people shuffling in and Wade's whole world stopped.

His panic fizzled out, the babble of voices around him fading to a distant hum. Even the boxes grew quiet as they tried to figure out what had captured his attention while Wade's eyes remained glued to the figure who had just sat down on the other end of the car.

Yellow just let out a small gasp. {Oh my god...}

White just sighed. [Oh no.]

Wade just stared. Holy fuck.

Shaggy brown hair—thoroughly ruffled on the top, like fingers were dragged through it a lot—hung down into chocolate-colored doe eyes that seemed almost too big for the narrow pale face. The cute upturned nose, red at the tip, the full lips, and sharp jawline only made it that much more stunning. And to top it all off, the beautiful eyes were framed by black glasses; the modern thick plastic kind that Wade didn't even know he liked that much until now.

{Guess we can add glasses to the kink list.}

The guy was...

{Absolutely fucking adorable?! A hipster Adonis?! Our future husband?!}

[Way out of your league, not to mention almost definitely straight,] White snorted.

That had wiped the breathless smile off of Wade's face. He knew, of course, the White was right. He already knew that; he didn't need to be reminded.

{Yeah, don't ruin this, White. We can dream!}

[That's all it is though: a dream. And when you're forced, eventually, to return to the real world, the reality of your situation will hurt more. Dreams are for children.]

Wade felt his mood dropping even as he continued to watch the gorgeous guy.

{Why do you have to be such an asshole all the time? Now he's sad again, and so am I!}

"I'm fine, Yellow," Wade muttered. "White's right anyway."

{No, he's not! Dreams are the only reason we're—well, you're alive. I think White lost his, along with his soul and sense of humor...}

[I never had a soul to begin with, you idiot. Neither of us have one; we're not even technically alive, so you have nothing to dream about.] White was obviously getting irritated; his comments biting deeper.

{But Wade does,} Yellow insisted. {And our life kinda sucks anyway, so let him dream... for all of us.}

"Who are you and what have you done with Yellow?" Wade had just enough presence of mind to turn to the wall as he spoke, hiding his face and hopefully muffling his voice.

{What?}

"When did you get so deep?"

There was a low snicker. {Well, I have been stretching myself out—}

[And he's back,] White interrupted tiredly over the sound of Yellow cackling.

The sound of the subway slowing down brought Wade out of his thoughts with a jolt and he glanced at where the adorable stranger had been sitting, panicking when he realized he was no longer there. He scanned the small crowd of people leaving the car—using his height to his advantage—and breathed a sigh of relief when he caught sight of the guy.

He was hard to spot; he wasn't very tall—

{Size difference! One of my kinks!}

[Shut up. Don't encourage him.]

—and Wade strained to get a last glimpse of that face and those eyes, knowing he'd almost definitely never see the guy again. And when the doors slid shut behind the slim figure, Wade felt something drop in his chest as a foreign feeling curled through his body, warm and painful all at the same time. But he couldn't figure out if the emotion meant something was ending... or just beginning.

* * *

The rest of the day passed in a haze of faces and emotions, the boxes lecturing and encouraging over each other, getting louder and louder until Wade's head hurt.

He didn't go to see the Statue of Liberty. But that was the only place he was sure he didn't wind up in, because he spent the rest of the day wandering aimlessly through unfamiliar streets and neighborhoods, his mind a whirlwind. He didn't even know where all he went, hands in pockets, face hidden under his trusty hood as he tried to figure out how the hell a random—albeit very attractive—stranger, who hadn't even looked at or talked to him, had managed to get under his skin so fast.

By the time the sun was going down, he was no less confused, and was lucky to even find his way back to the subway station. If anything, he felt even more muddled, but now he just had a headache as well.

He got into the same car as last time, hating himself for even glancing hopefully at the seat the stranger had occupied as he made his way to the corner once more.

The next couple stops were spent staring into space, zoned out, muttering to White and Yellow, and clutching his head when they got really loud. And even though it was stupid—which White very helpfully reminded him of—he still paid attention when the subway stopped at the station the guy had gotten off at.

{Maybe he takes the same one home?} Yellow sounded hopeful.

[Even if he does, the chances of him getting on here the same time as we're here is very small. Look around; it's late. The mass majority of sheep went home hours ago. Either way, you're not gonna see—]

Yellow cut him off, letting out a squeal so loud and shrill, Wade had to resist the urge to double over or hit his head on something. {OMIGOD HE'S HERE.}

[Are you shitting me?]

Wade stared, shocked, as the beautiful stranger from that morning shuffled into the car, looking considerably more exhausted, but still just as gorgeous as Wade remember. Better, even.

{Did we just call a guy gorgeous and beautiful in the same sentence? That's gay,} Yellow giggled, sounding giddy.

[No, it's fucking stupid is what it is,] White snapped.

{Shut up, White! He's back and even you can't ruin the mood!}

White and Yellow started going at it once more, but Wade did his best to ignore them, fixing his attention on the guy. If this was all he could have, that was okay; it was all he deserved, but he was going to at least enjoy it. There were only a few other people in the car, and Wade shrunk into his corner a bit more, feeling exposed. If the stranger looked up, he'd see him.

But that didn't stop Wade from watching him the entire way back. He didn't even know why, but he couldn't seem to take his eyes off the guy.

And when the train stopped and Gorgeous Stranger Guy stood up, looking like he could drop on the spot, Wade felt a sense of dread wash over him. This was it, the last time he would ever see this random adorable person who somehow made his stomach feel weird and he hadn't even spoken to him. The doors slid closed, sealing his misery as he watched the slim figure leaving.

{But...} Yellow sounded thoughtful.

[There's a first time for everything, I guess,] White snarked. [Yellow's never thought before.]

{What if you could?} Yellow finished, ignoring White, sounding sly and tempting and way too fucking pleased with himself as Wade's heart leapt.

What if he could?

* * *

So here we are, back in the present, where Wade was spending—

[Wasting.]

—another day on the subway, just to watch the guy he had become so—

[Obsessed with.]

—interested in.

There was just something about him—not just his looks—that fascinated Wade.

He was always polite, giving up his seat if someone needed it, and apologizing to people if they bumped into him, or knocked one of the books that he always seemed to reading out of his hands. Wade had the very strong urge to take a swing at them, then make them apologize, but he never realistically, he couldn't. He just had to grit his teeth every time it happened and Adorable Stranger Guy just smiled and apologized.

But sometimes, when the guy thought he was alone in the crowd, unobserved and unnoticed, his polite mask would slip, a flicker of emotion crossing his face that he usually quickly stifled soon after. It happened mostly at night, when he was tired, and their were few people on the subway, all lost in their own worlds—except Wade, who wanted to do something every time he saw that emotion in the guy's eyes. Because he knew feeling better than any other, recognized it from the rare times he looked in the mirror without his mask; felt it nearly every second of every day.

It was loneliness.

And he knew how much it hurt; how it settled in your bones, tightened around your throat. Curled through your body, leaving a trail of ice in its wake until you felt like you'd never be warm again.

It was almost enough for Wade to go talk to the guy, but something—usually White—always seemed to stop him. Just because someone was lonely did not mean they needed Wade Wilson in their life.

[They'd be better off alone than with you.]

{Shut up, he's already brooding; you don't need to make it worse.}

And there were other things as well. Adorable Stranger Guy was always exhausted, even in the morning, leading Wade to believe this was not his only job. And he obviously wasn't very well off, if the neat but threadbare clothes, tattered Vans, and scuffed up satchel were anything to go by. And Wade was pretty sure in the first week or so of his subway rides, he'd already seen the full rotation of the guy's wardrobe.

The guy—

*insert record scratch noise here*

{Okay, we can't just keep calling him 'the guy' or 'the stranger' or even 'Adorable Stranger Guy'. The readers will eventually get pissed if we don't come up with something better, and they'll leave!}

[Wade is such dumbass in this story, I don't doubt they'll leave anyway. Can you say 'BAD WRITING'?]

{Come on, White, help!}

[Shorty, Bedhead, Ragtag, Urchin, Andrew Garfield Wannabe...]

{OOH OOH I GOT ONE I GOT ONE! Okay, here we go.}

*insert whatever the fuck the opposite of a record scratch sound is*

The guy—Wade had taken to calling him Bambi in his head, based on his eyes; he couldn't call him 'the guy' forever, that would be boring—

[Nice save, Yellow.]

—always seemed perpetually hungry, the signs also recognized by Wade who remembered the feeling all too well. He was tempted to just give the guy some food, or leave it on his chair or something, but he knew logically that wouldn't go over well. For one, he'd have to explain himself—meaning he'd have to talk to Bambi—and there'd be questions. And Wade didn't want him to think he was a charity case; he seemed like the type who would get offended by that. And Bambi didn't seem dangerously underweight; despite the small frame and narrow build, Wade caught glimpses of lean muscles and toned arms under the baggy clothes and oversized hoodies.

{He's still hungry though. Can we just take him home and feed him or something?}

[That's kidnapping.]

{Nothing we haven't done before,} Yellow muttered sulkily.

"Hey, hey, bastard pedophiles don't count," Wade muttered.

[The answer is still no. Why are we even still here?]

{Because WaAaaAAAdde's in looOOOoooOOve!} White giggled, his mood changing abruptly like it always did.

[Bullshit. This isn't love. This doesn't even qualify as a crush. It's not even anything remotely romantic. You're lonely and bored and looking for something to focus your attention and time on; to obsess over.]

{No, this is different...}

[No, it's not. That's my point. And I wouldn't expect you to be able to tell the difference even if there was one. You're so desperate for attention and affection that you've deluded yourself.]

Yellow didn't reply.

Wade wasn't sure if White's biting remarks were directed toward Yellow or himself, but it didn't matter; he was right either way. He sighed, glancing toward the quiet beauty with his nose in a book as usual, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. Wade wondered absently what he was reading right then.

"You're probably right, White, but... just let me have this. Please."

White was silent for a long moment, before sighing heavily. [Go ahead. Waste your time pining after something you can never have. I can't stop you, but... I also sure as hell won't help you break your own heart. Not again.]

Wade didn't say anything else, fixing his eyes on Bambi once more. He wasn't sure whether to thank White or curse him, so he remained silent. All the way home.

* * *

[We can't keep this up forever.]

{Why the hell not? We don't have a life.}

[Wade, what are you going to do on the day he doesn't get on this subway?]

{Why would he stop?} Yellow sounded confused, and a little frightened by the idea.

[What if he moves? Gets a car? Quits his job? Life changes. People change. You're the only one who doesn't.]

"What happened to keeping your non-existent nose out of it?" Wade mumbled, watching as—for the millionth time—Bambi got on and plopped down, looking even worse for wear than usual.

[I said I wouldn't help you break your own heart.]

{Yeah, we remember; that was only like, nine paragraphs ago. So why are you back to being an ass?}

[I'm trying to save him—and you—from your own stupidity... again. This happens every time; it's a cycle. You—Wade—find someone, get obsessed, then rejected, then heartbroken, until you die enough times to finally move on. And it repeats. It's stupid, not to mention unhealthy.]

{But... what if this is where it stops?} Yellow sounded sickeningly hopeful.

[Yes—] White's every word dripped with sarcasm [—I'm sure this very attractive man who probably has a line of people throwing themselves at him—if he's not already in a relationship—will see your face and fall instantly in love with you... Grow up, Yellow.]

There was a very long silence filled with hurt and awkwardness that Wade did his best to ignore while he watched the people stream in—much more than usual—all on their way to their mundane jobs, where they got a mundane salary, and got to go home to their mundane suburban house and kiss their spouses and hug their kids...

Wade cut off that line of thought; it was too painful. Because as much as he wanted to pretend he didn't have a care in the world, and the thought of normal people and boring families made him ill... he secretly wanted it more than anything in the world. And the realization he could never have it, no matter how many lifetimes he lived, never hurt any less.

[We can't keep doing this, Wade,] White said finally, his tone gentler. [You said I was right. You know I'm right. This only ever ends one way.]

{No, don't listen to him! He has no heart—}

[This needs to be the last day. You can have this, but after today, it needs to be done.]

Wade heard a shocked gasp, and he honestly wasn't sure if it was him or Yellow.

"Why?" he whispered. "We—we're not hurting anyone."

[You're hurting yourself, and Yellow, by continuing this.]

{Ya know what?!} Yellow bellowed suddenly, causing Wade to flinch. {Screw you, White! You never shut up until you ruin everything and he does exactly what you want! I never to get to decide anything! So, if today's our last day, we're doing it my way!}

[What did you have in mind?] White asked dryly, not sounding as if he cared much.

{Go sit next to him.} Yellow sounded triumphant.

"What?" Wade froze, anxiety creeping through him at just the thought. He glanced over at the empty seat next to Bambi, who was reading, as usual.

{This is the last time we're ever going to see him,} Yellow said mournfully, {and you don't even know his real name. You're gonna regret it forever if you never get the chance to talk to him.}

"No, I don't... I can't..."

{GO SIT NEXT TO HIM OR I SWEAR I WILL SING BABY SHARK ON REPEAT FOR THE NEXT MONTH!}

[Oh... god no. Wade, just do it. I will not listen to that song ever again.]

"Have you guys lost your minds?" Wade hissed, looking the other way quickly as several people glanced his way.

{I'll do it, I swear on... chimichangas and tacos... and katanas!}

[Wade, if it comes down to it, I'm going to make you kill us until I can finally die and be rid of you or until he stops. Just do it, for fuck's sake; you're never gonna see the guy again.]

{Do it!}

[Do it.]

Well, fuck.

The boxes very rarely ever agreed on anything, and the few times they did, that meant it was important enough and Wade needed to listen. If they ever agreed against him, it meant he was wrong. If they ever had the same advice or answer, Wade always listened.

He was so used to doing it, the next thing he knew, he was crossing the subway car on shaky legs, closer and closer to the beautiful Bambi until—it felt like years, decades later—he sank into the seat next to the guy.

Once he got there, he came very quickly to the conclusion that White and Yellow were absolute idiots and what did he just do? He couldn't leave now, if Bambi noticed, he'd think Wade was being rude. And besides, it'd attract more attention to leave the seat for the corner now.

So, breathing shallow and heart beating faster than normal, he turned his head slowly under the hood, until he could just peek at Bambi. And he wasn't sure if the breath he released was one of relief or vague irritation when he saw the earbuds in Bambi's ears.

{Are you kidding me?! We came all this ass way—and he has earbuds in?}

[This is good. Now we don't have to try to make conversation, and he may not even notice your face, Wade.]

Wade's social anxiety and loneliness warred inside him as he took quick peeks at Bambi, until he wasn't sure if he wanted to yank the guy's earbuds out and introduce himself, or get off at the next station just to be able to get away from the crowds and people so he could calm down.

[I vote for the latter. This is getting ridiculous.]

{It's your last chance to talk to him!}

"What am I gonna do, tap him on the shoulder just to say hello? Earbuds are the universal 'leave me alone' sign," Wade murmured, barely audible even to himself.

[Not to mention probably traumatizing him when he sees your face.]

{It's not bad today. Less Deadpool suit means more good skin days.}

[Yay. So we've gone from open sores to just regular mangled-looking avocado skin. Such an improvement.]

{Maybe... he won't mind? Bambi seems like the type of person who wouldn't care about—}

[Now you're really grasping. How could anyone look at that face and be okay? It doesn't matter if he's a literal angel; you have the face of a demon. You have a face not even a mother could love.]

{You said... you said you'd let us have this.} Yellow's voice was small.

[Well, this is why you're a comedy relief character who doesn't make any important choices. Wade, either talk to him or leave. But you'd better make up your mind soon; his stop's coming.]

That jerked Wade out of his head and he glanced up to see the subway just starting to slow down.

Fuck.

{TALK TO HIM!}

[It's too late now.]

Wade sunk lower in his seat, misery already beginning to seep through him as he waited for Bambi to stand up and join the crowd waiting for the doors to open.

[Like sheep.]

When a minute had passed and Bambi still hadn't moved, Wade turned his head a tiny bit to glance at him.

{Awww...}

The guy still had his book open, but he was slumped forward slightly, eyes gradually drifting shut as his fingers started to loosen around the book.

[He's going to miss his stop.]

{Now you have an excuse!}

[Whatever gets us out of here quicker.]

{Just poke him or nudge him or something! Anyone would do it!}

"What if he finds it weird I know where he gets off?"

[You're on here every day; you don't have to lie about that. And he has no idea he's the one you're stalking, so just tell him you're observant.]

{Hurry up, the subway stopped!}

[I refuse to listen to Baby Shark; just do it.]

Wade reached over hesitantly, breath caught in his throat. His fingers hovered for a moment, trembling, before he took a deep breath and shook the guy very gently—although you wouldn't have known it by Bambi's reaction.

Brown eyes snapped open as he jumped in his seat, breathing hard as his gaze darted around, finally settling on Wade, who was frozen, arm still outstretched, heart racing. Wade kept his head down, hidden in the shadow of his hood, hoping it'd be enough.

He could feel Bambi staring at him, confused but expectant.

"Sorry, but isn't this your stop?" Wade asked in a low voice, hating how rough his voice sounded. He cleared his throat quietly, daring to glance up as the guy looked around, at the people starting to file slowly out.

"Uh, yeah, it is, actually. Wow, thanks... how'd you know?"

{Don't mess this up.} Yellow sounded ecstatic, but nervous.

"I'm... I'm on here pretty much every day. I just payed attention..." Wade trailed off.

"Oh yeah, I think I've seen you on here before, once or twice."

{Omigod HE NOTICED US}

"Thank you so much though, seriously; I would have completely missed it." Bambi stood up. There as a short silence which made Wade think for a moment he had left. Then a hand appeared in front of his face, startling him into looking up.

Bambi was right in front of him, and as Wade tilted his head up, he felt the light hit his face.

Shit.

He was about to duck back into hiding but stopped, surprised beyond words when he realized Bambi was still smiling gratefully, arm outstretched towards him. His bright gaze flickered briefly across Wade's face, probably watching the shifting scars, but if he was disgusted, he didn't show it. Wade, stunned by his reaction—or lack thereof—found himself reaching for and shaking the slender hand with long delicate, but chilly fingers.

"I'm Peter," Bambi said softly, his eyes glowing softly, like melting chocolate. He was still looking at Wade like Wade was a completely normal person and not a walking disaster, and he didn't know what to think.

"Wade," he heard himself breathe out, still captivated by that face, too shocked to do anything but stare when Bam—Peter shouldered his beat up satchel and smiled that beautiful soft smile again. "Thanks again; it was nice to meet you. Guess I'll see you around, Wade."

With that, he was gone, leaving Wade—and the boxes—reeling.

White recovered first. [What the fuck.]

{That was actually... omigod, my heart's racing.}

"You don't have one," Wade replied absently, even as he reached up to feel his own thundering heartbeat.

[Okay... that was weird.] White sounded like he was trying to keep the surprise out of his voice. [But Wade, remember, we had a deal.]

{Even you can't ruin this, White. The Adonis talked to us and didn't even throw up or anything.}

"And now I know his name," Wade added, still feeling stunned. The adorable stranger on the subway, Bambi, who had actually talked to him and looked at him and didn't recoil from his face or skin... was Peter. It fit doe-eyes perfectly.

He smiled to himself, tuning out the beginning of White's lecture as best he could.

Peter.

Notes: I'm kinda proud of the title, but I was afraid nobody would get it, so I'm gonna explain it. So White tells Wade his face is hideous and Wade thinks Peter has the most beautiful face, so the title could mean good or bad... it could be White talking to Wade or Wade talking about Peter. I just liked how it would work either way. But if nobody else got it, then sorry. And I'm also a little worried because the title sounds like it's to a super angsty story and I haven't gotten that far yet. Okay, I'll stop talking now; here are the alternate titles:

Bambi (Then the next chapter would be Peter, and the one after that would be Spider-Man)

How Many Times Can I Say 'Subway' In This Chapter?

Stalking a Deer

How (Not) To Catch a Deer

White's a DICK (who let Yellow title this one?!) (I really liked this one too tbh)

#spideypool #fluff #gay #peterparker #spiderman #wadewilson #deadpool #fanfiction #fanfic #the next chapter will be better i promise

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hainethehero · 5 years

Text

13 Reasons Why Season 3... A Monty and Winston Post...

Dressed in dirty, ragged jeans and an old plaid flannel, complete with a duffel bag and several bruises adorning his body, Monty de la Cruz had never felt so out of place in this world. He stood amongst a swarm of Hillcrest's finest students, a red cup in everyone's hand and music blasting as the sun began to set. There's a huge pool, girls in bikinis and guys half naked, grinning and flirting and having the best time. And all Monty can think about, is how he seems to be staining the happy picture.

But he's been looking for Bryce.

His Dad had come home drunk- a typical weekend at the de la Cruz's, and had immediately started a rampage, first at Monty's mother, and then eventually him. Monty could usually just take some hits before the man passed out but tonight, he'd just kept waling on the boy with any and every object he could find. And Monty decided he needed to leave for the night... or at least a couple nights.

Bryce usually let him stay over when things like that happened. But now, the boy always seemed to be ignoring his calls.

A group of bitches pass him, obviously drunk but they still screw up their noses at him and scoff. He turns around and tightens his jaw, fist clenching hard as he begins to panic. He's not getting help anymore, Bryce cut him off- the bastard. He had nowhere to go and barely enough money for two nights at a motel. Jesus fuck how was he gonna-

"Hey, what are you doing here?"

He rounds on the person who'd spoken and immediately pauses, mouth hanging slightly open.

It was Winston, the boy he'd messed with a couple times.

His defense mechanisms come up. "What does it look like I'm doing here, Williams?"

The boy raises a perfectly groomed brow and gestures at Monty's duffel bag with his half-filled cup.

"Definitely not having a good time. You headed somewhere? And why are you bleeding?"

Monty frowns and touches his face where Winston had pointed out. His fingers come away from his right temple with dark blood. He wipes it off and shakes his head, casually.

"Its nothin', alright?"

Winston seems unimpressed. "Sure."

Monty screws up his face and rolls his eyes. "Look, whatever man, you seen Bryce?"

Winston instantly looks displeased, his grey green eyes assessing Monty seriously.

"Bryce? Why're you looking for him?"

"None of your business Williams. Have you seen him or not?"

"No." Winston finally answers, drinking down the last of his alcohol. One of his friends come up to them and gives Monty a scornful look.

"Dude c'mon, Jax is here."

"Yeah in a minute Red."

The corner of Monty's mouth twitches, and he snorts. "Jax?"

Winston nods. "He's sort of an Alpha male around here. One of them anyway."

"And what, you're his bitch?"

"No." Winston answers with a smile. "But he's interested."

Monty scoffs, his bag still swung over his shoulder. He doesn't know why that thought irritates him so much, but it does. Who the fuck was this Jax? Why the fuck was he interested in Winston? Why the fuck was Winston putting himself out there for some other guy? A voice in his head reminds him that he's not with the boy or whatever. And that he needs to calm down.

"I gotta get outta here." He grunts instead, pushing past Winston to leave.

"Hey- wait..." The raven-haired boy calls, hastening after him, tossing the cup into a trash bin on the way. Monty keeps walking.

"Hey," he calls, hand gripping the boy's shoulder so fast that Monty rounds on him with a growl, causing him to freeze. He holds both hands up, assuming a much less threatening stance.

"I'm sorry."

Monty barely looks affronted by his actions however. He just seems incredibly uncomfortable and desperate.

"Whatever."

Winston shakes his head. "No, look- ...do you... d'you wanna go back to my place? Y'know, to chill? I- you- you can stay with me until Bryce shows up I guess?"

There's a subtle change in Monty's expression that almost makes Winston hopeful. The hardened lines of tension on his face gradually soften into something much more calm and his eyes don't have as much heat in them. Now, he just looks tired. Exhausted. And beat into the ground like some discarded piece of garbage that had been rolled over by several cars on a highway.

A couple minutes later, Winston makes good on his offer and takes Monty back to his house. His parents were gone, as usual and he had the entire place to himself. He's grateful and he can tell that Monty is too, the way he just sinks into Winston's bed, clothes and shoes still on. His eyes flutter shut for a minute as Winston shuffles about here and there, doing random things in particular.

The next time Monty comes to, it's still night, but Winston's in different clothing and he himself, is dressed in nothing but his boxers. He frowns, nearly shooting off the bed in apt confusion.

"The hell...?" He mutters, yawning while he frowns at the unfamiliar surroundings.

"Hey," Winston greets, causing Monty to nearly lose his shit.

"The fuck- Jesus man, scared the crap outta me."

A genuine flicker of worry flashes across Winston's face for a moment before he offers the Latinx an uneasy smile.

"I made dinner."

"Dinner? Damn, how long was I out?" Monty groans, stretching lazily like a house cat.

Winston gives him a funny look and swallows hard before speaking. "Monty, you've been out for a day."

The brunette glares at him but his eyes become unfocused. He looks more scared than angry and that irks Winston.

"What? What d'you mean a whole day?"

Winston shrugs from the doorway, arms crossed. "I mean, you've been at my house since Saturday night. It's Sunday now."

Monty looks over to the alarm clock on the nightstand and frowns as the red, glowing, 8:46PM glares back at him. A feeling of dread snakes down his stomach and he buries his head in his hands, perched on the edge of the bed like some kind of worrying statue. Winston approaches him gingerly, moving to eventually stand between the boy's legs, gazing down at him sadly.

"Before you passed out, you told me that... you needed some painkillers. And I asked you if they were for the bruises. And you said maybe. So I gave you two, and then you asked for more. Said that you wanted to OD... then you passed out."

Monty's fingers don't lose their punishing grip on his hair. He keeps pulling until Winston's gentler hands remove them, replacing them on his hips instead. He feels the boy's grip tighten, his nails digging into soft flesh- hisses but doesn't remove the boy's hands. Instead, he cards his own fingers through Monty's short hair, soothing the disturbed strands, petting the boy easily.

"My Dad was on a rampage Saturday. One of his usual, drunken terror-tantrums. Came after me with a hammer, I didn't have a choice. Grabbed some clothes and cash and got the hell outta dodge."

Winston tries his best to conceal the horrified look in his eyes but he can't seem to bring himself to it.

"That's why you were looking for Bryce. You were looking for a place to crash." He surmises instead, heart breaking as Monty buries his face in his stomach, holding on for dear life.

"He used to let me stay in his Grandfather's lakehouse just behind the main mansion... guess he cut me off."

"Why?" Winston asks out of genuine curiosity.

Monty scoffs, voice muffled by the boy's t-shirt.

"Cos I'm a monster."

Winston screws up his face in abject confusion. "According to Bryce... who was charged for raping multiple girls..."

"He's seriously trying to change y'know." Monty mutters defensively, not even sure why he's still protective of Bryce's image. He guessed it was the desperate boy still inside of him; still afraid to lose it all. Afraid that if he didn't have all the help he got from his friendship with Bryce, he would surely fall into ruin at the merciless hands of his father and eventually end up in jail or dead.

"Okay. But what makes you a monster?" Winston urges, his soft voice oddly calming.

Monty closes his eyes and shakes his head. "I've done things, Winston."

"What kind of things?"

"Terrible things. I'm the typical mean jock at every high school and no matter how much I try to be a good person... things- ...things never seem to work out that way. I can never change. As long as I'm trapped in that house with my Dad, I know it's only a matter of time before I turn out to be just like him."

He's sobbing by the time he's finished, tears soaking into Winston's shirt. The boy just holds him tighter, whispering sweet nothings in his ear, telling him that it would all be okay and that he was there.

"There's good in everybody. Trust me." He murmurs, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of the brunette's head.

"Not me... how can you even say that? After what I did to you at that party-"

"You were in a bad place then. I don't hold it against you. I would never do that."

"Why?" Monty demands through gritted teeth and he's finally staring straight into Winston's eyes this time.

Winston frowns for a second. "Why wouldn't I hold it against you?"

"No- why d'you care? Why d'you even give a shit about my sorry ass?"

The boy thinks hard for a moment, biting his lower lip before grinning slightly. "It's a nice ass."

The amused snort from Monty seems to be in complete contrast to the tears streaming down his face but it doesn't seem weird. It looks... right.

"You're an idiot, Winston Williams."

Winston grins cheekily down at the boy before growing somber again.

"But I'm your idiot, right?"

Hazel eyes glisten up at him, carrying the emotion of a thousand heartbeats as Monty nods shakily, unused to such tenderness.

"Yeah of course. Mine."

The raven-haired boy can't help the stupid giggle that bubbles from his throat as he lowers himself to press a gentle kiss to Monty's bruised lips. The brunette closes his eyes and sighs into the liplock, giving himself a break as all the tension releases from his body. The gash splitting his brow didn't even bother him that much anymore.

"And what am I?" He asks the boy, just out of curiosity, because his restless heart and soul could never truly be sure of what was affection from tolerance. "To you?"

Winston considers him for a moment, that endearing smile still on his face as his eyes sparkle. He settles in bed, with Monty curled up against him, head on his chest, idle fingers playing with his t-shirt.

"You're-" He starts but then pauses when those hauntingly beautiful eyes blink up at him, hopeful. Then he smiles and kisses Monty on the forehead.

"You're everything."

#monty and winston #montgomery de la Cruz #winston williams #13 reasons why #netflix #13rws3 #13 reasons why spoilers #angst #fluff #gay #mentions of violence

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imagineitup · 5 years

Text

The End Comes Soon : James Sirius Potter x Reader

In which James Sirius Potter finds himself in a fake dating AU

masterlists

- -

The guy wouldn’t get the hint. You didn’t think something like this would ever happen, something where you would be forced to fucking spell it out.

Leave me alone.

You take a deep breath, struggling to keep your composure because this guy just wouldn’t listen. “Look,” you repeat, gritting your teeth, “I’m flattered, really, but I’m not interested. Sorry.”

“Okay, geezus, let’s just skip past this part. I get it. You’re playing hard to get, and honestly, it’s kinda hot.” He leans against the bleachers. “Go out with me. Friday afternoon?”

That’s it. You grab someone’s arm as they walk off the field, praying to whatever heaven that they wouldn’t blow your cover. Because oh god, you’re running out of options here, and this is your way out. Hopefully.

“I can’t go out with you,” you lie to the guy, “we’re doing something on Friday.” You turn to look at the person you’ve so fortunately roped into your mess.

And oh, shit.

You’re staring straight up at James Sirius Potter. You swallow, and something in your gaze must tell him everything because he’s smiling that signature smile and wraps an arm around your shoulders. “Hey babe,” he grins. “Thanks for waiting.”

The guy opposite you, Luke, you think, narrows his eyes. “What the fuck?”

James blinks, scowling. “Yeah. This is my girlfriend. Leave her alone.” James doesn’t wait for a response, simply turns and escorts you off the field, leaving Luke sputtering and furious.

“So I’m your boyfriend, now, huh?” James teases, nudging you. “You know, if you wanted to hang out you could’ve just asked.”

You roll your eyes, but smile, relieved. “Thanks. He wouldn’t leave me alone.”

James grins. “Anytime. See you, (Y/N).”

- -

You never thought the rumors would actually spread. Because honestly, you didn’t think that by grabbing an arm of a random person, you’d be thrust into the spotlight once again.

Apparently, James Sirius Potter hasn’t dated anyone at all. And apparently, he’s dashing and funny, and good looking and people are devastated to hear that he’s been secretly dating you all along. Which is absolutely false.

But if you deny the rumors, you’re back to square one. Stupid Luke will keep asking you out. And this time, he might just be a little harder to shrug off.

When free period arrives, you rush to find James and luckily find him back at the Quidditch Pitch, sitting against the castle and fussing with the laces of his shoes.

“We need to talk,” you huff, out of breath. “It’s shit.”

“Hey,” James smiles. “What’s up?”

This isn’t a conversation you’d ever thought you needed to have. But you guess there’s a first time for everything. “I need you to fake date me.”

James blinks, staring at you amusedly. “You want me to fake date you?”

You nod. “Just for a bit, please? People think we’re dating, don’t know why, but if we’re not Luke’ll find me again. Please?”

James shakes his head, then grins. “Huh. I don’t see why not. I’ll do it.”

You breathe out, unable to stop the beginning of a relieved smile. “Thank you.” You’re about to leave until James steps right back in front of you, eyebrow raised.

“Wait a minute,” he teases, “I think you’re forgetting something.”

“What?”

“Tell me three things I should know about you.”

You smirk. “You’re really taking this seriously, aren’t you?”

He laughs, reaching up to run a hand through his hair. “My sister Lily lives for this sort of stuff. If you haven’t watched To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before at least five times, who even are you?”

“I think if you’ve watched To All the Boys that many times, you’re the one with a problem,” you tease.

James flushes then shakes his head. “I’m terrified of spiders, sleep through all my alarms, and have watched more rom-coms than I’d like to admit.”

“Because of your sister?” You raise an innocent eyebrow.

James laughs. “Maybe.”

“I think, maybe not?”

James just winks.

- -

When Friday comes, James slips into the seat beside you, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Hey babe,” he says loudly, then whispers quickly, “don’t freak out, sorry, Luke’s just been staring for a while and he looks pissed.”

You bite your lip, fighting the urge to look over your shoulder. But you settle with leaning your head against James’ shoulder. “Don’t freak out,” you whisper, as James tenses and looks at you curiously.

He grins. “Don’t worry about me, babe.”

And you’re trying not to think about him. You’re trying to shut out all your thoughts because James is so warm. And he’s so soft, and something about your head on his shoulder makes everything feel so right. And to be honest, you haven’t forgotten the feel of his lips pressing against your forehead, try as you might.

“Is he still looking?” You ask minutes later, and you wince, as James swallows, gaze faltering. He turns his head half-heartedly, then moves his shoulder.

“No,” he smiles, although it’s not as large as before, “I think we fooled him. See you, (Y/N).”

- -

A week later, Luke comes to corner you outside, and you can see James out the corner of your eyes, and he looks furious.

“I don’t think you’re really dating Potter,” he says, smirking. “Wanted to make me jealous, did you? My offers still up. I’ll take you out tomorrow, sound good?”

James strides toward you, shoulder catching against Luke’s as he reaches for your hand. “No, it doesn’t sound good. What the fuck, I told you to leave her alone.”

Luke tries to fight back, but James isn’t paying attention, in fact, he doesn’t even give Luke the time of day. He just looks at you, eyes softening. “Come on, let’s get out of here, yeah? I thought we could go to the Astronomy Tower.”

You nod, and James squeezes your hand, walking with you back into the castle.

“What’s his problem?” James fumes, shaking his head. “Fucking mental.”

You feel your heart fluttering as he squeezes your hand, and you nudge him. “Thanks for saving me back there.”

James shrugs. “I’d do it again.” He grins at you, raising his eyebrows. “Wanna hang out for real?”

You grin. “Sure. Plus, we’d really convince people.”

James deflates, then puts back his smile. “Yeah. Yeah, definitely.”

You decide to have him take you to Hogsmeade, and the two of you settle with walking through the village. Somehow you’ve found your hands interlaced, and James is laughing, and oh god, his eyes are so beautiful with the falling snow and there’s pink in his cheeks, and suddenly you wish you could stay in this moment forever.

“You know, I think there’s something missing,” James says innocently.

“What?”

He grins, then ducks behind you.

You snort, then whirl back around, gasping as he stuffs a handful of snow down your back. “James!”

He laughs, dancing away. “Another thing you need to know about me,” he teases, “I love snowball fights.”

You grab a bunch of snow, smirking. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah?” James taunts, wiggling his eyebrows. “And I never lose. Ever.”

“Sounds like something a loser would say,” you counter, rushing toward him and smacking powder into his hair.

He yelps and pretends to fall, clutching his heart. “Not the hair, oh merlin, I’m going to die!”

“So dramatic,” you laugh, dodging as James sends a snowball racing toward your face. You giggle as he grabs hold of you, stuffing more snow down your back.

And then you freeze, catching sight of Luke standing near the gates of the village.

Shit. Why’s he here?

You turn to face James who’s suddenly frozen, apparently realizing the same thing you are. You’re both so close to each other. You’re so close, you can feel his breath fawning against your face, against your lips. And his eyes are so wide. You don’t think you’ve ever really noticed his eyes until now.

Now or never, you think. Time to finish it.

You let your thumb brush against James’ cheek, and then you lean up, kissing him. His lips are fucking cold, but it doesn’t compare to the way it feels like you’re burning all over. James kisses you back, and he’s smiling, pulling you closer, his arms wrapping around your waist.

When you pull apart his eyes are sparkling, and he looks happier than you’ve seen for a long time. “I want to date you for r --”

“I think he’s gone,” you say at the same time.

James looks like you’ve just slapped him in the face. “What?” And suddenly realization dawns on his face, and his eyes dim. It looks like someone’s stolen the very life right out of him. “Oh.”

The exhilaration is seeping out from underneath your shoes, and you feel terrible. You don’t think you’ve ever felt guiltier. “Oh?”

James laughs quietly, “You’re right, I’m glad he’s gone. Well, I’ll see you around, (Y/N). Thanks for the kiss.” He turns and walks away.

You stare at him, your eyes wide. “Wait,” you rush after him, pulling at his arm, “wait a minute.”

“Yeah?” He turns, smile forced.

“I thought we were fake dating?”

James sighs, burying his face in his hands. “Yeah, I know,” he groans softly, “but what was I supposed to do?” He looks at you, begging you to understand.

“What do you mean?”

“What was I supposed to do when you finally, finally noticed me?” He shakes his head, looking up at the sky. “I couldn’t just say no. Even though I felt like shit every single time.”

“You didn’t have to do it,” you plead, eyes wide.

James sighs, running a hand through his hair. “You don’t get it.”

“Please don’t be mad.”

“I’m not mad.”

“Then --”

“You’re just, you’re a really good actor. Nearly had me convinced.” And his voice is so different than what you’ve heard before. It’s so soft, so broken away. “That maybe you liked me a little, too.”

“James,” you whisper, reaching for him.

“Don’t.” He swallows, jerking his hand back. “I just need time, okay.”

#part two?#james sirius potter #james sirius potter x reader #james sirius potter imagine #james sirius potter x you #james sirius potter x y/n #james sirius potter fic #next gen fic #james sirius potter oneshot #fake dating au #imagineitup

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maythewidowtakeusall · 5 years

Text

Welcome to Lonetree Valley (Natasha Romanoff x f!Reader)

Wordcount: 1715

Warnings: swearing, language, death, slightly smutty

Summary: You hitchhike after the snap.

“No, no, no, you fucking piece of shit!”

You manage to pull over as the old truck gives in completely, abandoning you in the middle of nowhere. You’re not a car mechanic, but even you know that you never should have taken this old rusty crap in the first place. You slam your fist hard on the steering wheel as a new creative chain of curses tumbles out of your mouth. At this rather desperate, abandoned, lonely moment, for a split second, you wholeheartedly wish you had died in the “snap” instead of all of your family members. If that’s not possible, you would gladly settle for a bottle of gin instead. You’re not that pampered and preppy girl anymore who always smelled of Armani Sì Fiori and sipped her gin tonic on ice.

You kick the door shut with your foot and sling your backpack over your shoulder, the strap digging into your skin. Walking it is, you think as you look ahead where the road merges with the sky at the horizon. You spare one last longing look at the truck, thick smoke curling out from under its hood, before setting off on foot. You reach the nearest ghost town when the sun starts to set.

WELCOME TO LONETREE VALLEY.

Welcome indeed.

The place is barely more than a convenience store, a gas station, a bar, a church and a few houses with doors gaping open like hungry mouths ready to swallow you. You’re already assessing them from the outside, trying to decide in which one you’ll squat tonight.

“Should it be suburban delight or countryside charm?” you mutter to yourself with sarcastic bitterness in your throat as you walk down the single long street of Lonetree Valley and identify the two possible houses you could use as shelter.

The stores are thoroughly depleted, but you manage to scour some canned soup, a pair of sunglasses, some water, pads and a single bottle of beer. You have the urge to fix the welcome sign to Lonebeer Valley. When you realize that no one would care and that it’s probably not even illegal anymore, you don’t feel like doing it all of a sudden. There’s a cheap plastic table with some chairs outside the gas station, so you reward yourself for your improvised hike with a well-deserved rest outside. The sunglasses are too big, the beer is lukewarm and your feet hurt even though you’ve propped them up on the opposite chair. You pull out your phone and turn it on. You call your mom, and you let it ring, like you do at the end of every day – it’s your sick prayer. You’re waiting for one last miracle even though you know you don’t have a mom anymore to pick up. You should have learned by now that miracles are not for average people like you – they’re for heroes and for great men, though from what you’ve heard about the “snap”, even they run out of miracles eventually.

You’re halfway through your beer when you hear a car approach and you jump up, hoping to get a ride into the nearest inhabited city. You flail your arms to get the driver’s attention, but you realize that they were going to pull up at the gas station anyway. It’s an expensive car – maybe a little too expensive for your end of the world mood as you think back sourly to your rusted truck abandoned on some random highway.

The car stops and the woman inside rolls down the window.

“Hey there, lone tree. Do you know if the gas station is operational?” she asks with a half-smile, her feline green eyes assessing you.

“Hey you, lady with a nice car,” you grin back as you pocket your phone. “Do I look like I work here?”

“I’m not going to judge you if you say yes.”

“Oh, yes, as you can see, I serve the vast population of this town. Could you cut the chatter please, Miss? There are others waiting behind you,” you snark back before leaning against the fuel dispenser and unhooking the nozzle. The redhead barks out a laugh before parking the car in front of you. “I’ll try not to take up too much of your time then.”

She gets out and takes over your “job”, trying to fill her car with petrol. “Is this even working?” you ask, slumping against the cool metal body of the dispenser. She leans in through the rolled-down window. “Tank’s filling up. Thanks for the help, sweetheart. What do I owe you?”

“A ride would sound nice.”

“Small town girl ready to move to the city?” she teases you with a smile but nods all the same. “I take it the rundown truck by the side of the road was yours then?”

“Was, yeah,” you sigh.

“Where are you going?”

“I don’t know. Somewhere with people. I’m tired of talking to myself.”

“Alright,” she agrees. “Your uber leaves in 5, don’t be late.”

You snort as you walk back to the table and gather your stuff. You hate that your life can fit into an Eastpak bag now. You miss having your own home and your regular 9 to 5 and your old neighbor’s stupid Havanese that barked at you all the time. Maybe you could try to get a job once you’re back in whatever city. You could rent a small place, maybe even get a dog. Try to do something normal. Something that’s not just bare survival and wallowing in denial. You go inside and find the tiny dirty restroom and wash up by the sink as best you can before returning to the woman. The woman, that’s rich – you know exactly who she is. But for some reason, you don’t mind getting into the car of a well-known assassin. She must feel like she’s doing something good by helping a poor stranded girl and you’ll reach civilization. It’s a deal that benefits both parties.

It’s relaxing not to drive. You feel like a kid again, your mom dropping you off at soccer practice, or your dad taking you and your friends to the movies. She glances at you every now and then, and you want to cry. You don’t want anyone to worry about you. You don’t want to trust again. Who’s to say they won’t disappear like the others did?

You find yourself talking to her nonetheless. What’s more is that you actually enjoy it. You like her. And from what you can tell, she likes you too.

...

“Sure you don’t mind?”

“You were going to squat at some random abandoned house anyway. It’s the same, except I can guarantee you that it has running water and electricity.”

“I don’t know... It’s not some random house. It’s the Avengers Compound.”

“Trust me, it’s more like your abandoned houses than you realize. Come, I’ll give you a room.”

The dirt you scrub off of your skin paints the water in the shower an ugly muddy, opaque color and you sigh. You watch the swirling darkness disappear down the drain. You imagine your skin expelling all the bad luck and pain poisoning you and you watch them blend with the water curling by your feet. You find a matching hoodie and pair of sweatpants on your bed, neatly folded and loosely fitting. You’ve never felt cleaner.

She makes you food. It’s terrible, but you eat it like it’s the best thing in the world. You remind her of a stray cat. She reminds you of an angel. An angel who can’t cook for shit and used to kill people for a living. But an angel nonetheless.

...

She lets you stay for four months. She’s always watching, and she’s already learned your ways. She knows when you wake, she knows when you get hungry, she knows when you pace restlessly or wait for the non-existent person at the other end of the line to pick up, when you go to bed. She pulls in a favor and gets you a job, drives you all the way to your interview which is little more than a formality, and picks you up afterwards. Later she trusts you with one of the cars and waits for your return outside after every long and eventless day of work. In return, you go grocery shopping from your fresh little salary and gently take over the kitchen and pretend to get lost one night and trail into her bedroom so she could fuck you senseless.

Tonight, you pry the frying pan gently from her fingers and make the chicken skillet before she can butcher your dinner. She eats like she’s been starved for days and she licks her fingers clean and you wish she was licking you. You hide your thoughts in a glass of discounted pinot noir as you lean back and watch her red roots bleed into her bleached blonde hair.

“How was work today?”

“Good. We had a few customers. I was honestly more surprised about this than they were about finding a fully operational hardware store. Erm, speaking of work... I have enough money to move out. Ines found a reasonably cheap flat we could split. Landlady’s sweet too, from what I’ve heard.”

“What’s wrong with your current landlady?”

“She’s too perfect. And I’ve been bad with keeping up with the rent, I think. This place is huge.”

“It is. I don’t want to stay here alone.”

“Then don’t. Let’s ditch Ines and get a flat together. We could live like queens in the city.”

“I can’t. You know I can’t.”

“I know.”

She’s sweet and gentle tonight, her mouth on yours always, fingers curled inside your wet cunt in a way that makes you see stars. She kisses away your tears of ecstasy and licks her fingers – just like she did at dinner – before asking you to stay and trapping you in her arms. She strokes your hair until you fall asleep and she shakes you awake so you won’t be late for work.

Later that day, you tell your boss Ines that you’ve already found a place and after your shift ends, you go to the Compound and you crash Natasha’s conference call to announce that you’ve come home to her.

#black widow x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff fanfiction #natasha romanoff #black widow #marvel fanfiction #mcu

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diyunho · 5 years

Text

The Joker x Reader - “Freaks” Part 1

Y/N is a metahuman with several peculiarities, but one could say the weirdest is her heart: it is gated by four locks that make it impossible for the woman to fall in love. Also one could say she’s manipulative, cunning and ruthless. Sounds familiar? Maybe that’s why The Joker is the perfect candidate to help her finally get something she always desired: a one of a kind heir.

“Yoooo-hoooooooooo, Mister Jooo-kkkeeerrr!!!!” Bane skips along the poorly lit corridor since it’s almost 11 at night and the Arkham inmates are supposed to be asleep. Yet they’re not: the ruckus woke them all up and now they are standing by the glass walls facing the hallway, wondering what the heck is going on.

The real Bane sighs, completely unappreciative of you borrowing his physical appearance.

“Hey, cut it out!” he admonishes as Y/N passes by and she decides to stop for a moment.

“Hello there handsome,” you swing your hips while walking towards him and The Riddler snorts, entertained: his cell is right across so it’s not like he can miss the show.

“If you’re going to mimic me, don’t do stuff like that!” Bane hisses through his mask, irritated.

“Apologies honey,” you wink and continue. “Far from me to purposely chop your masculinity to pieces,” but seductively sway on the tip of the heavy boots, taunting more because... who’s going to stop you?

“Seriously?!” Bane growls and you cut him some slack, transforming into The Joker for a few seconds.

“Jeez, don’t get worked up,” you smirk and blow the green hair off your face. “I’m looking for this guy, I know he’s here too.”

“Why are you looking for him?” Killer Croc punches his fists together, hoping he can twist your presence in his favor.

“I need him for breeding purposes,” you serenely admit as The Clown Prince of Crime rolls his eyes three padded rooms up from your present location.

“I told you before I can help with that,” Harvey Dent flips his coin in the air, not understanding why his offer was rejected numerous times.

“Me too!” The Riddler grins. “You should forget about the man that repeatedly refuses your advances and pick one of us,” the mastermind gestures at the cells containing prisoners willing to take on the task.

“I want him,” you revert to your human form, Mr. Freeze gasping with admiration: he’s been a fan for the past two years. “He’s the only male I’m compatible with for procreation on this continent and nobody else will do.”

“How do you know?” Deadshot addresses the burning question.

“I just know, ok?” you pout not wishing to get into details. “That’s why I’m here to bail him out. I helped his men clear the area so we can rescue the father of my future baby.”

“Ugghhhh,” a displeased and very loud protest is heard from The Joker’s cell.

“There you are,” you light up with the happiest smile and abandon the captives held in pretty boxes lined up on the south side of Arkham Asylum.

“Hey Y/N,” Jonathan Crane smacks his lips, “if you get me out of here also I’ll give you two millions.”

“I’ll give you double!” The Penguin shouts and Bane promises:

“I’ll give you three!”

The offers keep on pouring in and the shapeshifter is not a person to say no to easy money.

“Might as well,” you press the yellow buttons outside everyone’s incarceration chambers, leaving the best for last.

“Hiiii Mister Jooooker,” you drag the words and he grumbles, squeezing past you as soon as the glass slides enough for him to emerge from the cell.

“Shut up!” he barks and you couldn’t care less about his crabbiness.

“Your crew is waiting outside,” you giggle and turn into Frost, escorting the grouchy Clown in the direction of the exit you know it’s safe to take.

“Would you look at that?” The Shark teases, not being able to contain his laughter.

“Holy shit!” Panda tries to keep it together yet it’s impossible: the real Frost gives them a dismissing glare, annoyed Y/N is lovingly holding The Joker’s arm as they come down the stairs, definitely engaged in some sort of argument.

“That’s obviously not me!” Jonny mutters and there are more disrespectful remarks from the henchmen patiently waiting for their boss.

“It’s still funny as hell!” Richard underlines and swallows his sentence when Y/N posing as Frost kisses The Joker’s cheek.

“One more sound out of you jerks and I’ll bash your brains in!” Jonny threatens because he’s sick and tired of Y/N playing charades at his expense.

Thankfully you switch to your old self immediately after but the team is glad they’ll have something to tease Frost with in the weeks to come. Although it can be overdone: under the apparent calmness he has quite a wretched temper.

“Delivered as agreed,” you cheerfully announce to his gang and follow J even if he’s not thrilled about it.

“Get lost!” he angrily stomps, pushing you away when you grab his hand again.

“Stop being so rude!” you remodel your body after his and he takes a deep breath, staring back at another fabulous J courtesy of Y/N.

“Stop mimicking me!!!” he sneers and Panda comments in a low tone, convinced he’s far behind to safely say it:

“Two Jokers. God Forbids!”

A couple of goons nearby snicker and the amusement abruptly halts when you raise your voice:

“I heard that!!!”

“Huh?” J inquires.

You just lift your shoulders up, not wanting to distract him from what he has to focus on: making sure he fulfils your demand.

The First Lock

“You’re still here?!” The King of Gotham comes out of the bathroom, intensely drying his wet hair with a towel. “I thought that by the time I’m out of the shower you’ll be gone.”

You gaze at his naked body, reckoning it’s a nice coincidence to be compatible with such a beautiful specimen. Could be much worse.

“Why don’t you want to help me?” you ask and The Joker is aware what you’re referring to. “I’ve been begging you for a year; I must emphasize I’m losing hope and I will probably have to move to another continent in order to find a new prototype that could give me an heir.”

“Not my problem. Why do you want a kid?” he tosses the towel on the floor and digs around in the closet for a pair of boxers.

“So I won’t be alone,” the disarming reply makes him tilt his head to analyze the stubborn metahuman that pesters him on a regular basis about crap he doesn’t give a damn about. “The storm is coming,” you shift the subject when the lighting strikes the dark skies in the distance at 1:23 in the morning.

J gulps, uneasy: he saw the 6 feet creature for a split second and it certainly startled him.

“Apologies, Mister Joker,” you try to fix the mistake because it’s evident his reaction is below excitement standards. “The fire bolt must have projected my true nature. You only tolerate the pretty side, don’t you?” the sadness in your demeanor confuses J. “They all do…” Y/N whispers to herself. “Is this better?” you transform into Poison Ivy, then Cat Woman, then a random blonde girl with big boobs; by the seventh option The Joker had enough.

“Cut it out!” he finally finds his favorite underwear and you stand by the bed, opting out to be your human self for his sake.

“Can you please help me?” a disappointed woman pleads since he’s getting ready to go to sleep.

“Why would I help you?” The Joker snaps, hoping you’ll disappear from the premises and let him rest at the mansion he found refuge at after breaking out of Arkham.

Your eyes get teary and he never saw you show any type of weakness before; it’s sort of uncomfortable even for him.

“Because us freaks have to stick together.”

“Speak for yourself!” J gets mad at your affirmation and doesn’t know how to react to the tears rolling down your cheeks. “Mmmmm,” he debates, deep in thought: the insane Clown was captive for almost three months and a half and they surely don’t allow any conjugal visits in that shithole. Not that he has anybody in particular that would come to tend to his urges.

“If I help you,” the sudden switch in mood makes you pay attention, “will you quit bothering me?”

“Y-yes, of course! I swear!” you wipe your eyes, full of hope for once. “Since we’re a match it will only take one time! I’ll make it worth your while, I promise.”

You watch J take off his boxers and don’t blink when he yanks you in his arms, afraid he might change his mind: he’s not the most well balanced individual on the planet.

“No kissing,” you dodge his lips. “I only need the technical stuff.”

He gives you a cold stare, fed up with the infernal plague:

“You don’t get to make any other requests!” The Joker pulls you into a passionate kiss that unexpectedly shatters the first lock of your heart.

“Wait, wait…” you part from his soft lips, kind of drunk on the intimacy. “Did you hear that?!”

“Hear what?” he shoves Y/N on the bed and slowly crawls on top of her.

“That deafening noise.”

“Nope,” J purrs while carefully listening anyway. A strong thunder shakes the ground and he grins: “I heard it.”

“Not that, it was something else,” you attempt to explain and he buries his face in your cleavage, protesting the unwanted dialogue:

“After chewing my ears for months, less yapping would be nice!”

You smile, delighted to have tricked The Joker with your fake tears; you sure counted on him being trapped inside the Asylum without any feminine presence to grace his existence and it payed off in the end. Making yourself available when nobody else is around brought the desired outcome: Y/N always gets what she wants.

************

The Joker moans in his dream, unhappy with your wiggling.

“What is it?” he cuddles up to your body and it feels soft.

“I’m pregnant,” you yawn and he puffs in disbelief.

“Already?... We had sex a couple of hours ago.”

“U-hum,” you say and let him caress your skin, unaware your true essence peeked from behind the human shell. “It shouldn’t take too long. By morning I will have my heir.”

“That fast?” J opens his eyes since the pillow talk is actually interesting.

“Don’t tell me you didn’t notice I’m different,” you hum with your eyes closed, exhausted from the energy you have to channel into the tiny life growing inside your womb. The soon to be mother is so impatient she won’t skip accelerating the process at the expense of her own vitality.

“No kidding,” The King of Gotham mumbles, smitten with the apparition peacefully dozing off in his arms. The storm outside is wreaking havoc and each time lightning illuminates the blackness J can inspect the delicate feathers covering your body: when he touches you they change colors, red butterflies flying out of the pressed skin. He curiously pokes one and the illusion shatters into glowing dust resembling small fireworks.

The Joker has no clue that he is the first soul to ever see you like this; earlier he didn’t have the opportunity to comprehend what he saw, but he’s sure taking advantage of the situation now to understand what he’s looking at.

“Oh,” he touches your tummy that seems to expand with each passing moment: something is moving and he foolishly smirks without realizing.

Whatever is developing inside Y/N he helped create and strangely enough he can’t wait to see the result.

************

The Second Lock

J drags his feet on the wet grass, watching you admire the sunrise. He woke up and the bed was empty: made him wonder if you vanished without a trace. Yet there you are, waiting for him in the backyard since you figured you owe him this much.

“Mister Joker,” you chuckle, holding something wrapped up in a blanket. “I’m off to my house: thank you for participating in this project,” the indifferent metahuman blurs out: it’s the only speech she prepared. “I requested that everyone owing me money from last night should send it here,” you gesture at the huge duffel bag at your feet. “There’s 35 million dollars in here, all yours as a thank you for helping me.”

“Hm?” he crinkles his nose, insulted at the gift. “Do I look like a prostitute?!”

Why is he getting angry?... That’s a lot of money for a one night stand.

“They get paid for sex, don’t they?” he enlightens the puzzled Y/N. “What’s that?” J nods at the bundle you gently rock.

“My baby.”

“You gave birth?!” he forgets his hurt pride, not believing it’s already done.

“Yes, about 45 minutes ago,” you kiss your daughter’s forehead and her innocence makes your chest tightly constrict before the second lock of your heart is broken to pieces. “Did you hear that?” you interrogate the man you don’t need anymore.

“Hear what?” The Joker rushes to glimpse at the newborn as you step back, discontent he’s trying to take her.

“That horrifying bang! How can you not hear it?!”

“I have no idea what you’re rambling about,” he forcefully snatches the baby from Y/N’s embrace, grunting at her resistance. “Gimme, I wanna check out what I made!”

He parts the blanket aside and…

“Waaaaah,” the mesmerized parent holds his breath:

The sweet angel has wings embedded with neon green feathers, the same shade as J’s crazy hair.

“Are you done?” you attempt to reacquire your treasure and he slaps your arm.

“Little bird…” J runs his fingers along her wings and the mini-metahuman fusses a bit, already establishing a connection with her dad.

That’s exactly what you’re trying to avoid before it’s too late.

“Mister Joker, I have to go, ok??!!” you seek to remove the baby from her father.

“Stop bothering me!” he sucks on his teeth and begins striding towards the mansion while the panicked Y/N runs behind him.

“What are you doing? Give her back!”

“What should we name her?” The Joker ignores your outburst, totally struck with this overwhelming emotion washing over him.

Oh no, she’s already getting under his skin!

“WE?!” you shout, exasperated. “This is MY descendant!”

“You said I participated in the project so she’s half mine!” The Clown implies the obvious.“I think we should name her Emma, I always liked that name,” he adds to Y/N’s dismay. “Pretty bird…” J shuts you down as soon as you open your mouth to protest, stroking his daughter’s feathers.

He’s already addicted and this is a complete disaster!

“I’ll tell my boys to get baby supplies,” he decides without taking into consideration any opinions you might have about his plan.

“Why?!” you cringe at the proposal simply because The Joker is not part of the equation; but your daughter is already bonding with him and that’s something mommy can’t break: she has her own will and set of abilities enabling her to already make choices. You’re not sure why she’s making him believe he could be included into a two party family; there’s no space for a third, otherwise it would be a three party family and that won’t work.

“Don’t you need supplies for her?” he enters the master bedroom where the infant was conceived only hours ago.

You’re still on the patio, fuming at his absurdities.

“No, I have to go home! I’ll take care of it! Listen Mister Joker, I’m not expecting anything from you! ” you underline the truth and his witty response baffles Y/N:

“I was sure expected though to get naked and have sex right after escaping Arkham, huh?!” and The Joker protectively covers his daughter’s ears, his messed up brain figuring out she shouldn’t hear that. “Where’s home anyway, huh?” the tirade continues.

“That’s none of your business!” you shriek and he repositions Emma in his arms, preparing to lecture her mother when he gets distracted by the growth spur.

“Did she just get…bigger??!!!”

“Yes,” you join him in the middle of the room, explaining things you shouldn’t because frankly you should be at your residence by now. “She’s using capabilities inherited from me in order to speed up her evolution and then take a break to recharge around one year old landmark.”

“Fascinating,” J gushes while placing Emma on the couch: the baby is napping, not bothered by the quarrel anymore. “Wait here; I’ll go instruct my men on what we need.”

This is the limit to make you lose your marbles.

“There. Is. No. WE!” you thud on the wood floor and The Joker watches you get taller and taller until you can barely fit under the vaulted ceiling, electing to show him what he’s messing with. The metahuman transforms into the nightmare she really is: dark and sinister, covered in black feathers with sharp, long claws and fangs ready to tear apart the human trespassing a fine line.

That’s not what The Clown saw last night: you keep the beast caged but now IT needs to come out, otherwise he won’t understand the seriousness of his circumstances.

“You are not needed!” your heavy steps make the ground shake. “You are not wanted!” you corner The Joker between the table and the couch Emma is resting on. “Don’t stay in my way or you’ll regret it!!!! I’m taking my daughter and we’ll go: don’t try to stop me or I’ll kill you!!!” and you bend over to snarl in his face, prepared to shred him to pieces.

Eerie silence while J is gathering all his strength to put up with the fucked up events leading to this moment.

“You two can’t go,” he straightness his back, so stiff one could think he swallowed a broomstick.

“Why not?” you smell his skin, antagonized.

The Joker tries to look as imposing as possible but he’s still half your size; nothing else in his mind besides some words of wisdom he’s about to repeat:

“Because us freaks have to stick together.”

You unravel your tusks, displeased with his strategy:

“Speak for yourself!”

That went down the drain fast, J thinks while the hideous mug a few inches away from his face doesn’t bulge. His eyes wander off to the sofa and he gasps:

“Where’s the baby?!”

A sharp claw points towards the ceiling and he looks up only to notice Emma snuggling in her blanket.

“Oh my God!” his eyes get big. “What is she doing there?!”

“Snoozing!”

“She’s gonna fall!” The Joker circles around you, worried about the angel.

“She’s not going to fall; she’s comfortable,” you huff and reach to caress her.

“Where are the wings?!” J glares at the gigantic mother tending to her peculiar offspring.

How many people have witnessed such bizarre sight? NONE. And yet The Clown is asking questions without a trace of disgust or judgement; only pure curiosity.

“They’ll come and go, she can’t fully control them yet.”

“Can you…can you turn into your usual self?” he suggests. “You’re very ugly like this and it’s spooking me out.”

“Do you know you’re interested in us because she’s making you?” the monster bites without using her fangs. “You’re useless, yet she wants you around.”

“Oh yeah?” The Joker’s attitude escalates despite the sticky context. “You’re useless also since you chased me until I slept with you; she exists thanks to my help! You should be ecstatic!!”

“Money is not enough?!” you gradually switch to the Y/N he’s familiar with even if you’re still mad.

“I have money,” The King of Gotham pretends not to be relieved by the welcomed transmutation.

“Then what do you want?” you attempt to compromise for your daughter’s sake.

“My birds,” he calmly admits.

You debate on his stupid reply: is J deaf and didn’t catch the memo?! He might be because he keeps on telling you he didn’t discern the odd, loud noises you heard twice so far.

You are not aware it would be such a blessing to hear those sounds again: it could mean the unconventional family Emma is trying to keep together might actually work.