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anotherhumaninthisworld · 2 years

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Charlotte Robespierre et ses amis

I’ve made a full translation of a study by Pierre Labracherie and Gabriel Pioro regarding Charlotte Robespierre. It was published in two parts in Annales historiques de la Révolution française in 1961 (part 1, part 2). Two years earlier the authors also wrote a ”prologue” titled Charlotte Robespierre et ”ses mémoirs”, in which they look over Charlotte’s memoirs with a critical eye and analyse which parts are more likely to have come from her and which ones sound more like embellishments by Laponneraye. Both works are partly a reaction to an edition of Charlotte’s memoirs published by Hector Fleischmann in 1910 (that I unfortunately can’t find anywhere online), which they claim did not handle its subject critically enough.

The following text is, as far as I’m concerned, the most detailed study regarding Charlotte made thus far. It doesn’t take that long to notice that the Charlotte shown in it is sometimes quite different from the one she wanted portrayed in her memoirs…

There can be no question here of reconstructing the life of the sister of the Incorruptible, which cannot be validly attempted considering the lack of sufficient documents in the current state of research. But we are going to try to clarify certain points of her existence, to place her in the environment she frequented and, by shedding light on certain characters, some known, others much less, to outline the true role of Charlotte and cast some new light on the underside of the French Revolution.

As for Charlotte's life in Arras with her brother Augustin, after Maximilien's departure for Versailles, we know that they had a hard time. In a letter to Maximilien dated April 9, 1790, which stands out through its political character - that is not to be found anywhere else - and the firmness of Charlotte's patriotic convictions, she says: ”Take care, dear brother, of sending me what you promised. We are still in great difficulty […] if you could find a place in Paris that suits me, if you had one for my brother, because he will never be anything in this country.” [1], which is corroborated by this sentence written by Augustin in a letter to Maximilian also most likely from 1790: “We are in absolute destitution: remember our unfortunate household.” Is it true that Robespierre regularly sent his family a third of his representative's allowance or, according to the memoirs of Paul Villiers, his ex-secretary, three-eighths? [2]

Contrary to Charlotte's predictions in her letter to Maximilien, Augustin was elected in 1791 to the council of administration of Pas-de-Calais, and in August 1792 prosecutor-syndic of the commune of Arras and president of the Amis de la Constitution. It was Augustin's election as prosecutor-syndic that Lebon spoke of in a letter addressed to Maximilien and dated from year III of the revolution (August 28, 1792). ”Courage, my dear friend, we are at the height of our wishes. If you strongly support the commissioners' petition, whatever the success of our electorate must be, then your brother will be appointed immediately. Otherwise, I always fear that the rage of our enemies will drive him away with their slander.” And he ends thus: “the bearer of this letter, Démouliez, has planned arrangements with your brother, to procure for him the execrable marc d’argent. Confer with him and let us know about this article.” Proof that the financial situation of Augustin (and Charlotte) has not improved since 1789. As for Démouliez, we will meet him again.

Regarding Charlotte's relationship with the Duplays, Élisabeth Lebas does say in her memoirs that she had a great friendship with Maximilien's sister: "I was happy to go to see her often; sometimes I even took pleasure in curling her hair and taking care of her toilet. She also seemed to like me a lot.” Elisabeth recounts that the day Marat was carried in triumph after his acquittal by the Revolutionary Tribunal, April 24, 1792, Charlotte invited Elisabeth to attend the session of the Convention. It was there that the latter met her future husband Lebas under the auspices of Charlotte. But soon — and this H. Fleischmann carefully conceals — Élisabeth cries out about Madame Duplay who, she says, treated Charlotte as her daughter. “Poor mother, she thought Charlotte was as pure and sincere as her brothers. Good God, that was not the case."

Maurice-André Gaillard It is here that the first of Charlotte's friends that we are going to meet comes into the picture: Maurice André Gaillard.

Oratorian like Billaud-Varenne and Lebon, Gaillard, who lived from 1757 to 1844, had taught at the college of Arras where he got to know Fouché, also an Oratorian, and Maximilien. Later, from September 1791 to April 1796, he held important positions in Seine-et-Marne: president of the executive board, head of division, general secretary, president of the criminal court. He ended his career as a counselor at the Court of Cassation. He was an opponent of the Montagnards and the Girondins. He left memoirs which should be used with caution, but which through their excesses and possible implausibilities give plausible information regarding Charlotte's feelings and "activity".

Gaillard says that in May 1794, he took steps in favor of the magistrates of Melun, denounced by the Popular Society of the city for having signed an address to Louis XVI denouncing the demonstration of June 20, 1792. He went to see Charlotte on this subject, and talks with her at length about their old acquaintances. She names with great bitterness the prodigious number of very honest people dragged to the scaffold by Joseph Lebon; she asks him to tell her how he was able to save himself from prison and tells him how much pleasure she and her eldest brother had in receiving news from him regarding the siege of Toulon at the end of December 1793. When Gaillard asked her to help, she raged against the Duplays. “When my younger brother passed through Melun, the three of us were living together. I still hoped to be able to bring back Maximilien, to rescue him from the wretches who obsesses over him and lead him to the scaffold. They felt that my brother would eventually slip away from them if I retained his trust, they destroyed me entirely in his mind; today he hates the sister who served as his mother. […] For several months, he has been living alone and although lodged in the same house, I no longer have the power to approach him (new confession which corroborates the precedents on this point). I loved him dearly, I still love him. […] His excesses are the consequence of the domination under which he groans.” Charlotte sees no other remedy than the death of Maximilien and herself. She nevertheless sends Gaillard to see Maximilien on rue Saint-Honoré. But he gets thrown out by the Duplay son. Another visit from Gaillard to Charlotte. New recriminations from Charlotte against the Duplays. But she adds that she does not despair of breaking the spell that holds Maximilien under their yoke. ”For that, I am waiting for the return of my other brother (who has gone back to the East and the Midi) who has the right to see Maximilien.” Then comes a serious accusation, so serious even that it is not found anywhere else, not even in the Réquisitoire Courtois. After saying: "You know what a miserable state we found outselves in in Arras, reduced to alms, my brothers and I, if our father's sister had not taken us into her home" despite her husband's brusqueness, and insisting on their scrupulous honesty to all three: Maximilien, Augustin and herself, she accuses the Duplays of using, without Maximilien knowing it, the latter's name and credit to get a low price from the merchants on the rarest things they have: very nice bread, sugar, oil, top quality soap. She concludes — and this is how we have seen it and will see it in all the testimonies attributed to Charlotte, all written long after the facts — by justifying Maximilien, proud but not bloodthirsty, “certain that he thinks it is to overwhelm his adversaries and his enemies by the superiority of his talent.”

Finally comes the story of an interview arranged by Charlotte between Gaillard and Couthon. Gaillard goes to 97 de la Cour du Manège where Couthon lives; he is received in a family setting, reminiscent (too much, perhaps) of a painting by Greuze. ”Couthon, whose face was truly angelic, wore a white dressing gown. A child of five or six, beautiful as love, was between his father's legs; he had in his arms a young white rabbit to which he was giving alfalfa, Madame Couthon and Mademoiselle Robespierre were in the doorway of a window overlooking the Tuileries.” The interview, cordial at first, quickly turned to tragedy. Couthon, conciliatory at first, bursted into fury when Gaillard exclaimed: ”Even today, we are leading to the scaffold seventy unfortunates whose condemnation has no other reason than the signature of this address (to the king regarding the demonstration of June 20 1792).” Before the paralyzed Couthon could answer, Charlotte makes Gaillard flee; she finds again him at the Orangerie. They reach the Place de la Révolution. There, she tells him that he was the victim of the profound hypocrisy of Couthon who wanted to know the bottom of his thoughts. But, she adds, Couthon doesn’t know that Gaillard doesn’t live in Paris and probably doesn’t remember the name of the city where the accused judges sit. She therefore urges him to flee. Arrived at Melun, Gaillard learns that the magistrates were not worried, which Couthon had moreover foreseen at the beginning of the interview.

So here are some very strange actions by Charlotte in favor of someone whose very account shows that he revealed himself in the eyes of Couthon, at first benevolent towards a friend of Maximilien's sister, like a counter-revolutionary. These acts are not isolated. We will find similar ones in her role played at the same time with regard to the affairs of Arras and her relationship with someone who played an important role in her life before and after 9 Thermidor: Armand-Benoît-Joseph Guffroy.

Guffroy Born in Arras in 1742, lawyer, colleague of Maximilien at the Salle Episcopale, needy, half-starved, lodged in 1775 in an attic, and qualified by a pamphlet (counter-revolutionary, it should be admitted) as “Bite-pleader”, ”former crook” and even “constitutional brat” [3], Guffroy was a fertile follicle: in the year 1789 alone, he published four pamphlets. On December 31, 1796, he was installed as justice of the peace. Public prosecutor of the district of Arras, he replaced Augustin as president of the Amis de la Constitution, where he joined the Dantonists. But in July 1793, the day after the murder of Marat, he brought out the first number of Rougyff ou le Frank en vedette: "I thought I had to adopt the tone of a Frank whose native frankness I have in my heart." The epigraph to this diary reveals its unmistakably Hébertist tone: “Let us drive out old abuses: let everything be new, hearts, words and actions. A sapper said with Duchesne: To the devils with the old trinkets of royalty! Let's do it all again! Heart on the hand, frank speeches and republican actions, foutre! That's a hymn. Ah! bugger.” The Rougyff violently demands the guillotine for all threatening heads. But on 13 Vêntose Year II (March 3, 1794) Guffroy was expelled from the Jacobins after being denunced by the conventional Chasles, former canon of the metropolis of Tours and commensal of the Archbishop of Arras, M. de Gonzié. The Rougyff, says Chasles, is the tomb of common sense. He cannot have a large number of subscribers; there must be “invisible men who provide funds for printing.” This newspaper which was addressed to the Armies contains counter-revolutionary principles and pro-page moderantism.

Guffroy is accused of having connections with aristocrats (the former Marquis de Travanet), of having “thrown fire and flame against the Revolutionary Committee of the Picques section to force it to release Dumier, locksmith of Capet”. English letters were found in his papers (4). This exclusion led to Guffroy's resignation from the Committee of General Security of which he was a member (he would return to the post, as we shall see, after 9 Thermidor). Le Rougyff continued to appear until prarial (May 1794): on 4 Germinal (March 24), the day of Hébert's execution, it fulminated in vengeful verses against the conspirators and the “famous furnace merchant” (Hébert), his model and the object of his recent admiration. Guffroy will be Lebon's fierce opponent, as we will see. He is, along with Courtois, part of the tail of Danton grouped around Lecointre who from the beginning of prarial wants to cut the throat of Robespierre within the Convention itself (which Robespierre very quickly will be informed about). Under the Directory, after the vote of the law of Floréal year IV (May 11, 1796) which removes from Paris the former Convention members not employed by the Directory, Guffroy hides in Arras until the coup d'etat of 18 Fructidor year V (September 4, 1797). He will then return to Paris and die in 1801 as deputy head of the Ministry of Justice.

This man, according to Élisabeth Lebas in her memoirs, would have slandered her to Lebas to prevent their marriage so that Lebas would marry Guffroy’s daughter, already pregnant with the baby of another. Guffroy, the same moment he was expelled from the Jacobins, attacked in his journal and pamphlets which he edited, printed and published himself, Lebon's action in Arras and in the North, while waiting to attack Robespierre openly — but only after 9 Thermidor. He boldly exclaims in his Censure républicaine: “It is with the inflexible rod of austere virtue that the political dagger is forged with which I am going to strike you, Joseph Lebon.” And yet Guffroy is not worried. And yet the public prosecutor of the Revolutionary Tribunal instituted by Lebon in Arras, Darthé (executed with Babeuf on 7 Prarial Year VI, May 26, 1797) in a letter from 29 Ventôse Year II (March 19, 1794) where he describes the rigorous action of this Revolutionary Tribunal (“a terrible jury like that of Paris was adapted to the revolutionary tribunal of Arras. This jury is composed of sixty naked buggers”), writes “Guffroy revolted all the patriots against him. He must be removed from the (popular) society. The numbers (of Rougyff) and his letter to Dubois are abominable. He follows the path to the guillotine.”

What will serve as a war machine for Guffroy against Lebon are the arrests issued by the latter on 30 Germinal year II (April 19, 1794) against the members of the former Revolutionary Tribunal of Arras: President Beugniet, the public prosecutor Démouliez (who, as we have seen, made possible by his pecuniary assistance the election of Augustin as attorney-syndic and is entitled to his gratitude), Gabriel Leblond, member of the surveillance committee, later the brother of the latter, adjutant general to the Army of the North (who accused Lebon of being an accomplice of Hébert, Denton and his wife. All were taken to Paris by gendarmes on 15 Floreal (May 4, 1794) to be referred to the Revolutionary Tribunal.

These arrests, along with many others, caused great emotion in Arras. This is where we find Charlotte. She has remained in regular contact with her friends, who are also friends of the detained. A letter sent to her on 6 Floreal Year II (April 25, 1794) by a certain Bruslé, employed by citizen Richard, is significant and should be compared with that of Darthé cited above. It is necessary to quote it almost entirely.

”We went through Arras without stopping; while we were relaying, I discharged the commission (with Buissart, the friend of Maximilien and Augustin, ally of Démouliez and the Leblonds.) What has been said of your town is true; for six weeks one hundred and fifty people have been guillotined and about three thousand imprisoned. Citizens have gone to find a friend of your brother; he was told: you alone can make the truth heard. Robespierre trusts you. He answered them: How could I write, since every evening we witness the departure of letters? Saint-Just's report and the decree that those accused of conspiracy will be brought before the Revolutionary Tribunal in Paris (this is the decree of 27 Germinal Year II/April 16, 1794) had given rise to some hopes; but yesterday it was published that throughout the Republic, the town of Arras alone would not enjoy the sagression of this law. It has long been agreed that a man invested with great powers does more harm than good when he is sent to his region. For a long time, we have agreed on the moral virtues of priests (Lebon, born in Arras, was constitutional of Neuville-Vitasse in Pas-de-Calais). What is the use of being such good theoreticians? I do not doubt that there existed in Arras counter-revolutionaries and fanatics; but terror must weigh on them alone, and the patriot must be able to rely on the impassivity of the judges and the freedom of debate and opinion. I spare you other details which are too atrocious to be believed, when one has not been an eyewitness […]. I cannot tell you what I have heard from different people without having had the time to verify it. We go into the campaign tomorrow. I forgot to tell you that the accuser of the revolutionary tribunal is arrested and the revolutionary commissar broken. Adieu, salut et fraternité.”

Moreover, what is more serious is that Charlotte visits Guffroy, as we will see the the latter confirm later. This is revealed to us by a letter addressed by Buissart to Guffroy in which he says: “We salute the citoyenne Robespierre; my wife has just received her letter; tell her as soon as possible that I will immediately give her the clarifications she requests.” [5] We see that Charlotte, so passive and withdrawn in front of her brothers, is much more active elsewhere (without being able to specify this activity) than she would have us believe in her memoirs.

What we do know is that Guffroy, from 18 Floréal (May 7, 1794) tried in vain to approach Robespierre; (1, 2) he writes to him to ask him to receive the statements of the accused. He begs him to recall Lebon, he calls him "mad", "extravagant despot" and a "flat tyrant"; Robespierre remains unseen. Démouliez, accompanied by the gendarme who guards him also tries, in vain, to meet the Incorruptible. The women taking part are the sister of Leblond, the daughter of Démouliez, Madame Buissart herself - “la belle Arsène” - who comes to Paris. It is more than likely that Charlotte was part of the group.

In fact, Lebon was recalled to Paris on 25 Floreal Year II (May 14, 1794) by the Committee of Public Safety, which needed to confer with him on important matters. "It (the Committee) does justice to the energy with which you suppressed the enemies of the Revolution and the result of our conference will be to direct it in a still more useful way." Upon his arrival, Lebon goes directly to the Committee meeting. Very quickly, he leaves for Cambrai. On 2 Prarial (21 May 1794) he returned to Arras.

On what happened in Paris concerning the Arras affair we have two interesting letters. On 30 floreal (May 19, 1794), Daethé wrote from Cambrai to Lebas: “Lebon returned the day before yesterday evening from Paris (thus 28 floreal: May 17, 1794). The Committee of Public Safety gave him all the justice he deserved and his slanderers were covered with contempt […] Guffroy had written against him the most virulent and pitiful memoir that could be fabricated […] their abominable plots have been foiled [...] the four detainees Démouliez, Beugniet and the Leblonds will be handed over to the Revolutionary Tribunal of Paris.” He was going a bit fast and Guffroy was far from going to the guillotine as Darthé had written previously, since the same Darthé adds: “Guffroy would already be indicted without political reasons.”

Moreover, in a letter addressed from Cambrai to Lebas, on Prarial 20 (June 9, 1794), Lebon let his fury burst out: “What! The conspirators were released by the Committee of Public Safety because by asking me to come immediately to Cambrai, ready to be surrounded, you forced me to postpone the information on their account [...]. I must be ten thousand times right, not to have been massacred yet, after all the maneuvers of these perverts and their worthy support Guffroy.” Lebon adds that he is ready to bring to the two committees all the denunciations that are collected. He asks that they decide on the conduct he held on his mission or that they call him back. And he insists: "I had believed until that moment that it was better to save Cambrai and this border than to occupy myself with responding to the sacrilegious fury of a Rougyff."

Guffroy remains invulnerable despite an address from Lebon's friends meeting on 8 Messidor (June 26, 1794) at the Temple of Reason in Arras denouncing him to the Convention, despite the citizens of Cambrai who fulminate against him the same day in these terms: ”he dares to denounce the representative of the people Joseph Lebon, to accuse him of propagating the principles of Hébert of which the Rougyff was constantly the echo.

On 17 Prarial (June 5, 1794), the Committee of Public Safety issued an order releasing Beugniet, Démouliez, the Leblonds, Danten and his wife (and there is no reason to describe this order, like A. Mathiez does, as the sole action of Robespierre). Lebon protests and succeeds in having Gabriel Leblond reincarcerated, but the others remain free. On 22 Messidor (July 10, 1794) Lebon was recalled and the Revolutionary Tribunal of Arras and Cambrai suppressed. Finally, on 5 Thermidor (July 23, 1794), a new order definitively freed all Arrageois.

In Floréal, Lebon was not alone when he left for Cambrai; the person he brought with him was none other than the citoyenne Robespierre, as announced by Darthé in the letter to Lebas analyzed above. The reasons for this removal of Charlotte from Paris we find in a letter addressed by Augustin to Maximilian, unfortunately undated, but of which the context allows us to fix at mid-floréal. We give below the capital text for our subject:

“My sister does not have a single drop of blood that resembles ours. I have seen and learned so much about her that I regard her as our greatest enemy. She abuses our spotless reputation to lay down the law on us and threatens to take a scandalous step in order to compromise us. We must take a decided stand against her. We must make her leave for Arras, and thus take her away from us, a woman who causes our common despair. She would like to give us the reputation of bad brothers, her calumnies spread against us aim at this goal. I would like you to see the citoyenne La Saudraie [6], she would give you certain information on all the masks that it is interesting to know in these circumstances. A certain Saint-Félix seems to be from the clique.”

This damning document for Charlotte shows how many illusions she had in supposing, as we have seen Gaillard report, that the return of Augustin would be favorable to her. It gives more plausibility to the remarks that Gaillard attributed to Robespierre's sister and to everything we read between the lines in Charlotte's memoirs. But above all it suggests more serious actions on the part of the latter than the approach to Couthon or even the help given to the prisoners of Arras. Unfortunately, we have not discovered any new document which would bring precisions to the allusions of this letter which thus remain mysterious as to the substance.

The Musquinets: Saint-Félix and Lapagne On the other hand, we can give some clarifications on this new friend of Charlotte, much less known than the previous ones, whom Augustin designates under the enigmatic name of "a certain Saint-Félix" and of whom we have found a link, extremely tenuous it is true, but a link nevertheless, which can attach him to the clique of a very compromising entourage for the memory of the sister of the Incorruptible.

In reality, he is not only Saint-Félix (real name Musquinet, alias Saint-Félix) who interests us here, his brother — Musquinet de Lapagne, mayor of Ingouville, suburb of Le Havre, guillotined a few days before the Hébertists, 26 Vêntose Year II (March 16, 1794) does as well. It is to the former Augustin alludes to in his letter to Maximilian. But the ties — not only of family, but of politics — which unite the Musquinets make it impossible to study one without the other. Both were unquestionably part of the same clique. For clarity of exposition, however, we must separately describe the lives of these astonishing and shady characters.

We begin with Musquinet de Saint-Felix. He depicts himself in a printed justification, a certificate of citizenship that he awards to himself and addresses to the Revolutionary Tribunal shortly after his last arrest, on 1 Ventôse Year II (February 19, 1794).

”Before the Revolution, I had in my heart all the principles that guided it; also, the first ray of freedom which strikes me, produced in me a lively explosion which I communicated wherever I could.”

And he tells the story of how, in 1789, after having been elected to the Estates General, he brought together the electors of Paris on June 26 at the Musée rue Dauphine, where he requested that they take up arms. From July 1 to 12, he visits the camps and invites all the districts to take up arms. In the evening, he had the satisfaction of seeing the brigands disarmed and Paris in the greatest calm. On the 14th, he was at the Bastille, at the Champ de Mars. Appointed administrator of subsistences, he restored order in Gonesse, Arpajon, Sceaux […]. On February 10, 1790, Bailly had him arrested. The trial, during which Saint-Felix is confronted with 75 witnesses, is abandoned after four months. After two new trials, Saint-Felix was released by decree of the National Assembly “cancelling all this research.” On July 17, 1791, he was at the Champ de Mars. Arrested again, he is sent to the Conciergerie with Brune and Momero, and remains imprisoned with Verrières. Released by the decree of the National Assembly, he resumes his profession which is that of "haranguing the people". Arrested once again and taken to La Force, he was released for three months “thanks to the Jacobins, Cordeliers and the electoral assembly” (for the elections to the Convention). Appointed by the commissioners of the Temple, bursar at the Tower, he was once again arrested, sent to the Abbey, then released. In 1793, he was given a commission for the Vendée. Arrested again, in Niort this time. Released again. He accompanies Ronsin, general of the Revolutionary Army to Ville-Affranchie (Lyon) and is again sent to prison. He laments: “Everywhere I have fulfilled my task as an honest man and an entirely disinterested citizen […]. I enjoyed in the country of my fathers, a mediocre income which I was to increase by my industry and my agricultural taste. I have abandoned everything […] O my fatherland, where are we, if your steadfast defenders do not even find shelter under your auspices.”

The reality — or what we know of it — is, one suspects, less in conformity with the statements of Saint-Felix. It seems that from July to September 1789, Saint-Félix traveled through the countryside not to restore order there, as he said, with a mission that had been entrusted to him (as an elector) [7], but to preach to the peasants of Seine-et-Oise to revolt against the tax. It was for having raised the peasants against la taille that he was imprisoned in 1790. Significant fact: Saint-Félix had been warned the day before about what would happen on July 17 at the Champ de Mars, exactly like the named Durand who will tell Danton through his brother-in-law, the notary Charpentier, to leave Paris hastily for Arcis-sur-Aube. The language that Saint-Félix uses the very morning of the day of the shootings to the chef of the Cordelier Club is typically provocative: “It is today that a big blow must take place. Our petition is approved by these rascals of municipal officers. The people have been deceived long enough. Today we must chase them away and put in their place others whom we have chosen from among us. We need the most perfect equality. The rich must share with the poor.” Then he brandished a kitchen knife, promising to kill La Fayette the same day. He doesn’t do that, nor is he killed himself, but he goes go to prison for a fortnight in pre-Hébertist style to exploit the famine and incite unrest. He would have given twenty-hundred louis to a miller to get him not to grind! But something he keeps quiet about is the fact that he was arrested for manufacture of false assignats in the company of sieurs Méricourt and Mr. Gerval who operate in a discreet house in Suresnes (with the help, perhaps, in terms of supplies, of the printers Brune and Momero) before the Insurrection of August 10th. It is the Insurrectionary Commune that liberates him. Then comes the extraordinary adventure of his "functions" at the Temple that an unprecedented interrogation before the Paris Commune makes known to us. [8] We find Saint-Félix in 1793 as a clerk in the War Offices. He follows the Minister Bouchotte, his friend, in Vendée, on his mission of inspection of food, fodder, remounts and hospitals of the troops. Musquinet cries so loudly about corruption, treason, the venality of suppliers and the incapacity of generals, that he falls out with Santerre and Westerman. But when he himself was arrested in Niort, it was instead for having been found carrying a white cockade. It was Ronsin who freed him. He shouts more loudly over treason, applauds the execution of Marie-Antoinette, gives advice to Fouquier-Tinville on how to conduct the interrogation of Bailly. Finally compromised in a new case of false assignats, he was arrested on 1 Ventôse year II (February 19, 1794) by the Revolutionary Surveillance Committee of Fontaine-de-Grenelle on the orders of the Committee of General Security, to the great indignation of Hébert who speaks of “vile merchants who arrest a fine person like the friend Saint-Félix for having made the enemies of the people known.”

Saint-Félix is put under a stange and very mild imprisonment: reported ill, he remains at home, under the supervision of two guards and continues to intrigue (if we judge by the mysterious letter from Augustin to Maximilien) and this despite a report from the Committee of surveillance of Fontaine-de-Grenelle who, from 25 Ventôse (March 15, 1794) complained to the Committee of General Security that Saint-Félix was receiving General Ronsain (sic) and that when the seals affixed to his home were lifted Citizen Mazuel, squadron leader of the Revolutionary Army, came there. The report adds: “Saint-Félix is a very violent man, very hot-tempered, to the point that he insulted his guards and poured out invectives against the members of our committee. We invite you to let us know how we should handle this subject.” We do not how the Committee of General Security responded, if it did at all. [9] In any case, we see Saint-Félix subsequently offering his good offices to police officer Héron. The following sentence of a letter addressed: "I have to give you valuable information on Couturier and others from Versailles, but can I not attribute my detention to the enemies I have made for myself by denouncing all the abuses of which I got to know. It appears so to me. However, I feel the need for it, even if I am in prison from time to time, I will go my merry way.” Saint-Félix is telling the truth: his brother Lapagne, his friends the Hébertists, the Dantonists, Robespierre will be guillotined, while he remains safe under house arrest. He will be released by order of the Committee of General Security on 13 Pluviose Year III (February 1, 1795) in the midst of the Thermidorian reaction and disappear forever. On 16 Fructidor Year II (September 4, 1794), remembering his "agricultural taste", he asked for a day of freedom in order to watch "a flock of Spanish half-breed ewes waiting for rams, chosen to cover them. It will be a day won for the country […] You will serve its cause by making it possible for me to provide the Republic with two hundred lambs of good species.”

Like Saint-Félix, his brother Lapagne cried out about treason everywhere, accused the merchants of Le Havre of having hatched a vast conspiracy plan in favor of the English, denounced Vaublanc, Théodore Lameth, Roland, Pétion. In September 1793, he attacked Legendre and Collot d'Herbois, both of whom he accused of forming the counter-revolution in Le Havre. It is during this period, as we will see, that he was dismissed from his functions as mayor of Ingouville by Delacroix and Legendre, representatives on mission. He is accused of serious offenses tending to disturb public order, the internal security of the State and to oppress patriotism. A report dated third day of the first decade of the second month of the year II (October 24, 1793) of the Popular Society of Le Havre which he founded and of which he was president, says that he had had the audacity to accuse the memorable apostles, Marat and Robespierre.

Lapagne was arrested in November 1793 on the denunciation of the Committee of Public Safety by the representatives of the people in Le Havre. Locked up in the Carmelites, he launched wild appeals to his brother Musquinet: “I beg you,” he wrote to him on 21 Pluviose Year II (February 9, 1794), “to see Desmoulins who recommended me in the Conciergerie to write to him and I will be freed immediately”, he also asks him to see Deville, deputy, Lefèvre de Nantes: “Speak to Prior d’Côte-d'Or of the Committee of Public Safety… to David, talk to Vadier.” At the same time, the Jacobin Club received a letter from Lapagne renewing his denunciations against his enemies, Delacroix and Legendre. Merlin de Thionville takes the floor to ask for the referral of the letter to the Committee of Public Safety and adds: “these are two representatives of the people who are accused. There is one of whom I believe everything (Delacroix, in all probability, because of the Belgian affairs of which we speak below in connection with Mathon, Charlotte's friend); the other, I will find it hard not to believe him a patriot. In any case, this matter must be examined; if they are guilty, let their heads roll on the scaffold, if they are innocent, let their accuser experience that punishment.” It is the second proposition that will come true. The indictment of Fouquier-Tinville accuses Lapagne, mayor of Ingouville, of having tried to ignite civil war between the communes of Ingouville and Le Havre by arming the citizens against each other and against the military authority, of 'having abused his functions as mayor to make home visits to the citizens of the commune and use these occasions to steal precious objects.” “I also blame him for arbitrary kidnappings.” Lapagne was executed on 26 Ventôse Year II (March 16, 1794), nine days before the Hébertists.

And here, to end on this point, is the link we were talking about above between the Musquinets and the clique surrounding Charlotte: this link is Guffroy. Indeed, a copy of a letter written by Lapagne before his arrest on September 6, 1793 bears at the bottom (in the hand of the scribe): For certified copy; Guffroy. This letter is an attempt at justification: when he founded the Popular Society of Ingouville, says Legendre, the city and the port of Le Havre were sold to the English. Legendre and Lacroix (Delacroix) arrive in Le Havre to appoint a new municipality. The Jacobin Club of this city invited Lapagne to a fraternal meal. The citizens regarded him as destined to replace the mayor of Le Havre. But Lacroix molested him, called him a despot. Legendre slapped him. Then Legendre and Lacroix left the next day before the people assembled in the church of Notre-Dame, saying that Lapagne was a dispote, a scoundrel, an intriguer, a thief, an assassin, "That’s how I was dismissed," concluded Lapagne, "I ask the Committee to be admitted to the proof of the facts.”

Obviously, the name of Guffroy at the bottom of a certified copy of Lapagne's justification essay is a trifle. Guffroy was a member of the Committee of General Security and as such he was able, like any other member of the Committee, to authenticate this copy and add it to the file of the Revolutionary Tribunal. It does not seem reckless to us, however, to think that the deputy from Arras to the Convention, both Dantonist and "echo" of Father Duchesne, was in contact with Saint-Félix and that he must be understood in the clique, denounced by Augustin as gravitating around Charlotte. The rest of this study will confirm this.

The return of Charlotte in Arras: Florent Guiot It is not surprising that Charlotte's return to Arras under Lebon's leadership gave rise to the most fanciful accusations from Robespierre's enemies—After 9 Thermidor, of course — and to the creation of what H. Fleischmann rightly calls “the legend of fratricide.”

Thus Guffroy in an undated letter addressed to his colleagues of the Committee of General Security on which we will have to come back, writes: ”They (the two brothers) chased her out of their house because she did not think like them, because she came to see my wife and saw citizens who were sincere friends of justice and truth. She even exposed herself to prosecution when Lebon took her to Arras, and without Florent Guyot who brought her back to Paris, she would have been imprisoned there, because Lebon's accomplices had denounced her in their infernal club which they called the popular society" And in Les secrets de Joseph Lebon et de ses complices; deuxième censure rèpublicaine, he gives the following details: “His apparent crime and the pretext at least for his arrest must have been to have been with Payen de Neuville-la-Liberté, an estimable farmer whom Joseph Lebon had guillotined and brother of another Payen, a member of the Constituent Assembly who had served as father and friend to Robespierre and whom Lebon similarly had guillotined for not having been to his constitutional mass.” [10]

There is no need to waste time refuting these hateful and slanderous assertions. The removal of Charlotte from Paris, sending her off to her native region in the midst of her family and friends who were not all fiery revolutionaries, far from it, seem a fair and moderate measure. We don't know much about her stay in Arras. In a letter that Solon, a member of the Supervisory Committee devoted to Guffroy, addressed on 4 Prarial Year II (May 23, 1794) to a friend in Paris, he announced that in a meeting of the “so-called republican” society in the presence of sarcasm [11]. In any case, Charlotte enjoyed such freedom in Arras that less than a month after her arrival (we do not know the exact date), she was able to leave for Paris (Guffroy says so), this time under the escort of another bitter enemy of Lebon, Florent Guyot (more precisely Guiot).

Florent Guiot, representative of the Côte-d'Or at the Convention, sent on 2 Frimaire Year II (November 22, 1793) to Arras by the Committee of Public Safety, but also appointed to the armies to monitor the Revolutionary Army in Lille, quickly entered into conflict with Lebon who calls himself “representative of the people, but not close to the army” [12]. We will not go into the details of this conflict, the account of which occupies an important place in the work of L. Jacob on Lebon. Jacob recounts how Florent Guiot, despite his later designation for Finistère and the Côtes-du-Nord, clings to the North: “he is left there and serves the interests of the counter-revolutionaries so well […] that they later elected him to the Council of Five Hundred”. On 17 Thermidor Year II (August 4, 1794), Guiot, still unaware of the two-day-old arrest of Lebon, addressed to the Committee of Public Safety a denunciation by the municipality of Cambrai against this representative and took the opportunity to praise his own work.

It was also Guiot who was closely involved in the arrest of Victoire and Sophie Duplay in Lille after 9 Thermidor. Guiot, who Napoleon calls a wise man in a letter to Fouché 16 June 1808, became a senator of the Empire until 1808, when he seriously compromised himself in the first conspiracy of General Malet, which is what Napoleon pronounces the judgment about above.

This was Charlotte's new friend and, coincidentally, also Guffroy's friend. Guffroy, not having been received by Robespierre in the business of the prisoners of Arras (as we saw in the letter which he wrote to Maximilien the same day, 18 floreal year II (May 7 1794) where he begs him to recall Lebon) asks Maximilien to send in Lebon's place ”a firm and prudent man to restore confidence in Arras, Florent Guiot, for example…” We could not better admit their collusion.

The return of Charlotte to Paris On Charlotte's last connections with her brothers, after her return to Paris, we have an essential document, the long letter which she wrote to "Citizen Robespierre the younger, representative of the people in Paris" on 18 Messidor Year II (July 6 1794). Here is the text (the spelling, with its mistakes, is respected):

Your (votre) aversion for me, my brother, far from diminishing, as I flattered myself, has become the most implacable hatred, to the point that the mere sight of me inspires horror in you; also, I must not hope that you will ever be calm enough to listen to me, which is why I will attempt to write to you. Crushed under the weight of my sorrow, incapable of connecting my thoughts, I will not undertake my apology. Yet, it would be so easy for me to demonstrate that I have never deserved in any way to excite this fury which blinds you, but I abandon the task of my justification to time, which unveils all perfidies, all darknesses. So, when the blindfold which covers your eyes will be torn apart, if you can distinguish the voice of remorse in the disorder of your passions, if the cry of nature can make itself heard, returned from an error which is so fatal to me, do not fear that I will ever reproach you for having guarded it for so long ; I will only occupy myself with the joy of having rediscovered your heart. Ah! if you could read at the bottom of mine, you would blush for having insulted it in such a cruel manner, you would see there, with the proof of my innocence, that nothing can erase the tender attachment from it which ties me to you, and that this is the only emotion to which I relate all of my affections ; without complaining about your hatred, what does it matter to me that I am hated by those who are irrelevant to me and who I despise? Their memory will never come to trouble me, but being hated by my brothers, I, for whom it is a necessity to cherish them, this is the only thing which can render me as unhappy as I am. This passion of hatred must be atrocious, since it blinds you to the point of bringing you to slander me among my friends. Nonetheless, do not hope in your delirium to be able to make me lose the esteem of a few virtuous persons, which is the only good which remains to me, along with a pure conscience ; full of a just confidence in my virtue, I can defy you to detract it and I dare to tell you that, beside the good people who know me, you will lose your reputation rather than harming mine. Thus, it is important to your tranquillity that I am far away from you, it is even important, as they say, to the Public sake that I do not live in Paris! I still do not know what I have to do, but what seems the most urgent to me is to clear you of the sight of an odious object, also, as from tomorrow, you can return to your apartment without fearing to meet me there. I will leave from today unless you formally oppose it. My stay in Paris should not bother you, I take care not to connect my friends to my disgrace, the misfortune which persecutes me has to be contagious, and your hatred for me is too blind in order not to fall on everyone who shows interest for me. Also, I only need a few days in order to calm the disorder of my thoughts, to decide on the place of my exile, because, in the obliteration of all of my faculties, I am in no state to take a course of action. Therefore, I leave you since you demand it, but, in spite of your injustices, my friendship for you is so indestructible that I will not retain any bitterness from the cruel treatment which you make me endure. When, being disillusioned sooner or later, you will come to hold the feelings for me that I deserve, when shyness does not prevent you from informing me that I have recovered your friendship and, wherever I may be, may I even be beyond the seas, if I can be useful to you in anything, know how to inform me of it and I will soon be by your side. I send you the exact summary of the expenditures which I have made since your departure for Nice. Sorrowfully, I have learned that you have singularly degraded yourself through the manner in which you have spoken of this affaire d'intérêt. Because of this, I oblige you to observe that, in all of these expenditures, there are debts for the shoemaker, the tailor, a washtub, and powder, prior to my return from Nice, you will also observe that the money that was returned to Madame Delaporte had been lent by her to René during my stay in Nice, that the 200 livres given to René are for his wages which had not been paid to him in the last year, finally, you will also distinguish postage for letters, and if you still have any doubts after this, you can share them with me, I will elucidate them, I will give all of my remaining money to you, and it this does not match my expenditures, this can only be because I have forgotten a few items. Robespierre PS: You will observe that the polisher is not paid, nor is the locksmith who has made a key for your secretary. PS: You have to think that, while leaving your apartment, I will take all necessary precautions in order to not compromise my brothers. The quarter where citoyenne Laporte lives, to whose home I plan to retreat temporarily, is the place of the entire republic where I can be ignored the most.” [13]

We know what Charlotte said of this letter in her memoirs. Judging and noting long after the fact what an instrument it could be and indeed was for the enemies of Robespierre, she affirms that it was addressed to her younger brother and not to Maximilien — which is true — that it was not intended for publication — which may be true — and that it contained apocryphal phrases — which is false. In reality, it was Courtois who wanted to believe that the letter was addressed not to Augustin, but to Maximilien, he altered the address to "letter from citoyenne Robespierre to her brother" writing in a deliberate vague manner, and deleted the penultimate two paragraphs relating to the residence in rue Saint-Florentin. (from: ”I send you the exact summary of the expenditures” to: ”a key for your secretary”) which he himself struck from the original kept in the Archives. For anyone who reads this document without prejudice, in the light of what we know about Charlotte's behavior and her relationships, it clearly appears that here, as in her Memoirs, the sister of Maximilien hides under bombastic verbiage to hide her lack of arguments to justify his conduct. It is clear that Augustin, who considered that Charlotte's removal from Paris was useful for "the public sake" — which gives one a lot to think about — was outraged by her return and ordered her to leave rue Saint-Florentin where he intends, it seems, to return to live, but on condition that she is no longer there. Charlotte complies, but with regret. But it would be misunderstanding the stubbornness and the "difficult character" of which she gave constant testimony to think that she will fade away. In fact, she threatens Augustin with her connections and goes to live not miles away, but quite simply in a retreat as obscure — according to her — as the Laporte home in the heart of the Temple district. [14]

An interesting piece shows how little Charlotte cared at that time — even during her forced stay in Arras — to serve as an intermediary in matters concerning Augustin and how much her relatives were unaware of her estrangement with her brother, which she certainly didn’t want them to know about. This piece is a a letter to Augustin from Régis Deshorties, son of the first wife of the late Robert Deshorties (husband of paternal aunt Henriette de Robespierre from 1776 until her death in 1791) and brother of the "great love" of Maximilien. [15] In this letter dated 30 Messidor Year II (18 July 1794) which includes picturesque details regarding Buissart, his wife, and Augustin Carraut and Gabriel-François Durut, the maternal and paternal uncles of Robespierre, and where it is question of Isabelle Canone whom we will find again, Régis Deshorties says he left a memoir to Charlotte during a trip in Paris for her to give to Augustin, currently absent on a mission. He writes: “Charlotte Robespierre had promised to inform me immediately of your arrival in the capital. Not receiving a letter from her either on this subject or on any other letter of which she should have acknowledged receipt, I imagined […] that you were going to come to Arras and that this was the reason for your sister's silence.”

Who was this citoyenne Laporte (or more commonly Delaporte) with whom Charlotte went to live at 200 Rue de la Réunion (rue Beaubourg)? Her husband Delaporte had a glove and perfume shop at this address before 1789. He then became an employee of the Liquidarion offices of the department of Paris and in charge of various missions. He was in Nantes when he was appointed judge to the Revolutionary Tribunal of Paris in Messidor year II. The first session in which he participated and took the oath was on 21 Messidor Year II (July 9, 1794). He offered his resignation the next day, but the president opposed it. Up to and including 9 Thermidor, his signature was affixed to certain pleadings. Delaporte is one of the fifteen judges accused and acquitted on 17 Floreal Year III (May 7, 1795); he was released the same day. Very interesting for our subject is the following passage from his Memoirs which needs no comment:

”I never had relations with any member of the former government, nor with Robespierre, my wife having known his sister in a society, took her into our home, when she was proscribed by him because of her feelings which were quite opposed to his. Certainly, one could not be the friend of this implacable man, when one welcomed his enemies, one will still see the truth of the fact that I advance in the report of the deputy Courtois, on page 178 and following in the postscript of the letter from the sister to the brother.” [16]

The arrest of Charlotte. The refugees from Lièges. It does not seem (we will see) like, whatever H. Fleischmann says, Charlotte left the Delaporte home to go live with Marie-Joséphine Bruyer, wife of Vincent Pierre Beguin, 482, rue de Fbg Saint-Honoré, section of the Contrat Social (street where Bonaparte lived in 1787, at the Hôtel de Cherbourg, currently rue de Vauvilliers). But what is certain is that she was arrested at the latter's residence, on 13 Thermidor, at the same time as Béguin herself and the widowed citoyennes Girard and Canone (who were mentioned above) both residing on 289, rue du Doyéné, Tuileries section. Regarding the arrest of Madame Delaporte at the same time as the others, we only have a marginal indication. We have reconstituted the file of this case which includes the following documents, all dated 13 Thermidor, (we refer in the rest of this work to the numbers that we have given them):

1. First interrogation of Charlotte Robespierre and the Madame Beguin by the Revolutionary Committee of the section of Contrat Social

2. Declaration of citizen Claude Charvin

3. Second interrogation of the above-mentioned persons on requisition and denunciation of the Liège refugee Waleff

4. Interrogation by the same committee of widowed citizens Girard and Canone [17]

Let us study these documents as a whole, which unexpectedly associate the refugees with Charlotte and her friends.

Two questions can be resolved beforehand: that of the Béguins and that of Charlotte's residence during her arrest. The 24 and a half year old Madame Béguin was born in Vely, department of Aisne, district of Chauny. Her husband, secretary for the commission of the representatives of the people of the Army of Italy, had previously been placed by Robespierre the younger as professor of hydrography when he was in Antibes. It is therefore likely that Charlotte knew him during her stay in the South and that it was, as she says, on her return from Nice about six months earlier (in reality at the end of 1793) that she made acquaintance with his wife who, as she admits, sent Maximilian a letter from Augustin. As for Charlotte's home, if she says she lives in Rue du Faubourg Saint-Honoré, she also says that she has been living with citizen Laporte for about a month and above all affirms in the same piece that she often saw Mermet (whose we will talk about again ) ”both at citoyenne Béguin’s and at her own home,” which seems conclusive. There is no reason for her to move after such a short stay with the Delaportes.

For the substance, two observations are essential: 1, the pieces that we have reduce to nothing what Charlotte says at the end of her Memoirs, which is pure and simple invention. 2, despite the efforts of H. Fleischmann, it is impossible to fully justify to posterity her answers to the interrogations. That she said "that her eldest brother resented her because she had the courage to let him know the danger he ran in being surrounded so badly" or that "the men around him were trying to deceive him,” that can be admitted. But what is much more serious is to declare as she did, that "if she had suspected the infamous plot that was brewing, she would have denounced him rather than see her country lost." It will never be possible to excuse Charlotte as a would-be denunciator of her brother the Incorruptible, as well as for actually denouncing a man named Didier, “who was for a period of time secretary to her elder brother, that after that was appointed as juror to the Revolutionary Tribunal.”

Moreover, the interrogations confirm the close ties between Charlotte and Guffroy (which Guffroy will also confirm, as we have already seen). Indeed, says Charlotte, she was obliged to leave rue Saint-Honoré on the orders of her brothers and Madame Duplay (we see the lie), Madame Duplay reproached her for seeing revolutionaries among which was Guffroy, representative of the people."

As for the answers given by Madame Béguin, they cannot be taken seriously. Saying that Daillé and the juror Lebrun (Topino Lebrun) told citoyenne Lavaux and Mérimey (or Mérimet) that the citoyenne Béguin should stop seeing Robespierre's sister ”as Lebrun knew that anyone who saw her would be guillotined,” that Fouquier frequently went to Robespierre the older and “that one sent lists of those that one wanted to guillotined,” this is a matter of circumstantial calumny. H. Fleischmann is right to mock Lenôtre who gravely writes: ”…in these interrogations, the whole mystery of the Duplay house was revealed.” These statements by Madame Béguin after those reported above by Delaporte reveal the milieu Charlotte had fallen into.

Let us also note the baseness and excess of the remarks of the widows Girard and Canone who boast about having gone to congratulate Charlotte at the citoyenne Béguin’s house on the happiness she enjoyed at ”finally being delivered from the infamous tyrant Robespierre who had never had any other purpose than to sacrifice his sister.” Fear is no excuse.

Let us look at, to conclude on this point of Charlotte's arrest, the very curious affair of the relations between the refugees from Liège with Charlotte's friends at that time. This question of refugees from Liège, to which Orient Lee has devoted a very interesting book, is shed in a completely new light by the recent work of R. Cobb.

Let us try, with the help of pieces II and III, to reconstruct the facts as they must have happened. On 13 Thermidor, around four hours after dinner (this detail is important, as we shall see), Citizen Charvin, standing on guard in front of the house of citoyenne Béguin, who had already been arrested along with Charlotte, heard an individual ask the porter: ”Is it not here that the citoyenne Robespierre was arrested? I have information to give on her account.” This individual is accompanied by another one, who he makes signs to. Charvin, aware of the importance of his role as representant of the public force, brings this individual to the Revolutionary Committee of the Contrat Social section and hands him over to Citizens Robert and Balestier, members of this Committee. In the meantime, the other worried individual has disappeared. But the former said to Charvin, speaking of him: “it was the general from Liège who had been arrested on Robespierre’s order.”

Piece III coincides with the latter and the story it gives is, to all appearances, that of the sequence of events. It is written by Robert. His declaration, however, does not coincide with that of Charvin since he indicates that a certain Waleff came to the house of the justice of the peace to ask him to go to the Revolutionary Committee of the section to receive his declaration there. As it is four o'clock and he has not been able to find any of his colleagues, he goes to the Committee with the justice of the peace.

Following a denounciation made by C. François Joseph Waleff, a refugee from Liège, Madame Béguin was taken out of arrest and questioned at length about her relations with the people of Liège. Waleff, when it comes to a man named Fyon who — according to Madame Béguin — his compatriot Nihon declared to be his greatest enemy (implicitly a royalist and an aristocrat), wants to intervene despite his promise to only answer questions that would be asked to him. He gets angry, threatens to complain to the Committees of Public Safety and General Security and is temporarily imprisoned. A woman comes to claim him saying that she has learned of his arrest. The interrogation of Madame Béguin continues. Then that of Charlotte and citoyenne Françoise Guénot, the woman who came to look for Waleff, take place. The latter declares to know only that he paid his rents, she doesn’t know his income and knows that he usually went to the Societe des Liegeois. The Revolutionary Committee, many of whose members had arrived in the meantime, visibly embarrassed by this imbroglio, released Waleff and sent the whole file to the Committee of General Security “to be ruled on as far as is right.”

There is no document in Charlotte's file at the National Archives concerning the direct conclusion of the affair of her arrest, except the certificate of good citizenship awarded to her on 24 germinal year III (April 13, 1795) to which we will return. And this unusual absence of parts also gives food for thought.

Despite the difficulties raised by the differences noted between pieces I and III, the fact that the beginning of the events which they relate takes place at the same time, four hours after dinner, leads us to believe that Waleff and the individual led by Charvin to the Revolutionary Committee are one and the same person. As for the general of whom Charvin speaks, it is undoubtedly Fyon.

This case concerns dissension between two groups of Liège residents who took refuge in France after the defeat at Neerwinden (March 18, 1793) and more specifically from the former marquisate of Franchimont (Verniers, Stavelot, Logne) forming part of the People's General Assembly of Liégeois and Franchimontois affiliated with the Jacobins. The people of Franchimont had shown a great attachment to the French Revolution since 1789 and the Paris Commune had awarded them the significant designation of “Cordeliers of Liège.” We find the main names of these two groups hostile to each other in piece III and almost all also appear on the list of 194 Montagnards from Liège given by O. Lee [18]. These are on one hand Jean (or Lambert) Joseph Fyon (or Fion) and on the other hand Nihon, son of a brewer from Liège, the two Nahon brothers (the eldest of which Madame Béguin says was a notary) (there are three in O. Lee's list); Bréard (J. F. J Briard), Wouile Mothe (there are two Wilmotte in O. Lee's list), Berh (P. F. R Behr), finally the two Bernimolin brothers (Dumoulin?)

Fyon, rich manufacturer of Verviers, appointed mayor of this city in 1789, president of the first of the three governmental Committees of Franchimont (the executive) created in September 1790 and general commanding the Liège legion which fought in Belgium from the declaration of war on April 20 1792, was an important figure. More than his compatriot and friend Boulanger (appointed brigadier general of the Revolutionary Army when it was organized in September 1793, friend of Ronsin, Hanriot and Lebas (thus of the Duplays) and executed on 11 or 12 Thermidor) he knew how to “navigate” since, despite his links with Ronsin and Bouchotte, he was protected like Boulanger by Robespierre and we find him free and active after 9 Thermidor, later taking part without damage in the “conspiracy” of Babeuf. He died in Liège in 1818, at the age of 63.

In its session of September 14, 1793, the Popular General Assembly of Liégeois and Franchimontois, of which one of the Nahon and Briart were general secretaries, had denounced thirteen of its members considered as "Girondins" adversaries of the Commune and the Mountain. But in November, Fyon, who had succeeded in dominating the Assembly with his friends and wanted to have those denounced admitted there again, had Briart, Wilmotte, Nahon, Nihon and Behr expelled. He was arrested on 14 Frimaire Year II (December 4, 1793) by the Revolutionary Committee of his section, enlarged, very likely thanks to Robespierre, on 28 Pluviose (February 16, 1794). But the struggle continues within the Franchimontois. Briart asks the Jacobins for a purge of the Popular General Assembly and demands Fyon to be arrested again, who, at the session of 16 Germinal Year II (April 6, 1794), is defended by Robespierre, citing in his favor the testimony of Boulanger .

The case that concerns us reveals that after 9 Thermidor Fyon pursues his hatred of his enemies from Liège through Charlotte and Madame Béguin. Because of the compromising support given to him by Robespierre, he prefers to act through Waleff, who falsely states that Robespierre had Fyon arrested. What Waleff undoubtedly accuses Charlotte and Madame Béguin of to the Revolutionary Committee of the Contract social is having been friends of the extremist Jacobins of Liège (they cannot be called Hébertists given their hatred of Hébert) and to have released Nihon, who we know had been arrested at the same time as his enemy Fyon in Frimaire Year II, which seemed surprising. [19] The interest of piece III is to teach us that Madame Béguin intimately knew the Nihon-Nahon-Briart group in whose service and confidence she was, that indeed Nihon had been arrested at the same time as Fyon, but released almost immediately on the orders of the Jacobins (Madame Béguin denies having had anything to do with this release, but declares that she was content to announce it to Nihon, to whom she brought food in prison). As for Charlotte, she claims to have known nothing, but nevertheless cites Mermet (or Mermey) certainly from Liège, according to the context, whom she often saw, not only at Madame Béguin’s house, but at her own.

Thus, after having noted elsewhere the existence of links between Charlotte and the "dantonist" Guffroy, we find here close relations between Charlotte and circles that must be designated by the generally accepted name of Hébertists (not to mention the mysterious Saint-Félix, a true friend of Hébert, Ronsin and also of Lulier, a policeman on top of that as the Liégeois Fyon and Boulanger also seem to have him like their compatriot Joubert). The Dantonist and Hebertist circles were probably in contact. In any case, they had in common that they were enemies of Maximilien and together either worked for his downfall, or condemned him after 9 Thermidor or, even more likely, did both. [20]

After Thermidor What we know about Charlotte after 13 Thermidor confirms all this. She is openly and actively protected by Guffroy and later probably by her former “suitor” Fouché.

On 24 Ventôse Year III (March 14, 1795), Charlotte adressed a letter to the Committee of General Security where she in her usual tearful tone wrote: “The contagion of misfortune has spread over that which surrounds me.” She intervenes in favor of citizen Mathon, commissioner of transport, denounced as being the friend of her brothers and with whom for some months she has accepted asylum. She establishes the facts: “forced to leave my brothers unjustly irritated against me, he (Mathon) had the courage to offer me asylum in his home despite their defenses.” She initially refused this asylum, but having lost all her means of existence, she ended up accepting it. She conjures the members of the Committee of General Security "not to allow those who have lavished on her the generous care of friendship to be exposed for that very reason to an unjust proscription", and concludes: "Please inform yourself of citizen Mathon and you will see in all his conduct only the purest patriotism and the virtues of a good man.”

Mathon had indeed been the object of a precise denunciation from a certain Godard, residing at 20 Rue de la Vielle Draperie, on 10 Thermidor, accusing him of having “accompanied this rascal of the great Lacroix on a mission to Brussels” as one of the seven administrators of the charrois and to have been appointed to this position thanks to his childhood friend “Robespierre the older” [21]. He also appears for transport and courier services on a list of patriots written by Robespierre and reproduced by Courtois.

Nevertheless, it was Guffroy himself who wrote at the bottom of Charlotte's request: ”The Committee of General Security replied that she should be left alone, as should citizen Mathon with whom she is staying, who is known by several members.” From this last paragraph, one can imagine that perhaps the old links between Mathon and the Dantonist Delacroix (Lacroix) pleaded in favor of Mathon with Guffroy. Guffroy's answer proves that Charlotte, by intervening for Mathon, was intervening at the same time for herself. Moreover, Guffroy goes further. He addressed to his colleagues on the Committee of General Security the letter from which we quoted an important passage above and which, although undated, seems to have been written only at this time. This letter establishes the links between Guffroy and Charlotte, confirmed by the latter in her first interrogation. Guffroy joins there to calumnies against Maximilien and Augustin, a vehement defense of their sister: "I know well," writes Guffroy, "the ingratitude and the injustice of her brothers towards her, while she does everything for them in the just belief that they would never forsake it.” And he says that Charlotte sold, to help Maximilien and Augustin to come to Paris, the capital of her 400 livres a year, that she gave them back about a thousand livres that she had saved and six silver spoons and forks. ”of which at least two belonged to her.” And he asks the nation to “offer her help so that she can procure furniture and a pension capable of sustaining her in the state of infirmity and languor to which grief has reduced her.”

And here, finally, to crown this sad edifice of praise, is the certificate of good citizenship of 24 germinal year III (April 13, 1795) signed by the members of the Committee of General Security, including Guffroy and Courtois, author of the report against Robespierre and his accomplices!

”After having received the most exact information on the patriotism of citoyenne Caroline (sic - this is the first name that Guffroy gave her already in his letter in her favor) Robespierre, the Committee declares that the results are all in her favor, that it knows that this citoyenne was persecuted by her brother and forced to leave him; that the Supervisory Committees of the sections of Paris, and the Committee of General Security have already rendered her justice [70], that the purity of her conduct and her civic principles stems from the Rapport de la Commission de Papiers de Robespierre made for the National Convention by the representative of the people Courtois; it therefore declares that wherever citoyenne Robespierre wishes to travel and retire, she deserves the confidence of good citizens and the protection of the constituted authorities, who are invited to lend her the aid and assistance that the purest and most civil good citizenship deserves and French loyalty must grant. The members of the ommittee of General Security: Sevestre, Mathieu, Guffroy, Auguis, Thibaudeau, Lemartin, Delecloy, Perrin, Gauthier, Courtois, Monmayou, Chénier, Rovère, Clauzel.” [23]

Charlotte, despite the state of infirmity and languor of which Guffroy speaks, and which seems to be a stylistic clause, will live for nearly another forty years on 3 Rue de la Fontaine (later rue de la Pitié and currently rue Larrey) with Mathon (died 1827), and then his daughter Reine-Louise-Victoire Mathon. It was the latter who announced the death of the sister of the Incorruptible, who died on August 1, 1840. [24]

The one whose role we have tried to shed light on during the Revolution, becomes for her last friend Laponneraye, co-author and editor of her Memoirs, an "angelic woman" whom the scaffold of Thermidor spared, the one in whom were found “all these qualities which shone to such a high degree in Maximilien Robespierre.” E. Laponneraye — his apology and his ignorance of the extracts — goes so far as to say: ”She was slandered, she was reproached for having denied her brother, for having made a pact with those who immersed themselves in the blood of the martyr of Thermidor. What a horrible blasphemy! No, virtuous and unfortunate Maximilian, your sister did not deny you, she did not apostatize herself by trampling under her feet the principles which have been the gospel of her whole life.” [25] It is regrettable that the historian, concerned above all with the truth, cannot subscribe to this funeral oration.

Before moving on to the conclusion of this study, a conclusion devoted to Laponneraye, we would like to focus on one last question: that of Charlotte's pension. It is certain that Charlotte lived without a fortune from thermidor to her death. [26] Guffroy, in his request in her favor says that her uncle Durut, a doctor, sent her some help, which is true since we have a letter from Charlotte addressed to the latter on 28 brumaire year III (18 November 1794) by which she sends back a 400 pound note that he sent to her and which turns out to be counterfeit. "It's a loss that bothers a lot when you're not rich" [27].

Her inventory of objects left after death lists a set of very modest furniture and does not mention any sum of money or arrears of pensions due to the death - we will see the importance of this point highlighted by L. Hastier. [28]

Much has been written about the aid or pensions which she would have received under the various governments which succeeded one another from 1794 to 1834. As far as their existence is concerned, it cannot be disputed. It is affirmed by many authors: Charlotte and Laponneraye themselves, the Constitutionnel the day after Charlotte's death, Philippe Lebas, his mother Élisabeth, Chateaubriand, the Countess of Bassanville, Beugnot, the Biographie nouvelle des contemporains, Alexis Duboscq. The sum differs: 6000 francs annually at 1500 francs until her death, for Lebas, 3500 francs under Bonaparte, according to Charlotte, reduced to 2100 francs, then in 1823 to 1200 francs and maintained at this rate after 1830 according to Laponneraye; 1800 francs under Louis XVIII and Charles X for Alexis Duboscq. The Biographie Nouvelle… states that the pension was abolished on January 1, 1823.

Furthermore, we have the indication of Napoleon's correspondence which teaches us that on 1 Vendémiaire, first day of the year XII (24 September 1803) a request for help made by Mademoiselle Robespierre, then residing at Rue Jacob 26, gave rise to the following decision:

“The Grand Judge will give her 600 francs once paid and 150 francs a month. Bonaparte.”

And above all there are archival documents:

1, Those found by J. Dautry which indicate that Mademoiselle Robespierre was given a “relief” of 150 francs three times during the first six months of the year XII and a relief of 200 francs on several occasions during the year XIII [79]

2. We have discovered two documents dated 19 Pluviose Year XIII (February 8, 1805): A, an approved statement stating that special assistance of 200 pounds per month was granted to Ch. Robespierre out of the funds placed at the disposal of the Minister of Police; B, a collective decree of the Minister of Police mentioning: Madame Collot (d’Herbois) their titles are common Mademoiselle Robespierre as well as their distress. Per month: 200 pounds Per year: 2400 pounds. for special help.

How long did this help last? This is harder to say with certainty. Certainly, Charlotte wrote to Laponneraye on February 20, 1834 in response to a letter from the latter, certainly offering her pecuniary assistance: "I accept a quarter of your offer, because I believe that will be enough for me, given that I receive two hundred francs per year. This friend did not promise me anything but she is so regular in giving me this present, that I think she will continue.” There is also the lack of indication in the inventory after death. But who is this mysterious friend that Charlotte talks about? And is it really 200 francs per year and not per month? Considerable difference, it is true, because if Charlotte received 200 francs per month, still in 1834, as we now know that she had received them since 1805, how to explain the extreme modesty of her life? As for the non-indication of pension in the inventory, this is explained if it is a matter of relief, not of pension. Which seems to be the case, because the uncertainty that Charlotte testifies to in the letter cited above about the regularity of the payments, is perfectly appropriate for a relief.

We are struck by the precision of the following sentence of the Beugnot account, confirmed by the latest archive documents discovered: by the brother of Louis XVI”, in reality, as Beugnot said before, granted by the Emperor and continued by Louis XVIII.

One thing is certain: Charlotte received relief from the Ministry of Police from 1803. Far be it from us to claim that Charlotte had been an agent of it, but we can think that even more than the friendship with Bonaparte and Joséphine, this help was due to that of her former "suitor" Fouché, who became Minister of Police in 1804. As M. A Baudot says: "he (Fouché) gave help to Mademoiselle Robespierre and protected her openly”. We do not know if Guffroy's request in favor of Charlotte after 9 Thermidor was followed up. In any case, we can see that Maximilien's sister was not forgotten by her friends, the most bitter enemies, it must be said, of Robespierre.

Laponneraye, Charlotte's last friend There is no question in this study, which goes far beyond the scope, of dealing at length with a character as important as Laponneraye. Let us confine ourselves to briefly retracing what we can know of the history of his life by shedding light, with the aid of a few unpublished documents, on certain points which have remained obscure and to extract in broad strokes from the Memoirs of Charlotte (and especially from the Introduction) the representation of Robespierre and his actions Laponneraye creates.

Born in Tours, May 8, 1808, Laponneraye came to Paris as a teacher to give private lessons. In April 1831, he was already detained in Sainte-Pélagie along with Cavaignac, Raspail, Marrast and other republicans. Following a revolt due to police provocation in which Jacobens was killed, Raspail was sentenced to eight days in prison and Laponneraye was transferred to La Force where, without books, working from memory, he wrote le Cours public d’Histoire de France depuis 1789 jusqu’à 1830 which appeared in 1831 and whose twelth lesson is devoted to Robespierre. Released, he opened on November 6, 1831, in a room located at 12, rue Thévenot, a free course for workers with such a great success that the government took notice. It is interesting to underline that what the Prefect of Police Gisquet criticizes the Cours Public d’Histoire de France for, and makes him consider it a ”frankly revolutionary treaty," is that it is: "the Declaration of the Rights of Man by Robespierre commented on and sometimes amplified”. On December 4, 1831, the premises were closed. Laponneraye, arrested again, pronounced his own defense at the Assises de la Seine on April 21, 1832. He was sentenced to two years in prison, but, ill, was taken to a nursing home [29]. The reputation of Laponneraye was already great, since the authors of the plot of the Tours de Notre-Dame of 1832 called themselves “Members of the Society of Friends of the People or Disciples of Laponneraye.”

On June 27, 1833, Laponneraye was again sentenced by the Seine Court of Assizes to three months in prison and fined 50 francs for his letter to the Proletarians dated from the Sainte-Pélagie on February 1, 1833. In fact, he remained in prison until May 8, 1837 (except from September 1833 to February 1834 when he returned for the fourth time to Sainte-Pélagie). He is freed by an amnesty after five years, three months and eighteen days of captivity. [30] But soon (he then lived under the name of a man of letters, 6 Rue de l’Echiquier) he founded a periodical entitled L’Intelligence. Journal du Droit Commun, the first issue of which appeared on October 7, 1837. On February 16, 1838, he and his manager were each sentenced to one month in prison and a fine of 200 francs, and L'Intelligence disappeared. In November, it reappears sensually printed in Senlis. From July 1839, it is printed in Paris “at the sieurs Worms, 20, boulevard Pigale.” Ruined by the trial and the convictions, L'Intelligence will definitively cease to appear in April 1840. But, "his (Laponneraye’s) influence on the masses var like Blanqui placinf his name on the list of members of the government which were to take power if the insurrection of 1839 had succeeded."

After 1840, Laponneraye made trips to the South which worried the authorities. On February 27, 1841, the king's prosecutor announced his visit to Grenoble. His letters there “set our radical gentlemen in turmoil”. There is reason to think “that they contain some news favorable to the Republican Party.” From Grenoble, Laponneraye leaves for Marseilles. On September 20, his presence in Montpellier is also the subject of a report by the prosecutor: "He corresponded with Sieur Alberny, one of Barbès's warmest friends." Laponneraye greeted the Revolution of February 1848 with joy. Under the Second Republic, he continued his profession as a publicist, gave birth to the Republican Catechism, founded La Voix du Peuple in Marseille, but died prematurely at the age of 41 in September 1849.

The man who in his defense of 1832 said: “The Republican Truth […] is a republic […] where one does not know the distinction between bourgeois and people, privileged and proletarian…” who exclaims: ”Let's be […] Babouvists, but progressive Babouvists […]. We democrats, it is up to us to complete the work of Robespierre and Babeuf,” at the same time played a capital role in the dissemination of the work of Robespierre, devoted himself to the cult of the Incorruptible, wanted to “rehabilitate a name around which are grouped so many unjust prejudices.”

Nothing could serve his purpose better than Charlotte (we do not know exactly when or how he got to know her), whose memoirs will serve as his platform.

It is in the Introduction to the memoirs, as we have said, that he sets out his doctrine on Maximilien. “Principles are everything, men are nothing,” he begins. "Wherever despotism reigns, and even wherever it has changed in appearance, wrapping itself in the hypocritical cloak of constitutional monarchy," men are everything and principles are counted for nothing. However, there are men who sum up principles, which are in themselves a whole political and social system: Jesus, Jean-Jacques Rousseau, the Montagnards, and above all Maximilien Robespierre, the Man of Principle. The revolutionary principe is both destructive and renovating. Robespierre on one hand demolished feudalism, on the other hand sowed the principles of order, morality and high social policy. And Laponneraye quotes the “immortal words” spoken on the day of the festival of the Supreme Being, those without him indicating it, from the report of 18 floreal year II (May 7, 1794).

There were therefore two men in Robespierre, according to Laponneraye: his enemies, nobles, priests, rich, only represented him to contemporaries and posterity as a revolutionary man. Laponneraye shows how the Thermidorians hounded Robespierre after his death, preparing through their Memoirs, materials from which History was written. However, they themselves took part in the regime of the Terror for which Robespierre was so reproached. After the fall of the Girondins who had "conspired against the freedom and well-being of the people", the Montagnards seized dictatorship in the name of public safety. Laponneraye denies approving all the excesses of 1793: there were necessary excesses and useless excesses. The latter must be attributed to this portion of the Mountain which sent Robespierre to the scaffold, a faction "without scope, without views, only letting itself be guided by its coarse passions", a faction under orders of the foreigner. Robespierre had to crack down in turn against the Hébertists, types of revolutionary exaggeration, and against the Dantonists, types of counter-revolutionary moderation. ”This time again […] the last, the whole Mountain lent its support to Robespierre […]. But when the impure portion of the Mountain […] understood that, since Robespierre wanted to found morality and virtue, it could not find a place in this order of things thus constituted, it resolved to bring down Robespierre.” Furthermore, this impure portion wanted the indefinite continuation of the Terror. The Festival of the Supreme Being was the signal for the outburst against Maximilien. Laponneraye shows how the Bad Mountain was allied with that of Tallien, Barras, Frèron, Fouché, the old Girondin party and the remnants of Danton's party, all united under the banner of egoism and immorality against the common enemy, the one who wanted to replace corruption with virtue, who said: “No more vengeance, no more executions, let hearts abjure all enmity and open themselves to the sweet emotions of universal brotherhood.” Laponneraye reproaches Robespierre for not having designated sufficiently explicitly in his very fine speech of 8 Thermidor, those whom he was perhaps the cause of the defeat of the following day.

He ends thus: “After the death of Robespierre […] the Revolution stopped and turned back […]. France was condemned to undergo a reaction which lasted for forty years. Is not the great Thermidor sufficiently judged by its results?”

We will take care not to undertake here the historical criticism of this painting so original when we think of the time when it was drawn. Let's say that the ideas he expounds are found throughout the Memoirs, placed this time in the mouth of Charlotte, whether it concerns the relations between Robespierre and Pétion, Billaud-Varenne, Collot d'Herbois, Fouché, Marat, Danton and Camille Desmoulins, Maximilien’s speech of 7 Prarial Year II (May 26, 1794) or the Festival of the Supreme Being or 9 Thermidor. [31] This merits further study.

We have now come to the end of this work in which we have tried to make the figure of Robespierre's sister more real by projecting, as we said at the beginning, some new glimmers on the underside of the French Revolution.

Dominating the incomprehension and the weaknesses —to put it mildly — to which Charlotte testifies, dominating the baseness, the intrigues and the palinodies of those who surrounded him and made use of him, stands the the Incorruptible in all his purity, in his profound political maturity. We are pleased to associate with Robespierre the tireless fighter for the cause of the Republic and the people, the "communist" Laponneraye who, in the midst of his errors, was able to see and proclaim tirelessly, one of the very first, the greatness of the one whose memory nothing, after two centuries, has been able to tarnish.

[1] In this letter, Charlotte says that one is happy with the patriotic contribution. She then speaks of a quest made for the relief of the poor of the city, of the refusal of many to pay, lent to the mayor M. de Fojeux (in reality Dubois de Fosseux) to tax himself what one has to pay, which will give him something to occupy himself with, because there are some who will refuse on purpose in order to see what will result from it. She then recounts her falling out with Madame Marchand: “I took the liberty of telling her what the good patriots must have thought of her film, what you thought of it; I reproached her for her afection [sic] for always mastering infamous notes for the people…”

[2] Villiers also says that Maximilien gave a quarter of his fees to a woman of about 26 who idolized him but who he treated rather badly, often refusing her at the door. Half of the rest was sent by the care of Villiers "to a sister he had in Arras and whom he was very fond of." The other half was intended for the needs of the household on Rue de Saintonge.

[3] La lanterne magique ou les grands conseillers de Joseph Lebon à Paris chez les marchands de nouveautés an V.

[4] These English letters concern a loan of six million taken out in France in 1792 in the name of the Prince of Wales. Notaries Brichard, rue de Beaune and Chaudot, rue Jean-Jacques Rousseau, signed printed extracts and shipments of documents filed with Brichard. Despite Guffroy's intervention on his behalf - we understand why - Chaudot, brought before the Revolutionary Tribunal on 23 Pluviose Year II (February 11, 1794), died. Brichard also appeared before the Revolutionary Tribunal and escaped death.

[5] It is interesting to note here what Buissart thinks of the Duplays, perhaps under the influence of Charlotte. He wrote to Maximilien on 10 Messidor Year II (June 28, 1794): ”This letter will be delivered to you under the address of my wife, because I do not have the greatest confidence in your secretary and in many other people that surround you. It is still friendship that makes me speak like this.” Another extract from this letter analyzed by G. Michon is important as far as Charlotte is concerned: an address in favor of Lebon will be given to the Convention by Carlier. He insulted Buissart for refusing to sign it and also insulted his wife and Robespierre's sister. After 9 Thermidor Buissart continued to see Charlotte in Paris, as attested by her letter to her uncle Durupt. "I instructed Buissart, who left here yesterday, to see you on my behalf to give you my news."

[6] Citoyenne La Saudraie, Creole, wife or widow of an academician, was the mistress of Augustin who “did not have the melancholy austerity of his brother. The fair sex charmed him.” A. Mathiez, p. 44. The account given by Ch. Nodier in his Souvernirs, 1872, volume 1, page 301, of the scandal caused by the presence of the citizen La Sáudraie at a meeting in Vesoul, is made up according to Mathiez.

[7] A document mentioned and analyzed in the catalog of the exhibition organized by the National Archives in honor of La Fayette, specifies that the exact mission entrusted to Saint-Félix on July 16, 1789 with regard to subsistence by the City Hall Standing Committee. The Subsistence Committee has decided “to immediately send several of the voters to the places indicated to them, with orders, to have […] flour transported. And on the field M. de Saint-Félix was appointed for Charenton, Corbeil and Estampes…” At the bottom of this document appears an order signed by La Fayette to the Officers of the Parisian Militia of which he is the general commander to help by all means and with the support of the officers of the constabulary. We see that Saint-Félix likes to adorn himself with imaginary titles. He was no more administrator of substances in 1789 than bursar of the Tower of the Temple in 1792, as we will see.

[8] This document belongs to Mr. Patrice Hennessy who was kind enough to summarize it for us: On August 26, a man named L’Epine, a surveyor, was overheard drawing up the plans for the Tour du Temple. When questioned L'Epine explains that it is on the order of Saint-Félix that he accomplishes this work. They are both arrested and the interrogation reveals that Saint-Félix entered the Temple on August 13 on production of a worker's card from Palloy, the "demolisher" of the Bastille. This shady business is buried at the request of Lulier, commissioner of the General Council of the Commune and friend of Danton who gives his moral guarantee in writing to Saint-Félix. The next day, August 17, the two acolytes are released.

[9] In his deposition of 28 Ventôse Year II (March 18, 1794) before the Revolutionary Tribunal, Joubert cites Saint-Félix among Ronsin's regular visitors to Sainte-Pélagie. If Joubert is telling the truth, the report of the Fontaine-de-Grenelle Supervisory Committee has not had much effect. Far from it, since Saint-Félix, although a prisoner, can freely visit Ronsin in prison. The roles are reversed!

[10] There may be a connection between this Payen and the man Charlotte recounts in her memoirs received Robespierre badly when the latter went to visit him during his trip to Arras. If Charlotte does not name this man in her memoirs, it is perhaps because she herself continued to frequent this counter-revolutionary family during her stay in Arras.

[11] Solon had been left by Lebon on the Surveillance Committee during the reorganization of 30 Germinal Year II (April 17, 1794). This letter contains a certificate of "irreproachable conduct" in favor of Danten, arrested as an accomplice of Démouliez.

[12] This is how he signed a letter to Florent Guiot quoted by L. Jacob. In the study

[13] As HF notes, these sentences that Charlotte declares apocryphal (not in her memoirs themselves, but afterwards, under the obvious influence of Laponneraye) are in fact harmless and do not change anything essential. These are the words “aversion”. “The most implacable hatred”, “this fury which blinds you”

[14] H. F, looking at the differences in style and spelling between the first part of the letter and the end writes: ”someone guided Charlotte's hand, dictated these harsh terms which she will later deny [ …]. But who is this character? Guffroy.” Albert Mathiez is of the same opinion in his Charlotte Robespierre and Guffroy (1910). Without being so preemptive, we can admit the influence of Guffroy here, especially in the threatening passage where Charlotte challenges Augustin by claiming she’s able to bring harm him harm through the virtuous and good people who know her.

[15] To end with the role of Charlotte and the influence that one thought she could have on Robespierre, let us mention an anonymous and undated letter by which one adresses a citizen asking her to inform her brother — it is without a doubt Charlotte and Maximilien we are dealing here — copy of some pieces whose originals are deposited with the Committee of Public Safety concerning Dorfeuille and Merle, Hébertists of Commune Affranchie (Lyon) and of Ain and their relations with Collot d'Herbois. “The impunity still enjoyed by the counter-revolutionaries in the department of Ain raises fears that knowledge of it has been taken away from him.”

[16] It is significant that Delaporte, whose wife took care of the household of Augustin and Charlotte on Rue Saint-Florentin during their absence, as shown by the letter of 18 Messidor from Charlotte to Augustin, denounces Maximilien by referring to the Courtois report to which his memoirs are posterior, which precisely deleted the passages concerning the reports of the Delaportes and Augustin. This report serves him, as if by chance, marvelously, and Charlotte at the same time - victim supposedly of the only Incorruptible to whom it is necessary to make believe that the letter was addressed. In Piece I cited below, Charlotte says she was unaware that Laporte had been appointed a member of the Revolutionary Tribunal, of which she was almost the victim.

[17] ”13 thermidor. Citizens Laporte, Canone, Gérard, Widow Gérard, Carraut, the Robespierre sisters. Arrest." It is quite probable that the citoyenne Laporte was arrested at madame Béguin’s house with the others. Carraut is the name of Charlotte's mother that the latter took (after 9 Thermidor for sure). Note that there are two Gérards in this marginal indication. Finally, the term “the Robespierre sisters” is explained by the following passage from the interrogation of the Béguin woman. ”Asked how she knows Robespierre, if she is his sister or his mistress. Answered to be the friend of the citoyenne sister Robespierre.” It should be noted that, by frequenting the Béguins' house close to that of the Duplays, Charlotte took little account of the promise that ends her letter to Augustin.

[18] Neither Waleff nor Mérimet, the only Liégeois whom Charlotte says she implicitly knows (and also mentioned as we have seen in Piece I), nor the two Bernimolin brothers (unless it is a question for the 'un deux, by J. B Dumoulin) cited in piece III do not appear in O Lee's list.

[19] Although they were angry with Ronsin because of his activity as an orderly officer of the Belgian army, all the inhabitants of Liège, as Joubert tells us, came to bring Ronsin through the intermediary of Lyon, Fyon's aide-de-camp, a motion to obtain his release.

[20] In a petition addressed to the Convention on 16 Thermidor Year II (August 3, 1794), the refugees from Liège described Robespierre without mentioning his name as a “pitiful averton of Cromwell” but also expressed their feelings against the Hébertists. It is curious to note that the Liège reporter Joubert accuses the Cordelier Ronsin in his statement to the Revolutionary Tribunal on 28 Ventôse Year II (March 18, 1794) of having cried: “I would like to be Cromwell for 24 hours.”

[21] Mathon was most likely from Arrage and a friend of the Robespierre family

[22] Allusion to the arrest of Charlotte of 13 Thermidor and her release. But why, as we have seen, is there no document in his file concerning and explaining this release?

[23] The exhibit in the file also bears the mention: Given to citizen Guffroy

[24] In 1803, Charlotte had lived at 26, rue Jacob. Alluding to the exodus of Louis XVIII in March 1815, the Marquis de Toustain wrote: “On the 23rd we slept at Saint-Pol, where Robespierre’s sister of execrable memory lived.” (Memoires, Paris, 1923, page 291.) in spite of our research, we have been unable to find any confirmation of this assertion, which M. Louis Aragon pointed out to us and to which he alludes in his novel La Semaine Sainte, Paris, 1958 , page 473. Mr. Julien Martel, of Saint-Pol, thinks that there could have been confusion, among memoirs, between Charlotte and Elisabeth Régnier, widow of Joseph Lebon, who lived in Saint-Pol at least until in 1816 and was, on several occasions, the object of hostile demonstrations on the part of certain elements of the population.

[25] Speech by Laponneraye read at Charlotte's funeral at the South Cemetery (Montparnasse) on August 3, 1834. In his introduction to the memoirs, Laponneraye also says that ”Charlotte had received from nature the sweetest and loveliest of virtues.” and that she ”always was affable in character.” ”Passionate about the private life, she could never bring herself to leave it […]. So she played no part in the extraordinary events that signaled the time when her older brother came to power.” We see the trend so contrary to the truth with regard to the activity if not the political role of Charlotte. Barras was already saying (according to M.A Baudot, historical notes on the National Convention, the Directory, the Empire, 1893, page 2): ”If she did not get involved in politics, she was intractable on the article of morals.” Are good morals and the irrational and exclusive love for her brothers enough to excuse Charlotte?

[26] Laponneraye says that Maximilien had only 50 francs at home when he was dragged to the scaffold, and Napoleon, according to O'mera, that he did not leave a penny after his death. Mr. Bouloiseau says that in October 1792, according to Marat, he only had an income of 600 livres: After Thermidor, the estate of the Robespierre brothers will be estimated at around 10,000 livres. On the income of 400 livres that each of the Robespierres had from their mother and what Charlotte would have done on her part, see the letter from Guffroy quoted above.

[27] This letter was published by L. Jacob, with a commentary. AHRF, 1939, pp. 339-341. It is full of recriminations "there has never been on earth a position as terrible as mine." The spelling mistakes with which it swarms (another ex: this nut was only a slight accidental) show that Charlotte did not have anyone this time to dictate her sentences and correct them and confirm the fact that her education was really rudimentary.

[28] The original of the inventory dated September 9, 1834 as well as a notoriety after death of the 8th (to which is attached the copy of the death certificate of August 2 with as witnesses a grocer and a merchant of paintings ) can be found at the Minutier Central des Notaires de Paris in the National Archives. This original differs from the inventory given by Laponneraye in the supporting documents following the 1840 edition of the Memoirs. Laponneraye notably includes his own lithograph portrait, which the Notarial Inventory ignores. In addition to very simple furniture and wardrobe, the inventory includes two portraits of Maximilien and Augustin, a medallion representing Madame de Beaumarchais in engraving and three silver cutlery marked with the letters L (?) and R (those of the family known as inventory). In her will of February 6, 1828 Charlotte declares that she always knew her older brother as a man full of virtue and protested against all the letters contrary to his honor that were attributed to him. She appoints Miss Mathon as her universal heiress.

[29] Laponneraye himself said that Charlotte came to “visit him in the nursing home where I was transferred, by order of the Minister of the Interior, to receive there the care that the heart disease by which I am attacked imperiously requires.”

[30] On November 19, 1837, Laponneraye wrote to Flora Tristan: ”It was for having taken up the defense of our social order that I suffered five and a half years in prison and far from this long detention having cooled my ardor and broken down my courage, I feel more than ever disposed to make an incessant war against tyranny and prejudice under whatever mask it presents itself. It was because of his detention that Laponneraye was unable to speak himself at Charlotte's tomb in August 1834.

[31] Perhaps it is to the influence of Charlotte, who often must have heard about it from her brother in Arras, that we must attribute the long justification of Maximilien's attitude towards Camille Desmoulins, his comrade from Louis-le-Grand, whom he loved very much but who ”really became the acolyte of the aristocracy."

A few words on two points mentioned in the first pages of this: 1, the Memoirs compare the civil courage of Maximilien who could not have descended on the public square armed with a gun and the military courage of Augustin. It is for Laponneraye to reproach, in this regard, Maximilien for not having called the people to the insurrection on 9 Thermidor as Saint-Just (actually Couthon) invited him to do in the name of the Convention which is “where we are”. If he had done it, says Laponneraye “the country would have been saved”.

2, with regard to the assassination attempts whose account by Charlotte seems fanciful, this is the opportunity for Laponneraye to appear directly in the memories. "Let us read Laponneraye," said Charlotte, "and we will see if he does not think a hidden conspiracy was formed to assassinate Maximilien Robespierre." This is followed by the analysis of Maximilien's speech of 7 prarial year II. Finally in G Walter page 111, Laponneraye's commentary on Robespierre's speech of May 30, 1791 concerning the abolition of the death penalty (probably in the published course of the History of France; the reference is missing).

#the guy who escorted charlotte was the guy who arrested two of the duplay sisters???#foché helped Charlotte out after thermidor??#the guy who took charlotte in was max’s childhood friend??#charlotte robespierre #robespierre #augustin robespierre #maximilien robespierre #long post #joseph fouché #couthon #guffroy

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wcmcink · 1 year

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notes in three parts

notes i took on my phone in 3 parts

& the mountains underneath the cover of a sunset... i'm looking out the window/ like a doorway into a photograph & organizing the pennies on my desk into petrine crosses & it's hard to tell the nighttime from a close friend it's just an outfit, you can take it off a way of being in the world not so much but when that outfit reflects a way of being in the world/ watch out! i wonder if the same holds true for systems & design... you can take it off it doesn't reflect the soul of the matter everything has a use & a purpose & i sit just like this to conduct my investigation: i've been going this way & there's nothing i can do but rest easy with the decisions i've made yeah, we'll all be gone before we know it." in the blow up doll world full of blow up things it's good that someone's filling up the silence with pointless conversation all the way down to the slumlords on hoover advertising student housing "you came in at fig," yeah i get it, everything means something there's a bit of a schoolboy confusion over what to say & i wish someone would come by smoking a cigarette & then i could bum one & everything would be alright... get on board with the made up universe dick tracy can have anything he wants you understand? to bad he wants to fight crime in palookaville... i don't know what's happening to me i can't force myself to cry 'cus i'm not sad but it scares me meanwhile i aspire to a challenging definition of spam... "what is this?" (husband over the shoulder of his wife) "not quite sure, i think i'll throw it away." (using his index finger to follow through) "makes sense, i'm really not quite sure what i'm reading either." they are rough poems in the outline of your face

all relationships between people are arrangements of some sort this doesn't mean they are void of genuine emotion in fact, it would be a better arrangement if they had genuine emotion... now to clean it up some impatient for a microwave the malicious intention of stray comments void of emotion while i'm holding your hand she's gonna find a shotgun buried in the cabinet, "well, that's a window into a dark room..." i'm kind of into the fantasy of it all the late nights the neon signs in front of midnight restaurants a real greasy spoon, a cigarette, & a cup of coffee the many vagaries of the institution are hard to navigate he's singing, "i was born in a storm..." just like i'm somewhat aware of this not being what you wanted to hear i'm not really into the big things here although i know it's something to talk about when we are having dinner/ all about this pocket book of loose verses... right now: i'm writing a sentence with my right hand & performing it with my left that scratchy sound & screeching voice "playing that rock & roll music" beneath the letter of the moon

dry cleaning & shopping carts & supermarket parking lots & smile 'cus you don't know what it means... i wake up sing my songs scratch the dirt & resin off my face & write these swollen verses & for some reason that requires an audience... at the corner of good shit & right on there's a decent compromise to be made like a dead skin that fits over a dead animal leaving it with a toothy grin thoughts come in waves, no...dualistic impulses that cut both ways "sometimes, i feel like smacking your head like a swizzle stick." it's ten in the morning & already the day is getting away from me little by little comes the fall not in whole but in part given to the vicissitudes of a twisted heart... morning & its tergiversations i don't know if that word is really necessary not just because i don't know what it means: "to change ones loyalties, become apostate" or it's difficult to use in a sentence it's just extra, you know tergiversations perfect for a friday morning noise carries through my hearing aids & the din of a half empty room hits me like a brick i'm sitting in a meeting house: "thinking i understand things well enough to figure them out." that's what the guy says, it's smart, you know, i wonder if he practiced beforehand... this is the philosophy of a fractured state when we're out of clever replies & our little defenses we all feel similar & certain situations strike us the same although the response is different every comment, every gesture has an orientation & point of view & this precludes action of any kind thinking of each thing & what it means & where it's going & what will come of it... "what will you do?" "i dunno, smoke a couple cigarettes, think about the conversation we just had... how we create in the clearing of what we are patently not able to do... leaving gently what is left what we are able to do & who we are" "blood & sand" is a cocktail, "blood & soil" is the nazi era program to return german citizens to farmland... & other things i must remember but i have no time for dewy-eyed maidens in the backroom, "it's always like this, he'll probably write that down to, he has no idea what should remain a thought & what should be put down on paper... holy shit, that's a great poem." still we hold fast to our beliefs even if it means wearing a pirates hat in the middle of los angeles it's satan re-imagined as another life form maybe an uprooted yellow flower in a science fiction movie... bending towards the sun on a rainy day..."i'm so happy when i'm on my own" the flower says, (could it be described as bright, shaking its petals in consternation yearning for the sun?) surely, something i can ask my phone later, like what's "i love you" in french. or did the giants win? or find my italy trip last month & set a meeting for nine... tell him i'm on my way.

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no-droids · 3 years

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gif credit: @javier-pena

Part Eighteen of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 19.5K

Warnings: SMUT, religion kink (maybe?), squirting, consensual stalking/pursuing, canon-typical violence, mention of underage drinking, uhh I believe that’s it but as always, let me know if I’ve forgotten anything please!

A/N: Hey yall!!! So I know this chapter has been a long time coming and though I’m not completely satisfied with it, I hope it brings a little happiness to you for an hour or two while you read! School has been kicking my ass and I’ve been in a bit of an emotional slump recently, but I pulled a few all-nighters to post this on time and it’s finally finished! Thank you to everyone who has stuck with me and sent me encouraging words over the past month or so, I hope you enjoy the end of the Sanctuary arc💕

Also like last time, part 2 of my collaboration with @followwhereshegoes will be posted after the chapter!! As a reminder, sweet girl is a reader insert and every imagining of her will be different—this is Lisa’s interpretation of her and her artwork is absolutely gorgeous, so please go give her a follow!

Day 5–11:13am:

You zone out again in the early morning, but that happens a lot. Din always keeps you up so late, all the time, and without any caf here, the rising sun just makes your eyes droop instead of flutter brighter and wider. You helped a bunch of younglings find their way into their robes when it was still dark out, tying sashes and fitting masks while holding back your yawns. The walk into Nariss is close to three hours, probably more with all these tiny little legs, and you almost forget to change into your new digs before everyone grabs breakfast.

Even though your ragtag entourage leaves for Nariss just as soon as everyone finishes eating, you don’t reach the city until nearly lunchtime. Mostly because the kids walk about as fast as the elderly holy women chaperoning the trip. You and Naydee lag behind the group, forcing yourself to meander slow as fuck when you nearly sprinted this same exact path just a few days ago. On the way there, you listen to children of all sorts sing happily as they walk, chatter about their excitement for the parade, complain about wearing the fabric mask they made themselves, and more than once, somebody takes a tumble onto the ground and is left in teary sniffles and dirt stained clothes. Likely for this reason, the robes are designed to be two pieces—a long tunic with a hood and a separate pants portion to prevent tripping instead of a draping skirt, but the smallest ones are clumsy and find a way to fall anyways.

It’s a colorful bunch—a chaotic rainbow of babies running around, and you share easy conversation with your new friend about the plans for the day until she asks something that makes you nearly trip and join the dirty robe club.

“Sister Drya said your family is meeting you in the city,” she tells you, ignoring your immediate subtle toe stub and the awkward shuffle you have to do to make up for it. “There’s going to be lots of people downtown, I’m worried it might be hard for them to find you.”

Your heart thuds in your chest and you feel a bit short of breath at being abruptly confronted with the need to lie, but at the same time, you kind of love it. Having a secret, hiding the truth from others, and just the reminder that you’re almost guaranteed to see Din and the baby before midnight pours warmth and tingles through your tummy. Everything together is a hit of spice, filling you with a kind of excitement that used to be foreign to you. Having fun, experiencing new things isn’t quite over yet, but home is calling and you miss it with every fiber of your being.

“I don’t think so,” you eventually respond, hoping she can see your kind smile and the sentiment it carries even as light, shimmery fabric wraps right around your mouth. “If I disappear, you’ll know why.”

Naydee’s eyes crinkle in the corners to match yours. “Hopefully you’ll be able to see the fireworks first,” she nudges you, her skin glowing against the pale cream fabric she has wrapped around her own mouth and the hood laying delicately over her braids. “They start at eight.”

The fireworks, you almost forgot. You know what? Today is a good day. You hear yourself think the full sentence multiple times, and the words put a spring in your step after every single one. The road gradually becomes wider and filled with more travelers, and you feel safe in the back. Like some kind of sheepdog bringing up the rear of this migrating cluster of children, making sure none of them drift off by themselves and start eating grass or something.

Surprisingly, the kids manage to be relatively patient and well-behaved once they’re in line at the gates. The Sisters shuffle them along one by one as everyone moves up slowly, taking even longer to get into the city than it did a few days ago. The entrance is packed already—so many people visiting for the festival, and they’re all dressed in costumes or robes of sorts, or at least a mask. Most are beautifully crafted, but some manage to look slightly scary even with the soft springtime color schemes. It’s a completely different world, a different life for each person as you pass them by. Your stomach is starting to growl by the time you finally make it to the front, and luckily the guards just let the kids through without any ceremony. Just you and the rest of the caretakers in light robes need to hold still for the retinal scan, matching each other perfectly except for differing shades of fabric, skin, and eye color. Once the gates open for you and you step through, though… it’s… Maker.

Extravagant, magnificent are both words. Floral is another.

It’s like they hung up bouquets wherever they could think to fit them, and this is just the edge of the city. As the group moves through the streets and closer to downtown, it becomes more and more overwhelming. The air itself is a warm fragrance wafting all around you, sunshiney and breezy and perfect, flowers of all kinds lining the modern buildings and archways like they were planted there from the very beginning and it just took this long to bloom between the cracks in the concrete. You wish you had names for all of them so you could list them—the only thing you can offer is the color and vague descriptions of the ones that stick out to you. Tiny yellow ones that are so small, they need to be bunched all together in massive quantities to even resemble normal flowers. Up overhead, elaborate arrangements of enormous blue and purple and pink ones, wrapping around each other and hanging down from rooftops. Some don’t even have petals, it’s like they’re big green cups that are big enough to hold things inside them. You’re fascinated by every single one, wanting to stop and smell them all individually but needing to keep up with the large group and not allow any stragglers to be left behind, including yourself.

About an hour later, when you’re almost in the middle of the city and there are people everywhere, it’s time to eat lunch. There isn’t much to it because of how expensive it is, and you’d normally feel bad for accepting the small meal each one of the children gets, but you donated all of your credits to the Keja and left absolutely zero for yourself. Good intentions, terrible idea. Still, you pull your mask down and snack on some deliciously fried food, trying not to eye anyone else’s platter after you finish yours. It’s so good and it’s gone in an instant; you couldn’t even say what exactly it was besides which stall you got it at. Whether it’s just the brilliant atmosphere or if the food on this moon is really just that good, you’re not really sure, but you’re still slightly hungry afterwards with no extra money to sneak a snack.

Soon after, the kids all line up to get their faces painted, or whatever portion of their face is visible behind the cloth masks and hoods they’ve got on, and music blares from at least four different directions and none of the songs are even in the same language. Depending on the part of town, it seems like the celebrations are all different. It makes sense, considering most if not all of these individuals were victims of the Empire’s wrath, spread far and wide across the galaxy. Here, they’re free, and they want everyone to know it. Spring festivals of some sort are likely common for most cultures, at least those from planets with seasons, not like Arvala-7 where it was arid and hot year-round, and you’re assuming there are multiple things being celebrated today depending on which street you live on. There’s chanting in different tongues, dancing and drums, outfits and masks from different cultures every single time you look.

At some point, the children spot a crowded street with flowery rails set up all along them, and you stand behind the tiny heads while everyone waits for the parade to begin. You think your heart has just been beating slightly faster than normal all day today, but when you finally hear the sound of sirens blaring in the distance and cheers begin to pour out from the gathered crowd, it kicks up and you feel like you’re just as wide eyed at the spectacle as the waist-high babies all huddled together up against the railing.

A flurry of people and things pass in slow succession. First, New Republic officers with their blaring holobikes, bright orange as always. Then come large groups of people walking behind banners in languages you can’t read, some of them waving, some of them making different sounds and songs. Bands marching in formation, dancers in dresses and masks and gorgeous flowers in their hair like crowns, and then brilliant hovering vehicles decorated in bright colors and festive depictions. The craftsmanship and cultural significance is stunning to witness, it’s so insanely loud, there’s so much going on, and yet…

Through it all, you think of Din. No matter the faces, the sights you see. There’s someone juggling. There’s either a very tall man and woman walking together or they’re both on stilts. There are enormous balloons being led through the air, people are riding atop an assortment of animals you’ve never seen before, there are traditional costumes and spectacular stunts being performed. Stalls with games and prizes line the stretches of concrete on the cross streets, people are laughing and celebrating and drinking in equal parts, everything is so lively and festive and fun, and yet, though it all, you think of Din. Him and the baby, they’re always in the forefront of your mind, occupying your thoughts and making your tummy stir more and more as the time passes like the parade in front of you. You don’t think this environment would ever be his favorite, and in some far away galaxy, perhaps if you lived other lives together and called a beautiful moon exactly like this home, then you might have to drag him out to see all the with you and the kid every year. You’d have to bat your eyelashes and kiss his cheek and snuggle up to him all nice and pretty like, and he’d probably grumble and complain about it while wrapping his arms around you—all the people and the noise, sweet girl—but he’d go. For you, he’d go.

Your thoughts suddenly stop short and you blink for a second. Why… Why was that scene so vivid? So wistful? You used to preoccupy yourself with fantasies about Din all the time, back before you even knew him as Din. But in every single one, it was sexual and likely came from a place of boredom, a lack of external stimulation. Here you are amidst bustling surroundings, and you’re daydreaming about domesticity with him. Why? You want to travel the galaxy, right? You want to see things you’ve never seen before, right?

For some reason, you think of the floor, and you miss it.

***

Day 5—5:04pm:

It’s late afternoon at this point and nobody can find the teens.

More people have made their way into the city and it’s starting to get extremely fucking crowded, especially where you are downtown, and the handful of them must’ve slipped away with all the excitement happening and how difficult it is to keep the young ones together now that the parade is over. You don’t know how long they’ve been gone—one second they were walking around just slightly detached from the rest of you, you assumed because the boisterous younglings fucked with their cool vibe, and then the next Naydee is gasping out to you that they’re gone.

“Sister Drya is going to kill me,” she hisses, her dark eyebrows furrowed in self-admonishment and stress. So many fucking people here, you know her pain. “I was supposed to be chaperoning them, they were just here—”

She shakes her head under the loose, cream-colored hood, groaning and then speeding up her gait to catch up with the woman in charge, but you decide to grab her wrist before she can relay the bad news.

“I can go find them,” you offer, speaking as low as you can with the blaring noise surrounding you. “Before anyone knows they’re missing. Is there a way to convince everybody to stay in one spot for a little while? You won’t get in trouble, but I need to know how to find you again.”

Naydee’s eyes widen in surprise, and even though it’s likely a bit out of character for you, you have a feeling it’ll be a deceptively easy task. Even with the masses right now and how atrociously big this city is, you already have a general idea of where they’re likely to be. Besides, you’re not even sure your absence will be noticed if Naydee is the only one who figured out the teens were gone—the other Sisters can thrive without you while missing anyone else would be noticeable, and you owe your new friend a thousand favors for helping you out these past few days. The least you can do is save her from the scolding of one of the scariest old ladies you've ever met.

“Be as quick as you can,” she finally agrees. It’s a lot of trust to put into you, but you’ve had experience in reading the most unreadable man in the entire galaxy, some teenagers shouldn’t pose too much of a problem. “If you’re not back in thirty minutes or somebody notices, I’ll have to say something.”

You nod, silently breaking away from the group without another word. You think you can hear her announce to everyone that it might be best to eat dinner now to skip any long lines later—smart—but you’re out of their hearing range and line of sight almost immediately.

***

Day 5–5:17pm:

“Really?” You raise an eyebrow since they won’t be able to see the way your mouth is twisted up underneath your mask, crossing your arms and tapping your foot against the ground to further illustrate just how not fucking impressed you are.

Seven teenagers freeze, and slowly—depending on how much bravery they can individually muster—they turn around on their stools to face you. The atmosphere in the tavern is bustling and cheery, booze being passed around a large crowd that laughs and mingles, but your vibe is stone cold and quiet. The contrast doesn’t feel wrong on you like it normally would; the negative and disapproving energy you’re emitting makes you feel powerful, untouchable, armored and strong.

“How did you find us so fast?” One of the twin boys squeaks out behind a light blue robe, sounding worried.

“Had a hunch,” you grumble, glaring sternly at each of them in turn. Your tone is dry, your voice sits lower in your throat when you’re pissed off. All you had to do was look for the closest bar that doesn’t have any orange jumpsuits poking around waiting to card underage younglings, it wasn’t that difficult. “You’re not exactly unpredictable.”

“Are you gonna rat us out?” The other twin asks you, in a voice that’s oddly deep compared to his brother.

“I should,” you snap, quickly reaching out to push their drinks away. “I should let Sister Drya rain down her holy fury on your asses, got good people all twisted up over you for nothing and I’m missing dinn—”

You don’t know why, but you suddenly cut yourself off and jerk upright, spinning around.

The sounds of glasses clinking and boisterous voices fill the bar, but they seem to fade out for a second. Your eyes fly around the crowded space, your heart lodged in your throat and looking for anything reflective. Every flash you see is a false alarm—belt buckle, wristwatch, cocktail shaker—

He’s here… isn’t he?

Only, there’s nothing. Nothing is out of place, nothing jumps out at you the way you’re assuming it will. You’re braced taut and ready to bolt at the first sign of a chase, but it never comes.

It’s so… unexpected, this feeling. It’s not like you’re being hunted anymore, but instead, you’re the hunter. You’re feeling the weight of him from this far away and it’s like he’s calling for you to come find him, teasing the wild adrenaline rush you get from just feeling his presence, as if he absolutely knows it happens. Whispering soft in your ear and then vanishing the second you’re able to turn around, like he’s here but he’s not. Playing with you from so far away.

This… this is a taunt.

The whole thing at the inn was leagues below this, that was rudimentary. Teasing, getting even, having fun with each other, whatever you want to call that, that’s what it was. This is scarily sophisticated. Fluid and practiced and the best kind of frightening, stark and dangerous compared to the carefree and upbeat setting surrounding you. You’re not making it up, it’s not just you being paranoid. You know him with your eyes closed. You know he’s here somewhere watching you, just like you know the starlight that streaks across the pitch black horizon of hyperspace. Not because you can see it, not really, not directly. But because by it, even in the vastest and darkest and emptiest of voids, you’re suddenly able to see everything else.

“You okay, Nerida?”

The volume gradually comes back up and you blink, suddenly remembering where you are, who else is with you. The chatter becomes slightly louder than it seemed before.

“Yeah,” you eventually say, slightly airy while continuing to stare emptily at the crowded room. He’s not here, you don’t think, not anymore at least. But you’re not stupid, you know what this means. You’re already caught, there’s nothing you can conceivably do that will delay the reunion for the next—you look down and pull the loose sleeve up to check your communicator—seven fucking hours, there’s no way. He’ll pull back and follow you, keep up with you from a distance and then snatch you away right when you let your guard down. You at least need to get the kids back to their guardians before that can happen, though.

“Let’s go,” you quietly tell the group of foundlings, grabbing elbows and hauling them out of their stools. “Naydee was the only one who knew that you were gone when I left. Here’s to hoping she managed to keep it that way.”

***

Day 5–5:32pm:

Against all odds, you’re able to rally the wayward teens and successfully lead them through shoulders that are beginning to move closer together as the crowd grows and grows. You stay towards the back and don’t look behind you once—not only do you not want to give the younglings an unnecessary reason to become paranoid or to question your actions, but you can still feel Din lingering. Moving like a shadow, probably fitting in perfectly with the masked festival-goers, nothing drawing any attention to him with all the spectacular sights and noise occurring.

Soon you return to the same spot from before, and you and the teenagers seamlessly integrate yourselves back into the rest of the group without anyone noticing a thing is out of place. When you move to stand beside her, Naydee’s bone-deep sigh of relief is palpable even behind the concealing fabric; she squeezes your hand incredibly tight in a silent gesture of thanks, and then pulls something from the deep pockets of her robe and passes it to you sneakily. A purple fruit. She must’ve saved it for you.

Maker, fuck yes. It’s not much but it’s more dinner than any of the seven troublemakers get, but Naydee quietly assures you they’ll be able to eat something once they return to the Keja around midnight, just not the tasty expensive treats they’re selling at the vendors. As the sun goes down, you try not to stain your pretty fabric a deep maroon as you chomp and feel your lips start to curl upwards. It sounds so fucking stupid when you put it like this, but you keep going back to Din and revelling in knowing that he’s so close, like you’re just mentally checking in on him. You don’t get the sensation by thinking, though—more like you just focus really hard on your heart and feel him there just a second afterwards.

Is that how pure, stupid, shameless love feels when you’re completely entrenched in it? It’s not like it’s surrounding you, it’s not suffocating you or making you float. It’s just a thing. Like… a thing inside your chest, a physical thing you can search for and find, something you can point to on your body and say it’s right here, this is where my love for him lives. Right at the bottom of your heart, right where it curves and beats strong when other hearts meet flat at sharp angles. You do it over and over again, reconfirming its existence every single time. You don’t know what else you’d call it. Love is the only word. To love, to know. To hold in the heart.

Soon, you start to notice that people are slowly moving around your stationary group. You look up and watch the crowd begin to walk, some of them giving soft smiles to the cute children as they pass by, but all of them following the same unspoken direction.

“Where is everyone going?” You ask Naydee, standing on your tiptoes to watch the crowd migrate like a giant system, an organism or mechanism of thousands (or tens of thousands?) of smaller moving parts all traveling in tandem. It’s fascinating—you’ve been to crowded places, you know what it looks like when a lot of people are packed into one area, but you’ve never seen what it looks like when they all move together. They would normally be bumping into each other, slipping in between, fighting and never really getting anywhere, interacting individually and thinking separately. Now they’re progressing in one single direction, so many with the same mindset and understanding of what comes next. A second parade, almost, with New Republic officers directing the flow of pedestrians as they pass.

“The eastern part of the city!” Naydee yells over the noise and points, and beyond her extended finger, you can barely see the light of a dusky body of water in the distance beyond the buildings. “The fireworks are going to go off over the bay, but it takes awhile to get there!”

“Is…” You blink for a second, suddenly caught off guard, trying to think back to the holomap the concierge pulled up at the front desk of the inn. Surely you would’ve noticed it, but your sudden childlike hope makes you ask anyway. “Is it part of an ocean?”

Naydee shakes her head. “A really big lake!”

Your shoulders drop just the slightest bit in disappointment but still, you ache to see it. You can’t even imagine—the fireworks are likely going to reflect across the water, giving everyone double the view. And luckily, after all the children and caretakers are individually accounted for, you start to behind the slow-moving crowd towards the docks you know lie beyond.

Naydee scurries ahead to keep the kids together, ushering them forward and preventing any drunk passer-bys from accidentally stepping on them, and you quietly bring up the very rear of the entourage. You take the time to observe more than anything, walk in the back and experience instead of trailblaze. So many people, so many stories to be told, so many differences and diversity around you. Your face is partially concealed and you don’t move your head too much, just your eyes. They flick around to take in everything, the crowd thinning little by little as you make it out of the confined space downtown. You’re able to make out full bodies and outfits again instead of just heads and shoulders, allowing you to breathe just a bit easier under your mask.

And then at one point—and it’s almost a little startling because it happens all at once—the organizers must decide that the sun has officially gone down, because the lights come on. All of a sudden, paper lanterns and bulbs flicker into existence all around you and the world decides it wants to glow, glint and twinkle from the inside out. They’re everywhere, draping across rooftops and tangled around street signs and stuffed into the flower bouquets overhead, raining soft colors down on everything. You’re in complete awe, trying to keep walking but also needing to look at as much as fucking possible in the suddenly luminescent city. It’s so colorful, so vernal and warm and you feel like you’re… Like when you took a shower on the Crest for the first time and spent a few happy moments just playing with the water and soap for your own enjoyment, it’s as if all the brilliant rainbow of colors the bubbles would make under the fluorescent light decided to surround you at the same time. You’re inside stained glass, blinking at the flowers and wondering if Din can even smell the air or if it’s filtered, processed and reduced to nothing under the helmet.

And that’s when you see him.

But with the way your chest rapidly constricts and you can count your heart beats as they pound, blaring white noise through your ears and adrenaline through your veins, it’s like he's just allowing it to happen. You immediately understand that you don’t have fucking anything the second your eyes land on him; this isn’t a heads up that you caught wind of early, it’s not a gift or an advantage you’ve incidentally gained over him that you should be thankful for. Being able to see him directly like this, being able to make out all these fucking details from this far away… This just feels like you’re being informed of the endgame right before it comes. If you were anyone else, if you were a real bounty and this was a real hunt, his armor glinting and reflecting the lanterns overhead would feel like a knife you're about to be on the wrong side of.

You have a decision to make, very quickly. Either keep in this same direction, head straight towards him and just pretend like you are who you’re dressed as, a random caretaker for a bunch of rowdy foundlings during a spring festival on Nariss, or disappear. Drop back, move through the crowd and use the distance you have between you right now as your only hope of getting away in time. Neither one gives you a particular advantage—your chances of being caught have already skyrocketed exponentially just being able to see the reflection in his armor, the hovering shield at his side with big black eyes… staring directly at you.

You almost trip over your pantlegs, gasping. Baby. He beams at you and you think he calls out through the passing crowd, his tiny arms extending out, and your chest feels like you’re pulling organs as if they were muscles, cramping up and seizing with emotion. You want to run to them even though you’re meant to be running from them, call out over the noise and wave even though you’re not supposed to. You want to hold the kid again, squish his little forehead with kisses, walk around with Din’s hand pressed against your lower back and see the fireworks with him.

Your hands clutch at the draping fabric covering your chest, pulling and twisting it uncertainly. What do you do, what do you do?

No matter what, you know it’s over. Keep your head down and try to move past him, or break away from your group and try to escape—both are different paths that lead to the same result. What’s the point of running when he’s the one chasing you? The heart-pounding thrill is the only reason you’re even considering it, but his body stands so tall amongst the crowd, not moving while people ebb and flow like a river passing around him.

Except then you can hear his voice repeat the last thing he said to you in person as if he says it directly into the comm in your ear. When you do see me… try to outrun.

You should run—run, it’s better than just hoping he doesn’t see you when you already know he does.

Unless…

Out of a trillion different possibilities, you soon realize that there is exactly one situation in which this could turn out in your favor. You can immediately picture the scenario in your mind, but there’s just too many variables to conceivably rely on getting them all right. This maybe has a… two percent chance of working? Maybe? Everything would have to go perfectly, just fucking flawlessly, but what other choice do you have? Two percent is better than whatever odds you’re dealing with now.

You walk silently behind the group of foundlings as you approach closer and closer, keeping your head purposefully down as they skip and giggle and dance ahead. He knows you’re here—he has to know, you’re counting on him knowing. Walk right in front of him, pretend like you don’t see, make sure you keep left. Keep left, keep left, keep your head down, keep your head down—

A leather glove suddenly catches hold of your wrist hard enough to tug you backwards.

Your gasp is audible over the sound of the crowd and you spin around, jerking your head up to look at him in fear. Your heart slams as the beskar reflects your mask and hood back at you—you’re terrified and it shows, you can see it in your eyes.

You quickly try to yank your hand away, even as your index finger stretches up towards the communicator around his wrist.

“Miss Nerida?” A child’s voice cries, and then small hands grab at you from behind as you bury the urge to actually fight him. Your instincts are demanding you attack when his grip is this strong, but you just whine and struggle, slapping weakly at him with your free hand and feeling more of the younglings begin to pull at you, their high pitched voices calling more and more attention to the scene.

Your gaze flicks to the side, suddenly landing on a pair of New Republic officers helping direct the thousands of moving bodies from the closest street corner. They’re looking at you, pointing and beginning to speak into their own comm units. Din’s helmet snaps sideways to follow your gaze, and then he’s immediately dropping your wrist and stepping back, retreating as quickly as he caught you. Though you don’t want to—though you don’t want to give yourself away even more, you want to pretend fully that he was a complete stranger and the children were right to try to help you get away—your eyes fall to your son in the hovering crib by his side and you feel yourself crumble just a bit.

Just a few more hours, kid. A few more hours.

Children pull you away while your pursuers both disappear into the crowd, and you quickly turn to soothe the tiny babies instead of chasing after the one you miss so terribly.

“I’m alright,” you tell them, scooting them up and encouraging them to continue walking. Blend in, blend in, don’t let anybody think anything is wrong. “Come on, we’re fine, come on, we have to catch up.”

They take your lead as soon as one of the caretakers turns around and sees the small group crowding around you. You think she asks what happened, but you just tell her a man mistook you for someone else and nothing more comes of it. She’s able to settle the chaos better than you are, and by the time you’re continuing to travel forwards once more like nothing happened, the communicator suddenly flicks on in your ear.

“What did you do?” He breathes out, his footsteps moving fast through his voice. He’s traveling much quicker than you expected—is he still being followed? The officers are gone from your sight, they might be going after him right now, weaving between bodies and calling out to the perpetually vanishing glint of armor as he navigates his way out of danger.

You look down at the comm on your wrist and your heart nearly soars with victory. It worked. It worked. You just have to outlast a bit longer, don’t draw any extra attention to it—he’s preoccupied and he certainly doesn’t sound happy, but you hope that’ll be enough to make him slip. Use his frustration to your advantage, let him think the only thing you were successful at was momentarily escaping him.

“The cops weren’t part of the plan,” you admit quietly, keeping your head down as your loose hood billows in the twilight breeze. “Don’t get caught.”

There’s a few moments of just his breathing, his footsteps, and the noise floor humming through the comm, before he finally responds. “You look beautiful.”

You stare unseeingly down at the concrete under your feet, still feeling your hand tingle from where he caught you. The line abruptly mutes on his end and you just keep moving forward, onward, wanting to look back but knowing he’s already long gone.

***

Day 5–5:24pm:

Din is fucking furious.

He had you. You were right there, right in front of him, and even if he hadn’t been subtly trailing you all day, seeing the red footsteps get covered and flicker out of existence just a few moments after you make them, he would’ve recognized you anywhere. In black and white, in the fading light, with your face covered, children calling you by a different name and attaching themselves to you like they’ve known you forever—doesn’t matter, he would’ve known you. Your eyes have always given you away, always so expressive and starry and soft, but able to see right through solid steel whenever you look at him.

But then you slipped from his grasp, and then more guards pushed him further and further away from you. They must all be in constant communication, because every single jumpsuit he sees immediately spots him and starts following. It’s fucking exhausting, and he thinks of you the whole time.

He waits in a dark alley with the kid and taps the side of the helmet a few times to bring up the time on his comm, but then relaxes just slightly when he sees the hour. It’s earlier than he thought it was, he’ll be able to find you again.

Though, something tugs at him while he’s looking at the clock ticking away in front of his eyes, counting down each second that passes. There was… a moment. Back in the square, when he was holding onto you again, when you were looking directly into his once more—everything in his helmet—

No, he shakes his head while the kid looks up at him curiously, it can’t be. It was just a split second, it was gone so fast.

But he can’t get rid of it. Though there’s no explanation, he thinks the display screen flickered. The sky behind you looked different for a single frame, your footsteps weren’t bright red and visible anymore, your eyes weren’t grey and he stopped wondering what shade of fabric you and your friend decided to choose for you to wear. It was silvery, he’s almost certain. Like his armor, it only reflected the color of everything around it.

Color. Everywhere. Bursting for a blink of an eye, and then gone just as quick, before he could actually figure out what it really meant.

***

Day 5–6:59pm:

This water is quiet here, but it sparkles.

It doesn’t ever really get truly dark thanks to the enormous hanging moon and ringed gas giant dancing with Sanctuary II, constantly reflecting light back onto the surface and reacting with some of the trace chemicals up above the atmosphere, and you think the sky just might be the prettiest you’ve ever seen it. Must have something to do with the equinox, the glimmering angles of light being played with by celestial bodies in this stunning system, but it’s a dream. The Maker apparently couldn’t decide which colors he wanted tonight so he just splashed all of them together all at once, let them run and blend like ink in the gentle water below, like the various people who call this moon home.

That view in front of you, coupled with all the flowers and lanterns lining the streets behind you, and you’ve lost track of time the exact same way you hoped Din would. You think you’ve stood for about an hour or so in this one spot, half-listening to excited chatter from the babies, mostly just gazing across the stretch of water and being able to just barely spot the docks in the distance, but it feels like it’s only been minutes.

You check your watch—the fireworks should be starting any second now. You don’t know what to expect, just that in your experience, explosions tend to be loud. You've decided you’re not going to plug your ears, though. Tummy twisting with nerves and another inexplicable feeling you can’t quite put your finger on, you resolve to experience the unknown exactly the way it’s meant to be. Fully, without worry or fear.

Then, lacking any warning or ceremony whatsoever, a single flare launches silent and high from one of the small boats skimming the bay, and the crowd seems to hold its collective breath as the dim light disappears into thin air for a split second, before—

It’s… quite possibly the most dazzling thing you think you’ve ever seen. So shamelessly decorative just for the sake of it, not serving any other practical purpose besides celebration and visual spectacle, and you’ll probably never know another extravagance like it. You grew up with dust pelting against tired eyes, you never thought they’d get to reflect such gorgeous bursts of color back up at the sky, glassy and childlike amongst a group of equally wide-eyed children.

As expected, a deafening boom follows closely behind the singular display, but just witnessing it is incredible enough to make you forget to brace yourself for the sound and you jump almost violently in response. There comes a loud cheer from the people standing around you, a few delighted gasps and children who decide now is the best time to start crying, but then more flares begin to launch from the boats and the subsequent show will sear itself into your memory to replay over and over again.

Still, you think the endless sky and dark water below would have to light on fire to stop him from coming to mind.

Din.

You click the comm on, continuing to stare in stunned awe but wanting nothing more than to hear his voice right now, feel his hand rest on your lower back and the kid’s three fingers squeezing one of yours while the stars rain down from above. You’re only continuing to run from him because it’s expected of you, that’s the reason you’re here, but it’s becoming harder and harder to argue with yourself. “Do you always see in black and white?”

It takes him just a few seconds to respond, but he always does. “Only when I’m tracking someone.”

The loud booms can be heard over the earpiece, happening maybe a second after they crack and sparkle above you. You can’t tell if the latency is due to the electronics or if he’s just that far away from the source of the sound itself, but… you don’t think he is. He feels close again, like he could just walk up right next to you any second, or maybe that’s just how he always feels now.

“Does that mean you haven’t seen the sky here?” You ask after a moment. This whole time, everything has been grey for him?

“I saw it,” Din murmurs, and even though it’s quiet and explosions are thundering loud enough to deafen more sensitive ears, his quiet voice somehow breaks through it all. “When you left the Crest, I saw it behind you.”

For some reason, you suddenly feel like crying. Whether it’s the way he phrases it or the sentiment in the words, you’re close to tears without even knowing why, looking up at the sky illuminating spectacularly. He says it like he wasn’t the one who parked on this moon and told you to go on without him. “Can you… turn it off for just a second?”

He takes a second, before clarifying for you. “I turn it off and I lose your footprints.”

So that was the ultimatum. He doesn’t want to turn it off until you’re back with him again. Does he not understand? Does he not know what you know? Maybe you just happened to feel it first, this overwhelming physical sensation inside you whenever you think about him. It’s like the exact opposite of a hole in your chest. And it’s so odd, so counterintuitive. Being comforted in his absence, feeling him with you when he isn’t. Falling in love in the dark, knowing him without ever seeing him.

“You never needed them,” you say, reaching up to pull your mask down under your jaw and chin for a moment, wanting to freely breathe the freshwater and flowers while stars explode and fracture across the sky. It’s a truth you’re acknowledging, something you’ll carry with you, something you fundamentally own at this point. “You’d find me without the helmet. And I’d find you.”

The fireworks continue to bleed into the water beneath them, multicolor splashes rippling into existence and disappearing just as quick. You could’ve never imagined a more colorful, magnificent landscape—besides your waterfall on Naboo, of course. That was a pure product of nature though, a place hidden away and untouched by people, completely sacred. Light refracting against mist, natural glass that would shatter under your weight. This is a celebration of life and family. Loud in a different way, affecting you in a different way, but just as wonderful and touching. A cultivated paradise, designed to be beautiful and safe only because they wanted it to be.

“Think so?” He asks softly. He sounds so deep and warm, but… a little distant. You’re able to hear it in his words. You don’t know why, though. Doesn’t he believe you? Perhaps… perhaps this isn’t The Way. Perhaps this is part of a completely different oath, one where knowing and loving somebody isn’t the same thing as looking at their face, not at all. Where you can have them exist entirely separate from each other, because this is love. This is real, enduring, bone-deep love, and you haven’t ever seen his face, so how would he explain that? How would the Mandalorians reconcile that? You bear the mark of the mudhorn, you’ve moved through time and space with him, you’re a mother to his son, and you’ve never seen his face. It defies both the Mandalorian oath and traditional understandings of love, or it meets them right in the middle, depending on how you look at it.

“I know so.” For the first time, you think you might sound more confident and certain than he does. Maybe he doesn’t fully get it yet, but then you suppose he’ll just have to trust you. “Will you look at the sky?”

“I see it,” Din tells you, but you know he doesn’t. Not the way you want him to. And stars, you just want so many things for him, don’t you? The sky, fresh air, water, light, food, rest. You want him to see the galaxy the way you do—have a new appreciation for the gifts that are given just because you’re alive to experience them. All the physics and mathematics aligned perfectly for it to happen—all the chemistry, the systems, the dynamics that dictate the universe, they all got together and crafted a world where you, him, and the kid all exist together at the same time. You want him to know the significance of that.

“With color?” You ask, knowing his answer before he seems to.

“I…” Din wants to argue, or at least say it again. He can’t or he’ll lose you, he already told you he doesn’t want to turn the setting off. It’s such an unnecessary conflict, but you want to respect it so much that you’re willing to give up things of your own to make it happen.

“How do I fix it then?” You whisper, so desperately wanting this one thing for him, this one grandeur to behold. How do you fix this problem? How do you convince him to look with you? You’d offer to just go and find him instead of continuing to run away for the next few hours, but you know the show will be over soon and you don’t have much time left. “Do you want me to come look for you? It’ll be too late by then, you’re too far away. Look at the sky.”

It’s silent for a moment—truly silent, even though colorful bombs are going off above the bay. You don’t know why you’ve attached yourself to this so strongly, but it’s almost devastating when you don’t get a response. You look away from the spectacle for the first time in an eternity, gazing unseeingly into the crowd of onlookers with a sudden sadness taking hold of you. He won’t look, he’s too stubborn, he holds onto things too tightly.

But then, a flurry of flares start launching in rapid succession from the distant boats, screaming and crying on their way up and then igniting into showers of light, and the abrupt increase in activity manages to catch your attention once again. This must be the end, they saved the best for last. Every corner of the horizon flashes and sparks, and you’re mesmerized at how bright it is, how many colors they’ve managed to fit into one single frame.

“It’s beautiful,” comes his voice, and the smile that you break into feels just right for the brilliance of the view above you. Maker, it is, isn’t it? Now you can hear it—he sounds like he’s looking at it too, with color, in all its breathtaking glory, and you feel like you’re flying. Like he picked you up and let you watch up close, like you can feel his armor under your fingers right now as he carries you through the sky.

It swells up inside you, a rising wave similar to the ones you can see in the distance, and you know you probably shouldn’t say it because it’s not in your best interest to say it right now, but you have to say it anyways. It’s an unknowable compulsion, a need to connect and communicate directly with him but for your sake, not presently, not at this exact moment in time.

Luckily, you mute your comm just in time and simply give the words to him from very far away.

“Hurry up,” you say, sending the sentiment into the sky with all your love, and the conflicting hope that he won’t take the advice until a bit later on. “Come and find me.”

***

Day 5–7:37pm:

After the fireworks are over, people start to drift off in separate directions, clearing the traffic and congestion from the streets around you. Someone puts their hand on your shoulder and you blink a few times, spinning around and almost stepping on a bunch of tiny little feet by accident.

Stars, that’s a lot of children. They’re all crowded around Naydee, who pats a few heads and almost buckles under the younglings clinging to her leg.

“Figured you would be long gone by now,” she grins at you from behind her mask, and you’re reminded to pull yours up over your face just from looking at her. “It’s late—we’re going back to the Keja.”

“Oh, shit,” you breathe in surprise, but the noise of the gradually dispersing crowd manages to cover it up. At least from younger, more easily distracted ears, but you think Naydee hears you. Her dark eyes roll good-naturedly, looking happy but exhausted from the long day. You’re going to have to say goodbye now.

“What happened to your family?” She asks after a moment, and you think she’s being careful with the way she says it, likely because family is a difficult topic to navigate in general around some of the children hanging on her and begging for her attention. “Have you been in touch with them? If not, I’m sure you can come back with us. It’ll be late by the time we get there, but at least you’ll be safe.”

You open your mouth to automatically decline her offer, knowing Din is still in the crowded city looking for you and wanting to stay where there’s lots of people.

But then… well, he would expect you to do that, wouldn’t he?

There’s more people here. More danger, but better places to hide. It’s the obvious choice, it’s the one that makes the most logical sense. But you’d also be completely alone and you’re assuming the only reason he hasn’t snatched you up yet—which you know he could’ve done multiple times by now, is likely because you’re with a group of innocent foundlings, moody teenagers, and very stern older women. He probably doesn’t realize you’ve told them about him and the kid, though you were slightly vague on the details.

It’s also a little over three hours to get back, but you’re banking on it being closer to four with how whiney and tired some of the small voices sound, others sounding like they’re an enormous sugar rush contained into a tiny little capsule. Would he have the gall to try and get you right from under their noses? Will he even know you left the city, or will he assume you made the smartest decision possible and simply account for it ahead of time? No, you're overthinking it, just make a decision and stick with it.

“There’s also free food,” Naydee shrugs while you’re still considering, but… well, that settles that. Almost three days of friendship and she already knows exactly how to win you over in the end. Sustenance for your empty tummy, an escort the entire way there, and heavily guarded walls beyond. Din will have to get creative in response—you flaunted your imagination for days, coming up with dozens of evasion tactics to outlast him, but this one just seems… incredibly practical. Exploiting a weakness of his—isolating it, having it be reinforced by precedent, and then taking advantage of it. You bet he’ll catch on, but still, it’ll make it more difficult for him, and you’re grasping at straws to hang on just a little longer.

“I…” Quick, come up with something. You clear your throat. “The city is too crowded, I haven’t been able to find them. I could just… tell them where I’m headed and see if they can find me along the way?”

Naydee smiles and nods. “Sounds perfect.”

Yet, the entire walk back… you keep thinking you’re going to feel Din trailing behind you, waiting to feel the nerves twist in your tummy and your palms to sweat, but you don’t. You keep glancing over your shoulder and then down at your wrist, needing to talk yourself out of addressing him through the comm to let him know exactly what the plan is. You like maintaining a sense of secrecy from the new characters you’ve met on your adventures—Naydee, Karga, Peli—almost everyone you’ve been introduced to, you found a way to find a subtle enjoyment in hiding certain things from them. But with Din, you don’t have any walls. They crumbled nearly a full year ago when he silently pushed a cauterizer in your hand and took his armor off for you, and you’ve felt the inexplicable need to bare yourself to him in return ever since. It would be to your extreme detriment to do it now, but you still have to fight the urge.

Even if you don’t feel him following, you still find yourself acting like he is. Constantly turning back to double check the road behind you, drifting off in the middle of shallow, distant conversations with tiny foundlings who can’t tell the difference, keeping towards the middle of the pack this time to avoid being picked off towards the back. The belltower at the orphanage is loud and will ring for quite a distance, so your timing has to be utterly pristine for this to all work out. You eye your comm the entire way there, trying to stall just the right amount to avoid any realizations or fall into any traps he may be setting for you.

You eventually leave the city walls far behind you, and now you have no clue where he is. You lost him, and maybe that’s why you feel your heart beat insanely fast the whole time. He could be anywhere now. Behind you, adjacent, parallel—you can’t decide where to look, but it keeps you wide awake and focused while the group tiredly travels back to the temple.

***

Day 5–11:32pm:

You can see it in the distance, the brick buildings slowly coming into view. One might think your stress would have worked itself out by now, been brought back to a manageable level after four hours of walking, but you’ve been on red alert for the past hour or so. Any movement or rustle that doesn’t come from the sleepy children or exhausted caretakers, you’re on top of it, snapping your attention to the offending tree or animal and not being able to relax even after affirming it’s just nature, it’s not shiny metal bounding after you in the darkness, ready to take you down.

The infants are all likely snoozing away in the nursery, and the Sister who volunteered to stay behind and look after them comes to greet the group at the gate as you approach. Like always, two Brothers open the iron bars to allow you inside, and you feel the anxiety dig its claws into your tummy. If Din is going to get you, this is the very last moment to do it. These walls are guarded and you’re nervous for him, you’re nervous for yourself—you’re just fucking nervous. Jumpy and worried, not being able to pinpoint him anymore and feeling all the more anxious because of it.

It doesn’t feel right. Nothing feels right about this, but you can’t figure out specifically what’s wrong. This was the exact plan, this was a way for you to just survive these last few hours and yet, it doesn’t feel right that you actually succeeded in doing so. It doesn’t make sense that he’d allow you to return all the way here, especially when he was close enough to touch you earlier. Din has had so much time to snatch you up, so many opportunities to lure you away, confront you—anything to catch you, and he hasn’t done it yet. Why? Either you truly did escape and he has no idea where you are, which doesn’t feel right, or he’s choosing not to get you for whatever reason, which also doesn’t feel right. What’s he waiting for? You can’t have won. It was all too fucking easy, you’re expecting to see him around every single corner because he should be there, he shouldn’t have allowed this to happen.

When someone gently touches your elbow, you’re so on edge that you nearly whip around in surprise.

“Sorry!” Naydee immediately apologizes, taking her hand back to lift her hood and remove the mask covering her face. “Didn’t mean to scare you! I was just going to say that the commissary is still open,” she offers, and you watch the small group of hungry teenagers break off from the group to make their way there. “It’s going to take awhile to get the children ready for bed, so we’ll be in the dormitories if you need to sleep. Otherwise, I’m not sure I’ll see you again.”

You stare at her and blink a few times, trying to readjust your focus. She’s your new friend, she just said this was likely the last time you’ll see each other, but you can’t stop thinking about Din. Imagine he’s hours away in the city right now, still looking for you. You’re trying to evaluate your priorities here, but you truthfully never expected to get this far. Inside the gates, surrounded by brick buildings and silent guards. You know your way around here, you know hiding spots, you know how to outlast—it’s incredibly advantageous for you to be inside these walls. What is he doing?

Shaking your head to clear your thoughts, you give Naydee a quick hug and she happily accepts it. “I’m sure we’ll meet again at some point.”

She smiles and nods, pulling back and letting a couple grumpy foundlings catch her robes and yank on them impatiently. The loud group eventually disappears into the dorms, and the door shutting behind them cuts off the tired crying and chatty voices determined to stay awake, leaving you in silence that feels slightly unfamiliar after going without it for so long.

Fuck, you just need to breathe. As soon as the dead quiet grips the air around you, you realize you need to relax. You’re way too fucking wound up; you want to bolt at the smallest thing and the sudden silence of being alone multiplies it to the point where you have to remind yourself of its importance. Breathe. Focus. There’s about fifteen minutes before the bells ring, fifteen more minutes and the chase will be all over.

Can you eat? You thought you’d want to, but you think you’re too fucking antsy. You can’t stay here alone, that’s for sure, but you also don’t want to be around all the children right now. The commissary will have a handful of people wandering around, teens snacking and maybe a Brother or two standing guard. It’s the best place to wait the clock out, so you make your way there. The gentle breeze billows around your loose robes, your pantlegs swishing as you walk.

A few minutes later, you’ve got a plate of food in front of you but your mask is still up, and you’re just sitting there. Towards the back of the large room, sitting by yourself at one of the tables and staring down at your communicator. Five minutes. You have five fucking minutes left before he finds you. Can you feel him? Is he closing in?

You sit up a bit straighter, taking a deep breath. Focus on that feeling from earlier. The presence in your chest, the weight that didn’t used to be there months ago—focus on that feeling and branch it outwards. Can you feel him?

Something catches your eye.

Or no… it doesn’t, does it? Nothing is out of place here, nothing is visibly wrong or amiss. The only thing that’s changed from all the times before is how dark it is through the windows, and how there are only a few kids in here grabbing a midnight snack instead of being packed like usual. Nothing else.

But there’s… there’s an acolyte in the far corner, standing guard with his back to the wall. It’s not his presence that gives you pause—you expected him to be here, there’s always been at least one present whenever you’ve sat down to eat. He doesn’t look any different from the rest of the Brothers you’ve passed by this evening or the days before—tall, silent, dark brown robes, hooded and mysterious—so why do you suddenly feel yourself break out into a cold sweat as soon as your eyes land on him?

Bubbling laughter and chatter echoes through the large room from one of the tables near the entrance—seven teenagers stuffing their faces with food and sharing animated conversation with each other now that it’s late and they’re alone—but your stomach twists and your fingers start to tremble as you slowly rise from your seat in the back. You want to keep your head down and be casual but it’s impossible, you desperately need to keep looking at that silent guard in particular and your heart kicks up in your chest—

—and then it wrenches sideways when you’re carefully backing away from the table and the offending acolyte takes a single step forwards.

Run. Everything in you screams for you to run, and it’s rarely done that before, but you can’t. Not yet, you don’t want to draw attention, and the logical part of your mind rages against your gut instinct to haul ass. He’s here—of course he is, the thought screams through your veins as you try to weave quickly in between tables, feeling light on your toes and readying yourself to run as soon as you can. The dark figure seems to find a careful pace behind you, staying just far enough behind and walking in perfect silence, and you have so many fucking questions but you can’t even think a single thing beyond run away, run away. Where’s the kid? How did he get those robes? Did he actually take his helmet off just to get to you in a room where anyone could confront him?

Your feet propel you forward as soon as you make it out of the door, you break out into a sprint—just flat out bolting because you know how fucking fast he is and you need as big a headstart as you can get.

You race down the stairs and through the courtyard, the beautiful surroundings contrasting drastically with the way you’re running for your fucking life through them. It’s not beautiful to you right now; you feel clumsy and physically unable to move fast enough no matter how quick you go, your eyes are wide and every nerve is on fire and you can’t even tell if he’s behind you anymore with how silently he moves, but you just trust that he is and keep barreling forward. Your breath puffs against the clinging fabric of your mask as you keep sprinting, willing your legs to pump faster. Get to the belltower at least, get to where you have the smallest chance of being caught by the people who guard this place.

As soon as you allow yourself to even conceive the possibility, two Brothers in dark hooded robes suddenly turn the corner a little ways in front of you and your reaction time is perfect—you jerk to a halt and take a single step forward as soon as they spot you. Since your momentum already committed you to it, you just have to walk, keep your head down, move directly past them and hope Din disappeared from behind you in time.

Step, step, step—keep going, control your breathing, you’re okay, you’re allowed to be up late tonight and they shouldn’t stop you. Walk right by… Stars, you feel their silent stares as you casually pass, and it just feels so cold and analytical compared to the kind of danger Din is gives off when dressed in the exact same clothing. He’s hard and tangible and an unrelenting force, where they just feel like ghosts that haunt this place. The threat they present is impersonal and detached, but the terror currently chasing after you is so real that he can read your mind.

You wipe the sweat from your brow as soon as you turn the corner, and your feet are already starting to speed up on their own knowing you’re out of their sight. Run, get to the belltower before Din does, you can see it standing tall about a hundred feet away. The stairs leading to the door come closer and closer, but you hear something behind you and it propels you faster. It’s like you can feel him right at your heels even though you haven’t seen him, snapping at your ankles even though your footsteps are the only ones you can hear anymore.

You scramble up the stairs and close the door behind you, spinning around and facing it even as you slowly retreat backwards into the moonlit tower, trying to stay quiet. Breathing through your nose, eyes shifting around the enclosed space, continuing to back up and away from the door. Where is he? There are so many windows that allow you to look outside, but why can’t you spot his movement through them? Wasn’t he right behind you?

Behind you.

There’s no reason or logic at all to it; you just react. Spinning around and throwing a mean punch.

Din jerks back just in time to miss it, twisting and dodging at the very last second to avoid your next few hits—but… things seem to slow down, even if they’re happening so fast. The moonlight cascades through the dozens of windows lining the circular walls and it shines just enough to reveal small glimpses of him. With every aggressive strike from you, you see something else—you see a flash of his chin when you try to uppercut, you aim for his chest and you see a bit of his jaw. When you go for his jaw, he steps sideways and catches your wrist, and you see the bend of his nose catch the light this time.

But then it’s like he finally figures out that you’re actually fighting him, and now he’s coming for you. Trained and ruthless, not weighed down by any armor and lightning quick, launching perfectly aimed attacks that you’re only able to avoid from reaction and muscle memory alone. You block or move whenever he strikes, you attack whenever you see an opening, you sidestep at the same time he does—

Until you land a spin kick directly to the center of his chest and snap your leg to shove him back, your heel smashing into that soft spot right above his stomach with dead precision and brute force. He exhales sharply and takes a few more steps back to steady himself while you pause to catch your breath.

Din abruptly comes back and you fall into it with him again, keeping a sharp rhythm with each other that’s faster, harder, and way more real than any sparring match you’ve ever shared. The hours and days in hyperspace you spent practicing with him are but a fraction of what he’s throwing at you right now, the combinations so rapid and blurred that you just have to trust your knowledge of him and his movement through the dark.

But then, your downfall. Bells begin ringing an earsplittingly familiar melody above you, and it shatters your concentration—you falter just as he grabs you and sweeps your feet out, and though you know how to get out of that, you’re not quick enough on the jump nor counterswing to prevent it. He takes you to the ground, hard, and then your wrists are being pinned together above your head and your mask is being tugged down.

Din’s mouth on yours makes you want to cry.

The whole thing is like coming home. You spent a week surrounded by strangers and having them call you by a name not given to you, fending for yourself, and now here he is. Someone who knows who you really are, someone that wants to care for you. Tears come to your eyes even as they're pressed tightly shut, and Din kisses you like he’s never known anything else. His mouth fits to yours as if the Maker made your lips before ever considering the rest of you, his bare hand clutching your jaw and forcing you to open for him, letting him lick deep inside after going so many days without it. It might feel dominant and overwhelming if it happened to any other person, but through it, you can also taste his desperation and weakness, how soft he is even when he’s squeezing your jaw and squishing your wrists together too tightly.

Rigid steel that bends only for your touch.

He pulls back and your heart throbs at how moonlight continues to bathe just the smallest glimpses of him under the hood—never the full thing, never the whole face, but enough. The quiet light that brushes the arch of his nose, how it bathes the hard line of his jaw so that you can barely see his scruff when he turns his head the right way. His eyes are hidden in near darkness but there’s the faintest glimmer where they should be, and it’s the closest you’ve ever been to looking at him without the helmet. You can see him, you can see shadows of his chin, his neck—dear stars, his fucking neck. You’re pinned and paralyzed under him and the ringing bells, yet you feel like you just might float if he wasn’t holding you so tight to the floor.

“Where’s the baby?” You finally lift your chin and ask, needing to raise your voice over the melody clanging loud throughout the tower.

“Making friends,” Din pants back down at you, and… stars, then you just start giggling. Adrenaline turning into pure joy, imagining the kid wreaking havoc with all the other babies in the nursery right now. It feels more light and airy than anything your body should know.

“What are you so happy about?” He asks, swallowing and then continuing on with the same quick gasps. “You lost, I caught you in time.”

“Did you?” You drop your head to the brick floor and ask, biting your lip as he stares back down at you. Suddenly—

—Bong—

Din holds utterly still over you while you take a quick breath and wait for the next eleven bells…

…but then break into a slow grin up at him when nothing but utter silence follows.

There’s a moment. Just a single moment where the cogs turn rapidly under that shadowy hood, one where the faint reflection of light in his eyes flickers down to the communicator on your wrist that says midnight and back to you, one that solidifies the longer it takes for another bell to ring. It’s not going to.

One o’clock.

You think he puts it together. The one moment he was never able to figure you out—when you tried reprogramming the comms just a few days ago. The one trick up your sleeve that you resigned to throw away and almost forget about because the circumstances for pulling it off were never realistic. Fuck with the electronics and set the clock back just one hour—all you’d need to do is reset his communicator, the timecode is synced together. He told you before that it’s connected to his helmet, but all the buttons still work. Rapid, panicky thinking and a wild surge of bravery in the face of certain downfall is the only reason you were able to pull it off, and you’re perfectly willing to admit you just got lucky… especially when he’s still holding dead still over you.

But then Din moves so suddenly. You can’t account for it because there’s no build-up whatsoever—it’s so fast, you yelp while he grabs your knees and throws them both to one side. You flop over sideways and large hands reach up under the draping length of your tunic to yank your pants down over the curve of your ass, before he’s fitting his palm up between your legs and pushing two thick fingers inside you.

Your head thunks back against brick with how unexpected and merciless it is, but his other hand is grabbing your jaw and twisting, forcing you to look up, stare right into the dark shadow under the loose cowl. The whole thing is too overwhelming—you’re trying to keep quiet but your breathing feels like thunder crashing inside this tall, echoing chamber. He’s touched you so many times, he knows exactly how to do it by now, but it feels like so much more than that. Probably because you can see the way Din’s mouth silently falls open as he feels you, stretching his fingers up and hooking them tight inside. You can tell when he closes his eyes, the smallest glint slowly disappearing into nothingness while the hand around your jaw blindly moves up. It catches your chin and lips, and then two fingers push over the bottom edge of your teeth to slip into your mouth.

Your entire leg twitches and jerks while you lay sideways on the ground and open up for him, your neck twisted at a sharp angle to keep your eyes on him and his fingers in your mouth, giving you something to bite to stop making noise. Din makes room for himself inside you two different ways, and you just choke on his fingers and try to stay quiet, praying he’ll go deeper.

But then you’re not expecting his whole fucking arm to start moving the way it does—oh fuck, what is that? First you just feel jostled and displaced, but then suddenly a wicked, deep, burning pleasure starts to roar through you, radiating outwards from the rapid motion of just two fingers inside you. It’s not in and out, it’s up and down so hard and quick against your g-spot that your eyes cross and your hands go numb.

You think you grab at him, clutch onto his arm or chest and open your mouth to moan at the new and overwhelming sensation, but his hand pushes up against your chin and closes it for you, the bend of his fingers caught hard between your teeth but you don’t think he cares.

“Quiet,” Din hisses the word down at you while his arm continues to work, your toes starting to curl as the feeling overwhelms you. Fuck, what is happening, what is happening? It’s like he’s just shoving unfamiliar sensation at you so forcefully that you can’t even think straight anymore, not even ten seconds in. You can only feel the pleasure, fire blurring hot and shapeless through your entire body as your eyes clamp shut, his fingers isolating that perfect spot and stimulating it directly, relentlessly.

Something dull and white hot presses up tight against all the muscles you have down there and you’re almost afraid of how strong it is. You gasp and choke and he has to take his fingers out of your mouth and just clamp down around your entire jaw, sealing the whole thing shut with his large hand. And then Din’s fingers leave your pussy too—and stars, you should be embarrassed by how desperately it clamps around nothing for as long as it does. He’s not even inside you anymore but your body is on such a delay from the hot, twisting pleasure, and he doesn’t put them back in until your muscles are finished spasming.

Everything comes back full force as soon as he starts moving again. Noise starts to come from your throat, humming in your vocal cords to deal with the arcing, swirling build, and so Din just moves his hand there instead. He finds where it’s vibrating from your neck and he pushes up against it, trapping the sound right at the source. He’s fucking perfect at it for some reason… how many times must he have done this to know how to cut noise out without stopping airflow? You clutch at his wrist and silently mouth his name, feeling his arm work between your legs—faster, faster, harder, pushing you higher, higher—

Din pulls his fingers out again and this time, one of your thighs suddenly feels warm and wet while you spasm and you hear him growl out a ragged, “Fuck yes.” Everything is sparks zapping through you long after his touch is gone, you cry out but it’s all trapped under Din’s expert grip. His fingers soon push back inside you and you dig your nails into his forearm, your sounds muffled and quiet enough to hear his raspy groan.

“Let me see it again,” Din breathes, his arm starting to work up and down once more, and you don’t even know what he’s talking about anymore. What does he want to see? You losing your mind again? Being reduced to an utter mess in front of his shadowy but unobstructed gaze just because you managed to pull one over on him?

Fucking… apparently. It’s what happens, after all. You’ve never seen him like this before; whenever he’s worked up and taking it out on you, there was always something in it for him, too. He’d hammer into you and rock your world until his eventually shattered, and then you’d both lay exhausted afterwards, equally affected and satisfied. This isn’t like that—this is just cruel, targeted retribution on his behalf, coaxing the molten pleasure out of you with his fingers and keeping his other hand locked around your throat. You blink helplessly up at him, your vision starting to blur by the time he leans down to whisper to you.

“I missed you, sweet girl. Did you miss me?” It’s so soft and quiet compared to the strength and relentlessness of his movements. You can’t speak even if you wanted to, but when he finally pulls away to yank his hand out and you feel all your muscles automatically flex outwards and push against the sudden emptiness inside you, his voice groans long and satisfied while your thighs get wet again “Yeah you did,” he breathes, pushing your shaky legs to the brick with his hand and watching you struggle through the aftershocks.

Did you just cum? You don’t even know, that’s how fucked up you are right now. The whole thing felt like an orgasm from the very beginning, just a boiling hot tornado ripping through every single cell in your body, never really having a peak. If you didn’t cum, then why do you feel so weak? You feel heavy, your limbs don’t work properly, and you barely even register Din pulling at the fabric of his own robes until he fits himself up against your entrance.

When you do realize it, though… your body burns with it, wrecked already but wanting him to take what he wants from you.

“Oh, plea—” you gasp but you don’t even have enough time to get the full sentence out. He’s already pushing his hips forward, pressing you tight into the ground and opening you up after what feels like a fucking eternity without him. It’s the hottest, slickest welcome you could give him, you hear it in the whispered curse his lips brush up under your ear, the wet noises your body makes that get louder the longer you hold the moan in your throat and bury your head into his shoulder. He throbs thick and perfect inside your tight, spasming cunt, stretching you and smacking the rough ground near your head with how fucking good it is to be back, finally, finally—

Your hands grab uselessly at his chest while you try to acclimate, try to breathe while you’re blind with sensation. It’s so fitting for him, isn’t it? That your reunion should be just as physically debilitating as it is mentally. Din’s voice scrapes on a groan like he’s dragging it across the brick ground as quiet as he can, catching when you clamp down on him and shuddering when you clamp down harder. That’s just it—you don’t ever loosen, you just keep tightening and tightening around him, threatening to break and cum again.

This feels different from before, though. It’s deep, purposefully so. His hand reaches up to push the fabric of your hood back, lifting himself up over your body and wanting to start as deep as he can. You feel him in a place you’d never be able to reach and that’s just the beginning—that’s before he starts thrusting into you, hitting a dull sensation at the apex of each movement so hard that it becomes sharp. His hips don’t make practically any sound smacking into you because they don’t really smack, they just rock downwards and fuck you into the floor without needing to pull out really at all. You know he’s just trying to keep it as quiet as possible, but what he lacks in speed and agility he makes up in power.

You don’t even realize you’re making too much noise until a palm wraps tight around your mouth and the room gets a little emptier. Din keeps you all to himself on the floor, silencing as much as he’s working you up, smothering as much as he’s freeing you. There’s no easing up, no dragging it out, no gradual build or climb—it’s just there all of a sudden, pleasure and pain pummeling you all at once, engulfing you in flames.

You reach up to grab at the loose fabric of the hood over his face, catching a fistful of it before his hand suddenly snatches your shaky wrist and pins it back to the ground.

Maker, you forgot—oh, you completely forgot about how many people could find you right now if they ever decided to look in the right place. You’re not in hyperspace; your body is rocking against rough brick, you’re probably going to have a lump on the back of your head from how terrible you are at trying to map out heaven while holding still. He’s pinned down what he can with one hand; your fingers are the only things that can move besides how tight you can curl your toes, but you feel your moans turn into words against his palm. They garble indistinctly and you’re not really even sure what you’re saying, but Din decides it’s worth hearing.

“Shh,” he whispers, slowly lifting his hand from your mouth. “Shh, tell me—”

“W-wanna look,” you hear yourself whimper, trying your best to keep quiet but wanting to scream it while he fucks you hard and slow on the ground, “—I wanna see, I wanna look at you—”

“Fuck,” Din gasps, and though his grip tightens on your wrist and you know he can’t do it right this second, the words seem like they shatter something inside him, “Keep—oh fuck, please, k-keep saying…”

“I want to marry you,” you nearly whine for him, feeling his hips kick up rapidly and start hammering in and out, in and out, in and—“I want to see your face, I wanna be yours, I don’t want anyone else to know you the way I-I—”

You think he drops his head into your neck to muffle his own sounds. Though they start out rough and quiet and indiscernible, but they gradually become louder as he repeats himself over and over again, growling and fucking you rough. You only catch it on the peak, when he pulls his mouth away from your skin and gasps them raggedly one last time.

“—ve you—I l-love y—”

He kisses you to stop himself. But it’s not really a kiss, it’s more desperate than that. Though it’s beautiful, it’s beautiful in a different light. It’s not rejoicing at having you back with him once again; it’s a last prayer begging you to stay by his side forever. He loves you. He gives it everything—it feels even more concrete and simple than taking the hood off him and revealing his face would. You told you that you'd know him without ever seeing him, and you did. You picked him out and found him when absolutely nothing was giving him away, and this feels like a manifestation of that. Even if you’re not in a place where he can show you his face, his beautiful brown eyes, something still feels like it changes. He loves you. You gasp into his mouth and his tongue sinks deep into yours, tenacious and brave and unyielding.

When you finally cum, you almost bite him on accident.

Everything surges hot and molten while he pulls back and keeps fucking you through it, and you can’t tell where you’re touching him anymore, just that his skin is blazing hot under your hand and he feels like everything the armor isn’t. He loves you. You’re looking into his eyes right now. You can’t see any of the details, not really, but the moonlight flickers like silent stars moving through dark depths, staring right back at you and giving you an anchor for the euphoria rocketing through you. He loves you. Your nails dig in sharp and slowly drag downwards, scratching hard red lines into whatever thick muscle that is—

The back of his neck, making his hips stutter and when he cums for you, he does bite.

You lift your head just in time to feel his teeth catch your chin instead of your mouth, and his entire body shakes while you keep dragging your nails down the side of his neck and his throat. Din fucking lives for it, he releases you and arches into the pain and owns your marks like he wishes you made them deeper, stretching his neck and lifting his chin into the moonlight and—

Maker. You can see it, with direct light, you can see more of it than ever before. You can see his soft lips and white teeth gritting the sound of your name as quietly as he can, the dark facial hair dusting across the lower half of his face. A fucking gorgeous jawline and throat extended long over you, flexing hard with his cock pulsing inside you. You can just barely see the bottom of his nose from under the brown hood, the dark curls brushing up under his ears.

Stars, you still never see his eyes, the fabric of his hood acts like a blindfold draped over them, but you think you cum again. Even if it’s on accident, it’s mean—Din tries to keep from squishing you and his hand pushes down hard against your lower tummy while he shoves his hips deep one last time, and you cum while staring at half of his face in the moonlight. Completely lovestruck.

How can he be this beautiful when you’ve only seen fractions of him? You have everything but the eyes now, everything but the most mysterious thing about him, the reflection into his deepest self, but you feel like you’re hypnotized by every single feature you do see. His tongue coming out to wet his lips, the vein pulling under his sharp jaw—he’s gorgeous, he’s gorgeous, and your body agrees. It shakes and shudders under him and eventually, Din finishes and you keep looking as his chin slowly lowers, face disappearing into the shadow once more.

Stars. He’s so handsome and no one has ever told him, fucking dreamy and the biggest grump you’ve ever met. Without being able to see him, you already want to reach your hands out and touch him, drag your nails through his scruff and force him to extend outwards into the moonlight again for you. Whenever he does end up showing you his face, you know right fucking now that you’ll never be able to look away. For the rest of your life, you’ll be staring at him, apologizing blankly for your rudeness but not feeling sorry at all.

Din leans down and gives you a slow, gentle kiss, finally relaxing into a slouch and breathing hard with the effort it took to shatter you with pleasure.

“The kid is with the other foundlings,” he whispers against your lips. “You… you’ll have to go get him, I need to grab my armor.”

You squeeze around his cock, pulling at the fabric of his robes and ignoring him for just a second. He fucked you in robes belonging to one of the guards and nobody has mentioned it, you need to say something. “Where did you get this?”

“I found it,” he tells you after a moment, kissing up under your jaw. Oh fucking Maker, he feels so good and perfect inside you, shoulders so broad and crowding you on the floor, and his lips are plush and hot, brushing and fitting your skin like it’s just an extension of his own. “Some guy was wearing it.”

It takes you a second.

“Mando,” you suddenly gasp in quiet horror, pushing at his chest and trying your best to detach his mouth from your throat. It’s so much more difficult than it needs to be, but you eventually succeed. “What did you do to him? Where is he?”

He lifts his neck up just the tiniest bit, turning his face towards yours under the hood and holding still for way too fucking long. He’s too close to see the expression he’s making, but you know the tone of his silence. He’s in trouble and he knows it before you do.

“Ma—”

“They’re in a closet,” he admits at the very same time, completely monotone.

You don’t know which word to emphasize. A fucking closet? They’re? Plural? Instead of stressing any particular word, you decide not to do it at all and it ends up just coming out in the same exact blank tone as him. “They're in a closet.”

“Inside the Temple,” Din continues on when you lay still as a statue underneath him. His head slowly dips down once more, pushing his hips against you just the slightest bit to make you remember the cock still inside you instead. Your eyelashes flutter with it—fuck, focus—“I didn’t know there’d be more than two.” He kisses your neck so gently. “It was an accident.”

You don’t say anything at all, your mouth pinching down at the corners because it should but your heartbeat galloping with how… fucking sexy he is. You shouldn’t encourage this, this horrible behavior just to get close enough to catch you, but your curiosity overtakes you and you ask a question you’ve asked yourself before. “Did they put up a fight?”

“Mm,” he whispers noncommittally, rocking his hips down once more. “You did.” Your nails dig into his chest, making him falter just slightly before slowly kissing your neck again. “Did so good. Fought hard, outsmarted me. Pretty fucking girl.”

And then your eyes pop open as you feel it. His cock suddenly beginning to harden once again inside you, twitching and gradually gaining a thicker shape, and for a moment, you actually fucking consider it. He’s the only one in this galaxy that could not only ruin you on these sacred grounds, but then coax you into doing it more than once—stars, are you actually considering it?

“We can’t,” you automatically tell him, but it’s fucking pitiful. Zero effort, absolutely no umph behind it, leaving it entirely up to him and how much he wants it. Your logic reminds you that the kid is probably wreaking havoc in the nursery and there are tied up guards in the fucking temple that could be discovered any second. You shouldn’t have even let him fuck you here in the first place, but… “Mando, we can’t—”

His mouth opens against the crook of your neck and his tongue brushes velvet hot on your skin, tasting the glistening sweat there and not moving his broad figure a single inch over you besides getting closer, deeper. Your nails dig into his collarbone, aiming for reason one last time. It’s apparent that you’d be better off rephrasing, knowing the challenging streak in him and how much telling him what to do doesn't help.

“It’s not a good idea,” you attempt instead, breathless and trying not to move under his mouth and lazy hips. “Not smart. Bad idea to fuck again.”

Din’s body stops moving, even though he keeps getting harder. His jaw opens and then his teeth scrape softly against your flesh, making you tilt your neck back and gasp.

“Later,” he lifts his head to state aloud, committing it to truth now that it’s been spoken and heard by another person. “Later, I’ll fuck you on the ship, in our bed, when I can get you naked and have your taste in my mouth.”

Tingles rock through your body and you squeeze around his cock just as he pulls it out and tucks it back into his pants. Your lungs quiver when you inhale—it’s shaky, but it reminds you of how long it’s been since you’ve been able to breathe correctly.

“Later,” you finally agree, combing your fingers through your hair and glad you have this hood to cover your freshly fucked dishevelment. He came inside you and you don’t want to be leaking and getting your nice pretty robes all wet and stained, but then of course, without any prompting, Din quickly scoots back on his knees and drops his head down to take care of it for you.

***

Commotion.

After Din helped you clean up the way he sometimes likes and then disappeared to change back into his armor, you put your mask and hood back on and tried to look as casual as possible walking to the nursery. Your knees wobbled slightly and you couldn’t stop smiling under the mask the entire walk there, but when you arrived, you just saw a dim room with sleeping infants—not what you were expecting. Soon, however, you hear it: down the hall, distant and coming from the dormitories, you hear a loud commotion.

Fuck, you’re nearly wincing with every step you take now, and not because you’re sore. Well, you… are, a little bit, but in a great way. No, you’re just dreading the ridiculous shinanigans you already know are well underway, wondering if Din actually dropped the kid off in the dorms from the beginning or if he somehow migrated his way there to cause trouble.

When you walk inside, the first thing you see is a handful of crying and shouting toddlers, and while you can’t immediately spot your favorite floppy-eared monster, you don’t have to see him to know he’s probably standing tiny directly in the middle of this tense showdown. Automatically, you’re taking a few steps forward to rescue him, but then you stop as soon as you see what the other babies are so mad about. A large piece of chocolate leftover from the festival levitating just beyond their pitiful little reaches.

Hm. Who could possibly be responsible for using demon powers to steal snacks and hold them hostage from a sizeable group of hostile children. A mystery that may never be solved.

It makes you take a second. The sheer… the… stars, you can’t even think straight—how fucking typical it is just hits you right in the chest, sends your heart into orbit. Of course. Of course this is what he’s gotten himself into without immediate supervision, of course this is the shipwreck you’d walk into, and you’re holding back a chuckle before making a single move to intervene. In the midst of everything, you can hear adults approaching distantly from behind you.

“—don’t know where it came from, I was helping the younglings into bed when I heard the ruckus and I—”

The voices gradually grow louder, and you snatch the floating piece of candy out of thin air and whip around right before Sister Drya and Naydee walk in. Their hushed, concerned conversation is cut to an abrupt end, and you clear your throat as they take you in, standing in front of chaos central continuing to go off behind you. Do you… look as freshly disheveled as you are? You’re not supposed to be here, you know, but hopefully the only strange thing is your presence itself and not anything concerning your appearance.

“Nerida,” the older lady suddenly announces, the name alone holding so much expectation, and the younglings missing their candy have now turned their ire towards you and the crinkly food wrapper hidden in your fist. “What is the meaning of this?”

“Ah, yeah,” you stand up a little straighter, letting the chocolate casually fall out of your grip behind you, and a stampede of feet suddenly kick up to recover it. It’s fine, nobody will know, it’s fine. “It’s just…” Your head tips behind you to the cause of the uproar, feeling a bit sheepish yet so incredibly fond. “My… kid.”

Sister Drya stares at you for a few seconds, before tipping sideways and staring at the culprit. “That is your child?”

You turn around just in time to see him, now abandoned by the angry mob of children, finally notice you. All of a sudden, his pitch black eyes light up something bright and sunshiney, and you just start beaming in return. What an adorable little creature, apple of your eye and pain of your ass.

“Yep,” you sigh, dropping into a squat and watching him barrel towards you, catching him right before he can trip over his brown potato sack and scooping him up into your arms. “Hiya, bug,” you murmur with a grin, lifting back up and plopping him in his favorite spot in the universe—your left hip. “You making friends?”

He giggles and it’s like sparkles and bubbles fill the room instead, wrapping tiny arms around the largest surface area he can get and clinging. He laughs with a tiny open mouth, bless him, clearly not understanding the sarcasm, and suddenly your eyes feel just the slightest bit wet. No, you’re not crying, don’t be fucking ridiculous, but you missed him like hell and he’s just the cutest fucking thing—why do you feel like crying?

“Sorry about that,” you apologize to the two women while slowly turning around, brushing your thumb over one of his cheeks and smiling as it squishes. “He’s… uh. Not great at sharing. We’ll work on it.”

Takes after his dad, you purposefully leave out, just a different kind of sharing. Din hasn’t shown you his full face yet and the kid performs magic tricks to taunt a roomful of children a fraction of his age for a single piece of chocolate, completely different kind of sharing.

Sister Drya says something in response, but when you look up to address her, all you see is Din standing silently behind her and Naydee, slowly dropping his hand from his helmet to his side. They don’t seem to notice he’s there and you automatically try your best to pay attention to the Sister speaking to you, but your eyes get caught on the silver reflecting in the dim light beyond. Fuck, he’s a presence. An immediate distraction, taking all your focus with a single glimpse. Seeing him fully armored again, staring at you from the silent shadows behind everything… you melt a little bit, knowing that you’ve seen more of what’s underneath than anyone. Your shoulders settle and your entire body burns warm, wobbly like the air around a fire, and one of the kid’s hands leaves you to reach out towards his dad.

You watch the metallic helmet tilt sideways after a moment, saying everything without saying anything. Come on, make up an excuse, let’s get out of here.

Looking at him in the quiet shadows, you’re reminded once again about how much you love him, how much softness you have inside you for a man so hard, so guarded. And, for the first time, a voice in your head finishes a poem you didn’t realize you were writing, adding its own verse and bringing everything back around to the beginning. He loves you, too. How much he lets his guard down for you, the way he’s revealed more of his face to you than not. You love each other. You’re family.

So, all at once, you decide to mess with him, because that’s what family does best.

“Don’t be shy, come say hello,” you suddenly urge his silent figure, taking a step forward and speaking directly to him. “Sister Drya, Naydee, I’d like to introduce you to my—”

It’s remarkable, you see it happen in front of you. Like he has powers of his own, Din just literally fucking disappears. Like magic, he’s nowhere to be found within a blink of an eye. You know he’s capable of it; he’s done it plenty of times during the chase just to fuck with your head, but you’re staring straight at him when it happens this time and it might just be the funniest fucking thing you’ve ever seen him do.

Sister Drya and Naydee both turn around to an empty hallway bathed in shadows and you laugh. A deep, shameless, loud belly laugh. Where the fuck did he go so quick? You were staring straight at him and you have no fucking clue. He’s just out, and you’re left alone with his child and the unspoken understanding that he’ll just catch up with you later.

You’re giggling even as you shake your head and give the women your genuine thanks for keeping you and feeding you these past few days, grabbing your backpack with all your belongings and eventually using three green fingers to wave goodbye to them. The very first thing Din says when he seamlessly joins you outside the Keja later is, “That wasn’t funny,” which just makes you laugh harder.

***

About a half hour has passed, and you’re walking along a dirt road, cradling a very happy baby in your arms and giving the grown man next to you an incredibly hard time.

“You’re unbelievable,” you mutter, your back twinging slightly at the way you’re leaning about as sideways as you can get without falling over. You think you’re basically just the hypotenuse between the ground and Din, who easily supports almost your entire weight with your backpack slung around his far shoulder and readily allows you to rest against him.

“They’re fine,” he grumbles in response, squeezing you tight to his side. You just have to focus on moving your feet; it’s like he’s practically carrying your upper-half anyways. “I gave them the night off.”

“You stuffed them in a closet,” you hiss, feeling his shoulder shrug under your cheek.

“I gave them the robe back,” he says, not really defending himself and more just throwing it out there to see if it helps any. “I’m sure someone’s found them by now, they’re fine.”

Your eyes suddenly go wide, absolutely mortified at the thought. “Wait. What do you mean you gave the robe back?”

He shrugs once more, apparently not seeing the problem yet. “I borrowed it, so I gave it back after I put my armor back on.”

If you could plant your feet on the dirt road and screech to a halt, you would, but all your weight is already resting on him and you’re working solely off his forward movement. You just hope your tone holds the same amount of shocked disapproval your body language would’ve conveyed if you weren’t so completely attached to his hip like a parasite he adores.

“You fucked me wearing it, though.” Your voice is strangely flat, so fucking confused and horrified by the mental image of him just tossing the soiled garments haphazardly somewhere in the temple behind you, or even worse, leaving them somewhere respectful, and Din soon stops in the middle of the deserted road.

“Oh,” is all he says, emotionless and blank through the modulator. Did he not even consider this?

“I had to promise them I was a virgin just to sleep there, you know,” you admit, and you can tell that’s brand new information to him with how still he goes as you continue to lean against him. You’re getting the feeling that he probably knows a lot more about your experiences on this moon than you think he does, but can tell that this is brand new information to him. “And you locked three of their holy men in a closet, chased me across the temple grounds, fucked me in one of their robes, and then. You gave it. Back.”

Din stays perfectly silent for quite some time. You can never go back to that place, you know this for a fact. You’re banned forever now, it’s what you deserve.

Never one to be outdone but not actually having anything to say for himself, Din suddenly decides to just scoop you into his arms and boost up into the sky without a single word like an actual fucking maniac.

You squeal and damn near drop the baby because of it, but he cinches you tight to his chest and refuses to loosen with your struggle. Eventually, after you realize he’s completely locked you in and you won’t fall to your death with this poor innocent child in your arms, you glance over the shiny pauldron on his shoulder and watch the kid’s crib disappear by the abandoned road as Din takes you higher and higher.

The crib—he forgot the crib—

“D-Din,” you stammer out through the whistling air, stiff as a board. Stars, you have such a different sense of adventure than him; an explorer and a daredevil, one who gets a thrill from discovering the existence of the edge of a cliff and one who’ll take a running dive off of it without thinking twice. He’s hit with blaster fire some days, he faces down death completely fearless like it owes him one every single time, and you’re stiff as a fucking board while he carries you through the sky. It’s stunning up here, it’s exciting and wonderful, but you’re so scared that you can barely even look. He’s giving you the most fantastical view, everything your budding adventurous streak could ever ask for, and your terror is crushing. It would be different if you could hold on, but you’re responsible for not letting the baby slip through your arms and you just have to trust that he won’t let you slip through his.

You raise your voice. “Din?!”

“I won’t drop you,” he automatically reassures, and well you sure as fuck hope not, but there’s something else.

“What about the crib?” You call out over the wind whipping, tucking the baby tight to your chest and settling your hands over his ears to avoid them flapping and whacking you repeatedly in the chin.

“We’ll come back for it,” he responds, just as easily. Maker, you wish decision-making came that easy to you, that commitment and choice should be so simple as to just fly away from things on the ground and promise out loud to come back for them. You know he will, but still, his spontaneity shocks you after spending the past week thinking every decision through meticulously, and you’re taken aback by the casualness of it all while soaring through the sky, committing such spectacular feats without a single thought beyond it.

Soon—incredibly soon, which honestly kind of blows your mind—you spot Nariss glowing in the distance and then you’re flying overtop of the city, slowly dropping altitude in the middle of a quiet little side street.

Din carefully allows your feet to settle on the ground before letting go, but you still stumble a bit stupidly after flying so high without any sort of safety measure besides him, prioritizing the steadiness of the baby in your arms instead of your feet underneath you. His gloves catch at your clumsy body and pull you along with him without another word, leading you out of the quiet alley and into the middle of a beautiful, luminescent street.

What’s he doing? He seems slightly hurried, and you’re clueless but you go with it, clamoring along behind him to wherever he’s leading you.

Though, you suddenly remember one of the very last things you told him last night right before he steps up in front of a vendor.

“Caf,” Din grunts, sliding a few credits towards the man standing behind the counter. “The… biggest one you have.”

Okay, well. You could just about fucking cry.

“Y’sure?” The vendor asks skeptically, jerking his head at the large thermos behind him. He’s balding, wearing a white outfit with his eyes scrunched up and forehead sweaty, likely working all day. “It ain’t fresh. Closin’ up soon, was just about to trash it and go home.”

The helmet turns to gauge your response to the news, the sharp angles and contours looking so sleek and dangerous as they reflect the colorful lamplights, but just filling you with comfort beyond anything in the entire galaxy. He’ll take that armor off for you tonight and you’ll sleep next to him. He’ll call you by your given name, or the fond name he’s given you, and you’ll cuddle your baby on a metal floor in hyperspace with him, and all will be well. Even if he needs to leave again soon—even if you don’t get to go with him, you’ll always have these small eternities with each other, and that’s more enough for you now.

You’re completely zoned out while staring at him, and Din turns back to the vendor before you can even remember the conflict he was attempting to defer to you.

“Yeah, just empty the whole thing in there for her,” he mutters, and you want to marry him. It’s been a long week, and in your haze and delight of being with him in this gorgeous setting, your brain turns to cavewoman mush. Big man, makes me happy. Strong man, loves me, knows me. Provider, makes me feel good, protector, loves me.

Din hands you the large cup of steaming caffeine, clueless to your grunted inner monologue but knowing better than to reach out and grab the kid from your other arm. You’re just fine like this, hands full, the little frog snuggled up against your side and blinking up at your face instead of any of the shiny or glowing things around you. When you look down at him, you can see the world through his eyes—quite literally, they’re reflective and gigantic—and his father’s hand quickly finds its preferred spot on your lower back.

“Try to drink it quick,” Din advises you gruffly, pulling you snug into his side and sloshing the big cupful of piping hot liquid in your hand.

“It’s a thousand degrees,” you protest, trying to balance your three favorite things in the universe all begging for your direct attention at once. “It has to cool down.”

He gives a dismissive hm in response, and you frown even as your heart soars with how tightly he’s gripping you, how little leeway you have to even move without him. Part of you is so thrilled at being reunited with him that you consider snarking something back at him, excitement making you brave. He could probably chug boiling hot liquid in thirty seconds and doesn’t see the point in letting it sit any longer, and you could make some stupid joke about filtering it through his helmet or having a built in bendy straw but you decide to keep it to yourself.

So then you just stand there together, under stringed lights and flowers everywhere, and he waits. Holding you glued to his side, completely silent and clearly just waiting for your caf to stop steaming so threateningly in your hand so you can drink it. For some reason, the fact that he’s wanted by the New Republic doesn’t really register at this second—you’re not looking for cops, though he may be. You’re just lost in this beautiful, fancy city that’s on the edge of finally quieting down after a long day, and you’d like to see more of it with him next to you.

“Well, do you wanna just…” You ask, tilting your head around at all the vendors. “Shop around for a bit?”

“Shop… around,” Din repeats slowly, sounding the words out like they’re not common Basic. Admittedly, they do sit a bit awkward in his voice when put together like that, describing a phenomena he’s likely never even considered a thing before, but it’s so fucking pretty here and you’d like to show him something this time instead of the other way around.

“Yeah, like,” you shrug a shoulder, tipping your head in a random direction. Anywhere, you’ll go literally anywhere with him, the three of you can go explore. “Just wander around, and look at all the pretty things.”

From where you’re standing right now, you can already see glittering crystals and jewels being sold at the tent across the street, there’s a booth dedicated entirely to floral arrangements and crowns next to it, you can hear a distant quartet playing melodically in the distance and a couple is being painted by an artist on the corner. Bars are in full swing at this point, as if they weren’t all day, and even though the merchandise is all different, the multicolored tents look slightly similar when they’re underlit with multicolored lights. It’s less slightly lively than it was in the daytime, but also… more beautiful, in a sense. Muted, softer, more romantic.

“I don’t have any more credits,” Din admits casually, finally turning to look around at everything. You get the feeling that he’s just now seeing it, even after spending the entire day here. “That stale caf was the last of it.”

Money well fucking spent, you can assure him of that.

“It’s okay,” you tell him automatically, gently bumping your hip into his. “We don’t need credits, we can just look.”

So that’s what you do. Even though it’s completely not his fucking style, for the next hour or so, you just walk around downtown with him and sip your caf, looking at anything and everything new and experiencing it with him. At first, you think he’s just entertaining you, following you while you discover new streets and attractions, but then he points out different things and you know he's looking, too. There are large animals harnessed up and pulling carts for people to ride, there's an enormous spinning wheel set up in the distance, its colorful lights flickering out as soon as you ask what the fuck that is and why anyone would ever get inside one.

You eventually end up finishing your caf around the time he’s leading you back through a quiet, abandoned alleyway, and you hand him the empty cup to throw away in one of the trash cans on the corner. The conversation has faded to a comfortable quiet and you don’t really need to ask—you go willingly, not requiring anything beyond his hands on you and the baby dozing in your arms.

“Come on, sweet girl,” he murmurs, gently sweeping you up into his. You sigh, glad he’s giving you a moment to prepare yourself this time, holding the sleeping kid securely to your chest and resting your head on his shoulder. “Let’s go home.”

After you’re comfortable, Din rockets up from the ground and climbs high up into the canvas sky. He disappears with you and the baby into the pastel clouds above, making it back to the Razor Crest in probably about an hour, maybe less. You and the baby do nothing more than climb into the comfy floor blankets while Din starts up the engines, and you think you’re dozing off together by the time he makes the pit stop to collect the crib and the jump into hyperspace.

You think he might shower? You’re not sure—you just know he moves up behind you in bed at one point without any armor, burying his face in your hair while you cuddle the sleepy kid to your chest. It’s dark in the hull, Din’s palms are bare and warm as they slide around the front of your body and he breathes you in, and there isn’t a single place that can touch you here, not a single place you’d rather be.

Home.

***

@followwhereshegoes Thank you for the stunning artwork! 💕To anyone interested in possibly doing an art collab in the future, please message me!!

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #mando x reader #mando x you #smut #reader insert #fanfic #star wars #rough day #no-droids

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oatflatwhite · 3 years

Text

post-5.04, direct continuation of the balcony scene™️ and inspired by @vampirebuck’s post

“Here, just let me—”

Eddie shifts from his place against the railing, setting his beer down on the table and squatting between Buck’s legs. His hand, so gentle, comes up to take the ice pack from Buck’s, pressing it lightly against the bruise. This close Buck can see the worried line of tension strung across his shoulders, the faint pink scar of a chemical burn kissing his neck.

He nudges Eddie with his knee.

“Hey, um,” and Eddie’s wrist is so close to his mouth, probably feels the exhale on the words, “thanks. For coming by. I know the shift was rough for you.”

Eddie hums. “Hen took it a lot harder.”

“Okay.” Eddie shifts the ice pack, leaning even closer to inspect the bruise. Buck’s eyes close, almost involuntarily. The last time he was this close to Eddie he had just been shot. He opens his eyes again to dispel the image; commits, instead, the furrow on Eddie’s forehead, the gentle way he bites his lip, the steady feel of his hand, warm and solid and real on Buck’s knee, to memory. “You know, it’s not a competition. You’re allowed to take things hard too.”

Eddie returns the ice to Buck’s eye. “I know.”

“Do you? Because it sounds like you know what you’re talking about with Maddie. About being the one who needs help, for once.”

“That’s not—”

“The same?” Buck lifts a hand to Eddie’s where it’s holding the ice pack. He draws it from his face, meeting Eddie’s eyes despite the throb of pain in his own. “You’re right. You don’t have postpartum. But Eddie, seriously—are you going to look at me and tell me the panic attacks are over now Ana’s gone? That you have nothing to worry about anymore? Because from where I’m sitting—”

“You really don’t give up, huh?” Eddie rocks back on his heels, arranging himself so he’s sitting, cross-legged, on the cool concrete of the balcony. After a moment Buck does the same, pushing the chair to one side even as his knees creak in protest.

“You’re the one who said I like to fix things. Which—I don’t know what the word on your street is, Eds, but usually it’s people picking up the messes I’ve made.”

“You’re serious right now?” Buck shrugs and Eddie sighs, huge and sweeping. “Buck. I barely even knew you and you introduced me to Carla to help out with Chris. You offered Albert a place to stay—hell, all of us, during quarantine—and don’t even get me started on your parents, who really don’t deserve everything you’re doing to try and mend your relationship but you just—you do it anyway.” He huffs, the sound not quite a laugh. “And what do you call this? You’re the one with a black eye and still you’re asking me—” Eddie breaks off, shaking his head.

“Okay, well.” Buck swallows. He picks at the denim over his thighs. “When you put it like that.”

“Uh huh.”

“So tell me.”

“What?”

“You said I’m still asking you—what’s wrong. So tell me, Eds.”

“It’s—”

“If you say ‘nothing’ I swear to God I’m gonna give you a shiner to match mine.” The outburst makes Eddie smile, which, really, had been Buck’s plan all along.

“It’s stupid,” he says after a moment. “I don’t know.”

“Hey.” Buck waits for Eddie to meet his gaze. “Stupid’s my specialty.” He shifts, nudging Eddie’s foot with his own.

“It’s just. Ana, she.” He stops, chewing his lip. “She was the thing making me panic. I know she was the thing making me panic but I—still feel? Anxious, I guess. Even though she’s—I mean.” He looks away, over the railing, to the city spread out around them. “And the call today. It was—God, it was fucking awful. The girl, she—we thought she was saying her own name, because Hen had asked, but she—she was saying her friend’s. And it—” He halts again, looking down at his lap. Buck follows the sentence to its natural conclusion.

“And it… reminded you. Of that day.”

“I don’t.” Eddie shakes his head, as though to dispel water from his ear. “I don’t even think about it, usually. Not that I don’t want to, I just—don’t. And I—I was pretty out of it, I only remember bits and pieces, but.” He swallows, audible in the lazy, quiet afternoon. “I remember you.”

“You.” There’s broken glass in Buck’s throat. “You said my name. You thought I—you asked if I was hurt.”

Eddie looks at him. “I remember.”

“Okay, so.” Buck’s picking at the seam of his jeans again. “Today brought it back? Is that it? Because Eddie, you’ve been off for a while, and—”

“It’s not it. I—I thought if I just. Moved forward, with—with work, with Ana, with—life, it would just—go away. For good.”

“Eddie.” Buck can’t help it; he laughs. “I’m pretty sure that’s called repression.”

“Yeah, that’s what Doctor Salazar said.” He chews his lip. “It worked for the army.”

“Did it?” Eddie looks away. “Listen, I—I’m no—fucking—expert, or whatever. But—that day hasn’t gone away, for me. I don’t know if it ever will. And I—I have an actual therapist, to talk through shit with, and I wasn’t even the one who got shot and it—it hasn’t gone away.”

Eddie shifts to collect his beer from the table behind him but doesn’t take a sip; plays idly with the bottle instead, picking at the label. “Why am I here, Buck?”

Buck blinks. “Um—I don’t—”

“I mean.” The corner of the sticky paper peels away from the glass. Eddie presses it back on. “Why am I here, and not Taylor.” He doesn’t say it like the question it should be, and Buck—Buck knows the answer. He thinks Eddie probably knows it too.

“She’s working,” he says, instead. “You’re not.”

Eddie’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Right.”

“Hey, listen—”

“I should go,” Eddie interrupts. He sets his beer back on the table and shifts himself to standing, easing out the kinks in his back. He must see something in Buck’s face because something in his own loosens, gentles, and he adds, “I’m not—running away. I actually do need to get Chris.”

“Yeah. Course.” Buck boosts himself back onto the chair. The ice pack Eddie’s still holding loosely is half-melted and dripping condensation.

“Okay, just—hang on.” Buck watches Eddie duck inside, replace the ice pack in the freezer and divest a bag of peas from the carefully stacked interior. He wraps it in a fresh tea towel from the linen closet by the bathroom and pads back out onto the balcony, handing the parcel to Buck. “Twenty minutes on, hour off, okay?”

“Sure thing, doc.” Eddie rolls his eyes. “No, no—hear me out. You do kinda look like McDreamy from—”

“Goodbye, Buck,” Eddie says. He sways, as if to turn to leave, then leans back in at the last minute and adjusts the fold of the tea towel where Buck’s fingers are holding it in place. Their hands touch.

“This conversation isn’t finished,” Buck says, and it comes out almost a whisper. Eddie is so close he can make out the individual eyelashes fanned against his skin. He smiles, small and pleased, the way he often does around Buck and no one else besides Chris. Buck tucks the sight away, as much of a balm as any ice.

“I’ll pencil it in.” As easily as he’d leaned forward Eddie now steps back, collects his and Buck’s beers from the table and walks inside to deposit them by the sink. He shrugs into his jacket where it’s folded carelessly on the kitchen island. “Don’t get into any more fist fights while I’m gone?”

“That’s more your thing,” Buck calls and can see the roll of Eddie’s eyes even from here. He adjusts the bag of peas, closes his other eye, and listens to the sound of the front door open and then quietly shut, the way Eddie always closes it; careful of the rickety hinge.

#911 #911 on fox #911 spoilers #buddie #buddie fic #buddiefanfiction #evan buckley #eddie diaz #oatflatwrites #not super happy with the ending but whatever

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vicious-vixxxen · 3 years

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SugarDaddy!Enji X SugarBaby!Male Reader <3

Not entirely sure where this came from, but couldn’t help myself once it started :3 nothing crazy, and kinda short, so apologies for that, but I hope you guys enjoy it! Prompt fills should be out later this month: In the midst of a move, so slow going getting fills, out, but hopefully soon <3 thanks for the patience, and the continued support. Much love to you guys! Enjoy :3 Sugar Daddy!Enji x Sugar Baby!Male Reader

(Sort of, kind of, it is but also not entirely the focus)

“What would you do without me, dad,” Fuyumi sighed, though her smile was palpable, even if Enji couldn’t see it- as she’d stepped behind him to lint roll his dinner jacket. Enji adjusting his watch, and catching the time, puffing his chest up a bit as he shooed his daughter back, and glanced at himself in the full length mirror once more, briefly. Enji would lie down and accept the sweet, bitter kiss from the grim reaper, before he ever told his daughter just where he’d found his date from. But, and as hard as it was to so much as admit it, Enji did know when to wave the white flag of defeat, and after three hours of trying to pick his own outfit, he’d shuffled off to her room and mumbled the bare minimum about having a date from an app tonight. Fuyumi had freaked out for all of ten minutes, before growing startlingly serious, and rifling through his closet for articles of clothing Enji had no idea were even there. And now...well, he looked more presentable than he had in ages. Granted, his wardrobe consisted of his hero suit ninety nine percent of the time, but still. Bidding Fuyumi goodbye was a whole other ordeal, but soon enough, Enji found himself- or rather, his driver, pulling up along the curb of the restaurant he’d asked you to. Not even a moment to gather himself, or suck in a few lungful's of crisp evening air, before his eyes landed on you. Your dazzling smile so bright, Enji had to keep himself from squinting, as you hurried over, and without so much as a hello first, threw your arms over the hero’s broad shoulders, and brought him down into a tight, warm hug. Enji squeezed back awkwardly, though your cologne was mouthwatering, and the feel of someone wanting to be in his arms almost made the older man dizzy, as he pulled back, and smoothed out the front of his jacket. Just to busy his hands, as you eyed him up, and your smile grew softer. More intimate. “It’s so nice to meet, finally. In person.” You laughed, gesturing for Enji to follow you to the front door, as there was already a man waiting to escort you back to your table. Well, Enji thought. Here goes nothing.

“You’re nervous,” you pointed out quietly- gently, reaching across the table to lay one of your hands over Enji’s much larger one: meeting the older man's gaze as he stopped jiggling his leg, and focused his full attention on you. “Observant,” Enji huffed, though not unkindly, as he took a deep breath, and reached up with his free hand to tug at the neck of his sweater. Cheeks flush, both from the heat within himself, and his nerves. You were much more...handsome? Pretty? Drop dead gorgeous?- than your profile pictures had given you credit for, and even then you were one of the most beautiful specimens he’d ever laid his eyes on, so that was really saying something. “I try to be,” you laughed, bringing your other hand around to sip at your champagne, before laying your glass-chilled hand over the other covering Enji’s, to clasp them on either side- just holding his hand, and smiling. Awkwardness creeping back up Enji’s neck as his throat worked around the words he couldn’t quite find. “I could talk, if you’d like? And you can interject whenever you’d like. No pressure to, if you’re not ready. I could probably talk enough for the both of us.” You we’re trying to cut the man some slack, bless his big confused heart. Your online chats hadn’t divulged much, though you did get the gist from Enji. Bad relationship with his children. Not too close to anyone of his own age. He was lonely. And so were you. You were also broke as fuck, but all thoughts of monetary value flew out the window the second you hugged the man when you’d arrived. Seen the restaurant he’d asked you to; and the private balcony dinner he’d arranged. Enji was trying so hard, and it made your heart beat a little too fast. Your smile almost too bright. “That...would be preferable, thank you,” Enji replied gruffly- though he cleared his throat after like he’d done it by accident. It only made you smile wider “Of course. A very considerate daddy you are,” you teased, referencing the website you met on jokingly- or at least, half jokingly- though the way Enji’s blush deepened had you stuttering around your first few sentences- glancing down suddenly as Enji turned his hand palm upward- holding your hands in return, as you laughed, suddenly, and began speaking smoothly. Squeezing the man’s hands in silent thanks, as he listened intently to you rambling on about your life. Where you went to school, what instrument you played, your favorite movies, and books. He really /listened/, grunting every so often to show you he was- and even interjecting with questions every so often; Enji really wanted to know about you. He wanted to listen. You’d never quite had anyone like that before. Not even close friends who cared enough to really listen to you. Your chest felt tight suddenly as you began touching on your most recent life happenings. Pausing slowly, voice getting quiet as you held Enji’s gaze, you lifted the older man’s hand to press a kiss to his palm. Snickering into it as Enji’s flames burst across his face at the contact. “Ah-Ahem. What uh...what’s that for?” He questioned, voice husky as he turned away slightly. Embarrassed at his flames for the first time since he was a pre-teen. “Just thanks, for listening,” you admitted with a shrug, kissing his palm again, even softer this time. Enji turned then, pure honesty in his gaze as he gathered his courage to speak clearly, “I could listen to you speak...for hours, if I’m being honest. You have..a lovely voice.” “Ah,” You nodded, your cheeks just as flushed as the hero’s as you swirled your champagne in its glass gently. Missing completely the way Enji’s face fell, and he withdrew his hands from atop the table, and back into his lap. The rest of the night went pretty much the same, though you noticed Enji seemed slightly more reserved, and gruff than before. Still just as attentive, still nearly mute, just more...withdrawn. Less open then he’d become as you spoke. It wasn’t until the date had come to an end, and he was escorting you out of the restaurant, and to the car he’d called to take you home, did you realize why. “Here you go.” Enji spoke quietly, yet clearly, crowding you in slightly so the valet couldn’t see the wad of cash he was holding out to you. Crisp bills neatly folded into a money clip, engraved with Enji’s initials. “Oh.” You’d almost forgotten by this point that this was sort of part of it. Or...well, it was the whole point, really. Or had been. “That’s….quite a lot of money,” You thought aloud, frowning at the way Enji’s brows drew down tightly, and he thumped the money into your chest gently. “I apologize for the evening. Please, just take it. It’s triple the amount we originally spoke of. Compensation for the poor company I’ve been.” You froze, staring between Enji’s eyes, that wouldn’t meet your own, and the cash being held out to you, Enji’s grip so tight on it his knuckles were white. /Oh/. So that’s what he thought. Earlier in the evening, your reaction to his sincerity, he’d read into it wrong. ….Sweet old man. “Silly daddy,” You sighed, smiling despite the situation- reaching up to tug out one solitary bill from the stack, before pressing Enji’s fist back into his own chest with one hand- the other snaking up and around the man’s neck, to ease him down to your level gently. “I can’t say I’ve ever had a more wonderful time with anyone before in my whole life. You listened, and saw me. And only me. For hours. I don’t think I can properly describe how absolutely wonderful that was. Truly. Silly,” You laughed again, watching the way Enji’s shoulders hunched, and tensed, a myriad of emotions flitting across his face, before he settled on bewilderment it seemed. The tiniest flames danced across his cheeks as you leaned up on your toes, brushing noses briefly, before capturing Enji’s lips in a soft, chaste kiss. Hand carding up and into the soft hair at the nape of Enji’s neck, scraping your nails through his scalp gently as your lips began to move against one another. Unsure, and hesitant, before that quickly melted away, leaving only the deepest desire, and want. A soft, needy noise leaving your mouth, that Enji swallowed up happily. Panting into your face as he pulled away, breath a wash of champagne, and the chocolate cake you’d both had for dessert. “Tip...for your driver,” You breathed, slightly dazed as you fell back into the car, feet firmly on the ground now- tapping your pocket where you’d slid the bill from the stack he’d held out to you at first. “I...should get going. But if I don’t have a text from you with the details of our next date when I get home, i’ll be one very disappointed boy,” You admitted quietly, cupping Enji’s cheek briefly- thumb sliding across his plump bottom lip, before you opened the back door of the car, and slid in. Wishing Enji a goodnight, before the door was shut, and you were being driven off towards home. Enji checked the time briefly as you pulled away, and once more when he finally was able to get his legs working again- nearly an hour had passed, in which he’d tried and failed multiple times to collect himself. Had that really just happened? The feel of his lips twisting up into a smile felt strange, and foreign for the pro hero. And as he walked home, to allow himself a chance to breathe finally, he began to laugh. Cupping his own face, and touching his lips, an incredulous laugh bubbled from deep within him as he threw his head back and allowed it to overtake him. Smiling in a way he hadn’t in...so, so long. Pulling his phone out, he immediately began texting you, checking your schedule for the next night, before suggesting going to a play. A quiet, private balcony just for the two of you. Close seats. Beautiful music. He could watch your reactions under the bright stage lights. It sounded fantastic. A text from Fuyumi chimed into his phone as he was nearly home, and still smiling like a love struck teenager. So? How was it!?-FT Enji sighed heavily, catching himself in a nearby shop window- looking too happy to be real, and recalling your words from earlier. Wonderful.-ET It was wonderful, Fuyumi.-ET

#bnha x reader #bnha x male reader #bnha x y/n #mha x reader #mha x male reader #mha x y/n #enji todoroki x male reader #enji todoroki x reader #enji todoroki x y/n #endeavor x reader #endeavor x male reader #endeavor x y/n #endeavor #enji todoroki #viciousvixxxen

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wangxianficrecs · 3 years

Text

Follower Recs

~*~

Hello Mojo, hope you're doing well and that you had a good break! I wanted to signal boost the MDZS May Diaspora event collection on AO3, and point out my favorite fic from there: 归心似箭 | Longing to Go Home by dragongirlG! It's both tender and bittersweet and it features such mature writing. The author got some hate for it when it initially got posted so I wanted to counter that and give it some love instead! [Who would do such a thing?! @dragongirlg-fics I’m sorry that happened to you, and here, have *so many hugs!* I’ll try to do a thing just for the diaspora event, but meanwhile, I’ll just treat this as a follower rec.]

归心似箭 | Longing to Go Home

by dragongirlG (M, 8k, wangxian)

Summary: The destruction of the Yin Tiger Seal does not kill Wei Wuxian; it ages him instead. He takes shelter in a cave expecting to die, but instead he lives, slowly learning to embrace life with each new day.

Thirteen years later, a young man with a Lan forehead ribbon stumbles into the cave. His name is Lan Sizhui.

~*~

Hi Momjo!!! I recently read the most *adorable* fic, and I loved it so much that it dragged me out of seclusion (read: social anxiety cave) to rec it. It's called 'Covered in Bees' by ScarlettStorm in which the Cloud Recesses is an apiary, and Wei Wuxian has suddenly found himself host to a swarm of bees. ~ @akyra-talanoa

Covered in Bees

by ScarlettStorm (T, 8k, wangxian)

Summary: “Cloud Reccesses Apiary,” says a toneless, deep masculine voice, with zero question in it. Wei Ying doesn’t care, because whoever possesses that voice is probably going to come save him from bees like a fucking hero while wearing like, a suit of armor. That’s what you wear to catch bees, right?

“I have like, so many bees outside my front door right now,” he says, mouth running out ahead of him before he can even begin to think about reining it in. “It’s like a sandstorm of bees out there. There are so many bees. I got out of my car and there were just bees and I don’t want these bees. Do you want these bees? Please tell me you will come get these bees. I can’t leave my house and I have enough food for maybe a week but then I’m gonna have to learn how to cook dry beans and no one wants that, especially not me.” Wei Ying runs out of air, takes a breath, and belatedly adds, “My name is Wei Ying. Hi.”

Or: The beekeeping AU that no one asked for.

~*~

Hi, you are a bless to this fandom. Your blog feels like a library, so thoroughly arranged and always within hand reach. [Thank you, wow!] Recently, I was going through Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn is a Wēn tag and came across a fanfic, it has 3 chapters till now and is so intriguing that i thought to recommend it to you. I don't know if I can recommend or if you have already checked the story, The legendary Phoenix and his Dragon by Devipriya. I am in love with this story. I hope you will enjoy it too, do check it out

The legendary Phoenix and his Dragon

by Devipriya (T, 7k, wangxian)

Summary: Wen Wuxian, the essence of who he is, he is a naughty child, a prankster, an enchanting dizi player, a graceful dancer, an irresistible lover, a truly valiant warrior, a ruthless vanquisher of his foes, a man who left a broken heart in every home, an astute statesman and kingmaker, a thorough gentleman, a righteous individual of the highest order, and the most colorful incarnation.

He has been seen, perceived, understood and experienced in many different ways by different people. Different people saw different facets of who he is. For some, he is God. For some, he is a crook. For some, he is a lover. For some, he is a fighter. He is so many things.

But the phoenix, seen from the eyes of time was just a playful man. A man who plays with his awareness, with his imagination, with his memory, with his life, with his death. An individual who does not just dance with somebody. He dances with life. He dances with his enemy, He dances with the one he loves, He dances even at the moment of his death.

To taste an essence of who is Wen Wuxian, be with me in the journey of exploration, NO! playful exploration of life of a playful man.

~*~

Hi! Thanks for running this blog, it's helped me find so many fics. For your next follower recs post, I wanted to rec "This love like a flood, a fire, a fear" by natcat5. Its summary is vague (which I suspect is why it isn't better known) but it is a beautiful retelling of canon from LWJ's POV with slight canon divergence. I love the author's characterization of him and the prose is gorgeous. It is easily my favorite fic in the entire fandom, and I don't say that lightly. ~ @nyanja14

This love like a flood, a fire, a fear

by natcat5 (M, 57k, wangxian, lan wangji & lan xichen)

Summary: “I will love you as misfortune loves orphans, as fire loves innocence, and as justice loves to sit and watch everything go wrong.” - Lemony Snicket

~*~

i came to this ask to rec this baseball one called "Waiting for Spring" by thievinghippo on ao3. It somehow made me care about baseball soooo 'nough said ~ @scifikimmi

Waiting for Spring

by thievinghippo (E, 131, wangxian)

Summary: “It is a well-known fact across the major leagues that one does not smack Lan Wangji’s ass.”

Wei Wuxian rolls his eyes. Everyone smacks everyone’s ass in baseball. It’s how the game is played. Lan Wangji does not get to be exempt from this most sacred of baseball traditions.

Wei Wuxian will make sure of that.

Or, a Major League Baseball AU

~*~

hi mojo! i wanted to rec Something Good by boxoftheskyking (a loose sound of music/canon divergence au) and also MDZS: The Golden Engine by iffervescent (immortal wangxian modern au where they gotta solve a mystery and save china, featuring jiang cheng/lan xichen)

Something Good

by boxoftheskyking (T, 43k, wangxian)

Summary: "That Wei Wuxian, you know he used to be such a promising cultivator. Head Disciple of the Jiang Clan, can you believe it? You see, juniors, the punishment for traveling the path of demonic cultivation. No golden core, not so much as a whisper of spiritual power."

As a punishment for real and imagined crimes, Wei Wuxian is sentenced to work at Cloud Recesses as the lowest of servants. When a surprising reassignment lands him with eleven children to care for, everything changes again.

A Sound of Music AU

MDZS: The Golden Engine

by iffervescent (E, 82k, wangxian, xicheng)

Summary: In the modern era, immortals Lan Zhan and Wei Wuxian return to Gusu. New evil and old friends + new friends and old evils.

~*~

Hi Mojo! First of all let me just tell you that you are amazing and this blog is like a gift from the gods! Bless you and your endless patience and hard work. [Oh, thank you so much!] I know that you have just accepted follower recs and I have missed miserably but I still wanted to write and bring attention to a writer by the pseudo Xiao_Hua on ao3, I think they are quite good and I just recently found the account with so much content. If you do have the time to check them out, I'd rec catfish, my fox or the red ribbon.

The Red Ribbon

by Xiao_Hua (M, 21k, wangxian, TGCF crossover)

Summary: Wei WuXian died but not before saving HanGuang-Jun and A-Yuan, leaving so much more behind than just his ribbon.

My Fox

by Xiao_Hua (E, 13k, wangxian)

Summary: Once he headed to YiLing that all changed for him. His priorities have been mingled with and ordered in complete disarray even without him noticing as he was left heavily influenced by a creature.

Or one where Lan WangJi is a dragon-spirit and he finds his mate in the form of a fox.

Catfish

by Xiao_Hua (E, 15k, wangxian)

Summary: Wei WuXian has a common sense that believes it has a nine-to-five job while Lan WangJi finds that incredibly hot.

Or one where two catfish realise that neither of them truly catfished.

~*~

Hi Mojo i'm recommending this amazing fic it is called song of joys and regrets. it's a time travel AU it's amazing. And your Blog is a Godsend Thank you! [Aw, you’re so sweet!] ~ @highgoddess

Song of Joy and Regrets

by HelloKitten (not rated, 59k, wangxian, WIP)

Summary: The Archery competition at Qishan this year has hit a snag. As the Sects face the wrongs perpetrated by their future selves, Wei Wuxian finds himself adopted by half of the cultivation world who are determined to save him from himself.

Baby Wangxian suffers. Adult Wangxian's job here is done.

"I'm starting to see a pattern to all his plans..." "Do they all involve him being bait?" "Yes" came deadpanned responses.

~*~

Here’s a 2021 Reverse Big Bang entry, in time for Father’s Day; [Oops, my bad, sorry!] Under a Blanket of Black Wings, by ChaoticAndrogynous (#31398395); LWJ, recuperating from the 33 lashes, tells A-Yuan a series of fairytales about a heroic monster and the brave little boy he befriended. Vampire! WWX (in the framing story as well as the story-within-the-story); happy ending.

Under a Blanket of Black Wings

by ChaoticAndrogynous (T, 19k, wangxian)

Summary: Lan Wangji tells A-Yuan a bedtime story about a beautiful monster and the brave little boy who was his friend. Thirteen years later, the monster returns.

~*~

Hello Mojo! Have you read ‘Key Differences’ by Pupeez4eva? Its a MDZS!WWX meets CQL!WWX and its really good! [It’s on my list!]

Key Differences

by pupeez4eva (T, 6k, wangxian)

Summary: “I don’t understand,” Wei Wuxian said, while his alternate self continued to stare at him with almost a look of hurt in his eyes. There was longing in there too, which Wei Wuxian would have easily recognised if he paid enough attention. “How could you not get together, after everything. What even went on in the Guanyin Temple if you didn’t confess?”

“The Guanyin Temple,” Wei Ying repeated incredulously. “You’re asking me if I confessed at — honestly, a lot went on that day. It was a life and death situation. There was no confessing.”

Wei Wuxian stared at him, appalled.

(Wherein Wei Wuxian ends up meeting an alternate version of himself who, much to his horror, never married Lan Wangji. Obviously he has to do something to fix this).

~*~

Hey Mojo i would recommend this fanfic if you already haven’t, it’s called “ take me back to a time “ by DizziDreams. It’s sooooo good

take me back to a time

by DizziDreams (T, 144k, wangxian, 3zun)

Summary: Wei Ying has a lot on his plate right now.

It’s finals week -- which isn’t so bad. He’s never had to study much to do well in classes. But that just means that things are that much more tense with Jiang Cheng, who, as far as Wei Ying can tell, only takes study breaks long enough to glare at Wei Ying where he sits on the couch playing video games.

It’s not studies that have Wei Ying stressed out. It’s everything else. It’s the recruitment for the research trial he’s coordinating. It’s jiejie and her impending marriage to His Royal Douchebag Jin Zixuan. It’s the volunteer work at the palliative care facility. It’s Wen Ning’s worsening condition. It’s Wen Qing working herself thin to care for her brother and Wen Yuan. It’s the way Wen Yuan never seems to have enough food.

So, yeah. There’s enough on Wei Ying’s plate already, meaning it’s not entirely welcome when he comes home and finds a man standing in his bedroom. A man in extravagant white robes, a ribbon tied around his forehead, long hair gathered into a topknot, fist clutching a sword at his side, who asks him, “Where am I?”

~*~

Idk if this has already been rec’d (I’ve been off the grid for a while now), but there’s this absolutely incredible fic called Restitution by an anon on ao3 people should definitely check out!

this one?

on restitution

by Anonymous (M, 78k, wangxian, jin ling & wei wuxian, lan sizhui & wei wuxian, WIP)

Summary: When Wei Wuxian regains consciousness, he is in a bed. A real, proper bed, not the slab he called a bed in his cave in the Burial Mounds.

Jiang Cheng is glowering above him.

Wei Wuxian doesn't die during the siege of the Burial Mounds. Rather, he is captured in secret and confined at Lotus Pier. Things change accordingly.

~*~

Hi momjo! I feel like every time I come to your blog there's twenty more new and amazing fics for me to read. Thank you for everything you do for this fandom! [Thank you, sweetie! And yes, I think there ARE 20 new fics every day out there in the fandom. It’s amazing!] Today I come bearing my own rec to you. I've recently read this and it's IMO one of the best fics out there. It's called Lapsteel by carriecmoney and it's a modern stormchaser AU featuring country songs and coming home. ~ @manaika-chan

Lapsteel

by carriecmoney (T, 42k, wangxian)

Summary: Now and then, I think about you now and then...

It's been thirteen years since Wei Ying ran for the prairies, leaving behind a family in shambles and a secret on the Pacific wind. What happens when the storm he swirled catches up to him?

Modern AU with country music star Lan Zhan, stormchaser Wei Ying, and shared crossroads.

~*~

#wangxian fic rec #follower recs #wangxian #mdzs #the untamed #follower rec #I HAVEN'T READ THESE YET

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ibis-gt · 3 years

Note

*slides you 37 pennies* how would luther handle trying to go on a public date with cam (movie, restaurant, etc.) with the whole… affection turns height to no.

had two requests for this one so here u go! luther does his best to keep it together for date night. 2750 words, warning for brief mention of violence in a movie and some hanky panky between consenting adults. not explicit, just a little spicy.

~~~

Four months into their relationship, and Luther has more of a handle on things now.

He’s got the size thing totally under control. He hardly ever shrinks just because Cam looked at him anymore. He can take a compliment like a champion. Those soft, sweet, gentle smiles that spread across Cam’s face like molasses? Barely make him lose an inch. Physical contact? He’s… still working on that one.

But at the very least they can have date nights in public now, as long as Cam behaves himself, and Cam is quite willing to behave himself. Most of the time.

It’s a snowy Saturday night in December, and they’ve got a date planned. Cam will pick Luther up at eight, they’ll go have dinner at a local sushi place, watch a late night special feature from the 80s, and then come back home for some wine and light snuggling before bed. An absolutely perfect night, if Luther can make it through enough of it full-size.

He’s still debating his outfit when a gentle knock at his front door heralds his beloved’s arrival. Five minutes early as usual.

“It’s open!” Luther calls. “C’mon in and help me choose, will you?” He’s standing in his bedroom in a pair of black slacks with the horrid green jumpsuit undone and tied around his waist, staring critically at his two choices of top. A lovely turquoise turtleneck, or a stylish electric blue button-up. The floor creaks behind him as Cam ambles in. “Which one do you think is better? I guess it depends on what you’re wear - eep!”

Luther squeaks and jumps as Cam presses his lips to Luther’s neck, big warm hands sliding up his arms to rest on his bare shoulders, sending an involuntary shiver down his spine.

“Both look nice,” Cam murmurs in his ear. “But I think I like the blue one better.”

“C-cam,” Luther whines, his face going pink. “If you keep this up we’re not even going to get out the door.” The hands remove themselves, and Cam pulls back, chuckling.

“Sorry. Couldn’t help myself. All that exposed real estate, you know.” He lets out a perfect wolf whistle. God damn him. Luther glares over his shoulder and folds his arms, letting annoyance take over.

“We’ve been planning this for weeks, and you’re going to ruin it,” he pouts. “Go on, out. Wait in the living room if you’re going to be like this.” Cam puts his hands up in a placating gesture and retreats, but that damn smile doesn’t leave his face. Luther tosses his hair and huffs, secretly proud of himself. He didn’t even lose a half inch. He turns back to consider his options.

Well, if Cam is so focused on his neck tonight, that sweater might be the better option to afford him some protection. But he said he liked the button-up better… It’s lighter than the sweater so it won’t keep him as warm, but that means he can steal Cam’s big coat later on. The turtleneck would completely cover the green jumpsuit, but the blue of the button-up actually compliments it nicely. Luther nods decisively. The button-up will be perfect.

He dresses quickly, gives himself a final once-over in the mirror, unbuttons his top button, and heads out to see Cam. His boyfriend - his boyfriend! The thought still sends a thrill through him - has picked up the cat, Scrunge, and is stroking her head, making little baby noises at her. She purrs in her usual way, fast and loud, like a revving motorcycle. Cam sets her down when he sees Luther and sighs happily.

“You look fantastic,” he says.

“You clean up pretty nice yourself.” Luther crosses the room and fondly brushes a loose strand of hair behind Cam’s ear. Cam’s in a dark grey v-neck shirt and black suit jacket, slightly tarnished silver cufflinks adorning the sleeves. He’s got his big heavy winter coat draped over one arm so he doesn’t overheat in the relative warmth of the apartment. Luther sneaks a covetous little glance at it before grabbing his own shabby coat off a hook near the door.

He bends down to give Scrunge a goodbye scritch behind the ears. “Behave yourself while I’m out,” he tells her. “No tearing around the place and knocking things over.” She meows plaintively. Luther retrieves her bag of treats and gives her two as a bribe, which she accepts happily.

“Okay,” Luther says, straightening and shrugging on his coat. “Ready?”

“Ready,” Cam says, and takes his hand.

They walk to the restaurant. No point in searching for parking, it’d take longer than just hoofing it anyway. It’s been snowing on and off throughout the week and piles of dirty slush cover the sidewalk. It’s cold, but Luther’s coat is keeping him warm enough for now. He and Cam hold hands as they walk to the restaurant, and Luther doesn’t even shrink a little bit. His chest swells with so much pride he thinks his feet might leave the ground.

The place is only a little busy, so they have a short wait before they’re shown to their table. They get their usual orders. Luther prefers simple rolls and nigiri so the taste of the fish is front and center, while Cam likes to get the complicated, loaded rolls for the variety of texture and flavor. While they wait for their food to arrive, Luther fills Cam in on Scrunge’s latest reign of terror in his apartment, and how much it’ll cost to fix the cracked frame of the painting she’d somehow managed to knock off the wall in her frenzy to catch the fabled red laser dot.

The food arrives. Cam offers Luther a taste of his rolls - he’s gotten something deep fried with cream cheese, cucumber, and crab, and another loaded high with four kinds of fish, topped with roe. Luther tries the one with all the fish, but passes on the deep fried one. He trades Cam a piece of mackerel nigiri. Then he continues on talking, telling Cam about his week, how work’s been, the new guy they hired, and the annoying new habit his coworker’s formed of singing along with the music on the jukebox, regardless of whether she knows the lyrics or not.

Luther suddenly catches the look in Cam’s eyes. There’s something… hungry in them. It’s the only way he can describe it. It’s not regular hungry, because he’s practically ignoring his food in favor of listening intently to Luther’s rambling story. He’s leaning forward, arms folded on the table in front of him, drinking in every word Luther has to say. He��s hungry for him. The realization hits Luther like a truck and he stops mid-sentence, jaw dropping, a blush starting to spread across his face.

“What’s wrong?” Cam asks, innocent as ever. How could he even know the effect he has on Luther? How could Luther ever explain?

“N-nothing, um, I… I’ve been talking a lot, why don’t you take over for a bit? What’s keeping you busy at work?” It was delightful to listen to Cam ramble on about his job. Luther barely understood a word of it, but his enthusiasm was adorable and, importantly, not about Luther. He could keep it together and breathe a bit, work on calming down the scramble of emotion in his gut.

Sure enough, he wins himself a good fifteen minutes of calm while Cam talks on about carburetors and mufflers and manifolds. He could be making it up for all Luther knows. It’s not until Cam realizes his deep fried roll has gone cold that he breaks off to eat. They finish their food, decide to pass on dessert, pay, and head for the theater.

It’s only a few blocks away, a fifteen minute walk at most. The night has gotten a little colder and darker, and now stray snowflakes drift and spin through the air, catching the streetlights and twinkling like stars. Cam has a lot of fun pretending he’s a dragon, his warm breath turning to steaming clouds in the freezing air. Luther’s shivering now, his old secondhand coat doing little to protect him from the chill. Cam notices, of course, and whips his own coat off in an instant.

“Oh, please,” Luther demurs, “You’re so chivalrous, but really, I’m fine.”

“You’re shaking like a weathervane in a hurricane, sweetheart. I’ll be fine, I’m my own space heater.” Cam arranges the coat over Luther’s shoulders neatly and slips his arm around Luther’s waist, pulling him in close. It’s so warm and so nice, and so very, very close. Luther’s shivers slacken and cease, and then one more shakes him, different from the rest.

“Oh no,” Luther whispers, “I was doing so well, please…”

Luckily, he only loses about three inches. His clothes are a little looser, and he’s engulfed a little more by Cam’s huge coat, but he’s still a perfectly normal height. He sighs in relief.

“So what’s this movie we’re seeing?” Luther asks, trying to take his mind off of things.

“Oh, so it’s this old sci fi cult classic based on a book no one’s ever read. I saw it the first time when I was like… eight? And it scarred me for life, really, and now I’m obsessed with this shit. The special effects are super gnarly, and they hold up okay, even though you can totally see the tube for the fake blood in the decapitation scene. Don’t worry too much about following the plot, it’s not really the point of the movie, but what you should know ahead of time is…”

Cam rambles on like that, filling the night with fog. Luther snuggles in closer and listens happily, totally at ease. He made it through the most important part of the night, and once they get in the theater, he can relax. It doesn’t matter if he shrinks in the theater - from what Cam’s said, the only people watching this late-night special feature will be die-hard fans who’ll be glued to the screen, and in the darkness they won’t have to worry about anyone catching sight of them.

That also means, of course, that Cam might get a little handsy once the lights dim. If he’s being honest, Luther would be disappointed if he didn’t.

They get a seat in the back row. As the previews start up, Cam reaches over and takes Luther’s chin in his hand, turning it gently so they face each other. For a moment, he just holds them there, staring into Luther’s eyes with an adoring softness that makes Luther’s heart sing. Then he leans in and kisses him, just once, softly on the mouth. Luther shivers and loses another few inches. Cam lets him go, but Luther’s not satisfied. He grabs Cam’s collar and pulls him down for another kiss, this one deeper and hungrier. Cam chuckles against his mouth and nips at his bottom lip, catching it between his teeth for just a moment. Luther sits back heavily in his seat, breath coming in shallow gasps. He grips his armrests tight, trying to pay attention to the trailer for the newest slasher flick as it blares out through the theater. No dice. He’s losing height fast now, shrinking down to four feet tall, his normal clothes hanging off his frame.

They stay apart for all of a minute before Cam’s hand sneaks across the seat and slides into place on Luther’s thigh. He strokes his thumb back and forth in a slow rhythm, humming happily. Luther gasps and shrinks more, staring wide-eyed as Cam’s hand covers more and more of him, soon easily encompassing his entire thigh.

He’s maybe two feet tall now and he can’t see the screen over the seat in front of him. Cam glances down, catching the pouting, grumpy look on Luther’s face, and presses a hand over his mouth to stifle his laughter.

“Here, sweetheart,” Cam murmurs, and picks Luther up with one hand. With the other, he frees him from his clothing so that he’s only clad in the jumpsuit. Cam settles Luther gently on his lap. This has fixed the problem of not being able to see the screen, but only momentarily. Luther goes bright red and dwindles down even further. By the time the previews have finished, he’s only eight inches tall.

As the opening theme blares with discordant trumpets, Cam pinches the back of Luther’s jumpsuit between thumb and forefinger and lifts him up. He dangles Luther in front of his face for a moment, expression torn between adoring and apologetic, then brings him in close for a gentle kiss. He sets Luther on his shoulder and hands him a piece of popcorn.

Luther hides his burning face behind the buttery morsel. He’d been expecting a little hanky panky, but nothing so direct. Stolen kisses, maybe a fake yawn that disguised Cam putting his arm around Luther, a little playing with his hair. Going for the thigh like that… that was entirely unexpected. He’s beginning to suspect Cam was trying to get him tiny.

The movie is just as gory and weird as promised. Luther isn’t super squeamish, but more than once he turns and ducks his face into Cam’s neck, squealing in disgust, his voice quiet enough at this size that he doesn’t have to worry about disturbing anyone else. Every time, he feels Cam shake under him with silent laughter, enjoying Luther’s reactions.

The movie ends before too long, and the other theatergoers file out, chatting animatedly with one another about the flick. Cam holds his hand up to his chest, and Luther pushes himself off Cam’s shoulder, landing gracefully in his palm. Cam sets him down on the armrest while he folds up Luther’s discarded clothing and tucks it in an inner pocket of his big coat. He looks down at Luther and tilts his head to one side, lips pursed in a calculating expression.

“You’re just a little too big to hide comfortably… here, let’s fix that.” Cam puts his elbows on either side of Luther on the armrest and looms over him, completely blocking the dim theater lights overhead. Luther takes a few involuntary steps back and bumps up against Cam’s hands, linked together behind him to form a ring penning him in. “You’re all mine now,” Cam breathes, quiet as a whisper. “So tiny and cute. I’m going to put you in my pocket and carry you home, and then… well, then we’ll see what I’ll do with you, hm?” A crooked, meaningful grin spreads across Cam’s face, and that hungry look comes back into his eyes.

It works like a charm. Luther’s legs shake, his heart pounds, and he shivers. He dwindles down to half his height, a mere four inches.

“There we go,” Cam croons, and scoops him up in one hand. Cam stows him safely in his coat pocket, held in a loose fist to keep him safe from jostling and the cold. He exits the theater and moves through the crowds easily. People tend to make way when they see a man his size coming towards them.

Luther curls up against Cam’s fingers and sighs happily. Cam’s hand is warm, calloused in places but soft in others, and the pocket sways gently with his gait. It’s so safe and cozy, combined with the late hour and the exhaustion of the day, it’s the perfect recipe to knock him out. He fights the heaviness of his eyelids as long as he can, but only makes it a few blocks before he’s fast asleep.

~~~

“Whew, cold one out tonight,” Cam says as he unlocks the door to Luther’s apartment. He can already hear Scrunge wailing on the other side. “I hope you weren’t too frozen in there.” He pushes the door open and addresses the cat. “Yes, we’re home, hello darling, we missed you too.” She winds around his legs and purr-meows at top volume. “Okay, okay, other people are trying to sleep,” Cam hisses. “You’re gonna wake up the whole floor, shitty kitty.” She mrrps in disapproval.

He pulls Luther out of his pocket. “So, babe, do you wanna - oh.” The little dear is asleep, snoring softly. Cam smiles and presses a kiss to his chest. He takes a seat on the couch, sighing as he plops himself down. Scrunge leaps up into his lap immediately and puts her front legs up on his chest, sniffing at Luther in his hand.

“Poor dear’s all tuckered out,” Cam murmurs, giving her a scritch. “Let’s let him rest.”

#asks #writing #cam and luther #gulliver's hanahaki #g/t #giant tiny #hit post before i remembered tags exist oops

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matsbarzal · 3 years

Note

for the august prompt list!!! random au 11. prince/princess with andrei svechnikov? :)

au 11. prince/princess

pairing: andrei svechnikov x fem!reader word count: 1.5k warning: alternative universe, mentions of arranged marriage, potentially only part 1 of a series

Andrei knew what was expected of him as the second son, and the younger brother of the Crown Prince. He’s known his entire life what was expected of him, the path he was meant to take, the choices he was meant to make. He was a diligent son, and he loved his brother and his parents, he knew he would do anything to guarantee the success and prosperity of his home.

As the sister to the Crown Prince of your Kingdom, you knew it was inevitable you would one day have to do your duty to guarantee the prosperity and reign of your country. It was something you had been dreading for so long, dreading the inevitable unhappiness that would one day come to guarantee the safety of your country.

“It’ll all be worth it in the end; do you know how many families you’re saving from being ripped apart? How many young men you’re saving from the hardships of a never-ending war?”

It was the sentence you had heard from everyone, everyone telling you that the arrangement was for the best. Not only did it guarantee the end to a decade-long war, but it also instilled that you would do anything to guarantee the success of your Kingdom and its people.

“I’ve heard he’s a real catch, ya know? Heard he’s one of the most sought out bachelor’s in Barnaul. And I’ve heard he’s very handsome, even better looking than the Crown Prince.”

Groaning as you looked at the girl, a cheeky grin flying your way. Lyra had been the one and only lady-in-waiting you had accepted to come on the journey to Barnaul, a tight-knit friendship forming over the years.

“Ly, I don’t care if he’s the most handsome bachelor there is. Do you know how dehumanizing it is having to marry so your younger brother doesn’t have to deal with a war basically caused by a cockfight between my father and my future husbands’ father? It’s pathetic.”

Shrugging her shoulders with a sympathetic smile, the girl smiled tightly in your direction. “Maybe you’ll end up liking him, just because the situation itself isn’t the best, doesn’t mean he’s awful.”

The trip to Barnaul wasn’t a long one, the time flying by and before you knew it, your father and his guards were walking into the throne as you and your mother trailed in behind him, guards flanking both of your sides.

“Ah, King Igor! It has been far too long, my friend.”

You tried to hide the grimace that started to cross your face when you observed your father and your future husband’s father embrace. It was a tense hug, years of animosity floating through the room, everyone on edge as they waited for what was to come.

“Y/N! Come here please, darling,” obliging, the guard’s allowed you to pass by them so you could stand next to your father.

A curtesy was directed towards King Igor, a pleasant smile overtaking your lips as you observed the man in front of you. His accent was strong as he addressed you, the kindness in his eyes the only reassuring measure of his persona.

“Even more beautiful than your father said, you and my son will make a beautiful pair,” gesturing with his hand behind him, you followed his gesture to meet the eyes of a tall man. His hair was gelled back, a maroon suit covering his skin as he made his way forward. It was easy to tell that this was Andrei, your intended, the man you were meant to marry to unite your kingdoms.

At least Lyra was right about one thing… he was incredibly good-looking.

Bowing towards you, a curtesy was met in return before he grabbed your hand to place a gentle kiss on the back of your knuckles. A warmth instantly shot up your neck, your body tingling at the feeling of his lips pressed against your skin.

“Princess Y/N, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you. Welcome to Barnaul.”

His voice was smooth, but deep and heavily accented. He had a kind and happy exterior, his smile bright and his eyes welcoming.

“The pleasure is mine, Prince Andrei. I’ve seen only a small amount of it, but your home looks incredibly beautiful. I look forward to seeing more of it.”

Your response was met well, a proud smile adorning King Igor’s and your father’s faces, Andrei smiling slightly in your direction. You had forgotten that he too was being forced into a situation, unable to choose his future bride or the person he wanted to marry. He was just as much of a victim as you were, you couldn’t blame him for the actions of his parents, regardless of how much you itched to do so.

The days in between your arrival and your upcoming wedding passed smoothly, there was only minimal interaction between you and your fiancé, as you opted to remain with your parents for the short duration they had planned to stay in Barnaul.

The day of your wedding came quicker than you were expecting, observing yourself in the full-length mirror as the white silk was slowly wrapped around you. You couldn’t deny that you looked beautiful, the dress fitting to your body in all the right ways, the makeup adorning your cheeks a beautiful addition.

You didn’t hear the small tap on the door until Lyra hoisted it open, just to slam it shut immediately.

“You can’t be here! It’s bad luck!”

The knock against the door was heard again, Lyra pushing herself out of the room to confront the person on the other side, who you could only assume to be Andrei if it was bad luck that they were here. Who cared about luck when you were already marrying just to prevent your Kingdom’s from destroying each other more?

The door opened, but instead of Lyra, Andrei popped himself through, gently closing the wood behind him. No point in hiding yourself now.

“You know, it’s bad luck to see the bride before the wedding,” quirking an eyebrow at you, all the man did was shrug his shoulders as he grabbed one of the empty champagne flutes from the table.

“We’re getting married so our fathers don’t put each other in an early grave. I don’t think we had much luck to start with, darling fiancé.”

The attempt to hold in the snort that dropped from your lips failed, a grin taking over his face at your reaction. He had a nice smile, you could admit that, realistically you knew that if you had met him under any other circumstances, it probably could have turned out wonderfully, but it was hard to determine how an arranged marriage would come to be.

“I wanted to come and… talk to you before we had to vow our lives to each other. I know you’ve been spending time with your parents before they leave, and I’ve respected that and didn’t want to overstep. I just… I can’t force myself to marry someone I’ve had one conversation with in passing. I don’t want a loveless marriage, Y/N.”

Scoffing slightly at his words, you rested your arm against the couch as you sat down across from him. “Would you like me to be honest, or would you like the diplomatic response I’m sure you’re expecting?”

“I’d prefer the honesty, but if you’d rather the diplomacy than that’s your choice,” shrugging at your words, he pressed the edge of the champagne flute to his lips and sipped at the now-filled cup.

“I’m sure you’re not an unlovable person, you actually seem quite lovely. And maybe… to a certain degree, I have been avoiding you, but I’m not sure what’s expected of me here. I can’t force myself to love someone I barely know, I didn’t even have a choice in this marriage, but I sure as hell have a choice in my own feelings.”

Nodding in understanding, you watched Andrei’s hands shake as he placed the champagne flute back on the table in front of him before he stood up and made his way to the couch you were sitting on, gently occupying the seat beside you.

“I don’t expect you to love me yet, but I hope you’ll at least give me a chance. I promise there’s a little bit of substance behind my pretty face, not much, but some,” rolling your eyes with a small laugh at his words, you shrugged your shoulders slightly.

“I never planned on not giving you a chance, I just hope you don’t expect it to work-out overnight. Unfortunately, it took me two years to even like my younger brother. You’ve got a lot to live up to.”

A mock scoff dropped from his lips as Andrei smiled towards you again. “Good thing we have until death do us part, huh?”

note: ah anon i know you weren't technically asking for a series... but that may be what comes from this. even if it doesn't, i hope you like it!!! thank you for sending one in <3

#andrei svechnikov #nhl blurb #nhl fic #nhl imagine #hockey fic #hockey imagine #hockey blurb #hockey drabble #nhl drabble #andrei svechnikov x reader #andrei svechnikov fic #andrei svechnikov imagine #nhl fics #nhl blurbs #hockey blurbs #hockey writing #nhl writing #dj's august prompt list

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babykatsu · 4 years

Text

PAIRING: katsuki bakugou x fem!reader

WORDCOUNT: 7k

RATING: nsfw ⛈

GENRE: smut!

WARNINGS: slow burn, swearing, kissing, no intercourse, foreplay, car sex, little bit of degradation, a littleeee rough!

⤷ SYNOPSIS:

as though fate had its worst intentions, bakugous car had broken down on the way to your high school reunion with you in the car as well. GREAT! Not only was it getting dark and chilly, you were also in the middle of nowhere... That really didn’t ease the atmosphere, especially when Bakugou was already hesitant on lending you a drive to the reunion. But with the discomfort, there always comes a way to ease it ;)

AUTHORS NOTE:

a special thanks to @laylahoran for not only helping me proof read and pick out the title for this scenario BUT also for just being there to support me through out this whole thing! Literally the purest friend🥺🥺💕💕 ilysmmm!!!

Also, this is my first detailed smut imagine so sorry if it’s a bit sloppy :(

Life after high school proved to be a lot more different than expected. For starters, after having moved to find better work opportunities in the city, you found yourself deprived of nearly all social interaction with your previous friends. Yes, you still caught up over text and call, but it was safe to say it was not quite the same. Not only did the hectic schedule of working for a hero agency clash with your friends’, when you were on your days off all your friends seemed to be busy with their own goals of becoming high ranking heroes. You sort of started living a more solitary lifestyle, a drastic change from your previous one.

So when you flopped down on your couch, your body sluggish and desperate for sleep after a bustling day of work, you felt suddenly energised. Eyes wide as you could just barely believe what you were reading. An email had illuminated on your phone screen, reading the following:

“Greetings class A! It has been nearly a year since we have all graduated and I’m in complete aw as to how far you have all come :) On a more dejected note, however, we have all seemed to grow more distant due to our work. I have missed you all dearly and believe the connections we all formed are amazing experiences we should not forget about! Though we may have kept in contact here and there, it’s evident that we all have been lacking. This is why I have taken it upon myself to set up a reunion party! More information is soon to be delivered in the next email, and I’m super excited to hear from you all. Arrangements with your agencies will take place as soon as confirmations come through. You’re previous classmate, Tenya Iida”

As though your prayers had been answered, you were greeted with that email. Now, this was an offer you couldn’t pass up! Without hesitation, your fingers started typing away at your phone, the pads of your fingers darting across the glass as though they had a mind of their own. You were determined to go, excitement flooding your sense at just the thought of the whole event! As your eager fingers hit send on the email a sudden thought crossed your mind.

Shit...

You hadn’t thought about it previously, mind racing and occupied with the general idea of a reunion, how were you going to get to the location of the party?

As said previously, life was not as expected after graduating, and though heroes lived a life with above-average pay, bathing in luxuries at times, it all took years of experience. No way could you have reached such a high status having worked for less than a year in this field. With the lack of money to your name, there were no chances of you owning a car at this very moment in time. Maybe public transport was a good option? But the delays, need for time arrangements and the entire coordination of your journey was already giving you a headache. The travel aspect was less than fruitful.

But you were going to get there one way or another.

Taking in a deep breath, you gently pressed the off button on your device, sinking your body further into the couch as you allowed your body to finally relax. Your mind pondered of all the different options, from uber’s and cabs to all the different forms of public transport available. But as your unresting thoughts echoed around in your head, you finally concluded. A conclusion that churned your stomach, a fluttery feeling pricking the goosebumps along your chilled skin.

You could ask Bakugou for a lift.

Though this plan seemed faulty, a high chance he would decline the offer to attend the reunion filled with “extras”, you still had your hopes up high.

Out of all the people who could have moved to the same part of town as you, Bakugou was the one. It was pure coincidence that you both had ended up not too far from each other, a block away in fact. Though throughout all three years that you attended u.a you had barely spoken to him. You had your exchange in words here and there, the occasional insult would be thrown your way, but oddly enough out of all people in the class, you received his harsh treatment the least. You just figured, he barley knew you so acknowledging your existence was a waste of his time. Yet his subtle acts of warmth towards you didn’t go unnoticed by your subconscious, a strange feeling invading your body. You developed feelings for the boy.

Shockingly, you found yourself attracted to him, even with the lack of a solid foundation for a proper friendship. You didn’t know what exactly enticed you so much, maybe it was his toned chiselled frame or perhaps his confident exterior. Whatever it was, it had your heart thumping faster at every glance you two shared, and the thoughts that lingered with these unexplainable emotions were even more hectic. It was as though every second you spent alone, confined by the four white walls of your room, you lay wondering of all you wanted him to do to you. A peak of curiosity soon turned into a full-fledged lust for him. The moment you batted your eyelids shut, you’d picture his muscular body towering yours, his hands pinning you down as he’d shamelessly make you a mess under his touch. A thought of him could make your entire body explode. It was all far too complicated for you to process.

That’s why when you moved to a new part of the city, in hopes to start work as well rid yourself of your weird infatuation, you went pale at the sight of him only a couple streets away from where you newly lived. You tried to convince yourself this was indeed a one-time occurrence, yet you’d see him again and again... and again. He most certainly lived near you, it was undeniably true.

Every time you’d return from work, shoes hitting the concrete sidewalk with an echoing tap, you’d always pass him. At first, you shared no words, not a single exchange between you two until one day he randomly spoke up. You remember that moment like the back of your hand, as though it happened just a few minutes ago. Admittedly, the conversation was nothing spectacular, but it still caused a rapid shock to strike through you as the memory of you exchanging numbers with him lurked your brain. The whole event was so bizarre and it still seems unreal now.

Snapping from your daydream, you came to a solid answer. This was probably the best time to put his number to good use. Unlike you, he had a car and could most likely drive you to where ever this reunion will take place... That’s if he decides he is going to attend as well. That’s where your plan seems to not be so successful.

Yet, you had no other choice. He was your best shot at finally getting a break from this borderline isolation.

Nervously, you picked your phone up once more, gently scrolling through your contacts until a familiar name was visible: ‘Katsuki Bakugou’. A nervous feeling burnt at the pit of your stomach as you anxiously went to type out a message. Your shaky fingers tapped the keyboard, with every additional letter that was added to your sentence, your heartbeat sped up even faster until you felt it pound against your ears. Who knew you could feel so nervous about a generic message... It was Bakugou you were texting after all. Not only was he known for being an uncontrollable hothead, but he was also the guy you often fantasied about. You were more than flustered by this point.

Finally, after rereading your message frantically over and over again, you hit send. You felt your heart quickly sink before a chill ran through your entire body. Now you play the waiting game...

On the other end of the line sat a pouting Bakugou. Just like you, he had received the same email, his face crinkled into a frown as he read the disgusting email present on his screen. Like he’d show up to watch a bunch of extras overly excited for no reason. The entire thought of a reunion made his blood boil. At the same time, however, he wouldn’t mind seeing a few faces.

Sure he hated the class, but there was no denying he missed the ‘old days’. He rolled his eyes and let out a huff, in complete annoyance at how soft he’d become. Was he really contemplating going to that shitty reunion? Apparently so, as he decided to type up a quick response to Iida's invite.

A thought he had tried awfully hard to suppress soon made its way to the surface. It was you. Out of all the people he’d want to meet at the reunion, it had to be you. Though he didn’t necessarily have to be at the reunion to view you.

Similarly, he found himself drawn to you for some obscure reason. All throughout high school up until now. During school, he would always gawk at the way your skirt swayed side to side as you walked or even the way you leaned against the desk arching your back most perfectly. It had Bakugous eyes adhered to you. He just wanted to run his hands across your entire body, his lips bequeathing marks on every soft sweet spot on your skin. You’d be his, the deep hickeys that scattered your delicious skin marking his territory. Never had he felt so sexually frustrated, desiring a person so bad it was making him lose his mind. He had better things to worry about, like brining the number 1 hero for starters, but no matter how much he tried denying his deepest desires they just wouldn’t leave.

He tried so hard, he even moved just to get away from you. Of course, that didn’t work, when he saw you strutting down the sidewalk, your clothes hugging all your curves in a way that made his mouth water. He wanted you, and he wanted you bad!

And Bakugou gets, what Bakugou wants.

Just as that memory swirled his mind, a ping came from his phone, the gentle vibration of the device in his palm breaking him from his fantasy. His vermillion eyes went wide as he glanced down at the notification that had just gone off. The name he wanted to see most displayed.

‘Hey! It’s [name], hope I’m not being a bother :) I’m sure you also received the email about the reunion party, I hope to see you there. That’s if I can get there... Maybe you could give me a lift? Don’t worry if you don’t want to, I understand!’

Bakugou bit his bottom lip as he squinted down at the information in front of him. As much as he wanted to agree, his pride didn’t permit him an agreement to your proposal so easily. Rather than cooperating the way he wanted to, he typed out a message juxtaposing his real desire.

And there started your exchange in messages, the back and forth and your “convincing” to give you ride. Though we all know Bakugou was going to give in to it either way.

Weeks had passed since then, the texts that followed after between you two was kept to an evident minimum. The only exchange included a catch up on your plans for the reunion and that was about it. You were more anxious by the day, knowing the reunion date was coming closer to existence.

Next thing you knew, the day had arrived.

You were seated in the passenger seat of Bakugous car. Nervously, you shifted in the leather seat, hand resting on the inner door handle as your eyes followed the passing trees that came in and out of view.

The sky was faintly clouded, a ray of golden sun piercing through parted clouds, dripping a soft sunset hue over the ivy leaves of the trees. You sat inside the car, yet you remembered the faint chilly winds that caressed your skin. Overall, the weather was decent, far from perfect but not awful either.

The tranquillity that filled the car was apparent, the most noise that was present was the hushed sound of the radio playing, the music placid. It only intensified the awkward silence that was held between you both.

Playing with the hem of your dress, you spoke up in an attempt to spark up a conversation. “well, aren’t you the conversationalist” you spoke sarcastically, a hint of playfulness in your voice. Though you spoke suddenly, Bakugou didn’t seem to divert his focus from the road. His face stayed in its usual state, not even a smirk dared to spread across his lips. Clearly, your playfulness was not reciprocated. The silence engulfed you both for a while longer before he finally responded. His reply was less than adequate, a simple hum.

You shifted your attention back onto the view outside, watching as the car drives deeper and deeper into some sort of forest. The trees grew larger, the suns light being swallowed by the towering greenery above. Cars began passing more infrequently until you had not seen one in ages on the road that had become more narrow.

It felt like you had been in this car for an unbearably long amount of time. You couldn’t tell if time was just moving slower than usual at how bored you were at this very moment in time or if your destination was farther than you expected.

Pulling your phone from your bag that rested atop your lap, you checked the time.

‘6:23 pm’

It was confirmed that time was just moving awfully slower than usual. You had only been in the car for a little under 15 minutes. There was still a fair amount of time left until the party started, so there were no worries on being late though you still had quite a few kilometres to cover. Relieved, you placed your phone back into your bag. You slowly let your eyes rest shut, hoping a quick nap would pass time more sufficiently.

And as you had just calmed your nerves enough to sleep, your body suddenly jolted forward. Your seatbelt immediately binding around your chest, pressing your body flush against the seat as you braced the impact of the sudden stop of the car.

“For fuck sake” Bakugou finally spoke up as he kissed his teeth, gripping the steering wheel remarkably tight that his knuckles were becoming white.

“what just happened?”. Out of curiosity, you questioned the man, his face now looking more annoyed than ever. His hand fiddled with the car keys, the engine roaring repeatedly as he tried turning the car on. “What does it fucking look like, dumbass?” he barked at you, still frantically trying to turn the car on. It didn’t help that he had now started slamming the steering wheel between each attempt.

“Are you out of gas?” You spoke up innocently. There was no denying you were now, in fact, feeling less hopeful that you had enough time to make it to the reunion.

For the first time, he finally made eye contact with you. His rose eyes staring at you in frustration, in complete disbelief at how oblivious you were.

“Of course not! You fucking moron, the shitty car just broke down” He barked at you before flinging the car door wide open, slamming it with a harsh bang as he made his dramatic exit.

You watched him pace up and down with distinct stomps, muttering something under his breath while typing away at his phone. Taking the hint, you exit the vehicle as well. “So, what now?” you irritate him further with your persistent queries.

“How the fuck is there no service? HOW AM I MEANT TO GET THIS SHIT FIXED?” his yells echoed through the vast scenery that surrounded you.

With him stressing, you couldn’t help but taste your mouth go dry as panic began settling in as well. It was no use having the two of you in a frenzy. Rationally, you walked over to Bakugou, your phone gripped in your hand as you formed the only logical suggestion. “Try my phone”

He didn’t even question or ridicule your suggestion like he probably desired to, instead yanking the phone out of your hand and attempting to dial-up a number. It didn’t take long until his eyes rolled back in failure and his jaw flexed with gritted teeth. No luck there either clearly.

“Guess we aren’t going to the shitty reunion. You're fucking welcome!” He yells once more, slapping the phone back into your palm. The worst somehow ended up playing out, complete defeat washing over your body.

Resting against the car, you dropped your bottom lip into a slight pout, the chilly air growing cooler.

You were in the middle of nowhere, the only form of transport for miles was now down and to top it off you were getting cold. Your body rapidly began to shiver, goosebumps pricking along your exposed skin.

“Aren’t you fucking smart” Bakugou scoffed as he stared at you, arms crossed over his broad chest. “didn’t even bring a jacket while wearing some stupid dress”

Rather than yelling like he had been doing for the last couple minutes, he was calming his nerves by teasing you. It may have been the adrenaline that made him feel so open to being more playful, or maybe he attempted to distract himself from how much of a loser he currently felt with a broken car. Whatever it was, he was now smirking at the girl in front of him, tantalising her about the cold.

“I didn’t know I’d be stuck outside, did I?” You teased back, rolling your eyes at him. The fact he was being so calm on the outside was making you feel less worried, yet more nervous at his sudden change in mood than anything.

His eyes stared you up and down, analysing your shivering state as the wind began picking up. Another sigh left his parted lips before resuming to speak. "Go sit inside the car. No use shivering like a dumbass if you can't handle a bit of wind" he chuckled slightly as he spoke, as though to assure you his comment was in fact not as rude as he intended it to come out.

Though you obeyed, taking careful steps around the car to sit back in it, you decided to throw your own snarky remark his way. "Not one to talk when you're wearing a jacket". You give him a 'look', before fully submerging yourself in the cars shielded warmth. It may have broken down not too long ago, but it was still well heated. An instant chill rolled down your spine as your body quickly adjusted to the sudden change in temperature.

"Sorry, princess. Didn't realise I had royalty as company". That devious smirk sprawled itself across his tanned face as he followed your move, getting in the car himself. Something about the way he addressed you made you quiver, the innocent word was also oh so seductive. That sudden feeling of arousal pent up inside you, fogging your thinking.

"I- don't get too cocky now". Your reply came out as a jittery stutter, senses overwhelmed by his playful tone that had you heated. Senses scattered, too flustered by his seemingly unintentional words. It's not like he knew about your fantasies of him or how your sinful thoughts begged for him to call you such names. And now as you were in the midst of it all, you couldn't help but lose yourself.

He let out another husky laugh. The way you broke apart at the simplest words only stroked his ego. No denying he purposely chose those specific words to see how you'd react, and to his surprise, it went far better than expected. "Here, have my jacket then if you wanna keep yapping about it"

Speechless, your vision was once again fixated on him. Gawking at the leather jacket that slipped of his physique, revealing his toned, muscular arms. You swallowed the nervous lump in your thought down, butterflies invading your system as you watched.

You expected him to carelessly throw the jacket your way, alternatively he leaned over. His significantly larger body mounted over yours as he placed his jacket over your exposed legs, instant warmth tickling your chilled skin. His hands felt so smooth as they lightly brushed against your thigh, the accidental touch shooting straight to your core. It was humiliating at how quickly you discomposed around him, cheeks red and breath hitched. You just couldn't help it, a presence like his was way too intense. Especially, at this moment.

"U-um, so what are we going to do now?" you try to change topics as you felt your current heated state become far too overwhelming, whole-body hot as your thoughts began drifting to all the wrong places.

He peeped his eyes, as though deep in thought."Wait until someone hopefully passes, I guess?". The uncertainty in his tone had you feeling concerned again. The worry bombarding you, diverting your inner emotions elsewhere. You've wanted to meet your classmates so vigorously for ages, all fired up for weeks as you obsessively counting down the days, only for this to happen. Not a single car had been in view for ages, god knows until the next one would come. That's also assuming that the car would even stop for you two. This was so disappointing, a hollow feeling in your chest as you sulked.

"I guess? For god sake, we aren't even going get to the reunion in time!"

Bakugou had noticed your sudden change in mood. In all honesty, he didn't quite understand why you wanted to see those annoying dickheads anyway, but he felt strangely sympathetic towards you. "Oi, I'm fucking sorry. I'll drive you to see your friends another time".

"What if there isn't another time?" you mope at him, facing your body towards him. He doesn't reply right away, mirroring your actions instead to examine your current behaviour. There was no way he could make this situation better unless the car magically fixed itself. Which to be fair, would never happen. As his eyes scanned you, he noticed the way you were still shivering, the once heated car losing its warmth. It was his best shot at diverting the conversation.

"You're still shivering, dumbass". His red orbs were fixed on you as he reached out his arms towards you. They felt considerably warmer than you as they rested on your shoulders. You followed his gaze that watched his own hands as they rubbed you up and down carefully. The slight friction between his hands and your skin bringing you some heat. It only sunk in then that his large hands were tracing your arms, his warmth transferring to you. Flusters took over your sense again. As much as you wanted to speak up right now, you knew you'd only choke up on your words, far worse than your stutters. As your stomach swirled, you felt ardour rush to your face. A rose haze coated your skin, eyeing the way Bakugou rubbed his hands against you.

"Looks like you've warmed up, that's for sure" he grinned at you, noticing the way your chest began rising and falling, heartbeat thumping rapidly. The way your face flushed scarlet as your eyes danced around your atmosphere, all at his touch. He noticed it all. And boy was it rubbing his ego.

"I-uh, yeah. I mean- no?". Your words came out jumbled, unable to form proper sentences when his ruby eyes finally gazed up at you. The mysterious glint in them made you feel overwhelmed, unaware of what move he would make next.

"So you need to be warmed up a bit more, huh?". His hands swiftly grazed your arms, just about hovering over your soft skin. Careful touches traced it, your words departing from your brain. The entirety of your focus was on the way Bakugou's fingertips tickled you delicately, the electric feeling flowing throw you. "Speak up for me. Do you still need to be warmed?". He snapped you back into reality without warning, only to put you in a trance again. The way he spoke with such dominance, demanding for you to speak, only stirred your imagination further. You had pictured moments like these so many times, him ordering you to do as he says. And as these thoughts rushed to the surface, you started to feel heat build between your thighs.

"Yeah, sorry!". Frantically, you attempt to respond, a nervous giggle followed your sentence as it came out of your mouth. "If that's what you want, princess". He emphasised the nickname, his lips curling into a sneer as his hands began to wander. The soothing touch travelled upwards, his hands gliding over your skin, one resting on your warmed rosy cheek. His sudden action had your breath hitching. You'd portray such touches numerous times yet nothing could have appointed you for this moment as your nerves fell apart.

As you tried to ration the situation out in your mind, his eyes finally locked with yours. The intimate stare had you holding your breath. Gently, he massaged his thumb against your cheek as he slowly moved his hand to the back of your neck, chills dripping down your spine. His eyes flickered between your eyes and mouth, hinting at a kiss. Was he going to kiss you? You must have been dreaming or something. But it was all happening, right now. There was no time to contemplate the event at hand. His face was edging closer to yours only inches apart, his proximity to you titillating. As you waited for his lips to finally come in contact with yours, you began losing patience. It's like he purposely was a millimetre away from your lip just to taunt you. You took in one more breath, easing your nerves before crashing your lips against his.

Your initial cold shivers were a way for Bakugou to change the subject from his broken car, and it all had worked out in his favour. Admittedly, this was not the outcome he was intending for, but he was not complaining either. He was finally able to seel a kiss with a girl that had invaded his thoughts for years. A dream come true if you will.

His tender lips felt so soft against yours, the sweet caramel taste engulfing your senses as they oozed from his lips. The once overwhelming anxiousness that had you falling apart beneath his touch was now easing as you melted into the passionate exchange between the two of you. Bakugou's lips moved in sync with yours, sucking and tugging at your bottom lip hungrily, undoubtedly smudging your lipstick. His pearly whites sunk into your bottom lip, giving them a smooth tug before sliding his warm tongue in. As he did so, his hand explored your body, slowly descending down the side of your torso, gripping you tightly. His other hand, that had itself placed at the back of your neck, suddenly wrapped around your throat. A rough squeeze was given, encouraging a gasp to erupt from your voicebox. His unforeseen move made you feel sensitive, clenching your thighs together to relieve the desperate ache between your legs. The warm wet muscle that had slipped inside your mouth earlier adventured in your mouth, swirling around your tongue and trailing every inch. It all felt so unreal.

Suddenly, Bakugou pulled away with a string of saliva connecting you both. His hands were still firm on wherever they were on your body. Through parted lips, he panted as his gaze darted. "Fuck, looks like you got me warm as well now". His signature smirk was back, his hand that held you by the neck pulling your face closer to his. Vermillion eyes analysed you, watching the way your face was flushed, lips were wet and lipstick was smudged. Realising he probably had some red on his lips as well from your makeup, he brought one hand to his face, wiping his plump lips with the back of his hand. The image before you only made you wetter, thighs already tightly clutched. And as though he could read your mind, he brought that same hand down to your thigh with a slap. The impact of his hands against you instantly shot to your soaking core, though the actions didn't hurt you much. You felt a tingling sensation to dance across your skin. Rubbing the impacted area, Bakugou continued to look at you, his eyes occasionally diverting to were he was soothing your thigh. His hands began needing your thigh higher and higher until his fingers dipped into the gap where your two thighs made contact. Teasingly, he drove one thigh from another to part them. "And you're definitely warmed up now, baby". His words insinuating how flustered you were.

He brought his lips back to yours as he worked his fingertips up your leg. His touch was so close and you felt so sensitive, you couldn't help but let out a shaky moan into the kiss. You wanted him so bad, craving to feel every inch of him against you. Your hands eager, you brought them up to his shirt. Clenching your hands around the piece of fabric, you tugged him closer to you, the distance between you two unbearable as you sat in separate seats. Your actions brought him to a sudden pause, causing him to pull away. "Are you that desperate for me?". His seductive tone made your face heat up and even more aroused. By now, you sure as hell knew your cunt was drenched. "You want me so fucking bad, don't you?". His hand was back in motion, fingertips almost touching you through your underwear. All you could do was moan in response as you craved his touch. "I can't fucking hear you". He taunted you once again, before his fingertips finally stroked your wet panties, massaging your folds through the cotton. You felt your breath tremble as he applied gentle pressure.

"Y-yes, I've wanted you so bad for a long time". Voice unsteady, you could just barely articulate. You felt the way his fingers caressed you through your underwear, index finger circling your clit so that the fabric would trigger your sensitive bud. Another moan emerged out your lips as you took in a profound breath. "I can tell. Your fucking soaking and it's all for me, babygirl". His cool breath trickled down your ear as he murmured against it.

You couldn't bear it anymore, the distance practically eating away at your patience as sexual frustration overflowed your senses. His fingers continued to shower you in affection but it was no longer enough. You needed more. "Please, Bakugou. I-I want you so bad right now". Hitched breaths and shallow moans rolled off of your tongue as you spoke, Bakugou's eyes sinful as he observed you.

"You'll have to be more specific than that". The same mockeries filled your ears, craving to see you flush as you spoke of all your desires, embarrassed by their explicit nature. As he awaited your response, he slowed his movements down, only teasing you further as it stript you off the pleasure you so desperately yearned for. "Shit, I want to feel you. I want to be closer- please".

The words dripped from your mouth as though it was second nature, the thirst for him more than unambiguous by your needy state. With that, his hands left your core, the cool air surrounding you as his warmth departed. You watched him carefully with longing eyes. The way his cherry centres locked on you as his grip came to your waist. His firm hands grabbed hold of you as he granted your wishes, placing you on his lap.

You sat on top of him, his toned legs holding you up and his hands pursued your body. The way your thighs rested atop his, your sensitive core throbbing against his hardening cock and the way his palms massaged your curves felt all so surreal. Subconsciously grinding against him, you felt his cock brush up against your folds, and with every stroke of your hips, the friction was shooting an electric buzz through you. "Didn't know you were such a needy slut for me". He purred at you with that deriding look in his eyes, smirking smugly. All you did was hum in return to his taunts.

Wrapping your hands around his neck, you lingered your fingertips along his neckline, gradually pulling his face in for another kiss. Devouring each other's lips once again, Bakugous hands slipped beneath your dress, lifting it to loosely drape around your waist. Your legs fully displayed, the frigid air hurried to leave goosebumps along your skin. Resuming his excursion, his fingers wandered back to where they seized you previously. As he leaned into the makeout, he rested your back against the steering wheel before tearing away from your mouth. Keen set of eyes watching you."Tell me exactly where you want my hands to go, baby. Your lucky I'm willing to take directions". For a moment you realised the exception he was making.

Bakugou was known for listening to no one but himself. So the fact he considered something like this, even if it was during an odd time, spoke volumes. It only stabilised, if not boosted, the feeling that you harboured for Bakugou. Yet there was no time to ponder over his actions. You hesitated to respond at first, slightly embarrassed to provide him with an answer.

"I want you to touch me". You deeply flushed at your reply but Bakugou only squinted at you. "Babygirl, your such a needy bitch but won't even get into specifics. Come on, you can be open with me". His words only strengthened the blush that overlaid your skin to deepen, if that was even possible. Even in your profoundly flustered disposition, you needed him and retaining your mouth shut was not an option.

"Bakugou, you know what I mean. Here". You childishly whine before grabbing hold of his hand, guiding it to your heat. His firm hand was resting on your bound cunt, not making a single move but rather looking at you intently. "Good enough" was his only response.

Swiftly, his slender fingers submerged under the fabric of your underwear, coming in contact with your wetness. The suddenness of his actions provoked a gasp to emit from your mouth, his fingers already exploring you. The feeling of his warmth travelling tenderly up and down your folds, with the occasional attentiveness to your clit made you squirm as you sucked deep breaths in. Your chest came up and down as air raced to pervade you, your moans getting gradually louder as you rubbed and arched against his touch. His attentive touch began centring more on your delicate bud, picking up his pace as he soaked in the sight of you falling apart atop him. Your heavy breaths and moans that filled the air and the way you desperately moved against every circular motion of his finger. Fuck was the sight something he had dreamt of for so long, and it was far better than he imagined. "You fucking like that huh?" he uttered through gritted teeth as his face crept closer to yours, observing the way you tightly squeezed your eyes shut, mouth dropped open.

"Shit, yes. Just like that" your breathy response came out as just above a whisper, too caught up in the pleasure of his touch. And just when you thought it couldn't feel any better, you felt his two fingers slip inside you. Your warm pink walls instantly sucking his fingers in, frantically tightening against them. A lusty moan shot out of your mouth, the overwhelming feeling of him fully submerged within you, pumping in and out. His fingers curled to hit just the right spot before you could fully adjust. The sensation was all too much and you felt the desire consume you. Panting and moaning, you could barely make sense of your surroundings as he didn't hesitate to advance his movements by pumping harder and faster, your wetness trickling down his bronzed palm.

His pace only intensified, his fingers gliding in and out of you, rubbing against your contracting walls that made your stomach burn. Burn in a way that made you almost lose control as it tied knots in your abdomen. Every spot that made your body arch against its will, legs jutting and twitching, he hit it all. And just as you edged nearer to your orgasm, moans building up at the back of your throat, ready for release as your nails dug into Bakugou's forearms. He came to a sudden pause, retreating his fingers, now soaked in your juices. You felt the dissatisfaction of his lack of attention, yearning to be touched again. Thick pants filled the car as Bakugou smirked at you and at the way you couldn't help but grind against him to supply for his loss of attention towards you.

"Princess, you didn't really think you'd get it that easy" he spoke tauntingly, rubbing your thighs as he trailed kisses on your collar bone. He'd wanted to mark up your delicate skin so many times, his presence forever embedded on you. Sinking his teeth on your flesh, he sucked and licked it, earning a soft moan from you against his ear. The tickling sensation of your breath against him accompanied by your lewd noises only hardened his growing erection. The restricting tightness of his trousers becoming infuriating for the boy.

He left mark after mark, immersing in the way you rubbed and groaned into him. "Bakugou... I need you. All of you.". Your words were like music to his ears, a combination of sounds he'd wanted to hear for so long. You begging for him to please you, make you his. It didn't even take him a second thought to know what he wanted to do to you, almost agreeing instantly. "Show me how bad you need me then". The challenging statement made you feel more heated, already in complete aw at the way his lips marked your skin.

You gently pushed him off you, pressing his back into the black leather seat, planting a delicate kiss on his lips before ducking between his legs. The position was cramped, the compact space of being under the steering wheel, legs crossed as you shifted your body further back until you could feel the disengaged pedal of the vehicle.

Bakugou sat with eager eyes on you, waiting for what you'd do next. To be honest, he felt uncomfortable at his lack of control at this very moment, already plotting how he'd regain it once more once he caught onto what your plan was. "Is this your way of proving yourself" he snickered at you, your hands on his belt, the clinking of the metal drowning out his voice. Through the material of his trousers, you could see the outline of his bulge, tight around the fabric restraints.

And just as you went to undo the restraints, unravelling the package that was contained, your head had hit the soft padding of the steering wheel. The sudden beep of the car horn went off, alarming the two of you. "What the fuck," Bakugou spoke up first in confusion. The car had obviously broken down only a few minutes ago yet it had finally decided to cooperate and disturb your guys' self-indulgence.

"Perfect timing" You giggled as you let your hands fall from his belt, slightly disappointed by the interruption. You wanted to continue this fantasy, see where it would take you both but you had other priorities on your mind as well. Like getting to the reunion for starters."Don't look so distressed, baby" Bakugou spoke softly as he lifted your chin, admiring you and the marks he left all over. "We will finish what we started, after all, I've been wanting this for so fucking long" He admitted and you couldn't help but redden at his remark.

You delicately slipped from under the wheel, dragging your dress down to cover your flashed skin. "I'll be looking forward to that then" You fire your own flirt his way, tipping over to leave a gentle peck against his lips before cleaning your lipstick from his face. He responded with a scoff and a rolling of his eyes, diverting his attention to the road to start driving again.

"I would say cover up the hickeys, but I want all those damn extra's to know who you belong to now" He smirked giving you the side-eye. Only then did you notice your wrecked state, desperately trying to fix your appearance in the small overhead mirror.

Bakugou steadily drove to your destination as his large hand rested on your thigh, you both wondering where you'd finish this excursion...

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blu-joons · 4 years

Text

You Faint In The Middle Of An Argument ~ BTS Reaction

Jin:

It felt like you were looking at a different man as you tried to reason with Jin over why you were so annoyed, but he refused to listen, shouting volumes above your own voice. You spun on your heels, feeling a heavy weight push you down. “Do you want Jin, if that’s what you want I-“ you weren’t able to finish your sentence, as your body fell limp.

“That’s your way to shut me up,” Jin chuckled, encouraging you to get up, but the more time you spent laid out on the floor, the quicker he realised this wasn’t just a joke. “Stop messing with me Y/N, please wake up now, please?”

He knelt beside you, placing a cushion under your head, and grabbing a glass of water for when you woke up. His mind raced, how had he been so inconsiderate to speak to you in such a way and bring this upon you.

“Ouch,” you sighed as you felt your eyes open and the weight of the world keeping your head down. Jin looked down, letting go of the biggest sigh of relief when he saw your eyes open.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “I’ve been the worst boyfriend to you, you don’t deserve me at all. Can we just forget all about the fight? The last thing I ever want to do is lose you Y/N.”

Your head nodded, “you’re not going to lose me Jin, couples fight all the times, but it doesn’t necessarily end in one of them fainting.”

“You gave me such a fright, I’m going to look after you now though, promise.”

Yoongi:

You couldn’t remember much of what had happened as your eyes opened and saw Yoongi sat beside you, the four white walls of the hospital soon began to fill in a few of the gaps you had. Yoongi was oblivious to your frame staring as he thought about your fight, all the things he’d done wrong that he’d take back if he could.

“Yoongi,” you whispered, watching him jump in his seat when he heard your voice. His body leaned lightly over yours, thanking everything that you were safe. “I’m still mad at you,” you whispered into his ear as he kissed your cheek.

He nodded, he knew he’d done wrong and that it was going to take time for the two of you to work through your argument this time around, but knowing you were alright was all that was important to him right now.

“I understand,” he huffed, “but you need me right now, we can talk when time is a bit more suitable, I’m going to make everything up to you and continue apologising until you find it within yourself to forgive me.”

You nodded, taking your hand in his, “you can start by getting me a drink, I don’t think I’ve ever been so thirsty in my life.”

“Of course, whatever you want I’m going to be here for you.”

Hoseok:

You were fed up, that was the only way to describe how you felt, making the decision to walk away from the argument, Hobi quickly followed you, refusing to let you drop. The last thing he expected was to catch you as you dropped in front of him as he called out your name, begging for you to stop and talk.

“Take it steady,” he sighed, but it was only when he laid you down and looked at your face, did he realise the extent of what had just happened. “No, this can’t be happening,” he sighed, quickly turning into a frantic state.

Once he’d looked up all the things, he could do for you, it was a matter of waiting and staring at you for the moment your eyes would open again. The blame, he’d put solely on him, it was a fault of his own for being so stubborn.

“What’s going on?” You whispered as you regained consciousness, your eyes opening a few moments later to see Hobi leaning over you. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I’m so glad you’re alright,” he whispered, kissing the top of your head, “you fainted sunshine, do you not remember?” He smiled as your head shook, “we argued, but it was my fault, and I want you to know how sorry I am.”

Your eyes closed as you tried to remember, “all I remember was hearing you shout, I don’t remember what you said to me.”

“It doesn’t matter now, it was stupid, and I didn’t mean a word of it.”

Namjoon:

The moment he watched you tumble to the ground every feeling of anger and hatred he had in his body disappeared, replaced only with a horrific feeling of guilt as he watched you tumble to the floor. It took a few moments for Namjoon to respond and sit by your side, calling for an ambulance as soon as he was able to.

“You’re going to be okay,” he comforted, resting his hand over yours, praying that the ambulance would get there soon. “Look how fragile you are jagi, have you been taking care of yourself? When was the last time you even ate?”

He knew you’d been struggling, he cared so much about you when he found out you’d skipped yet another meal because of work he couldn’t help but explode and tell you how disappointed he was that you weren’t looking after yourself.

“J-joon,” your voice stuttered, breaking him out of his daydream as the fight replayed in his head. “Why am I on the floor?” You frowned, smiling as he stared down at you.

“You fainted, but it’s going to be alright,” he comforted seeing the panic in your eyes. “I’m going to be here for you and help you take better care of yourself, I’m so sorry this happened to you, but things are going to get better.”

You nodded, feeling Namjoon wipe away the few tears that rolled down your cheeks, “I didn’t want this to happen, you know that?”

“I do, let’s not fight anymore, let’s focus on getting you back to yourself again.”

Jimin:

Neither of you knew what you were saying anymore as you continued to throw insults at each other across the room, you could feel your heart continue to pound hard as Jimin continued to yell, the room began to spin, and before you knew it you felt yourself slide down the back of the kitchen counter, your eyes closing slowly.

“Jagi!” Jimin yelled, running around the side of the room, kneeling beside you. “Please, open your eyes for me, can you hear me?” He was quick to lay you into a more comfortable position, checking you over constantly. “Come on, just wake up for me, please.”

Every second that passed only heightened the fear that Jimin felt as he sat and blamed himself for bringing such an overwhelming feeling across you. He didn’t move from your side, watching intently until your eyes began to open.

“What happened?” You whispered as you took in your surroundings, “why am I here?” You sighed, feeling his arm wrap loosely around your waist.

“You fainted,” he sighed in relief, “and it’s all my fault. I’m so sorry for all the things I said, I didn’t mean to shout at you,” he whispered, helping you slowly to your feet when you began to feel more awake. “Please tell me that you forgive me?”

You nodded, resting into his side, “perhaps you’re lucky I fainted because I can’t remember any of what happened, what were we even arguing about?”

“It doesn’t matter now; you just have to know that it was nothing to worry about.”

Taehyung:

He kicked himself as he watched you walk out of the studio, having tried to arrange a sweet date in between his rehearsals all Taehyung could do was throw it back in your face and tell you to leave. He sighed; his practice broken by Jin racing into the studio. “I’m so glad I found you, it’s Y/N Tae, something’s happened to her!”

“What? What’s happened?” Jin didn’t say a word in response, focussing on taking Taehyung to you. His breath hitched when he saw you laid at the exit of the building, blankets were surrounding you, as were the boys. “I’m so sorry.”

He was quickly by your side, taking your hand in his, apologising again and again for being so rude. As Jin told him more about what had happened and how they found you, Taehyung couldn’t stop the tears that rolled down his cheeks.

“I’m okay,” you whispered trying to ease his mind, but you knew how guilty he felt. “It’s quite comfy down here actually, I could get used to it.”

“Why are you being like this?” He cried out, “shouldn’t you be shouting at me and telling me how much you hate me right now? This is all my fault, if I hadn’t of been so selfish, we could have been enjoying time together.”

Your shoulders shrugged, “what’s done is done Tae, you might have been a giant pain in the ass, but I know how busy works get for you.”

“That’s no excuse, I promise I’ll never treat you so poorly again.”

Jungkook:

Once everything between the two of you had calmed down, Jungkook was quickly making his way up the stairs in order to apologise to you for all the things he’d said, but as he walked into the room and saw you curled down on the floor, his body felt numb as he realised what had happened, checking over you.

“This is all my fault,” he cried out as he brushed your hair away from your face, feeling how hot you were. “I should’ve realised that you weren’t feeling well rather than just shouting at you,” he frowned, placing all the blame on himself.

Your argument had stemmed from him coming home to the apartment being untidy, after spending the day at home Jungkook had expected you to at least try and tidy up but instead the place was exactly as he left it that morning.

A few moments later he watched closely as you began to stir on the floor, “Kook,” was the only word you whispered as he made sure you knew he was there. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t you dare apologise,” he scolded, bringing your hand up to his lips, “I was in the wrong for not seeing how you were feeling, and then I made things ten times worse by blaming you, if anyone should be apologising, it’s me. I’m so sorry for how I’ve treated you.”

You nodded gently, curling into his side, “let’s just go down and tidy together, that way the job will get done a lot quicker?”

“No way, you stay here! I’ve got it all under control downstairs.”

---

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thefallenbibliophilequote · 3 years

Text

Wildest Dreams

Loki x Reader

1989, chapter 9

"He only saw her in his dreams."

Summary: It's hard to find the one, but even if you do find him it's always going to be a daily struggle to make it work. Can you even make it work after he broke your heart? The answer to that is complicated, but it all started when you found each other again in the stark tower- and that's where our story begins.

Word count: 3,695

Warnings: language as always, angst and some tiny fluff (probably not in the way you want), alludes to sex, Odin. one malec reference.

A/N: okay so, this chapter is different since it is mainly introspective about Loki's time in the 6 months he has been back in Asgard- so that's that about the timeline.

A/N2: I really hope you'll like it so let me know by reblogging and commenting! If you want to be on my taglist let me know by sending an ask! Thank you @chrissquares for the dividers! and the amazing @nacho-bucky

No one is allowed to repost my writing or steal or copy my work! Reblog on tumblr is fine.

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Song on Spotify and YouTube

Month one in Asgard.

"Brother I assure you all will be well. I'll make sure she will be safe." Thor had told him that before he left for Midgard.

The gesture was nice but while he did want you to be safe he didn't want to know who you are hanging with.

You'll find a way to move on and so will he. Once this all will be over Loki will finally get some peace and his life will return to normal, nothing lasts forever after all.

Life as a prince was supposedly comfortable, and so a prince's chambers should be as well. But as he was lying on the big soft bed in his large room, he couldn't have felt more alone. The bed was too big, the sheets were too cold, and the surfaces of the room were too empty of life- he could find a million faults to his room if he tried.

Loki didn't stay in his room often then, as a prince he could do whatever he wants and he could go anywhere he wants- well, almost.

Sparring was a great hobby he developed when he was angry, having a chance to politely beat down another person often sounds delightful to him then. It was almost empty now at the sunset but he found an opponent.

He could feel and hear his own heartbeat as he took in a breath and looked into the sunset as the warrior took his stance in front of him.

'The Norse Gods are almost immortal.'

The sentence lingered in your head. Maybe buying this book was a bad idea. At the knock on your door you quickly shut the book and shoved it under the sofa cushion.

A moment later Loki walked in with a batch of freshly picked flowers, they didn't look like they were from around here, you only hoped these flowers can survive on their own so you wouldn't kill them.

"Hello my love, are you ready for our date?" you got up to him with a smile, he put the flowers in a vase that appeared on your table, once he was in your reach you gave him a peck on the lips.

"Yes, let's go!" The relationship was still new but you were happy that you still had that same chemistry that the two of you had before.

That sentence kept your mind busy as you drove out of the city, away from the crowd of people and into a high solitary space.

"I could've just teleported us there my love, you know that right?" he looked at you as you drove, the sun was shining over you and he couldn't look away. The view of you in the sunlight with your best dress and red lips is easily more stunning than anything he had seen in all the realms.

"Yes, but it's more fun this way." You insisted on having some of the dates be normal and human.

"How is driving for such a long time fun?" you saw him shake his head from the corner of your eyes.

"Just relax Loki, I'll put on some great driving songs." He groaned but you only laughed.

It was an hour or so later that you reached your destination- it was an amazing view seeing all the trees and rocks as you finally parked on the dry ground of the mountain hill spot you found for Loki and you.

Loki stepped outside and laid out the picnic you packed up as you looked down on the beautiful horizon as the sun began to set.

Loki came up behind you and curled his hands around your waist.

You could've stayed in that content moment forever. The sentence still lingered in your brain.

"Loki?" you called to him and he only hummed in response, his lips kissing your hair.

"Yes, darling?"

"Say you'll remember me." You asked him in a low voice.

"What?"

"Say you'll remember me, here at this moment, standing in a nice dress and staring at the sunset with you."

"I promise you my dear," he kissed your shoulder and you felt him smiling. "Every time I see you, I'll remember this moment. I'll relish it forever."

•

Month two in Asgard.

It was different, spending the time with her here was nothing like being with you there- but maybe that's a good thing.

He was trying to get used to all the same emotions he felt all those years go. The regret, the knowing that he has to let go completely, the anger and temporary solutions, and then there's the sadness.

It was a familiar process, but having you again just reminded him of everything he lost and how everything has changed after he first let you go.

The first time he let you go, it almost killed him. And now he didn't know how his own mind would work to survive this.

He spent days in meetings and peace negotiating. His father kept him busy whether it was with Iyllir or work, it didn't matter.

She was excited about the wedding- their wedding. He chimed him whenever she asked for his opinion.

"What do you think about the flowers? Besides the ones I already picked of course." The lady smiled at him and waited for his answer. Anything besides your favourite flower would be fine.

The only real thing in this month for him was the work he was doing- negotiating peace was not an easy task. Granted, he could've solved it long ago but where is the fun in that?

"It was a wise choice to listen to my advice. I'm sure your decision to marry soon to be Princess Iyllir will make everyone happy." Odin told Loki as he followed the Allfather into yet another meeting. Entering the room, Loki looked at the blonde who sat next to his seat- he wasn't supposed to be in this meeting.

Taking the seat next to him, Thor smiled at his brother.

"Brother," Loki greeted him and continued to look forward at the table. "Are you not supposed to still be in Midgard?"

"I am, but I returned for a bit," Thor lowered his eyes then. "I heard about the marriage, I'm happy for you."

His pat on the back felt gentler than the usual forceful ones. To Loki it was quite unsettling.

"To be quite honest, I thought you won't do it because-"

"Thank you brother, I look forward to the marriage, it's the right choice."

"Is it?" Thor asked his brother lowly, the meeting was already starting and Loki didn't respond but it was probably best to leave this topic for now. Thor had never seen his brother the way he was when he was with you, it was clear that you mean a lot to him, so it made it that much more worrisome that Loki was going to go through with the arranged marriage. Thor knew Loki would've easily gotten out of it if he wanted to.

•

Present day on Midgard.

"Why are you all staring at me?" Thor stood there with all of his friends from work looking at him silently.

Natasha was the one to break the silence, "Y/N has been kidnapped and we think the Asgardian problem that we have on our hands right now was the cause of it."

"Y/N has been kidnapped?" His brows furrowed and he put his hammer on the table. "When did this happen?"

"Last week, you weren't here."

"I had to attend a ball for my brother and…" he trailed off.

"Right, I'm sure the wedding was lovely." The captain retorted.

"We really don't need to talk about," Wanda started and looked between Pietro and Clint.

"The wedding hasn't occurred yet." Thor settled in a seat right in front of Steve. "Did you manage to find out where she might be?"

"If we did then she would've been home by now."

"No, we've got nothing so far." Nat glared at Steve before she returned to look at Thor.

"Well you could've told me sooner, I'm sure my brother will be able to help."

"What? Are you crazy?" Steve let out a bitter laugh and stood up. One of his hands was a fist on the table and the other was pointing at Thor. "He is not coming anywhere near here."

The dark tone in Steve's voice left no room for arguments. Tony only heard it once before and so he took Steve out of the room before anything could happen.

•

Month three in Asgard.

"I see that you've read the books that I recommended you already." Iyllir sat next to him on the dark blue couch in the large palace library. Gold and blue were all around and the smell of old books filled the air.

"Yes they were very interesting," She put a hand on his arm delicately. "You have incredible taste in books my prince."

He nodded at that and quickly picked up one of the books from the pile that was set aside on the table. The guide to the old weapons of the nine realms- he remembered reading it as a child, he used to sneak into the vaults and look around at all the hidden things he found there that he read about in his books. Whatever he didn't recognize he would pick it up and study it. There may have been a couple of accidents there- but come on, what did you expect?

Now the book let his mind wander to the happenings on earth. He heard Thor talk about how it is going there in hushed whispers, but he never stuck around to actually hear anything in fear it would be about you.

He didn't need to know how you were doing, who you were hanging with or what you were up to.

"Loki?" He got snapped out of his thoughts. He looked back at Iyllir who had an unreadable look on her face, he found it hard to read people when he was so caught up inside his own mind, but her face soon took on a gentle smile. "You drifted off a bit. You're here with me now, there's no need to dwell over anything- so let's leave this book aside, it seems to put you in a bad mood."

Iyllir took the book from his hands and put it behind her. She then linked her hand with his and caressed his arm, her head leaning on his shoulder.

His mind now wandered to her and their wedding that was coming soon. Iyllir did manage to put herself in his mind where you should be, so maybe this was the right call after all.

Loki smiled at her and they continued to engage in conversation.

•

Month four in Asgard.

It was hard to admit that he enjoyed Iyllir's company.

Her lips were soft, and he appreciated the way they made thoughts disappear from his brain.

"Did you really turn into a snake?" Iyllir's laugh joined his as he recalled the memory.

"He was quite shocked, we were eight at the time."

"That was quite clever of you, my prince." She laughed and let her head fall onto his chest as they lay in his bed, covered in green silky sheets.

"Well, I'm always clever."

"Now you're just giving yourself too much credit, you are not always clever." You laughed at him.

He shook his head and turned back to her.

"What do you think about going out of the castle for a bit, go for a couple of days to a small cabin far away from other asgardians just the two of us?"

She nodded enthusiastically and leaned up to a kiss.

•

"This place is beautiful, but I wish we would've brought maids with us- you shouldn't do any of these things, you're a prince. I sent a letter so hopefully the servants will get here soon."

"Oh, I was quite content with using my magic, but how thoughtful of you."

"Now you'll get to spend more time with me." She whispered to him and walked over to him, putting her hands around Loki's neck.

He pulled her closer.

"That is true." He said in between kisses, moving the two of them backwards until Iyllir's knees touched the bed.

"You know, it is not really proper for a man and woman to be in bed together like this before their wedding night." She moaned at the kisses he trailed down her neck.

"When did I ever care about such formalities, my dear?" she let out a breathy laugh as he laid her on the mattress and he hovered above her. "And I know for a fact that you don't either."

Loki was in bed, opening his eyes and seeing the redheaded girl still sleeping next to him, her bare back shone in the sun. They were twisted in bed sheets, and Loki looked back up at the ceiling and tried to go back to sleep, closing his eyes.

"Loki, come cuddle me, I'm cold." Your sleepy voice called out to him.

"Okay, love." He moved himself closer to the body next to him. Opening his eyes for a second, he got snapped back to reality when he realized that you weren't the one in his bed, he was cuddling someone who wasn't you.

He shook his head and tried to fall asleep when Iyllir pressed back against him.

•

Month five in Asgard.

The ballroom was massive and adorned with gold and touches of green. The people there were ecstatic about the upcoming wedding.

The crowded room was full of people drinking mead and eating and dancing. But it all seemed just a bit too much for him.

Never in his wildest dreams did he think this will happen to him that this would be his life. Every girl was here with the most beautiful dresses but all he could remember was you, dancing with him in your best dress, you could easily beat any girl here with that dress and your beauty.

Loki was seated next to the Allfather and Iyllir, watching over the room as more and more new asgardians came to pay their respects and congratulate the happy couple. Thor came up behind them and patted Loki on the back before he took him away to drink.

According to Thor it was a necessity.

After that he had a dance with his soon to be wife, only a few kisses were engaged, Loki didn't like being as affectionate out in the open, in front of so many people.

The dance ended and the mead started to kick in, and if he was honest it was quite amusing to see Thor drunk as he talked, or more so yelled, to his friends.

After the ball he didn't see Thor as much, he must be busy with… whatever that was happening on Midgard. He won't let himself think too much about it, so he kept himself busy with wedding preparations and council meetings.

He spent the month buried in work during the day, and clearing his head during the night.

•

Present day in Midgard.

"Tony, I already told you that her powers don't have any energy trackers that we can build on."

"Bruce, we already scoured hydra bases. We found no information about her." Tony looked at the screen in front of him before pushing it aside, startling Bruce. "Sorry."

The doors to the lab opened and they turned to see Thor coming in with a short smile.

"Have you got any news about Lady Y/N?" he looked around the room anxiously, his next words would certainly get a reaction from the two scientists. "Do you need my brother's help?"

"Thor, I don't think that's a good idea." Tony exchanged a look with Bruce and he rubbed his eyes. "But no, we still don't know where she is."

"Why refuse his help?" Thor's voice grew louder. He then looked at the door when it opened for Steve and Wanda.

"We already told you Thor, we don't want his help." Steve chuckled darkly, so Wanda put her hand on the captain's shoulder then, trying to ease the tension.

"Thor, this isn't something Loki can help with, this is hydra."

"He will still do whatever he can, he still cares for her-"

"Besides, he is probably busy preparing for his wedding, isn't that right?"

"You are being judgmental Steve," Thor came towards Steve. "You're not thinking rationally."

"Oh I am judging him just right. If you're only here to try and vouch for your brother than you may as well go."

"Steve!" Wanda called him but he didn't budge his stare from the Asgardian prince.

Thor left shortly after.

Steve ignored the stares.

•

"Father, the elves are calming down, if we send some aid we could make sure peace is settled." Loki talked to his father in the throne room.

"If we send aid, they could use it against us. They could just be faking submission." Loki held back a laugh.

"I'm not the god of lies for nothing father, I'd be able to tell if they were faking it. Trust me about this." The doors opened with a bang, shutting behind the blonde prince as he strode towards Loki.

"My son, what are you doing here?"

"Loki," Thor ignored his father and Loki got up and looked at Thor at the strange occurrence. "Y/N has been kidnapped, you need to come back."

"She what?" His heartbeat sped up and he could feel the warm sensation of anger rise in him from the fear.

"Who is this girl?" Odin looked between his two sons when none answered. "Thor?"

"A girl from Midgard, she's an Avenger." He looked over Loki and nodded his head, he needed to be the one to talk.

"She's just a girl that I knew from Midgard." He said to his father with his jaw clenched, then he turned to Thor. "Thor, what happened?"

"They think she's got taken because of her powers, or because of the Asgardian technology that was stolen."

"My sons, you will answer to the questions I pose. Now tell me, what powers does she posses? If she has a part in the problem we have on Midgard then I deserve to know that."

Thor nodded, encouraging Loki to speak up.

"She has the power to insert herself into people's minds and control what they see and feel." He shook his head at his father. "She has no role in this father, she should not be mixed with Asgardian business."

The Allfather was quiet then before he shifted in his throne.

"Son, you know her for quite some time isn't that right?" Loki nodded and looked down.

"And you seem to care for her, too." He was no longer asking but Loki found himself nodding anyway. "Did she know about you being an Asgardian?"

"Yes, she knew who I was."

"So have you ever used your magic on her?" Loki was halfway into shaking his head before he stopped and remembered that night he spent comforting you, sitting on the tile of your bathroom.

"Only once," he thought back at the ancient spell.

"Tell me now my son, has it ever crossed your mind that such powerful magic as the one you have will affect a mortal immensely?"

"What are you saying father?" Thor looked up at Odin.

"It was a powerful spell…" Loki was still in thought about his actions that night, he must have been emotional.

"Her powers can be of Asgardian source, the mortal's powers sound like old Asgardian magic- the reality stone that was stored here long ago. The spell must have been from those ancient time, and so it stored immense powers- the kind that a mortal could not bear."

"So is that why they took her? Because of my magic, they took her because of me." Loki mumbled to himself.

"Loki, no don't say that-"

"It's true Thor! I'm going to get her back." Loki didn't wait for Odin to object before he all but ran out of the door. Odin didn't object.

"Thor, go after him. If he finds her, he will find the rest of the stolen weapons." Thor nodded to his father before following his brother.

•

Steve looked at the papers scattered on the lab.

"This is a nightmare."

"I've had better nightmares." Natasha spoke from next to him. "You should go rest a bit, you look like hell."

He smiled at her but it barely reached his eyes. You were a part of his family, losing you is not an option. He didn't know where you were and he didn't want to think about what you may be going through.

He wasn't the only one who cared about you, he knew that, but it still felt like they don't understand.

He turned around to go get water, when he almost ran into someone.

Looking up he saw the blue eyes of the raven haired prince. His tiredness suddenly disappeared when he took in the cold demeanor and rage filled eyed.

"I've been away for six long months and meanwhile you let her get kidnapped just like that?" Loki's voice was low and Steve didn't notice Thor walk in right after Loki, he didn't hear Bucky calling him.

"You are not welcome here Loki, and don't talk about it as if it isn't your entire fault."

The answer he got was in a dark laugh.

"Oh captain, I'm afraid I'm way past asking permission." Loki moved past him. "How long was she gone?"

"Almost a month," Bucky replied, looking between Steve's clenched posture and the same one that Loki held. "Can you find her?"

"I'll do whatever it takes." He nodded to the soldier and Bucky recognized the vulnerability in his eyes.

"Her powers are Asgardian, they came from me." Loki looked at the different screens, the room was quiet. "Doctor Banner, do you think you could track my energy signature? She should have some part of it inside her."

Loki looked back at the doctor, awaiting a response.

"Yes, I will just need to take some of your-"

"Take what you need."

•

Tags: @ayybtch @buckys-other-punk @chaoticpete @madcrazy50 @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @the-departed-potato @rogerrhqpsody @onceupona-happilyeverafter-love @percabethismyotp14

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msmarvelouswinchester · 3 years

Text

Lost Years

Summary - After spending five years in LA, Dean comes back to Lawrence and meets up with his bestfriend or rather his then bestfriend. Y/N isn't exactly happy on seeing Dean either. Will he be able to fix his strained relationship with her?

Pairing - Rockstar!Dean Winchester x Y/N

Warning - Cheesy fluff, angst, mentions of unrequited love, mentions of divorce, parents separation, drinking, bad dates, kissing, unprotected sex 18+ (wrap it before you tap it), p in v smut, oral sex (fem receiving), sex in the Impala.

WC - 5.3k+ (....oops)

Square filled - Angst ( @girl-next-door-writes ) and “Why the fuck would you laugh at that?” ( @anyfandomgoesbingo )

A/N - This is my submission to @downanddirtydean's 500 followers writing challenge (Congratulations again, Lyd). Prompt is in bold.

This is an AU. Flashbacks are in Italics.

Beta'd by @miss-nerd95 (Thank you so much, hon) and thank you to @whatareyousearchingfordean for giving this a read and leaving some valuable comments❤️

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

“Fuckin’ brilliant!” A weary exclamation left the woman's mouth as she read the text displayed on the device's screen in her hand.

There was a very significant reason why she didn't believe in blind dates, but Jo had been stubborn and insistent. And with Valentine's Day approaching, Y/N didn't want to spend the day in her pjs, crying over The Notebook again. So she had agreed to give a chance to Jo’s friend, or to be more precise, her friend's cousin. His name was Gabriel, and from what she had heard from her mutual friend circle, he seemed to be a decent guy.

But now all she wanted was to go back in time and change her decision to give into Jo’s request, because looking at the empty chair in front of her, she regretted allowing her friend to even try to interfere in her love life.

She signaled the waiter to bring over her check after downing the entire glass of wine. The restaurant was quite busy tonight. It was packed with people on this fine Saturday evening - from lovestruck couples to families with crying kids, Y/N found herself feeling quite lonely as she had stupidly waited on her date to show up for such a long time. Heat crept up her neck in embarrassment when the waiter showed up, the latter’s eyes filled with sympathy as Y/N paid the price of her drink.

Within no time, she was out of the restaurant.

Glancing down at her green dress, she swore under her breath. She tried to book a cab to return to the comfort of her home when her eyes caught the glowing signboard of The Roadhouse right around the corner of the street. The only thing she could think of was to get black-out drunk now. Y/N, still in her high heels, trudged down the path to Ellen’s bar.

Dressed up all for nothing. Rolling her eyes at herself, she went inside the establishment, heading straight towards the counter and taking a seat there. Like any other weekend nights, the place was stuffed. Y/N let her eyes trail over the many patrons of the dingy bar, landing finally on the middle-aged brunette who ran the place

“Ellen!” She called out to the woman.

“Hey, honey,” she approached Y/N, all the while glaring daggers at the drunk she had just previously been arguing with, “A bit overdressed for this place, don't ya think?”

“Your daughter is officially fired from matchmaking services,” Y/N sighed.

“Boy troubles, huh? What can I get ya, hon?” Sympathy was evident in Ellen’s eyes as she spoke. Y/N was as much of a daughter to her as Jo was. The girl had been through so much heartbreak, all Ellen wanted was to see a smile on her face.

“The usual,” Y/N gave a sad smile.

“Rough night indeed, huh?” She raised an eyebrow. The woman in question shrugged defeatedly. Ellen patted her arm in comfort before she left her to arrange for her drink, leaving Y/N to wallow in self-pity.

She thought back to when her life had taken such a traumatic turn. All her friends were either getting engaged, married, or popping out kids. But not Y/n... she was in her late twenties now, and she couldn't even find herself an eligible man.

Ellen pushed the glass towards her. Sighing, she picked it up as she admired the liquid in it. She drank slowly, every sip creating a burning sensation at the back of her throat. Fingers still wrapped around the glassware, she set it down, looking around the bar. The place was filled with mad chatters and howling laughs along with the music blasting from the stereo placed on the deck inside the room, a stark contrast to how lonely she felt. She signaled Ellen for another round, who nodded before giving her that sad understanding smile Y/N was now starting to hate. Frowning, she dropped her head and exhaled.

“Sweetheart, where did that pretty smile for yours go?” Y/N was quickly pulled out from her daze by a very familiar voice; a voice she hadn't heard in a few years. It couldn't be him, he was supposed to be in LA!

“Ella?” The term of endearment brought back dozens of memories, some good and some bad, but all were about him - the freckled face teenage boy with dirty blonde hair and eyes as green as the forest in the summertime she had once fallen for. It brought up the painful memory of their first meet which she had tried to forget so hard.

She remembered the day of their first drama practice when Dean had grudgingly walked into the room. He had reluctantly agreed to play the Prince in the Cinderella act after Cas who was supposed to be the Prince had accidentally ended up with a broken leg. He didn’t know her name, so he had called her ‘Ella’ to get her attention which was the start of their epic friendship.

Y/N didn't dare to turn around to look at him, after all, he wasn't the scrawny teenager from Lawrence anymore. He was now the lead singer and guitarist of a popular rock band with a fancy name and songs that were in the top ten of Billboard music charts. Yes, she did keep up with his rising fame, sometimes even listening to one of his songs before she was once again reminded of the heartbreak he had caused.

“You can't even look at me.” His voice was barely a whisper but loud enough for her to hear as he slid into the stool beside her.

Gathering enough courage, she raised her head. “Dean.” His name rolled off her tongue so easily, but her heart ached for the past. Dean cracked a smile at her as his emerald eyes did not leave hers once. It was as if he was memorizing every tiny detail of her face and if anyone would've asked him, he would've replied that he was.

Y/N hadn't changed much over the years he had spent in LA. She was still the same girl he had first met in school and the last time he had seen her at their graduation. She was a shy girl but they had clicked instantly. Growing up, she was his best friend, his person, his escape.

“Dean Winchester has walked into my bar. Must be my lucky day!” Ellen’s voice thundered across the room, grabbing the attention of a few intoxicated people. “How's LA treating you, boy?”

“Ellen! It's awesome to see you again.” A grin broke out on Dean's face as he jumped out of his seat and pulled the lady into a bear hug. “LA’s pretty okay. It is as good as the industry can be.”

“Heard some of your songs, I knew you had the talent,” Ellen said, jabbing her finger into his chest to prove her point. “Now what can I get ya? On the house.”

“A beer will be just fine. Don't want to show up to the Winchester house drunk!” He chuckled.

“Alright, coming right up. Y/N, honey, you want another round or a glass of water?” The lady asked.

“I'll be leaving in a few. Glass of water it is, El.” She replied but was then interrupted by Dean.

“One drink, with me. It's on me, Ella.” There it was again, that fucking name. A few years ago, that name would have made her cheeks heat up but now, it just made her blood boil. She clenched her hand into fists, tears pricking at her eyes as she swallowed the lump in her throat.

“Do not call me that.” She hissed, surprising Dean. Y/N turned towards the man, finally taking a good look at him. He had changed a lot, had become more handsome but LA had not modified his clothing style because he was still wearing his signature flannel and jeans accompanied by a jacket. She wondered how many girls had stopped him for a picture or an autograph on his way back to Lawrence, jealousy seeping into her. She hated the way he still had that effect on her.

“Y/N-” She knew what he was going to say. ‘I am sorry’, but she wasn't ready to forgive him now, if ever.

“No. Don't.” She stopped him mid-sentence, hands digging into her purse as she pulled out the money for her drinks, dropping them on the counter.

“El, I am going home.” Ellen, who was silently watching their whole exchange, nodded her head before asking, “Want me to call a cab for you?”

“No. I'm going to crash at your place. I need to have a word with Jo.” Y/N said since it was near impossible for her to walk back to her house, considering she was quite tipsy and still in heels, but she also didn't want to wait until the woman called a cab with Dean Winchester anywhere nearby. After getting her belongings, she got out of the barstool and left the place on wobbly legs. Her feet would no doubt be screaming in pain the next day.

Stepping out, she inhaled deeply, letting a few tears fall as the cool air hit her face. After their graduation, Y/N had sworn she would try her best to forget the older Winchester. She wasn't quite successful in her aim, because many times she would come across his gorgeous face on the cover of a magazine or his song would be playing on the radio, striking up old memories of their time spent together in high school.

Still lost in her thoughts, she took a step forward, only to misjudge the cobblestone path and end up losing her balance. She braced herself for the impending fall but was saved by a pair of strong hands wrapped around her waist.

“Watch your step, sweetheart,” Dean said, letting her down gently. “Lemme see, did you hurt your ankle?” He went down on his knees in front of her, pulling a low gasp out of her as he examined her feet.

“Were you following me?” Y/N gritted out those words.

“No.” He shook his head but she clearly saw through the lie.

“I’m fine. You can go now.” She said, her eyes looking everywhere but the man.

“Come on, don't be so stubborn. Get in the car, I'll drop you off at your house or Jo’s place if you want.” He said looking up, trying to catch her eyes but she was adamant about not giving him that satisfaction. Y/N squeezed her eyes shut, lips quivering before she answered.

“Leave me alone.” She muttered, a tear running down her cheek. All that preparation for not breaking down in front of Dean and her body still betrayed her. The man got up. Y/N noticed that he was now wearing a cap, probably to hide from any bystander who might recognize him.

“Y/N/N, I-” Dean was at a loss of words. He hated seeing her so heartbroken and he loathed himself for being the cause of it. He tried to reach out and hold her hand but she recoiled back, making him wince. “Please, Ella.”

“Stop calling me that, Winchester. How many times do I have to repeat that?” Her voice came out as a little whine, making Dean chuckle. He missed it - her tone, the timbre, the intensity in her pitch, and the words it said, which used to be his voice of reason; he missed his best friend. “Why the fuck would you laugh at that? I am not doing stand up comedy out here.” Y/N was still the strong-headed girl he adored.

“You'll probably hurt yourself if you walk in those heels again with how tipsy you are right now. Get in the car, I know you missed cruising around the town in Baby because she missed you for sure.” And that thankfully got the exact reaction out of her that he had anticipated. She finally looked right at him, her face lit up at the pretense of seeing the beloved black car again.

“I thought she was in LA with you.” Y/N said and then it dawned on her, “Did you drive across the States?”

“Damn right I did!” He beamed in reply like he had won a trophy, his heart swelling with happiness when he saw the smile forming on her face mixed with awe and surprise. He still had to go a long way to get her back, but he had to take baby steps. At least he managed to make her smile. “So? Want to go out, just like the old times?”

The smile instantly disappeared from Y/N’s lips and Dean knew he fucked up right then. Maybe he shouldn't have mentioned the good ol’ days. “Sweetheart, I'm sorry-”

“Just drop me off at Jo’s. That's it.” She said, lowering her gaze. He waved her over to the direction where his car was parked. Y/N started to walk along as Dean wordlessly followed her.

Y/N felt a wave of nausea hit her. She didn't do well in social gatherings and this was her graduation ceremony. One wrong step, one wrong word, or a wardrobe malfunction, and the day could turn into a disaster in an instant.

“Honey, you're gonna be excellent out there! We're all very proud of you.” Mary said while hugging Y/N tightly as they both waited on the former's older son to come downstairs who was running late, as usual. She had grown incredibly close to the Winchester family over the years. They were her rock, especially Dean who was there with her at every step as she went through the separation of her parents.

“Are you and John going to join my parents at the ceremony? Someone needs to stop them before they end up killing each other.” She grimaced.

“Isn't this going to be the first time they are together in one single room, since their….you know-” Sam asked as he came out of the kitchen, a green smoothie in his hands. Dean might have been her best friend, her confidante, but Sam was the little brother she never thought she needed.

“First get that green drink outta my sight, I already feel like I'm gonna throw up. Second, you can speak about the divorce. It's not taboo and it was a long time coming. Everyone knew that.” Y/N reluctantly said. The separation of her parents might have been foreseeable but, nevertheless, it still hurt her to see her parents walkout in two separate ways once the divorce was finalized. The house had become much quieter these days which she was thankful for but she also felt the evident absence of her father.

“Mom and Dad will definitely be there!” Dean announced loudly as he came down the stairs. “Come on let's go. Don't wanna be late for our own graduation ceremony!” She could always count on him to make her day better.

“I should have told you.”

“W-what?” Y/N asked dumbfoundedly as Dean’s gruff voice broke her out of the reverie and pulled her back to reality. A minute passed when she noticed even if his hands were on the steering, he wasn't driving anymore.

“This-” she looked out of the window, “this isn't Jo’s place.”

“No, this is our place,” Dean said.

“Dean.” This was the last place she wanted to be at, let alone be here with Dean. It had taken every ounce of her strength to not run back to this place over the past few years whenever she missed her best friend, only to realize that he had left her in the dust on his path to fame and didn't care about her as much as she used to think. Too many memories were attached to this particular place.

“I missed this, Y/N.” He said, killing the engine and slowly opening the door on his side. Y/N understood what he was trying to do and her mind screamed at her in protest to not follow him but her heart told her to follow the man it belonged to.

Dean finally stepped out of the car and walked over to the closed door on her side. She opened the door herself before he could and stepped out as well with a huff. The place was the same as it ever was. “I haven't been here since graduation.” She blurted out.

“I should have told you,” Dean said as they started to walk to their spot. Y/N chose to remain quiet. “Ella, please say somethin’.”

“I am not your Ella anymore, Dean. Stop calling me that.” She said but this time it wasn't a whine, instead, she yelled it out. She was sick and tired of yearning for the man who had broken her heart several years ago and now she was scared that he was gonna leave her once again.

“You'll always be my Ella.” He said.

“The Prince didn't lie to Cinderella and leave her behind but you- it hurts me to remember how close we were then. You left me without even a simple goodbye, so no, I am not your Ella anymore.” She flinched when he reached out for her.

He had stopped walking now and so had she. Dean moved closer to her before standing exactly in front of her. His hands lightly traced her jaw as she looked up at him. She looked just as enchanting under the moonlight as he remembered. He cupped her face in his hands, thumbs gently caressed her cheeks. She had given up fighting herself now, driven only by instinct. All the walls that she had put up came crumbling down with one touch of his.

“Why do you think I didn't say goodbye to you?” Dean whispered.

“Maybe all the years that we spent together meant nothing to you.” Her voice was like a melody to his ears but the words broke his heart even further.

“Because it was too damn hard. When RC Records called me up three days before graduation, you were the first person I wanted to tell, but I couldn't, ‘cause if I did, I wouldn't have made it to where I am right now.” He said, not a trace of mirth on his face.

“I wouldn't have held you back.” It was simple. Y/N always wanted to stay in Lawrence and look over her mother's bakery shop, and that's what she ended up doing. She now owned the shop and her business was thriving. Dean had wanted to become a singer ever since he was ten when he was forced to play the Prince, opposite to Y/N’s lead. He had found his passion and she had always encouraged it, even when John had strongly protested against him choosing music as his major. “You know I always supported you.”

“I know that, but thinking about not seeing you every day made me not want to go. I kept imagining you upset and that's why I didn't have it in me to tell you about my break.” He said. Y/N grabbed his hands pushing them away from her face.

“You ended up making me sad anyway. So why the fuck are you back?” She was enraged.

“Ella-” Dean tried to come closer but she stepped back, “I came to see my family.”

“Then why are you wasting your time here with me?”

“Because you're the most important person in my life and every day I spent away from you, you were the only person on my mind.” Dean smiled.

“What?”

“You were the first thought when I woke up and the last thought when I went to sleep.” He said and pulled her close when she finally stopped fighting. “I love you, Y/N Y/L/N. I know I am late and probably missed my chance, but five years in LA have taught me to take the risks. I love you, Ella.”

“I can't-” Dean’s smile felt but he quickly recovered.

“I-I understand.” He let out a dry chuckle, “You got a man back at home waiting for you. He sure is one lucky bastard.”

“No. You do not fucking understand! You are just so in your head, it's just-” She flailed her arms around in utter frustration. “Do you have any idea how long it took me to move on? I have been on so many dates but no man was ever enough for me, all because of your sorry ass! The Graduation Day - I knew you always thought of me as your best friend, so I had decided to ask you out myself,”

“Y/N-”

“No, let me finish. You have to fucking listen about how much pain you put me through these five years! The next day, I went to your house only to hear from your parents that you were on your way to LA. I fucking hate you!” Tears rolled down her cheeks. “I fucking hate how much I still love you, Dean!”

His eyes widened in surprise as he kept opening and closing his mouth like a damn fish. He was unable to form a coherent sentence and so he cupped Y/N’s cheeks in his big, warm hands once more, but now he dipped down, tilting his face and pulling her in for a kiss. His teeth grazed her bottom lips, making her moan into his mouth. She could feel the blood rush to her cheeks as she found herself completely enamored by him. Her hands snuck to the back of his neck as she steadied herself. Her knees buckled under his hypnotic touch as he slipped his tongue into her mouth, her whole body tingled and toes curled up as his tongue explored every inch of her mouth.

“De,” Y/N tried to catch her breath when Dean finally let go of her lips, already missing the feel of her on him.

His hands traveled down her body, making her gasp aloud at the feel. He lowered his mouth as he started to leave a trail of kisses along her jaw and down her neck. “Dean, please. Don't.” Her three short words made him stop.

“Alright.” He gulped.

“I don't want to get my heart broken again, Winchester, I don't think I can survive it again.” Y/N knew he would return to LA within a week, and so she didn't want to take this any further. “Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me, right?”

“I won't. I am not going back.” Y/N looked at him, surprise evident in her eyes, “I don't care about my career anymore. Five years without you was like living in hell and my bandmates are probably so tired of hearing how much I missed you. I will write my songs from here in Lawrence if it means that I'll be closer to you.”

“You would do that for me?” She asked sincerely.

“I would. I was a stupid kid back then but now I have realized that nothing's more important to me than you. I don't want to lose my Ella ever again.” He said, “I'm sorry for taking so long to understand that. There is no way-” His words were cut off as Y/N captured his lips with her own. The sudden kiss caught him off guard but he quickly pulled himself together to kiss her back. “Shit, Y/N-” he gasped when he felt his dick twitch. He picked her up in quick motion and went towards the car. Y/N giggled when her back lightly collided with Baby’s door. Dean dropped his head, nipping at the pulse point on her neck.

“Dean-” She moaned, which was better than any music he had ever made as his hands slipped under her dress, his fingers hovering over her soaked panties. Her thighs clenched in anticipation.

“You have no idea how long I dreamt of having you. You're soaked, sweetheart. ” He huskily said, his fingers hooking on the waistband of her cotton panties. “Tell me to stop and I will, in a heartbeat. No questions.”

“N-no. Don't stop.” Y/N cooed. Dean dragged down her panties which pooled at her feet. He picked it up and stuffed it into his pocket. Thankfully, there was no one around but the thrill of being out in the open with Dean got her even more hot and bothered. Her hands grasped onto his biceps tightly so that she wouldn't topple over when Dean slipped a finger into her tight pussy. Her mouth fell open, her head dropping on his shoulder as he started pumping slowly, every drag of his finger pushing her closer to the edge.

Dean felt his pants tighten as he heard the sweet moan of his name leave her lips. Her raspy voice was one he could hear all day long, her heavy pants tickling his skin. With one hand he unbuckled his belt, trying to relieve himself a little, but when a cry of pleasure left her lips as he slipped in another finger, he hoped that he wouldn't cream his pants like a freaking teenage boy.

Y/N felt the coil in her stomach tighten as she inched towards her climax. Dean quickened his pace, curling his fingers inside her and brushing her g-spot, each time eliciting a low moan out of her. “Dean….” She couldn't form any coherent words other than chanting his name over and over again and a moment later, the coil snapped as she felt herself coming undone. He delicately pulled his fingers out of her, which were covered in her juice. Dean reached behind her, yanking the door open as he nudged her to go in. She readily obliged and slid into the seat with shaky legs. He climbed into the backseat after her, closing the door behind him.

Her dress had ridden up her thigh, exposing her glistening pussy. Dean’s eyes darkened at the sight before him as he swiftly pulled his shirt over his head, discarding it somewhere in the front. He pushed her dress further up. She raised her hands as he successfully got her out of the garment and unhooked her bra. Y/N moved further back into the seat, her back resting against the door on the other side as Dean started to leave kisses down her body.

“Have you ever thought about this? ‘Cause I did, every freaking day.” Dean asked, kissing the valley between her breasts, the rumble of his voice sending shivers down her spine.

“E-every time I touched myself, I thought of you.” She said, gasping out loud at every word when his mouth found her breasts and started to suck on the soft skin, flicking a nipple with his tongue and twirling the other within his fingers.

“Oh-” Dean raised his head to look at her before he moved south, “Did you think about me between your legs just like this-” He said as he left kisses along her thigh, his stubble creating soft burns on her skin in its wake that she would definitely remember. He finally stopped at her nether regions, his hot breath fanning against her throbbing pussy. “Did you think about me tasting you like this?”

Y/N threw her head back in pleasure when his mouth latched onto her sensitive bundle of nerves, his tongue flicking at her aching nub. Her hands traveled down to his head, her fingers getting tangled up in his soft hair and pulled at the strands, making him groan.

“Fuck-” She exclaimed as Dean hungrily devoured her, his tongue repeatedly assaulting her sensitive pussy, sucking needily on her bundle of nerves. Y/N threw her head back in pleasure as she felt the coil in your stomach tighten before a wave of pleasure washed over her. “Shit!” She gasped as Dean’s tongue lapped her juices hungrily.

“Fuck, sweetheart, you taste so good.” He panted before he unbuttoned his pants pushing them down along with his boxers, freeing his erection sprung from his confines. “Son of a bitch, I don’t have-” Y/N sensed his uneasiness.

“I’m on the pill.” She smirked as she stared at his toned body.

“Well, I’m clean.” She reached out to touch his stomach, hands then traveling down to his length. Dean dropped his head, biting down on his lips, “Y/N-” He pushed her hands away, smirking as he ran his hand along his hardened cock, giving it a few strokes, the tip beaded with precum. He looked at Y/N once and lined himself with her dripping entrance when she gave him a nod to go ahead.

His swollen tip teasingly nudged at her opening before he pushed himself into her.

“Shit Y/N-” Dean grunted, simultaneously as Y/N hissed out at the painful sensation at the beginning as he pushed himself into her, letting her adjust around his size before she told him to move. He circled his hips as he slowly pulled out, leaving only the tip of his engorged cock inside her, before pushing back in again, deeper than before.

“Holy fuck-” Y/N moaned out when he quickened his pace, hitting her g-spot repeatedly with every thrust as they both inched towards their release. Dean kissed her as he continued to thrust deep into her, their breathing growing erratic, the windows of the chevy fogged up and the car filled with their groans and moans as they both chased their release. She hooked her arms at the small of his back as he started to nibble at her sweet spot. His hand moved south, his thumb rubbing circles on her clit which further edged her.

“Shit De!” Y/N cried out loud as her walls fluttered around his pulsating length when she felt herself coming undone. Dean’s thrusts became sloppy as he grunted into the crook of her neck before he spilled into her with one cry of her name, painting her walls with his seed. He dropped his head, trying to catch his breath before he gently pulled out.

“Fuck sweetheart.” Dean panted, beads of sweat lining his forehead as they both laid in each other’s arms, basking in the post-coital bliss. “Was this better than your fantasies? ‘Cause, ‘twas surely better than mine.” Dean smirked, reaching out to grab a piece of cloth to clean themselves up. “We should have done this sooner.”

“If only you hadn't been such a coward.” Y/n teased with a giggle.

“Your dumbass could have called me up. I wasted five years being one, terrified to hear how much you hate me.” He grumbled, cleaning up the mess on the seat. Honestly, she could have but she didn't ‘cause she was scared to hear the truth as well; that Dean had truly left her.

“So, you’re sayin’ we’re both a couple of dumbasses.” Y/N chuckled, putting on her bra.

“Your words, not mine.” Dean gave her a sly smirk. “The Winchester household will be so delighted, once they know I finally got my head out of my ass and looked at the beautiful woman right in front of me.” He was right in every sense. The Winchesters, all of them had always believed that those two would end up together. Everyone saw how in love they were except Y/N and Dean.

“Isn't it too early for the introduce-the-girlfriend-to-the-family thing?” She asked which got an eye roll out of the man. “Panties?”

“I don't have them.” Dean sneakily raised his hands.

“I saw you stuff them into your pocket.” He grabbed her dress from the front seat, throwing it at her.

“Put this on, or preferably, just don't.” He gave her a boyish smile, getting a raised eyebrow in reply, “Oh I'm not done with you. Gotta make up for the lost years, sweetheart.” Dean's eyes darkened at the thought as Y/N gulped, knowing she wouldn't be able to walk properly for weeks.

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