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jjkeverlast · 10 months

Note

okay babe, after working my 2 remaining brain cells I have come up with a request for my boyfiii/hubby joonie (joon's whores™️ pls rise up) 🫣 i'd love a childhood bestfriends to lovers, fluff and smut ofc (if inspo hits, maybe a tiny pinch of angst? if not, it's okay 😌) here are some prompts :

Having so many inside jokes that just the two of them know, that other people often don’t understand their humor. “I’m just scared of losing you.” “Don’t think of it as losing, it’s more like evolving. You’re not losing your best friend, you’re getting something extra.”

and you know i'm extra, so here's some visual inspo (honestly, any excuse show off my domestic boyfriend pics 🫣)

okay okay love you to the moon and back 🌝, i am not sorry for the feral sounds that will come out of me once this thing is posted (i will need to be put down) ❤️❤️❤️

about love | knj (m)

>> pairing bestfriend!namjoon x fem!reader

>> genre/au's childhood best friends to lovers | fluff | smut | crack

>> summary during your trip to the aquarium, namjoon blurts out something that creates an unexpected turn to your friendship.

>> word count 2.8k

>> author's note living for the boyfie pics of joon hehe i hope u enjoy this drabble baby. i included everything u mentioned (minus angst lol) i hope u don't fall more in love with joon after reading this sjdfhcsjd

[keep in mind that i do not have taglists for request, and prompts are marked in bold! thank you.]

Sundays meant one thing for you and Namjoon. It’s the day of the week where you both spend time together. This time, it was Namjoon’s turn to pick and usually he would pick an art exhibition or his favorite museum but, surprisingly enough he picked an aquarium.

You hadn’t been to one since you were five years old. It was on a school trip, you and Namjoon being forced to walk side by side and hold hands like the rest. That’s the only thing you remember — oh, and that silly inside joke that got created that day.

There’s something everyone knows about Namjoon. He’s incredibly smart. Ever since he was little he was always infatuated by random but very important facts — as he called them.

You were determined that jellyfishes were called roundy fishes. Which isn’t really a word but you were certain! It made sense to you, and Namjoon laughed when you shrieked how you were extremely excited to see the roundy fishes, until he discovered it was jellyfishes. Afterwards, he had made it his life mission to, one annoy you with the ridiculous name and two, give you every single fact about them.

Till this day, Namjoon still teased you with that.

The aquarium was the one from when you were small, basically where your friendship started to bloom. The thought of you being here with Namjoon almost 20 years later, made you nervous. A good nervous.

On your 20th birthday, you realized you were in love with Namjoon. It wasn’t even a special moment. He was just suddenly holding a silly tiny cake with a few candles and pushing you to make a wish as you blew on them. In that moment you had looked at him and something sparked in your heart. People would call it butterflies, but you called it a spark.

That spark never left. You weren’t exactly planning on ever telling him, his friendship meaning much more to you than ruining it by a confession.

Therefore, you kept it hidden. But, today he’s making it hard. Especially by showing up with a cute white sweater and his glasses.

Fuck.

“Ready to go see some roundy fishes?” Namjoon says, teasing you by knocking his elbow into yours.

“You’re still on that, I see.” You respond, trying to hide your smile as you both walk inside the aquarium.

The blue lights are all over the place, decorations of every living creature hanging on the walls.

Namjoon doesn’t even hesitate, dragging you by the arm directly towards the jellyfish.

You’re stunned by how beautiful they look. They’re moving in slow motion, creating what seems to be a whole different universe behind glass. It almost reminds you of the clumps of lava, floating in a lava lamp after you turn it on and let it sit for a few hours.

Somehow, you’re just standing in silence, admiring them silently while Namjoon stands next to you. He’s not saying anything either, but it’s a comfortable silence. It’s always like this with Namjoon. Just extreme comfort at all times.

You finally decide to turn your head towards Namjoon, noticing how he’s staring at you already. His expression is something you’ve never seen before. You can’t exactly pinpoint what he’s thinking, which is usually your best skill.

“What?” You ask.

“I’m in love with you.” Namjoon blurts out. Your eyes pop open by his words, mouth dropping silently as well.

What did he just say?!

“I—“

Namjoon seems to be getting out of his trance, smacking his lips and returning his gaze on the glass.

“Did you know that jellyfishes are 95% water?” Namjoon changes the subject quickly, spilling out every fact he has on your favorite fish.

“Namjoon.”

“They actually also have really short lifespans.” He continues, ignoring how you called out his name.

“Joonie.”

Namjoon returns his eyes to you. The nickname always does it for him.

“I’m sorry. I was just—“ He tries to explain before you cut him off.

“I’m in love with you, clumsy.”

Namjoon’s expression brings out a huge change. He begins to light up, almost turning the same color as the glowing jellyfishes.

“What.” He breathes out.

“Yeah.” You step closer.

“Holy shit.” Namjoon suddenly says. “You’re serious.” He points out, as if it wasn’t obvious before.

“You’re ridiculous.” You suddenly begin to laugh, your stomach feeling all kinds of weird because what just happened?!

“Wait. Since when have you..” He starts off.

“Since my 20th birthday.” You confess with confidence.

“Ha.” Namjoon chuckles. “I win.”

“Wait what?” You ask in confusion.

“Been in love with you ever since you called jellyfish roundy fishes.”

Fuck. He has got to be kidding.

“Please tell me you’re joking.” You say in disbelief.

“No. Five year old Namjoon was definitely onto something.” He admits, humor laced in his tone.

“Wow.” Your stomach just did a somersault.

“Meaning, he’s been waiting to do something for a really long time.” Namjoon explains, moving closer to you, both of your chests brushing against one another.

“Oh?”

Namjoon smiles, his dimples becoming prominent before he dips his head, his lips about to reach yours until—

“Wait.” You put a hand on his chest, causing his brows to furrow.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m just… scared of losing you.” You admit.

There’s not really anything to be afraid of, you know that. But this is Namjoon. Silly, smart, clumsy Namjoon who’s been by your side for as long as you remember. This is scary. What if you mess up? Then you’ll eventually lose Namjoon and—

“Hey.” Namjoon catches you out of your thoughts.

“Don’t think of it as losing, it’s more like evolving. You’re not losing your best friend, you’re getting something extra.” Namjoon says, lightening up the room and washing every horrible thought away.

You nod, agreeing because he’s not exactly wrong. You’re just about to step into something else, but one thing that will never change is Namjoon being your best friend.

When Namjoon notices how you’re more relaxed, he takes the opportunity to finally kiss you.

It’s like everything around you stops the moment your lips meet. You feel like you’ve floated into a completely different place. Namjoon hesitates with giving you more than a peck, so just as he’s about to pull away, you grab his nape letting them touch again.

The kiss is slow. The kiss is the start of something.

Finally, you pull away. Namjoon can’t stop smiling and your whole body has turned warm.

Now, while you’re watching the jellyfish, Namjoon is holding your hand. They seem to fit so perfectly and your mind hasn’t even processed everything that just happened. But one thing you know for sure, is that you’ve never been happier.

The rest of the day, you walk around, Namjoon telling you everything he knows about each species. But it’s different this time, because each time he gets excited you get the urge to kiss him again and do so.

Namjoon doesn’t stop glowing the whole time you’re there, neither do you.

After a few hours, you both decide to head home. Namjoon sits in the passenger seat while you hum out the song playing on the radio.

When you finally arrive in front of his place, you both pause and look at each other again.

“Do you… want to come in?” Namjoon offers, scratching his neck while asking. A gesture he does when he’s nervous.

“I’d love to.” You seem more calm than he does.

“Oh, okay!” Namjoon gets excited, hurrying himself out of the car while you begin to laugh. You’re so in love with him it has turned ridiculous.

You’ve been in Namjoon’s apartment plenty of times. You could find everything with your eyes closed if you tried. This time, it’s a bit different. The atmosphere is clouded with love, while Namjoon scrambles to make you both some tea.

He’s excited, yes, but nervous too. He’s not the only one, you’re just better at controlling it.

When the tea has been made, you both sit down on his couch. He’s turned a few lamps on, the exposure of light dimmed which creates an oddly romantic vibe. Everything is unplanned. You’re just both living in the moment, talking and chatting about anything that comes to mind, while you play with his hair.

Something starts to shift when Namjoon stops talking about space, and decides to kiss you instead. The kiss is different from the first one. This time you’re both aiming for the same goal. Namjoon still seems hesitant, careful with moving his body closer to yours — which causes you to lead.

You pull Namjoon down on top of you, holding onto his waist as you continue to glide your lips above his. He tastes of peppermint tea, a taste you don’t really seem to mind.

It’s going somewhere you’re both aware of. Normally you would’ve been scared in such a situation, thinking you’re moving too fast but you’ve both been waiting so long for this moment that it doesn’t exactly feel like that.

Namjoon’s lips move from yours down to your neck, biting you gently before replacing it with his wet tongue. He’s really good at this. Fuck.

For the first time you’re already slightly panting by a minor action. It’s more the thought of it being Namjoon doing this, that he’s the one you’re currently making out with on his couch and not some random person from tinder or someone you met at the club. No. This is your best friend. Your other half. The one who’s apparently been in love with you ever since the first day you got to know him.

“I’m loving the extra things I’m getting.” You joke, running your fingers through his long strands while Namjoon giggles against your skin.

“Yeah, good you’re not missing out anymore.” What a cocky bastard.

“Mhm.” You hum, enjoying Namjoon hovering above you a tad bit too much.

“Wait. Are we doing this?” Namjoon pauses, removing his face from your neck. He’s looking at you, raising his eyebrow in question.

You pull him by the belt. “Yeah. We’re doing this.” You confirm, unbuckling his belt while Namjoon chuckles at your lack of patience.

But he’s no better himself, because before you know it he’s working his hands on your zipper, failing miserably but somehow making it work and opening them.

In sync, you both touch each other, groaning by the feeling. Namjoon feels big under your palm and he notices how you’re already wet from just a little hot make out sesh on his couch.

“Shit—“ Namjoon curses, sliding his fingers up and down above the fabric while you’re cupping him.

“Yeah.”

The sensation grows with every touch, a desperation coming to the surface. You’re certain Namjoon is going to fuck you on this couch, but he has other plans.

“Bedroom. Now.” He says in between pants. Too overwhelmed to form an actual sentence because holy shit you’re touching him, at this very moment. This isn’t a silly wet dream, no. This is real life and it’s about to happen.

It looks silly how you both get up so fast, running towards Namjoon’s bedroom as if there’s hidden gold in there. Namjoon closes the door even though he lives alone and you’re already laying down on his bed, waiting for him to join you.

The bed slightly dips when he joins you, grabbing your waist so you’re able to feel every inch of him as he kisses you softly. Your hands shamelessly feel his chest and arms, a weakness of yours when it comes to Namjoon and his body.

You remember the first time you saw him after a while, his shoulders broader and more toned. You tried not to show him how your eyes raked all over his body, checking him out with zero shame. Thankfully, Namjoon was too excited to see you to notice and you’re grateful for that.

But now, you can touch him there. Feel the edges of his muscles without having to wonder what they feel like. Fuck. You were right. They feel like a dream.

Namjoon moans against your lips when your hand moves upwards beneath his shirt, his soft skin burning against yours. You knew he had abs, he’s mentioned once or twice he was doing an abs workout when you’ve called him during his workout hours but— he’s truly ripped. The prominent edges of his abs tense under your touch and your mind is immediately sent into a whirlwind.

You grab onto his waist, moving him to hover above you once more. Although this time, Namjoon presses down on you, giving you a glimpse of how hard he is. He’s barely grazed his covered cock on you, and you’re whining beneath him, pulling him closer to kiss him more roughly.

The sounds Namjoon makes are unreal. He’s groaning softly, but moaning with a raspy tone. It’s almost a bit embarrassing how wet you’ve become by simply dry humping a bit and being blessed by hearing Namjoon enjoying himself above you.

You both go back to groping and touching one another, this time beneath the fabric that stands in the way. Namjoon’s cock feels heavy in your hand, the skin soft and the tip wet. You gain the courage to squeeze his cock gently, causing Namjoon to gasp while he’s dragging out his fingers on your slit.

You tense when Namjoon’s thumb begins to circle on your clit. Namjoon grows a smile at your reaction, continuing as he drags two of his fingers inside of you with ease. He curls them when they’re fully inside, petting your g-spot and making you moan. You return the favor, stroking Namjoon’s cock and squeezing by the tip, circling your thumb over it.

Now the question is, who’s going to give in first?

Namjoon pulls himself upwards, his fingers still inside you, taking his free hand to remove his glasses and place them on the night table. With that, he also reaches for a condom in the drawer.

As he moves downwards, he reconnects his lips with yours. The kiss is wet, messy and hot. It only makes you more excited to finally have sex with Namjoon.

You’re both moaning, moving your bodies in sync, in search of friction but nothing will beat Namjoon being inside of you. The lack of patience starts to show for you when you pull his pants and boxers till mid thigh. His cock springs free, moving closer to your core. Namjoon pulls out his fingers, grabbing onto his cock and makes eye contact with you.

You nod to his silent question, resulting in Namjoon to pull your pants and underwear completely off. You expect for Namjoon to get on with it, but instead he moves closer, grinding down on your naked core. His cock slips in between your lips, letting you feel him fully.

“Shit—” You gasp, overwhelmed by how good it feels.

“Yeah, baby.” Namjoon says in agreement, mouth slack as he continues to move. If he continues, you’re certain you can come like this.

“Joonie, please.” You bite your lip, preventing a moan from escaping your lips. “Need you.” You mumble against his skin.

You have never in your life seen Namjoon hurry as much as he does right now. He almost falls down on you, too excited to put on a condom. Luckily, he manages quickly, the condom sliding down with ease.

With that, Namjoon circles his tip by your entrance, teasing you a bit. It causes you to move your hips, trying to aim for his cock but you fail. Namjoon bites back a smile, and carefully he starts to thrust, sliding with ease. The stretch feels incredible.

After a few shallow thrusts, Namjoon manages to settle. He takes a second to enjoy how you feel wrapped around him before beginning to move.

Holy fucking shit. Namjoon thrusts like a God. You’re already on edge, barely having him inside of you but you feel yourself coming close to an orgasm.

Namjoon picks up a fast pace, grabbing both your hands and intertwining your fingers, settling them above your head. He gasps against your lips, biting down on them whenever you clench around him.

“You feel like a fucking dream.” Namjoon pants, smiling down on you. Your skin grows hot by his compliment, nearing an end.

With a few more thrusts from Namjoon, your back arches, a highly pitched moan slipping as you come undone all over him. Not long after, Namjoon’s cock twitches inside of you, spilling into the condom with a groan.

You both lay in each other’s arms, skin sweaty and warm. Namjoon pulls out with ease, tossing the condom in a bin before moving back towards you. He lays in your arms and your hands move upwards to his hair. He hums in satisfaction, loving how your fingers feel scraping his scalp.

“What do you want for breakfast tomorrow?”

You pause, surprised he’s asking such a thing.

“Why are you asking this when you can’t even boil an egg?” Namjoon gasps in offense, while you start to laugh over how ridiculous he is.

“It was worth a try.” He says, giving a small peck to your neck.

Kim Namjoon will be the death of you.

#namjoon smut #kim namjoon smut #namjoon x reader #namjoon x female reader #namjoon x you #namjoon fanfic #namjoon drabble #bts namjoon #bts kim namjoon #kim namjoon bts #bts rm #bts smut #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction

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felixcloud6288 · 3 months

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Powerless.

You all can curse your powerlessness forever. I'm not powerless.

I knew that there was a simpler way to save Satoko.

ERASE SATOKO'S UNCLE

There are all kinds of ways to do it. An infinite number of ways to do it. Regrettably, almost everything that could save Satoko requires money. But this one way, erasing that man requires so little money, you could say it's free. I can erase that man with zero investment. The lowest possible price. That's what that man's life is worth.

All the worthless information is being weeded out of my head, piece by piece, and is being replaced with only the knowledge I need to carry out my purpose. Make all the cells in my brain revolve to think only about erasing that man. I would use any method to kill him as long as it's a quick death.

If I were to add a condition, I would prefer not to get caught, because I'm removing this man in order to take Satoko's peaceful life back. If I'm arrested in exchange for taking him out, then that would be no different than if we killed each other. That man alone disappears, and our former days return. That is the supreme objective, the absolute goal. I know that as long as I don't kill him this will definitely go on.

But whatever you do, don't leave any evidence. Don't leave two contradicting alternatives that would leave traces of myself. That condition automatically reduces the number of ways to kill him. Not exposing myself is another absolute condition.

Fortunately, in Hinamizawa, if I choose the right time, hardly anyone will be around. The area around Satoko's house is under construction. There's an algorithm of shifting traffic volume and the residents actions. Do I lure him out? Do I attack? What do I use for a weapon? When and where will I do it? The condition of taking care of the place without leaving any traces of myself, the condition of time, add to that the condition that I have to accomplish it in one the-thousandth of a second for the sake of Satoko's protection.

Worthless, worthless, kill.

If it were okay to leave evidence, if it were just killing, anyone could easily commit murder. But ideals stop that if you do it, you'll definitely be arrested. In the end, the ultimate stopping power that makes people give up on the ilea of murder is that they'll be arrested by the police.

Worthless!

If someone was in the middle of the ocean with water as far as the eye can see, and he knew he would leave absolutely no evidence, he would throw the guys he hated into the sea!

Just taking out that man will be all too easy. I'll leave this classroom right now, pick up a metal bat or something on campus, and attack the man's house. I expect it will take twenty-five minutes. If I plan on him fighting back and measure in seconds, I could finish him in a mere 500 seconds. I can tell just how long he'll remain alive. If I'm determined, all the time he has left would be...

Disappear, disappear forever and die!

You tore up Satoko's heart, now I'll tear out yours!

You'll pay with your blood!

UUOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

back

#higurashi no naku koro ni #higurashi no naku koro ni reread #higurashi when they cry

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alaffy · 1 year

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Vampire Academy, Ep.5 – Near Guard, Far Guard

Halfway through the season and I am begging at this point, can they please, please, please find somebody who can set up a shot? For the love of God, just….I cannot stand the way this show is done. It just jumps all over the place, even the most…a shot that is supposed to be dramatic is absolutely laughable.

So, to kind of do a somewhat quick recap because…I'm sorry, I've found a good portion of this episode to be ridiculous. The five remaining Prospects are kidnapped and brought to a field. They’re told this is the next part of the test. One of them will pretend to be Moroi and the others have to protect that person. They are to hike to a place located on the map and set up defenses. Later, Bravo team will attack them. If their blood packs break, they lose. If the fake Moroi pack breaks they all loose. Rose is put in charge and they hike to the location; which is a place that is undefendable. Rose realizes this is part of the test and that maybe they’re supposed to look for somewhere else to defend. And, sure enough, there is a place nearby. Point for Rose. Well, maybe not.

Rose also gets the idea that Bravo team can’t break the blood packs, if the Prospects aren’t wearing them. However, instead of hiding them; she uses the blood packs as bait. My guess is they thought Bravo team would investigate the blood packs and they could surround them. The reality is, they just gave Bravo team easier access to the blood packs.

Not this is going to matter. See, the Moroi are showing that not a single one of them has a brain cell between them. They decide this is the perfect time to test the prospects by REALSING THE STRIGOI INTO THE WILD, hoping it will attack the Prospects. Furthermore, they decided not to tell anyone including THE GUARDIAN WHO’S RUNNING THE TEST until fifteen minutes before. They also failed to notice that the person who delivered the Strigoi into the wild FAILED TO RETURN (guess who’s now a Strigoi). And it’s at this point, I’m really wondering why the Dhampir haven’t overthrown the Moroi yet. Because we’re way past the point where the “peasants” of this society should know their “Kings” can die just like the rest; no ordained here.

So, just before the actual test, Bravo team sends out a “scout” to see if the Prospects are ready. The scout is Mikhail, Sonya’s love interest. He congratulates the Prospects on getting this far and, then like a Red Shirt stepping onto a new planet in Star Trek, is immediately killed by a Strigoi. And now there are three.

So, Victor finds out about the test and tries to stop it; but fails. Dimitri finds out about the test and goes to help the others. And, long story short, a bunch of people find out about it. And so, Lissa, Christian, Mason, Mia, and Jesse (unwillingly, of course) go the warn the Prospects. But it’s too late. Bravo team is dead and, by the time the car reaches the test sight, they only have time to say there’s danger just before Mikhail kills one of the prospects. And it looks like he may kill the others too, except Christian uses his fire powers to hold Mikhail back (wow, it’s too bad Christian is the only one there WITH POWERS). Rose tells everyone to go back to the car and starts to fight Mikhail. She is soon joined by Demitri and, long story short, Rose kills Mikhail.

Meanwhile, at the car, Lissa heals one of the Prospects; something that Mia sees and immediately knows what Lissa is because of Sonya. Also, Jesse is ready to leave everyone behind; but Meridith won’t let him. Jesse threatens Meridith, but Mia attacks him with her water powers. Of course, as he is a Royal Moroi, while she’s just a regular Moroi, there probably will be consequences.

At this point, the other Guardian show up; but it’s already too late. Rose is traumatized because she had to kill a friend. Lissa realizes that, to prevent something like this from happening again, she has to get on the council. So, she strikes a deal with Jesse to get married. But, she also tells Christian about what she has to do and they spend the night together. While Christian is sleeping, Lissa sees his hand is wounded and she heals him. However, her eyes turn black. And then, suddenly, her eyes become clear again; but we cut to Rose and her eyes are now black.

Sonya, meanwhile, cannot come to terms with the death of Mikhail. And because she’s so afraid of loosing someone else, she forcefully heals her father. And then this next point is ambiguous; but I think that’s the point. We see Sonya climb to the top of a tower and it looks like she’s about to jump off. But then her eyes turn black and she falls out of the tower and is lifted into the sky by a bunch of birds. She lives, but the birds die. So, there’s something else going on, but I’m not sure what.

But the thing that gets me, is Tatina’s speech just before Victor puts his name in as a candidate for Monarch; how she’s saying the test was a success. How so? The whole point of the test was to see if sixteen-year-old Prospects could handle a Strigoi. And while it was Rose had the final blow, that is only because of the combined efforts of the Prospects, a Guardian, and a Moroi. We also learned, considering what happened to Bravo team, if the Strigoi plan a sneak attack; you all are fucked. And, let’s not forget, that you’re low on Guardians and now, thanks to this shitshow, you have even less. Why anyone is listening to this woman at this point is beyond me.

#vampire academy #lissa dragomir #rose hathaway #sonya karp #mia karp #jesse zeklos #christian ozera #mason ashford #victor dashkov #tatiana vogel #dimitri belikov #meridith beckham

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littlemissnoname13 · 2 years

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Calling All Draco(s)

Summary: Where Draco(s) from all different AU’s come together to have a meeting. Basically, the Draco in this AU falls asleep in the library and dreams of his various counterparts

Warnings: this is a crack fic beware💀!!!!! very Draco-centric, coarse language

Reblogs, thoughts, feedbacks are always welcomed

A/n: i wrote this while I was taking a break from editing ch14 for fortunate misfortune to exercise my brain. I only had two brain cells remaining while I wrote this. Soz

Masterlist

He likes being surrounded by books.

He is currently standing in between Library bound editions of his favourite books that have the most intricate detailing on their spines and dust jackets.

He allows his fingertips to run along the books meticulously sorted according to the dewey decimal system and settles on a title that reads “sitting amidst idiots: your guide to holding successful meetings.”

“Interesting..” he mumbles to himself as he settles down at a desk at a far corner of the public library. The desk is a little isolated from the rest and he likes the green lampshade next to it.

Suppressing a small yawn, Draco flips through the pages and allows his mind to absorb anything that looks remotely interesting.

The book is a generic collection of meeting tips, meeting agendas, meeting minutes and motions.

The more he reads, the heavier his eyelids get….

~~~

Draco: Greetings Everyone I am pleased to welcome you all to the first assembly of Dracos. Shall we call this meeting to order?

All: Yes.

Draco: Excellent. Any apologies or any absence for tonight’s meeting?

Soft!Draco: *raises hand* Deatheater!Draco is away at another meeting and will be joining us late.

Draco:….Voldemort is still holding meetings at his place?

Soft!Draco: I’m afraid so.

Toxic!Draco: *kicks his feet up at the table* Yeah, I’ve been told Quidditch!Draco is on a medical leave after injuring himself in a match. But he has owled us a copy of his report each.

Draco: *pinches the bridge of his nose* Thank you for letting us know. Please note that we don’t kick our feet up the table during these meetings. We’ve discussed this before.

Toxic!Draco: *shrugs and proceeds to twirl his wand in his hand*

Draco: Moving on. Shall we proceed to the next Item on the meeting agenda?

All: yes.

Professor!Draco: *clears his throat and pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose* It appears that the next item and the only item of the agenda revolves around a girl.

Hogwarts!Draco: *Scoffs*Not again…

Dad!Draco: *raises his hand*

Draco: Yes?

Dad!Draco: I really don’t have time for this. Baby Scorp hasn’t been feeling too well and I don’t want to stress my wife out.

Simp!Draco: But we could really use your valuable insight here. I mean, you did end up with your girl and have a child together.

Dad!Draco: *rolls his eyes* Fine, I’ll stay. But I have to be home by 9:45 P.M

Toxic!Draco: ….ahem….whipped….ahem

Professor!Draco: Detention.

Soft!Draco: You can’t really condemn yourself to detention. Besides, we’re going off topic. Tell us your problem, Draco.

Draco: Right. So I really like this girl but I don’t know what to do about it. I think I should ask her out?!

Mob!Draco: it’s the librarian isn’t it? My right hand man told me on my way in. *turns back to give Theodore Nott a stiff nod*

CEO!Draco: Wait who invited Nott? And we don’t place daggers on the table. *shoots Mob!Draco a glare*

Draco: *sighs* yep. It’s her. I’ve been meaning to ask her out for a while now but I don’t know what to say.

Toxic!Draco: you should sleep with Astoria or Pansy or any other girl to make her jealous. That’s what I always do.

Soft!Draco: Isn’t that why she avoids you like the plague now?

Toxic!Draco: Fuck you—

Deatheater!Draco: *apparates out of nowhere* she avoids me because of my mark.

Draco: wait, Didn’t you send her away so you could protect her?

Deatheater!Draco: I had to. It was the only way. *has a break down*

Draco: take five yeah? You deserve a breather.

Husband!Draco:Can I leave too? It’s my second wedding anniversary today.

Simp!Draco: *looks at Husband!Draco in envy* Rub it in why don’t you?

Fuckboy!Draco: Please, Marriage is a sham. Embrace the single life.

Husband!Draco: *raises his hand*

Draco: yes?

Husband!Draco: Motion to remove Fuckboy!Draco from the meeting

Dad!Draco: I second the motion

Draco: all those in favour?

(All except fuckboy!Draco raise their hands)

Draco: *shrugs at fuckboy!draco who is dragging his chair away with him* Sorry but a motion is a motion

Soft!Draco: *whispers to Healer!Draco* I heard fuckboy!Draco cries himself to sleep alone every night

Draco: *loudly clears his throat*

All: *look at him*

Draco: So, any ideas on how I should approach her?

All: we are but figments of your imagination

Draco:….

All: You don’t need our advice. You already know what to do. Just go ahead and do it.

Draco: *shuffles his meeting notes and sees the note sent in by quidditch!draco*

“Trust your instincts , Draco.”

He wakes up to someone tapping lightly on his shoulders. He is convinced that he has ink from the pages transferred onto his face and he uses the corner of his jumper sleeve to wipe it off.

“It’s almost closing time.” She smiles apologetically at him. “Sorry I had to wake you.”

“It’s fine.”

“Excellent book choice.” She chuckles, when she sees the book’s front cover. “Was it helpful?”

“To some extent.” He shrugs and bites back a smile. He isn’t going to tell her about the dream.

“Really?”

“Yes.” He nods and checks the book out to take it home with him. “It did help me with the last meeting I attended.”

“Interesting..” she replies, handing him his library card back. “So the meeting was successful, I assume?”

There is only one way to find out.

“I’d hope so.” He walks with her to the exit and waits for her to lock up.

“Y/n?”

“Hm?”

“Would you like to have dinner with me?”

Note: No tag list used because this is a crack fic

#draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy #draco x reader #draco malfoy imagine #draco fanfiction #draco fic #draco malfoy one shot #draco lucius malfoy #draco fanfic

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jungshookz · 3 years

Text

teeny tidbits: namjoon and y/n can’t get enough of each other & it shows

➳ pairing; kim namjoon x y/n

➳ genre; lveb!universe!!! smaybe/smalmost/smerhaps smut?? slightly suggestive is what i’m trying to say idk!! namjoon and y/n are obsessed with each other and yoongi likes making a big deal about it because both their faces get really red and it’s funny to him

➳ wordcount; 1.7k

➳ gif sourced from here but please note that it still remains property of its original maker!

»»————-　♥　————-««

“hello, hellooo!” yoongi kicks the door shut behind him as he steps into your apartment, tossing his set of keys up into the air before catching it and shoving it into his hoodie pocket, “let’s rock n’ roll, y/n! i’m ready to raid the supermarket!” he claps his hands as he enters the living room, turning to stare down the empty hallway before pausing

wow

the most exciting part of his week is when you guys go grocery shopping together?

there’s really no way to make that sound even remotely cool

“…anyone home?” yoongi’s brows furrow in concern when he’s acknowledged by nothing but the sound of silence, “y/n?”

you’re usually sitting on the couch buzzing and ready to go when he gets here so it’s a little concerning that you weren’t the first thing he saw when he got here

he turns back to look at the shoe rack, everything suddenly clicking into place when he sees that there’s a pair of larger, definitely-not-y/n-sized sneakers sitting neatly on the top shelf

ahhhhh

okay

now he understands what’s going on

no wonder you barely responded to any of his texts yesterday

you were too busy getting busy with-

“yoongi! good morning!”

“morni-” yoongi turns his head back towards the hallway quickly, his brows practically stretching up to his hairline at the sight of namjoon’s current state

first of all, the man is wearing nothing but a blanket around his waist and it’s pretty clear to see that he’s not wearing any briefs underneath

second of all, his cheeks are flushed, his hair is ruffled, and his skin is glowing

and yoongi isn’t a self-proclaimed genius but he knows that two plus two makes four

“wow, wow, wow! good morning indeed-” yoongi whistles, immediately looking upwards as to avoid accidentally making eye contact with namjoon’s… fifth lim- “i’m hoping that’s a cactus under your blanket and that you’re not just ecstatic to see me-”

“oh-!” namjoon gasps lightly, quickly pulling the blanket up a little higher before turning his hips in the other direction, “i, um, i didn’t know you were coming over today!“ he chuckles awkwardly, his grip tightening on the sheets, “i just came out for some water so i wasn’t expecting to see you- uh, did you have plans with y/n today?”

“yeah, it’s sunday, so… grocery shopping and stuff.” yoongi looks back down before holding his hand up to shield namjoon’s lower half from his poor, innocent eyes, “you’re welcome to come with us, but i’m definitely going to need you to at least put some underwear on-”

“today’s sunday?” namjoon breathes out, pausing for a second before blinking quickly and shaking his head, “jeez, i thought it was saturday! time flies, huh?”

“it sure does…” the corner of yoongi’s mouth twitches in a smirk before he pokes his tongue against the inside of his cheek, “…especially when you’re spending most of it railing y/n into oblivion-”

“yoongi-”

“speaking of y/n!” yoongi claps his hands and rubs them together, “is she ready to go?” he hums, leaning over slightly so he can peer into the hallway over namjoon’s shoulder

“she’s, um, she’s actually still in bed but but i’ll go and tell her now that you’re waiting for her-” namjoon smiles sheepishly before pointing towards the kitchen, “do you want coffee or anything? i can make a latte for you! i’ve been practicing a lot with my frother- y/n really likes my milk foam-”

“oh, i bet she does-” yoongi snorts, leaning against the back of the couch before crossing his arms, “maybe next time, my man. you just go and get y/n for m- holy shit!” his eyes widen as soon as namjoon spins around to head back down the hallway, namjoon immediately turning back to glance at yoongi over his shoulder in concern

“what??”

“your back!” yoongi gawks, getting up from the couch to go over and force namjoon to turn back around so he can get a better look, “jesus, it looks like you got into a fight with like, ten cats!” he exclaims, his eyes glued on the fading red claw marks that start at namjoon’s shoulders and end at his lower back

he brushes his fingers over the (obviously fresh) half-crescent nail marks embedded on the tops of namjoon’s shoulders before wincing to himself, “maybe i should’ve gotten y/n a nail clipper for christmas-”

“o-oh-!” namjoon whips back around so that his back is facing the hallway before he reaches up to rub the back of his neck, offering yoongi a nervous smile, “i, uh, it’s- i’m totally fine, don’t even worry about it-”

“joonie, i-” yoongi perks up when he hears your voice only for you to pop out from behind namjoon a second later, “yoongi! ...you’re here?” you ask, ducking behind namjoon slightly and peeking at him over his shoulder

“it’s sunday, moron.”

“...?”

“oh, dear god-” yoongi gasps suddenly, eyes widening as he brings a hand up to cover his mouth, “namjoon fucked you dumb, didn’t he? i bet that banging your head against the headboard multiple times made you lose a bunch of brain cells. now i'm going to have to be the smart one out of the two of us??”

you roll your eyes immediately at yoongi’s sarcastic remark, though his comment about namjoon makes your cheeks warm slightly

last week you slept over at his apartment so this week it was your turn to be a good host

and naturally…

let’s just say that you showed him how good of a host you were on the kitchen counter,,.., in bed,,.. on the couch,.,. in the hallway,.., in bed again.,.,

“anyway- how long do you need to get ready? twenty minutes?” yoongi pulls his phone out of his back pocket to check the time, “i wanna get my hands on a fresh, warm loaf of sourdough so we have to leave soon otherwise they’re all going to be gone and we’ll have to wait, like, five hours for the bakery to restock.”

“right! yes! sourdough!” you clear your throat, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear as you sort through your thoughts

you didn’t know today was sunday so you weren’t ready to go grocery shopping at aLL

“okay! coffee first, then i’ll change, then we go-” you nod, nudging namjoon aside so you can brush past him

“yeah, i think i’m gonna pop in the shower-” namjoon clears his throat, pulling the blanket up again before gesturing back towards the hallway, “i’m happy to stay here if you guys wanna go off and do your yoongi-y/n-only activities-”

“woah, woah-”

you don’t get the chance to walk past yoongi before he’s reaching over and pinching the back of your shirt to keep you from going anywhere

you let out a little yelp when he tugs you back abruptly before twirling you around so that you’re facing namjoon

“kim namjoon, you naughty, naughty man! what did you do to y/n??”

“wha- what?” namjoon blinks owlishly, yoongi tsking shamefully before wagging a finger at him

“look!” yoongi gasps, hooking his finger into the collar of the shirt you’re wearing before yanking it down so he can expose more of your skin, “what, were you trying to suck the blood out of her??”

heat immediately rushes up namjoon’s neck and up to his ears when he realizes that yoongi’s referring to the multiple blotches of purple and red staining your skin

maybe he got a little carried away last night

but there were no complaints on your end so namjoon was more than happy to mark you up!

“he-” your face flushes and you slap yoongi’s hand away before pulling your shirt up to hide them, “they’re just hickies, yoongi-”

“first of all, only horny teenagers give each other hickies- second of all, hickies are supposed to be sexy little secrets-” yoongi hums, seemingly uncaring of the way that you wince as soon as he jabs his pointer finger directly into one of them (ow!!), “and these practically scream I’M GETTING LAID and every single single person that we pass by is going to glare at you-”

“why don’t you go and make us some coffee while i go and get changed?” you turn to give yoongi a warning look before pointing to the kitchen door, “go!”

“i’m just looking out for the two of you!” yoongi raises his hands in defense, letting out a laugh as when you start kicking at him gently all while slowly nudging him towards the direction of the kitchen, “is it so bad of me to want to protect you from mr. mosquito over ther- ow, okay, okay-!”

you close the kitchen door shut with a breath, rolling your eyes at the sound of yoongi still babbling away to himself (“i’m realizing now that a vampire would’ve been a sexier example but mr. mosquito was the first thing that came to my head-”)

you turn your head slowly with your hand still on the doorknob, you and namjoon exchanging glances before bursting into giggles

“sorry... you know how he gets.” you mutter sheepishly, making sure the door is closed properly before making your way back over to namjoon

“it’s all good!” he flicks his wrist at you before reaching up to rub the back of his neck sheepishly, “sorry about the, uh, the hickies.”

“it’s okay... i like ‘em, so...” you confess quietly, your stomach fluttering at the memory of namjoon’s soft lips pressing against your skin, “sorry about the scratches.”

“no, i like them too... they remind me that i’m probably doing a good job-” namjoon grins as he slips his free arm around your waist before pulling you towards him, another soft giggle bubbling from your lips when he swoops down to give you a kiss, “guess i’ll hold down the fort while you’re gone… i’ll miss you.”

“i’ll only be gone for a couple of hours…” you tease, reaching up to pinch his cheeks together so that his lips turn squidgy, “needy.”

“for god’s sake, i’m taking her grocery shopping, i’m not sending her off to space!” the kitchen door suddenly swings open as yoongi busts through, clapping his hands loudly to break the two of you up before he flicks his wrists to get you to move, “c’mon, let’s get a move on- i want my sourdough!”

✨why don’t you explore the rest of the library while you’re here?

💫or perhaps you want something shorter to read?

🌟or something even shorter?

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adcfan · 3 years

Text

WARNED

He could clearly tell from the slightest wrinkle of irritation adoring the top left of her pale forehead that she is beyond annoyed. How could he blame her? After all it was him who lured the bird out of its comfortable nest in the middle of a tough night. From the height he could perceive the darker shades of her shadows dancing along the way she traced making him more curious to explore the limit of the demon’s braveness.

The edges of his lips pulled up to carve an honest smile as his eyes momentarily rested on the dagger resting against her waist that he once offered her in the middle of a battle, a year ago.

With a loud thud he made his presence noticeable startling her to the core in the process. His armor blazed a bright shade of jade green, bathed in the late moonlight that managed to get the taste of his attire. His eyes searched hers involuntarily, seeking to find any glimpse of game she or the titans might have planned to play on him. But all he could find was curiosity.

Curious? Is she really curious?

“So, you decided to show up in the middle of a young, wanting night, far from your protective shell behalf of a demons’ call”. If it wasn’t for the mask he is wearing, she could see the imperceptible grim plastered over his face with ease. “And here I thought ravens aren’t creatures of the night”, his brows made a childish hunch testing her temper further more than she could actually take.

“What do you want?”, her voice remained cold as she tried her best to control all the urge to take him down on the very spot. His cape danced in unity with her robe as he approached her a little more without her noticing for a very long second. “Aren’t you forgetting a very special day, beloved?”. And that was definitely a hint of sadness that was sprinkled all over the Al Ghul’s tone.

Right, as if he could actually feel sad over anything with all the blood in his hands.

“I am not in for a game, Al Ghul. I have got a whole city to save and a good night’s sleep to resume, but here I am, in the middle of an abandoned area with a ruthless assassin who threatened to explode the best half of the city and what’s next? Seizure?”. Almost a devilish chuckle escaped his lips as if he had conquered the entire world.

“Oh for gods shake, little bird. Do you really think I will abandon the best of all nights in Nanda Parbat to blast a worthless city like Kansas?”, now he is definitely getting on her nerves. “But I must say, I had half a mind to blow the Titans bridge five minutes ago”, his all time devilish smile still painted his arrogant look. Raven barely recognized how Damian managed to corner her against the cold wall whose uneven surface pressed itself against her flawless skin dripping it with the night’s best dew.

“I am not asking you again, Ra’s. Tell me what you want with me before I banish you into a dimension of never return”.

“You hurt me, beloved. Don’t you remember the anniversary of our marriage?”

Married? With him? A year ago?

“If this is some sort of silly joke, you better stop it right now, Ra’s. It’s definitely not funny.”, her voice trembled with doubts by each passing second. She lingered over her left ring finger as if she has seen her own hands for the first time in all her life. No ring? Well that’s a relief.

He is just kidding or may be…

Or may be not

“Do I look like one who makes senseless jokes like the green monkey your tower owns”.

Thanks to Gar, at least his pride is hurt a little.

“I didn’t say that, but if you insist on it… I may”, and she sure as hell liked hurting his weak point - his pride.

“Then how about I insisting on maintaining a decent distance between Conner and you, beloved”, for the first time in almost half an hour his words had the true taste of jealous.

“You are my wife and it is my business to keep flirty hybrids like him away from you. Well, if you don’t have to do it the easy way then I will have the pleasure of teaching him decency in my own way, beloved”. Is the night getting unnaturally warmer or…

Oh no! When did he get this closer to her.

And how the hell she didn’t notice it for this long.

If not for the pitch dark night sky, she could actually feel herself blacking out.

“If it is Conner the one you have your problems with then why the hell did you make me come here?” To reveal that she may be married to the Ra’s of League of Assassin’s a year ago? Probably, yes.

“I thought you would never ask. Let’s say I am here to get a gift”

Right, she barely knew that she got married and now he wants a gift in the middle of a night?

“I don’t have a ring”, the words spilled out even before she could realize it.

May be she lost her brain just like Beast Boy.

“I don’t think it is mandatory for a married couple have to propose during anniversaries, beloved”, his breath flowed through her entire being warming up all her dark desires that might love to make him hers and only hers even if…

Stop. Stop right there Raven.

“I mean, I don’t even have a ring and how could I be your wife when I don’t even have a ring”

Way to go Raven, what’s next a Priest?

“The dagger, Raven. It means a sealed bond in my heritage. A bond made between a husband and a wife, which you willing took to save the pathetic Titans a year ago in the League of Shadows base.” His voice grew more husky and his breathe drove her senses away as he nibbled at her ear lobe. She was supposed to be mad, she was supposed to blast him to pieces and scatter every inch of his being at different dimensions for revealing something as important as being married, but his tone - well, that’s definitely not helping.

“What now? You want me to quit being a Titan, take sides with you and go against them?”

“Baby steps, beloved. Baby steps”. His left hand toyed with the hem of her dress, further breaking the already half broken control towards her urging needs that pooled in very being.

“Just a kiss and a promise to keep that coward Conner away from you will do”. She could feel the cold air of the young night kissing her wide spread pale skin that already missed the warmth touch of the assassin.

“And if I resist?”

“You really think you could resist me, beloved? Since it is our anniversary I will be generous enough to make another request”. His eyes grew darker with every words as his katana slightly battered against the cold wall.

“How about blasting the Titans tower to the ground while that stupid Gar and Jaime are trying with their half-celled brains to defuse the bomb or how about giving black fire all the 18 ways to kill Kori like a true assassin in the middle of their fight right now in Kansas or how about giving Slade Wilson the true identity of Dick Grayson and his fellow bat clan or how about letting Conner suffer in the hands of Bizarre Superman, left alone to die by a Kryptonite stabbing.” He hummed the last few parts as he withdraw from the spot he previously stood.

“On second thought how about all of the above?”

“You are kidding. I would have received an alert signal at least if one of these is happening right now”.

“You mean this?” Damian raised a small communicator from his pocket still humming like an undisturbed teenager enjoying his long drive to no destiny at all.

“Give it back”. She raised her hand trying to snatch the communicator but in vain.

“Did I forget to mention that you have to be a grown woman to snatch a stuff, beloved”. His eye brow arched itself up.

That’s it. She could bear all of his sarcasms, all of his threats and even all of his flirts but not even for the shake of Azar would she let this damn Demon Spawn comment on her height and hurt her pride in nothing more than mere seconds. That’s not going to happen. Not today.

Raven rose to her tip-toes grabbing Damian’s collar to support her in the process but accidentally twirled their legs and slipped right on top of him. Their lips were locked like the mere existence of one depends on the other, when Raven realized the state she has put herself into.

Yeah, that’s how you snatch a communicator from a tall guy, who threatens to blast your whole family.

She would be cheating herself the entire time if she hesitated to accept that she did like the Demon’s head for a reasonably long time now. But she is definitely not going to let her pride get hurt.

“So, you got your gift. Now defuse the bomb and un-mess every mess you made”

“And all it took was calling you - short”. Damian let an almost an inaudible chuckle escape his throat.

He pulled out the dagger from Raven’s waist band and seethed it properly. “Don’t hurt yourself playing with this doll, beloved”.

“My team…”, Raven question was cut short by Damian as he spoke.

“They are safe. For now”

BOOM…

From the frequency of the sound wave she could say that it was near the Titans Tower.

“Well, except for one I guess”

With one last peck on her lips he disappeared into the shadows as if he never existed a few minutes ago.

Thank Azar!

There was not a single scratch on the tower. Not even one. At least he kept few of his words.

But the real horror stroke her when she felt no living presence inside the tower.

“Umm.. Rae what are you doing up late in the night?”, Dick asked as he and the other Titans entered the tower with handful of shopping bags. “You are all fine?”. She will never spell it out loud but deep down she knew that she couldn’t stand their loss. She blinked a few times to make sure she wasn’t dreaming.

“Yeah, we are fine. It’s a little cold out there. But don’t worry we won’t catch a cold, Rae. If that’s what you are worried about”, Gar uttered with no care in the world as he glanced through the contents of the fridge.

“Where have you been?” was all she managed to ask when she realized that she wasn’t dreaming.

“We were out…”, Kori barely had a chance to finish when Raven added “Crime fighting?”

“Ah… shopping, Raven. I don’t think it is a custom on Earth to crime fight every time you step out into the public, is it Dick?”.

“Unless or otherwise you are in Gotham, no”, Dick replied as he loaded the fridge with the contents of the grocery bags.

“So, where is Conner?”, inquired Jaime as he entered the main hall. “Isn’t he in the tower?”, Kori added.

“There wasn’t anyone in the tower when I arrived”, Raven replied as a loud thud followed their conversation.

“Conner!”, Gar yelled as he reached him. The rest of the Titans followed by.

“What the hell happened dude?”, asked Gar as he tried to touch the bruise near his right eye.

“OUCH!”

“That’s just a small bruise, Conner. I have seen worse”, Dick replied while analyzing his wounds.

“And a broken wrist”, Conner added trying to rise his wounded hand but in vain.

“It’s just a minor injury, amigo. You will be alright as soon as the Sun’s back”, Jaime reassured him while attending to his wounds.

“Here, let me heal you”, Raven offered taking a step towards but the wound deepened as if it was being cut from inside out. Conner could barely resist the urge to break the table he sat on.

“Raven, is that a Kryptonite you are wearing?”, Dick pointed at the green stone that somehow perfectly settled around her neck.

“If that’s causing our flirty Superboy to yell like a mad man then it is definitely a Kent-repellent”, Jaime added.

“A kryptonite? Not again”, Conner banged his head against the wall as if that would make his day any better.

If you don’t have to do it the easy way then I will have the pleasure of teaching him decency in my own way.

“Raven, I know you mean no harm but I don’t think Conner could take any more kryptonite today. So, would you mind…”, Gar tried to get rid of the kryptonite that adorned her neck.

“Here let me try”, Kori flared a small star bolt which seemed to have no effect on it either.

“It seems you have to stay away from Conner for a few days until we find a way to remove that thing off your neck. By the way, it seems to have no effect on you Raven. You may leave, we will take care of Conner”

Seems like he played a particular demon played his part well at keeping Raven away from Conner.

Raven made a short nod and walked towards her room. In the background, she could clearly hear the boys filling Conner with questions about the attack.

“So, was it Bizarre the reason behind this?”, Dick asked as he finished cleaning the wounds.

“No, it was a masked man with a Katana”, Conner replied.

“And you - a bullet proof being got this from a Katana?”, Gar’s curiosity reached its peak when Conner made Kryptonian curses under his breathe.

“Stop touching my wound, Gar”

“You call yourself a super but you can’t stand a broken wrist” Gar arched both of his eye brows wanting for a genuine explanation.

“I have not even once been injected, Pea-brain” was all Raven could hear, when she disappeared into her own shadows.

- Samuel Damian Fernandez

Hi, everyone! This is just a one shot, not a great one but worth giving a try. Like I have mentioned before English is my 8th priority language. So, if you find faults in my work just let me know. Also, share your thoughts on this one shot, so I may get an idea for future modifications.

Punardarśaāya 😉 👋

#damirae #demon birds #rachel roth #raven #damian wayne #damian x raven #teen titans #damian al ghul #dc #bat family #demon of azarath #raven roth #damian #damian al ghul wayne #evil au

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bakugosbratx · 3 years

Text

Chapter Four

Chapter Three | Chapter Five

Warning: 18+ Content. Arranged Marriage, cursing, fighting, doctors, angst.

Playlist

Words: 1.0k

Tags: @someonewhowannadielol @gazelle-des-pres @bloggingdumbshit @darlinguareiridescent @justtiarra @samkysnks @ebiharachan @lukepattersin @lightsinmycity @lanarist @tspice283 @sizzlingdonutturtlemuffin @kameiuchiha @iamtheunknown @lil-miminini @butterflyhallucinations @lord-kagewakihitomi

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Warmth.

A feeling Y/N could not describe if you asked her to. She has not felt this sensation in decades. Not even from those she called family. No, it was quite foreign to her delicate touch yet the contact of skin upon skin gave her confirmation of what others described as the term warmth.

The muscular chest her head laid upon is one she dreamed of experiencing one day. Whether that be with Eijiro or Katsuki. Regardless, her arms stayed wrapped around the male’s waist as she became lost in space.

Memories fluttered through her brain cells. All of her life, she was taught to be elegant and appealing to a man. Women are here to be servants to the male species. Especially those who lack a quirk.

A quirk.

Y/N hated that word. That word drowned everyone’s perceptions of human beings. If you are without a quirk, you are useless. A complete, utter nuisance. Y/N can still recall that dreadful day at her physical.

“I’m sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Y/L/N, but it appears that Y/N is quirkless.” Doctor Gotō explained, showing the x-rays. His brown eyes showed sympathy as your parents' dreams shattered before him.

“N-No,” your mother whimpered, “this has to be some mistake.”

Doctor Gotō provided a look of sympathy like this is the worst news he could ever give a family. “I’m truly sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Y/L/N. This is an unfortunate situation, indeed.” He sighed, getting to his feet to give Y/N’s parents some time to grieve their loss of their hopes and dreams.

“Mommy? Daddy?” Y/N’s innocent voice called, raised eyebrows as she remained sitting on the exam table. “Why are you crying? Did I do something wrong?”

This only made your mother cry even more, leaving your father to handle the broken pieces. He patted his daughter’s head, her eyes filling with tears to mirror the one’s in her parents. “No, baby. You cannot help that you are,” he paused to think of the correct term to say to her, “different.”

“Different?” She repeated, unsure of what he meant. “How so?”

She felt like any normal five year old. She just did not have any cool abilities like the other ones in her class or on the playground. Did some make comments? Sure, but she tends to pay them no mind. Her parents did not make any comments or show any dismay towards her, why should she care about some snot nose children’s opinions?

Y/N’s father sighed, sadness written over his features. Her mother decided to intervene. “What your father is trying to say is that you’re quirkless, Y/N. You’ll never be like the other kids.”

You’ll never be like the other kids haunt Y/N’s dreams. Her mother sounded no better than the bullies on the playground, but she knew her mother is one to care about appearance the most. Now her reputation will be tarnished due to her child being far from normal.

She was different. Y/N will always be different.

Y/N is stuck in a horrific dream, but the warmth engulfed her. It was a bright light and heat source she could not explain until it was ripped from her. Peeling her eyes open, Katsuki pinned Eijiro against the wall, a low growl admitting from Katsuki’s animalistic lips.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, huh?” Katsuki barked, crimson eyes turning into fire as he sent daggers into his best friend’s soul.

“Katsuki! Let go of him!” Y/N demanded, attempting to separate the men, but her pleas fell on deaf ears.

“Don’t you ever touch my wife again or I’ll burn you into fuckin’ ash!”

Y/N’s ears rang at the reference. Is Katsuki being protective over his wife for once? Seeing another man hold her brought an emotion he did not care to explore even if Y/N begged him to.

“Cool your blasters, man. It was just a hug.” Eijiro states in defense. “And you’re scaring your wife.”

“Just a hug?” Katsuki retorts, his grip tightening on the man’s shirt, ignoring his comment about his wife being fearful. “Don’t give me that bullshit. You don’t see me hugging your girl.”

“Look man, I’m sorry. I will not do it again.” Eijiro apologizes, hoping it will take some of the pressure off of you as well.

“You better be.” Katsuki scoffs, releasing Eijiro shortly after. He is quick to leave, not even able to turn back if he wanted to.

Silence fell over you two, but the black smoke from Katsuki’s palms filled the air and would soon set off the fire alarm. “What the hell, Bakugō?” Y/N exclaimed, making the first move in the argument they are about to have.

Katsuki glared at Y/N, his lips in a present snarl. “You have a lot of nerve barking at me like that.” Katsuki hissed, nostrils flaring.

“It was just a hug! You are overreacting.” Y/N huffed, folding her arms over her chest.

“Overreacting?” Katsuki mocked. “Do you think I’m fuckin’ stupid? I saw the way you looked at each other.”

“And why does that bother you?” Y/N dared asked, her tone being much weaker than intended, the scene from a few moments earlier replaying in her mind.

Does Katsuki actually care?

“Because you’re my wife!” Katsuki argued, the words rolling off his tongue before he could capture them.

Yes, yes he does. Katsuki cares. The glimmer of hope lightens in Y/N’s orbs, sparking the flame into a forest fire of emotions only to be defused quickly by Katsuki’s venom.

“I may never love you or see you as equal, but you are my wife. I can’t have you whoring around with my friends and what not. It will look terrible for my reputation.” Katsuki explained, demolishing any foundation that Y/N thought was being built.

“Oh.” Y/N finally spoke, nodding in understanding, rushing up the stairs and into her bedroom so the tears could fall in a vacant space. She refuses to allow Katsuki to be able to see her so vulnerable. She does not want him to see that his words hold the power they do. He already holds more than enough over her. She does not need to add that to the equation.

He has not earned the right to see her tears. No one has.

Except for Eijiro.

©bakugosbratx

#tw arranged marriage #tw arguing #promised to another chapter 4 #promised to another #bakugou katsuki #bnha #bakugo katsuki #bakugosbratx #bakugo x female reader #bakugo x you #katsuki bakugō #eijiro kirishima x reader #bnha eijiro kirishima #eijiro kirishima

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oogaboogasphincter · 3 years

Text

The 50/10 Method (Agent Whiskey x f!reader)

Summary: Jack makes the most of your 10 minute study break.

Word Count: 2.7k+

Rating: E (explicit) 18+ ONLY! bc this is just cringey smut lmfao

Warnings: smut (oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v sex (obvi use protection irl), very easily and conveniently reached orgasms (this is a fantasy i can do what i want skjfkd), dirty talk, one (1) allusion to thigh riding and one (1) instance of 💙spitting💙, fingering, positions i hope i've given enough detail so y’all can imagine what i was picturing💀), pet names (sweetheart, honey, cowboy *affectionately*, good girl, baby), there’s a sentence about reader having long-ish hair, reader and jack have a dog, swearing, reader is afab and is called things like good girl and the like, just overall trash grammar and structure 😇

Author’s Note: so this is very poorly written and extremely self-indulgent, as i myself use the 50/10 method 🙃. but i had a lot of fun with it, and i think that’s what writing is supposed to be all about! :) also i was heavily inspired to write this after reading “Take a Break” by @mellowswriting and “Study Buddy” by @pascalpanic. please go check those out because they’re absolutely fantastic!!!!! +while you’re at it, i would highly advise you to read anything on their masterlists bc they’re just 💜exquisite💜

gif by @thernandalorian

The lines of text on your computer screen are starting to blend into each other, creating a single run-on sentence that one of your previous English teachers would ridicule the author for. The sharp curves and angles that distinguish each letter from the next are becoming soft and dull, blurring into each other until your brain can only recognize it as a smeared streak of black on white.

It’s 11:00am on a Saturday, a big exam set for the upcoming Monday’s morning. You don’t feel rushed for time, or overloaded with unknown material, and the early hours of the day have been quite productive. Following a shared breakfast of homemade waffles in bed with Jack, your boyfriend, you didn’t complain when setting up your study station on the living room’s large oak table. If anything, you had been excited to begin studying early in the hopes of finishing your review by the end of the day. That way, tomorrow would be free for you and Jack to do whatever you pleased.

However, as the hours went by, your motivation was slowly but surely diminishing. The serene study atmosphere that you usually thrive in is now driving you mad. You yearn for a noise, any noise; a bird to sing a song in the tree outside your window, the smack of your dog’s loose wrinkles against each other as he attempts to shake the sleep out of him, a pencil unable to stop itself from rolling and dropping onto the floor with a tink.

You’re momentarily gifted with the crisp sound of a page turning. You flit your eyes over to gaze upon the source of your granted wish and your heart flutters in reaction to the sight: Jack’s resting on the couch, cowboy hat balanced on the back of it, deeply absorbed in the next installment of his favorite murder-mystery series. You find it curious that his desire for an adrenaline-filled challenge doesn’t stop when he comes home from mission after mission that nearly cost him his life. You’ll ask him about his insatiability one day, but for now you categorize it as fictional research for his Statesman assignments.

Your short glance quickly turns into an entranced stare. Jack looks... divine. Fetching. Luscious. As he’s lying on his back, neck propped up against the arm of the couch, his book balanced on his chest, relaxation radiates off of him in waves and utterly seduces you. You’re surprised that he hasn’t been a greater distraction to you throughout the morning. How have you managed to ignore the denim-wearin’, plaid-shirted, pornstache-sportin’ cowboy of your dreams that is only a few steps away?

Involuntarily, the thigh muscles of your crossed legs contract in an effort to bring some semblance of friction to your now weeping core. Similar to your imaginings of your dog earlier, you shake your head to force these heavy, unwanted feelings to dissipate and turn back to the work in front of you. Of course, Jack does the opposite of what you’d like him to do and takes an interest in your fidgeting. He peeks over the top of his book, “You cold, sweetheart?”

His question is reasonable: you’re purposely wearing a skirt that’s so short it rides up quite high when you sit. You don’t dare to meet his eyes and answer while pulling a textbook close and opening it up, “No, I’m okay.”

Fortunately he returns to his reading. Your attention is able to retain itself for about a paragraph, but then your mind takes a sharp detour back to those pesky, steamy desires. You mentally huff at your inability to remain concentrated on your studies and rifle through the options of what you can do to satiate yourself for the time being.

You could switch texts and force your brain to recognize the change and therefore become distracted. You could pick out some colored writing utensils and bring some fun to active reading. You could say fuck it, go straddle Jack and beg him to use you in whichever way he would like.

Jack interrupts your brainstorming, “Are you sure you don’t need a blanket or sumthin’? I can go get my jacket for ya.”

The attentiveness of your southern lover melts your heart. You turn to him, “No, really, I’m okay, thanks.”

“I wouldn’t count a bathroom break as taking away from your 50 minutes, honey, if that’s what’s makin’ you twitch.”

You had been implementing and strictly adhering to the 50/10 method all morning: study for 50 minutes, take a break for ten. Its effectiveness was never doubted, as it has proven to work for you for years. Only ten minutes into this 50 minute period, the devil of restlessness pokes at you and makes you think could time go by any slower? A hand comes up to cover the blush creeping across your cheek as you dismiss Jack’s suggestion, “No, that’s not it.”

Behind your embarrassed hand, Jack cocks an eyebrow at you. Your simple choice of words has given the Agent a hint, that there is something that’s bothering you, he just hasn’t figured it out yet and you don’t want to admit what it is for some reason. He returns to his book, however lost in thought about what your problem could be, while you task every cell in your body to pay attention to your studies.

35 minutes remain on the clock, and Jack guesses, “Did you have too much coffee?”

You can’t help but grin at his sleuthing, “No, I just had my regular.”

He conjures up another possible solution five minutes later, “Are you itchin’ to get out of the house? We haven’t left in two days.”

He’s getting warmer. Both of you know exactly why you haven’t left the house in two days: you’d been occupied with activities of the sinful variety. You can’t gauge yet whether or not he knows he’s dancing around the answer, “Baby, you’re distracting me. And nope, it’s not that.”

He smiles apologetically, “Sorry,” and uses his book as a partition, blocking your ability to procrastinate and just visually drool all over him.

Silence fills the next 20 minutes. Even though Jack is out of your sight, details from your observations exaggerate themselves in your mind to the point that they’re all encompassing, intoxicating. The way his jeans wrap around his legs ever so perfectly, the worn denim hugging those muscular thighs that he loves for you to grind yourself against when you’re feeling especially desperate (like now). How his plaid flannel slopes over the swell of his belly, stretching tight against his skin as his diaphragm contracts and deflating when he exhales. Even his large feet, strewn about lazily on the couch, his toes pointing in different directions, amuse you.

Ten minutes remain in your study session. Feeling guilty about spending the majority of the last hour envisioning the seductive intricacies of your boyfriend, you actually start to study.

“How many times do you think I can make you cum in ten minutes?”

Your eyes are ripped from your material and land on the menace lazing on the couch. He’s put his book down, one arm behind his head while the other is crooked, allowing himself to palm his cock through his pants. Jack’s wearing a shit-eating grin, bewitching your crossed legs to switch which one is on top; an excuse to apply more pressure to the yearning area between them. You fidget in the chair, shamefully trying to get the seam of your underwear to rub against you in just the right way. You shrug, “I-I’m not sure.”

He gets up and comes over to you, standing behind you and leaning forward to rest his chin on your shoulder. He murmurs in your ear, “I think we should find out during your next break.”

You turn to face him, “I think so too.”

He gives you a quick kiss, “Well, you better be a good girl and study for these last few minutes. Earn that break.” He places his large hands on either side of your head and turns it toward your materials, making you both laugh.

Somehow, you’re able to pay attention. Jack’s impending promise of ravaging you for ten minutes straight quells your jittering nerves and gives you something specific to look forward to. Before you know it, your alarm is beeping, alerting you that your break has commenced. Jack cages you by reaching forward and grabs the clock, programs it to ten minutes and keeps it in his hand. He grips the sides of your swivel chair, pulls it back from the table and spins you around to face him, the speed of the turn making your hair swoosh across your shoulders. Through mutual giggles, Jack lifts you up, winding your legs around his waist, your arms doing the same around his neck. “I want you to count for me how many times you cum.”

Breathlessly, you simply obey, “Okay.”

He practically runs to the bedroom. He sets the clock on the nightstand and turns the face towards the mattress so you don’t lose out on studying time. Tossing you onto the bed, your giggling continues as you bounce from the force. Jack hooks his fingers in your underwear and yanks them down, pulling them out from under your skirt and over your shoes. The way he wastes no time ridding you of any other garment makes blood and heat flood your center and air rush out of your lungs. He pushes your lost air back into your mouth with a kiss and then immediately retreats back to in between your legs.

He flicks the fabric of your skirt up onto your belly, letting himself have complete, unobstructed access to his early lunch. His fingers fondle your folds while his lips place sloppy kisses along the inside of your thighs. After he’s had his fill of that step, he sits back and stares at you: spread out for him, more than willing to take anything he wants to give to you. He blows out a whistle, eyeing your core, and you say, “Hey, you’re on the clock, cowboy. No time for dramatics.”

He nods, a smirk pulling at one side of his mouth, “You’re right, sweetheart.”

He spits onto your cunt, forgoing his usual gentle licks to adequately wet your pussy. A quiet fuck escapes your mouth as he plunges his tongue into you. Your fingers wind themselves in his chocolatey locks and pull, extracting an excited moan from your lover. His fingers knead the soft flesh on the backs of your thighs as he eats and when his mustache starts to tickle your clit, you’re done for. Your grip on his hair becomes vice-like and your whole body seizes up, constricted by enrapturing pleasure. You strangle out, “One.”

Jack unlatches his mouth only once he’s certain your first orgasm is complete. He stands, admires your wrecked expression, takes his cock out, spits into his hand and pumps his dick a few times. Hands slithering around your waist, he flips you onto your stomach and pulls your ass up, positioning you on your hands and knees. You’re a little bit dizzied by his manhandling in combination with his expert tongue, but this type of vertigo is the most enjoyable you’ve ever experienced.

When he pushes into you, it’s a bit of a stretch because he hadn’t warmed you up with his fingers. He relaxes you by leaning forward, pressing his chest against your back and peppering soft kisses to your shoulder blades. The clink of his belt comically punctuates his thrusts, but your laughs are swallowed by intoxicated groans. You don’t know, and you don’t really care to figure out, how he already has you teetering on the edge of cumming again. Heightened senses tell you that you’re close; the fabric of his shirt feels unearthly soft as it brushes against patches of exposed skin, his fingertips are delightful lead in their clamp on you, his grunts and pants angelically reverberate in your skull. And then, suddenly and all at once, “Two.”

Jack’s pride shows itself in a smirk while he flips you onto your back. He makes a show of hooking your calves over his shoulders, eliciting laughter from the both of you. Resting almost all of his weight on top of you, your knees find your chest and his hands find your hair. The intimacy of it all is almost too much; his thumbs stroke your temples, palms cradle your head, those goddamned puppy-dog eyes bore into you. You turn your head in his grasp to check your timing: five minutes left.

Jack’s tongue darts out to lick the pads of his fingers before he snakes it down in between the two of you to rub your clit. Your moans come out uncontrollably, your eyelids stutter and he eggs you on, “That’s it, sweetheart. Give me another one.”

Hearty moans are reduced to desperate gasps and you’re unable to verbally acknowledge the third orgasm that rips through you. Nonetheless, Jack can tell from the way your eyes roll into the back of your head and his name tumbles ferociously out of your mouth that you’re cumming. “’Atta girl.”

Jack takes his cock out of you and the whine that escapes your lips embarrasses you. He can’t help but laugh at your whimpering before he scoots down the bed and starts to eat you out again, framing his head with your quaking thighs. You find the strength to check the time, “Jack, there’s only a minute and a half left.”

He moans deeply into you, unaffected by your comment, and eases three fingers into your fluttering center. Like earlier, your hands fly to his hair like a magnet and find purchase so tight it makes your knuckles go pale. In a matter of seconds, circling your clit with his sopping tongue and tapping your g-spot with his deft fingers, Jack has you cumming yet again. This time you yell out the count, “Four!”

The sounds his ministrations make are lewd and exhilarating, pushing himself to his own precipice. You look down your body to find Jack’s other hand jerking his cock and his seed spilling out of him moments later. He groans into your pussy while you pet his hair, praising him for his efforts.

Simultaneously, you both remember that you’re being timed. Your eyes meet the clock at the same time: 30 seconds. Jack springs from the bed and pulls you up with him, grabbing your discarded panties. He squats and taps your ankles so you lift your legs up, sliding each leg hole over your body and pulling your underwear up underneath your skirt.

You fumble with his mussed clothes, stuffing his still-hard cock into his boxers, hiking his jeans up over his ass and zip and button them closed. You snake his belt around his waist and let his fingers do the work of buckling it before he picks you up bridal style and ushers you out of the bedroom, grabbing the clock off of the nightstand on your way out.

Unhinged cackles follow you two down the hallway as you return to the living room. He plops you down in your chair, straightens you out, gives you a kiss on the cheek and then your alarm goes off. You raise your eyebrows at him, “Jeez, you didn’t waste a second.”

He hums, then mumbles, “You get back to work now, babygirl,” and leaves you with a yearning kiss on the part of your hair.

Both of you return to your respective readings, hopelessly trying to downgrade your panting gasps to normal breaths. The absence of Jack’s warmth is already painful. But you rationalize that the indulgence of the last ten minutes is more than enough to get you through this next hour of studying, if not for longer.

Little do you know that Jack feels the same pain. His ache for your touch, sexual or not, will overtake him later and he’ll be unable to resist the temptation of coming over and distracting you again. Determined to finish your studying, you’ll propose a compromise: you can sit in his lap while he is lulled to sleep by the ambience of the afternoon rain and the enveloping comfort of you. The two of you can try to beat the record of four orgasms next semester.

💘taglist: @pascalpanic, @mellowswriting

#agent whiskey x f!reader #agent whiskey x fem!reader #agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey smut #agent whiskey x you #agent whiskey #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #kingsman: the golden circle #study smut #studying smut

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onceupona-chaos · 3 years

Text

Feathers and dawn

Day 15 of Elriel month/ Explosion of power

The half-wraith gave her friend a feral grin, white teeth flashing against her dark skin, and said quietly in her midnight voice, “Stealthy as a doe.”

Elain matched Nuala’s smile, sending a thrill down Azriel’s spine. “Fierce as a wolf.”

Word count: 3838

Warnings: Language

Disclaimer: This was a huge challenge for me, because English isn't my first language, so I apologize for any mistakes. Part II is coming out on day 18 (I think). Be kind!

“ELAIN!”

Azriel was kneeling on the ground, panting through gritted teeth as he tried not to succumb to that invisible force covering him like a heavy blanket. Whatever spells and wards casted upon that place were draining his magic little by little as if he had been hit by several ash arrows - only ten times worse.

Even with the cold rain soaking him, the raindrops like ice needles against his skin and wings, he managed to fix his eyes on the cave, scanning and scanning through the dark dots that were beginning to form, trying to see something, anything.

But the cave was as dark as the sky above him. A never ending darkness that seemed to swallow any blue light from his almost drained Siphons.

His shadows detected nothing. Not a whisper, not a move, no sign of her.

After Elain had disappeared inside the Cave and his shadows couldn't get a reading, he had immediately sent Nuala to get Rhysand whilst he tried to find a way in. But he couldn't pass the wards just like his shadows couldn't sense her.

When a female scream echoed from inside the cave, Azriel couldn't breathe, couldn't think. Pure, clear panic was all he knew.

When he had been summoned to the river house in the morning, not in his five hundred years he’d expected it to turn out like this.

Shit. Shit.

________________

Azriel hadn't been able to sleep for more than a few hours, and even so dreams and nightmares made him roll in his bed the entire time. He’d been awake for hours, staring at the two Solstice gifts he’d got from her when dawn came. And with it, Rhys’ orders.

He made a point not to arrive earlier than he needed, so he wouldn’t be - couldn't be - in the same place as her longer than necessary. Keeping his distance when he wasn't at the river house was torture enough, but being in the same house and still feel as if they were at opposite edges of the same abyss…

And yet when Azriel landed outside the river house, his shadows quickly whispered in his ear that Rhysand wasn't alone in his studio.

The warning did nothing to stop his body from stiffen when he stepped through the door, the illusion of a meeting only between him and his brother quickly dissipating, and his eyes shot straight to the window - and there she was.

He didn't know if it was the lilac dress or the sunlight casting through the window, but her eyes were almost the color of pure honey. But something was off, her usually open expression was stark and hard, and then he noticed the pallidness on that beautiful face and the faint black bruises under her eyes. Even though he knew his face was the portrait of boredom, his shadows swarmed him, sensing his unease.

Azriel made his eyes move to where Amren was sitting crossed-legged, her petite body almost hidden beneath a white fur coat. Feyre cradling Nyx in her arms was sitting next to Rhysand, the baby soundly asleep, warm against his mother's chest.

Azriel looked back to where Elain was, her shoulders tensing a bit as if she could sense his gaze on her even when she was peering through the window, and he knew she was deliberately avoiding looking at him. It was only a stolen glimpse from his part - Azriel was well aware of Rhysand's violet eyes on him, almost daring him to disobey his orders.

Azriel made the boiling rage cool down, kept his face carefully blank, his mask of cool boredom still in place whilst he faced his brother, lifting an eyebrow in question.

Amren, on the other hand, didn’t bother to mask her impatience. “We’re waiting, Rhysand.”

The High Lord of The Night Court nodded to Elain, and Azriel felt his body stiffened once again. Rhysand announced, "It looks like we have another Made object to worry about.”

Silence.

Azriel’s blood went cold in his veins. He asked quietly, "How would you know?"

Elain didn't give many details. But she emphasized it was more of a sense than a normal vision, as if she could smell a storm coming but the skies remained clear. As if she could hear an ancient whisper in the wind. She wasn't sure what it was until last night - when something long forgotten had presented itself in a dream. Azriel was well aware of what kind of objects could call for someone like that.

“What is this object?” Feyre asked.

Elain replied, “I… I can’t See what it is.” Azriel tracked the way she swallowed. “It’s veiled in shadows. Hidden among the silence itself."

Nodding more to herself, Amren said, "Whatever this is, it wants to be found at last.” She narrowed her eyes at Elain’s direction. "It's calling for you, girl."

Azriel's shadows gathered even closer, sensing his concern. He remembered of Oorid, how Nesta’s body shook after she retrieved The Mask. For Elain to be exposed to the same danger…

And yet, he couldn’t - wouldn’t interfere. He knew how much each choice Elain got to make was precious to her. She’d told him that herself on one of those nights in front of the fireplace. Her eyes had been filled with a mix of sadness and hope as if she still could feel her own choices slipping through her fingers as if they were grains of sand.

He had only stared at her back then, imagining how it had been like for her going into the Cauldron - and then spending months trapped in her own visions to the point she couldn't tell dreams and reality apart. So he'd kept silent, let his understanding rise to the surface so she could see it and watched as her body relaxed under his gaze.

So different from now when she looked in every direction except his as she watched the harsh argument, Amren insisting vigorously that Elain should go look for the object.

That explained why Nesta wasn't there, why Rhysand hadn't asked him to fly her down.

Whilst Cassian was in Illyria for an inspection of the aerial legions, the priestesses had recently received another female. Nesta didn't so much hesitate in wanting to help her the way she could and have been spending more time than usual at the library. But not to tell her, to keep this away from her…

"Does Nesta know about this?", Azriel cut in.

"She would take this task for herself." Rhysand didn't even bother to look guilty. "And if it's calling for Elain, we can't risk sending anyone else, even if she chooses not to go. It could end very badly."

"Maybe Nesta would be right to hesitate to send Elain," Azriel argued back, violet eyes narrowing. "Either way, that doesn't justify not telling her."

Feyre was glaring at her mate, undoubtedly saying something in his head, as if they had that discussion before. Many times.

But before she could say anything out loud, Amren cut in, "It's not calling for Nesta, boy."

Azriel's voice was cold as ice. "Do not forget that we already kept information from her before."

Amren didn’t even have time to open her mouth - to disagree or snarl, Azriel didn't know - before Elain stood up from her seat at the window, "That’s enough."

They all twisted toward her, brows raised. The only sound in the room now was the soft rustle of Nyx delicate wings.

Elain looked at Rhys, eyes sharp but voice even. "You of all people should know what it is like to want to protect those who you love and that is no excuse for keeping things from Nesta." Sadness coated her expression. “Not again, Rhys.”

This time, Rhys had the decency to look at least guilty. Ferey intervened, "I'll tell her this afternoon. I want Cassian there, too."

Elain nodded. "I'm not a child for anyone to decide for me. If it's calling for me, I won’t run away.” She said squaring her shoulders, never looking away from her older sister, who was just about to say something. "And I am not asking for permission."

And her posture, her words, her tone were so fierce, those large caramel-brown eyes flickering while she studied them all and Azriel knew that she’d do whatever was necessary to help this court.

A reminder that the Archeron sisters were forged by the same fire.

Azriel's chest ached with pride - and terror. Terror for her. But he pushed aside those instincts that were screaming to keep her safe, to not let her near any danger, and asked at last, "Then how do we find it?"

_________________

In a matter of minutes, Elain was sitting before a map, her eyes shifting beneath her lids as if she could See the entire world. Everyone was watching her as she searched for the right place, the one that appeared in her dreams - so Azriel used the moment to admire her.

Beautiful. She was so beautiful, he could admire her for the rest of his days in the same way he looked at the rising sun.

Elain’s hand hovered over that map, the creamy, soft skin marked by small scars, her delicate fingers were calloused, no doubt from her gardening. She cocked her head, as if listening to those whispering to find the right path. Azriel could’ve sworn the room was getting warmer.

She let a finger down and opened her eyes. For a second it looked like a faint golden glow shone behind the familiar brown, just like one could see the faelights behind a piece of glass, but then Elain blinked a few times - and it faded away.

"Here," she said.

Feyre sighted deeply as she cupped Nyx’s head as if she could protect him from her very words. "Of course it's in the Middle."

______________________

Nuala didn't ask any questions. She'd only showed up in the afternoon as they had agreed, passing right through the wall. Elain appeared a second later, opening the door and almost scrambling Azriel's brain cells to the point of uselessness.

Her hair was braided behind her head, a blue surcoat, similar to the one she wore in the war, reached the middle of her thighs. It wasn’t Illyrian leathers, but the slits in the lower part of the surcoat combined with her leather pants did absolutely nothing to hide her curves and the color made her skin look almost golden.

His shadows brightened as if to let him see all of her more clearly. He knew he was staring, that he should say something about them going somewhere, but he couldn't even remember his words. When Feyre had suggested he accompany Elain, he’d made his best to not look at Rhys, to just naturally nod in agreement.

Rhysand wouldn't say a word about Solstice. Not in front of Feyre, that is.

But that didn't stop his High Lord to make Nuala play chaperone with a bullshit excuse that her gifts might end up being useful in the place they were heading to and her friendship with Elain could help.

The message was crystal clear.

Azriel's eyes dropped without his acknowledgement to her lips, those sweet lips he had been so close to taste. He heard someone coughing, but his mind didn’t register the sound.

When he finally realized he was staring, he quickly snapped his eyes to hold her gaze. Despite the faint pink coloring her cheeks, a flicker of amusement sparkled in Elain’s expression.

Behind him, someone cleared their throat.

Azriel ignored the smirk curving Feyre’s lips just like he ignored Nuala’s amusement, trying his best to contain the heat spreading across his cheeks at the thought of them watching the staring contest between the two of them.

Finally Nuala decided to put him out of his misery and asked, "Shall we?".

________________

By the time the swirl of shadows disappeared, Azriel was half distracted by the feeling of Elain's small hand in his. But the moment Azriel was able to have a good look at the place before them, he felt the hair on his arms rose.

A deep forest was revealed, huge, gigantic trees side by side, making him feel the same size as Amren. Nuala let go of his other hand and almost unconsciously he tightened his grip on Elain's as she looked wild-eyed at the view before them.

As if one could call it that.

Where the forest should be rejoicing with life, there was none. Not a single leaf remained in those trees, the naked branches curling above the small, meandering trail like black claws. There wasn't a single animal or insect anywhere beneath the dark gray sky, making the atmosphere grievously melancholic.

No light, no life. A place of utter sadness, as silent as Death.

"I've seen worse." Nuala's midnight voice was almost a whisper, but still reverberated like a thunder in that deadly silence, her attempt of being playful covered by the tenseness in her tone.

Azriel studied Elain, who swallowed before saying, "Me too." Her face was cautious, tight. She cocked her head as if heading some inner voice.

He asked, "Can you See where it is?"

She gently let go of his hand, blushing a little as if she had just realized they were still touching. "No, not See it" She said, scanning the forest. "But I can hear it."

"The shadows don't hear anything," Nuala said, moving to be at Elain’s side. “Do you remember what we discussed?”

Elain nodded.

“Once we enter the forest, watch your steps and try to walk toe to heels most of the time. Listen carefully to our breathing,” Nuala said, gesturing to her and then Azriel, who was watching the scene with raised brows. “And match yours with it always. Be as quiet as you can.”

To his surprise, Elain just lifted a brow at the command in Nuala’s tone, who gave her a Look. “I’m serious, if you can help it, do not make a sound in this place.” The half-wraith gave her friend a feral grin, white teeths flashing against her dark skin and said quietly in her midnight voice, “Stealthy as a doe.”

Elain matched Nuala’s smile, sending a thrill down Azriel’s spine. “Fierce as a wolf.”

And then they walk right into The Silent Forest, living an almost dumbfounded Azriel behind.

_________________

They had been walking for what it felt like hours now.

Even with his five hundred years worth of daily training, Azriel could feel his strength being drained slowly as if a heavy hand was pushing them back. With every step he took, it was like the forest itself, every single inch of that damn forest, didn’t want them there.

He kept his wings tucked in tight while eyeing their surroundings, once or twice he saw what seemed a glimpse of eyes watching them. The children of The Silent Forest. He could only pray for them to get the hell out of that place before sunset.

Nuala seemed just as uncomfortable. Shadows gathered around her like a veil of darkness as if they could shield her from that invisible force, even though she was holding Elain’s hand now.

Elain, who did not balk. She just kept walking, stopping sometimes along the way, her head cocked as if she could hear an inner voice luring her into the right direction until, at some point, Elain left the small forest trail to venture in an invisible path between the trees.

More than once Nuala looked at Elain and smirked, causing a blush to spread across Elain’s pale cheeks.

Despite the circumstances why Nuala was there, Azriel was grateful for the female attempts to distract Elain from her visible, growing tension. So he kept a few steps behind, offering the two females some privacy. And when the temptation of using his shadows to know the cause of that blush crossed his mind, which was every five minutes, he pushed it aside and tried to focus on the surroundings or on the infinity, dark sky above them. With the sun almost down, the charged clouds waltzing through it in a promise of desolation.

They kept walking against that invisible force, almost unbearable now until… there. Azriel stiffened.

Deep in the forest, where the darkness seemed to unfold out of it, the entrance into a cave opened as if it was a path to another world, one made of Darkness and nothing more.

Azriel’s shadows whispered to not go further.

Nuala seemed to sense the same thing. "It feels… so wrong.” Her voice was quiet, but it seemed to be swallowed by the cave as if it was greedy to devour any sound, any light.

“Strange,” Elain whispered back, brows furrowing. “It doesn’t feel like that to me.”

Azriel looked once again at the sky. They didn’t have much more time before night - and the beasts - came. He was almost suggesting to turn around, maybe they could convince Rhysand to come along.

"I’ll be right back."

It took a moment to her words sink in, to Azriel make sense of what had just come out of Elain’s mouth. Elain, who was already moving. Elain, who was already walking towards the cave, getting closer with each step.

Azriel moved out of sheer instinct, rushing forward to grab her hand, but again that damn force was pushing him back now. He flared his wings, trying to find some balance to keep going. "Elain," he snarled.

She paused right before the entrance and looked back at him, "I can hear its calling, it won't hurt me.”

Azriel was breathing hard, so lost on his mind that he didn’t realize the rain soaking him. He didn't like that one bit. He wanted to reach her, put his arms around her and shot to the skies. But he only unsheathed Truth-Teller and offered it to her. Elain bit her lip and walked back.

He pressed his dagger to her hands, their eyes meeting - just like he had done once. Elain didn't hesitate this time. “Just…” He took his hand, trying to find the words. And there were so many words. “Come back," he said at last. A request and a prayer.

Elain squeezed his fingers and looked at Nuala before turning around. Azriel tracked every breath, every movement she made. His shadows speared toward the cave, watching over Elain, until darkness swallowed her.

He was still monitoring her through his shadows, Nuala by his side. None of them dared to speak - not that he wanted to. Nuala worked as his spy long enough to know he kept to himself. His shadows were still curling around his neck to whisper in his ear.

Then, they became silent. As silent as they could be as they lost Elain’s track.

The screams came not long after she disappeared.

______________________

"ELAIN!"

The female scream was still echoing in Azriel’s ears, his own panic was a fog he couldn't see through. He tried to use his Shiphons, but whatever twisted magic ruling that place, it could not be affected.

And Elain was there somewhere.

So Azriel lunged forward - to be pushed back by that invisible form. He felt a tentacle of darkness grab him, sinking its talons deep in his very bones, sucking on his killing power.

He turned to Nuala, who was trying to summon her own shadows, to see beyond the darkness. “Go back, right now and bring Rhysand.” Her face drained of color. “Now, Nuala.”

“I won’t leave her.”

“That’s an order," he snarled.

She looked back at the cave, before assuming her shadowy form and ran back, passing directly through the trees in her way.

Fuck. Seven Shiphons never felt so powerless. He could only imagine what the hell was happening, ancient spells and wards, casted by god knows what kind of creatures and now Elain - Elain - was there and -

Think. He needed to try to calm the hell down and think. He was always planning, always calculating, that was his fucking job.

But he couldn’t think. Those talons thigned, more and more. He felt his magic leaving him slowly.

And then everything stopped.

When he looked through the raindrops once more to the cave, -

Elain’s head broke the darkness first. A solemn expression printed on her beautiful face and her eyes... they glowed. Nothing like Nesta’s silver fire, nothing like Amren’s once were, but gone was the familiar chocolate brown that Azriel had lost himself in it more times he could count, replaced by a light of white and golden. As if the sun itself was behind her skull and, just like that, the air in the forest grew hotter, wave after wave of heat crashing through him, his own strength being restored. He was only half-conscious about the dark forms of beasts older than Darkness who lived there in absolute silence, that now ran from that promise of light.

And in her hands… a small golden orb.

Any trace of that unholy darkness was gone as Elain stepped closer and on her back... the hair on Azriel arms rose, pure awe ran though his body. A pair of beautiful, strong, powerful wings, covered in feathers, each one white as snow, gleaming and glowing as if they have been sewed with golden thread, perfectly matching her otherworldly eyes. They seemed impermeable despite the water running down, like they were covered by a protection layer where drops glittered under starlight, similar to pearls.

Azriel only stood there, drinking her image and memorizing it as she walked toward him. For she was something from dreams, from tales as old as the forest around them.

Sweat began to run down his back, between his wings, in great rivers and in that moment she was the sun itself. Her face was sheer power, so luminous that radiated from her, warming the world, and he knew that despite the heavenly glow, she could release hell upon them all with nothing but a blink - no kindness, no mercy whatsoever.

Despite the heat, he did not flinch, did not so much as move. This was different from the fire that gave him his scars, a constant reminder of hate and fear. Whatever that fire was made of, this was something else entirely.

It was the warmth of firelights on Solstice nights with his family, of spring days when he would sunny his wings. The warmth of Nyx’s laughter, of Elain’s smile. He wanted her closer, wanted to slide his arms around her and let her light cast through him until the darkness of his very soul faded away. For she was light, always have been. And for someone who is lost in the dark, light is salvation.

Slowly Elain stepped out of the cave. The moment she crossed the dorway, after a few steps, that light dimmed, her wings dropped as if she couldn't sustain its weight any longer. Azriel saw when her hands tightened around the orb, bringing it to her chest. She blinked and every trace of light disappeared, her beautiful face was now mortal - and pale.

Caramel-brown eyes met hazel ones before rolling back into her head. Azriel only had time to catch Elain in his arms before she could collapse on hard rock.

#pro elriel #elriel #elriel fic #elriel fanfic #my writing #elain x azriel #azriel x elain #the shadowsinger and the fawn #elrielmonth #elriel month

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littlemisspascal · 3 years

Text

The Last Mandalorian

Chapter One: The Warrior in Carbonite Part 2

Fandom: The Mandalorian / Pedro Pascal

Eventual Pairing: Din x Togruta!Female!Reader

Word Count: 3,400

Rating: G

Summary: A series that is a mixture of Mandalorian, Star Wars, ATLA, and my own imagination. The Imps have seized control of the majority of the galaxy, including your homeworld Shili. You and your sister Ahsoka have developed a daily routine despite the stormtroopers keeping your village imprisoned. One morning you make a startling discovery that will change the course of your lives forever.

Warnings: plot plot plot, mild descriptions of violence, worldbuilding, dialogue heavy, sloooooooooooooow burn – seriously, we’re just getting started so it’s gonna be a bit before feelings are involved, reader is 17 and Din is 19 so I’m going to warn this as underage even though nothing sexual or even vaguely romantic happens in this chapter.

Author Note: The plan right now is for there to be 3 parts of Chapter 1. Tumblr isn’t doing a good job notifying my taglist, so I apologize if I bother anyone reblogging this a few times trying to get it to work. Thank you everyone out there for each like, comment, ask and reblog! The support means the world to me 🥰

Part 1 Part 3

Cross-posted on AO3

The village is a small community with less than a hundred citizens living there total, yet it is visible from miles away due to the bright paints used to decorate the houses. Murals depicting the village’s history and its residents adorn every house with details added by each new generation so that no one is ever forgotten. Back when visitors would pass through, they would always compliment the village’s beauty, but there is nothing beautiful at all about the electric fence the Imps erected shortly after seizing control, emitting shocks harsh enough to kill.

Originally the stormtroopers said it was to protect the village from threats, but nobody believed the lie. The only threat to the community was the Empire. They don’t bother making up excuses anymore, now they like to remind everyone the whole village is their prisoner, usually by a show of violence so unbelievably malicious it stuns everyone into compliance.

There are some horrors time will never erase from your mind.

Juni trees grow beside the fence outside the perimeter, the only species of tree amongst the shrubbery and turu-grass, and they are tall enough for their thick orange branches to extend over the uppermost wire. In the mornings, Ahsoka climbs out your bedroom window, slides down the sloped roof of the house and leaps onto a nearby branch. You follow after her, trusting that she won’t let you fall when you stretch out your hand for her to catch you and lift you up using a bit of Force to give you a boost. The two of you sneak back inside the village using the same tree, only instead of leaping at the house, you drop the short fall onto the ground beneath. Five years and the stormtroopers haven’t caught onto your trick yet.

Except now the tree isn’t an option. Not when you both are half-carrying, half-dragging two-hundred pounds of flesh and metal.

Hiding behind a clump of coyal bushes, you and Ahsoka scout the entrance booth where a pair of stormtroopers dressed in their characteristic white armor stand guard, holding blaster rifles. There are others on patrol, walking along the fence and checking its integrity, gradually stepping further and further out of view, but they will be back eventually. Your window of opportunity is limited.

You adjust the warrior’s arm over your shoulders, quietly groaning when your muscles protest the heaviness. “What are we going to do? Stormies might share one brain cell, but they’re definitely going to notice this heap of metal we’re carrying. And as soon as they find out we don’t have passes, they’re going to start shooting.”

Passes are only given to a handful of the community’s traders each week. It is a three day ride on a repulsorlift speeder to the capital where they have a short span of time to sell their goods and then return home within the week with essential supplies. To ensure no one tries to run away, the Imps set up strict rules. If the traders are late, even if only by a few minutes or due to reasons outside their control, the rest of the villagers pay the price. Usually the punishment is a public beating, but sometimes the stormtroopers get creative and tie their chosen victims to a pole overnight by their head-tails.

Nobody, not even the younglings, sleep those nights.

“We’ll be fine,” Ahsoka answers, firm and confident, gaze fixed upon the gate. “Just follow my lead. I’ve got an idea.”

She doesn’t spare you a second to protest, stepping out into the open and forcing you to follow or else drop the warrior’s body.

The stormtroopers spot the three of you immediately, relaxed postures stiffening with alarm, and you have to remind yourself over and over to breathe, to not let them see any hint of the anxiety buzzing beneath your skin.

“Hold it right there!” One of the stormtroopers orders when the distance between you and them has shortened to a mere three feet. You freeze at once, heart pounding as fast as a thimiar’s seconds away from being eaten. A quick glance at Ahsoka reveals no fear in her expression. She stares at them indifferently, as if she is about to talk about the weather.

“Explain yourselves.” It is not a request.

You squirm, nearly knocking your head against the warrior’s bowed head, on the verge of losing your composure, when you notice Ahsoka lifting her arm.

“You will let us pass,” she says, adopting a suggestive tone while waving her hand in front of their visors.

They respond in unison, seemingly entranced. “We will let you pass.”

You bite your lip as you and Ahsoka pass between the stormtroopers and through the gate, not wanting to break the spell by letting loose the barrage of questions forming on your tongue. What your sister had done was as amazing as it was frightening. She had manipulated them with such confident ease you are certain this isn’t the first time she has performed the trick on someone.

“When did Aunt Shaak teach you that?”

“She didn’t,” Ahsoka replies lowly, casting a quick glance around. “I taught myself.”

Your skin prickles as you also become aware of the increasing number of eyes staring at you. With the sun fully awake and bringing morning light with it, several villagers are carrying on with their daily routines outside of their homes. Most of them seem a mixture of confused and concerned about the stranger, but you spy the Elders looking displeased by the new addition amongst their ranks.

You are not looking forward to being inevitably summoned and interrogated by them.

“How?” you ask, copying her hushed cadence. Then, a pulse of panic blooms in your chest. “Have you ever—?”

“No, I haven’t messed with your mind before. Never even considered it,” Ahsoka interrupts, sensing your worries. “I don’t practice often, but when I do it’s just harmless little suggestions. Like convincing Huno to give the younglings an extra sugar biscuit when he has some to spare or persuading Jaelee to go to bed early when I know she’s been overworking herself. To tell you the truth, I wasn’t really sure the trick would work on those bucket heads since I’ve never tried it on two minds at once before. Lucky us, right?”

You nearly trip over your own feet. “What?”

Is she being serious right now? They would be dead right now if her gamble hadn’t paid off.

Ahsoka pretends not to hear you, nodding her head towards the blue-painted house up ahead. “C’mon, Maar probably already knows we’re coming.”

Maar Vashee has been the village’s healer for a little over fifty years. The purple-skinned Togruta helped deliver you and Ahsoka, and was considered by your mother when she was still living to be a dear friend. Her connection to the Force is especially sensitive due to her intricate relationship with the flora of the planet, using various herbs and plants to create remedies, and as such she developed a type of sixth sense where she instinctively knows when her skills are needed.

Entering her home that doubles as her clinic, you find Maar had indeed anticipated your arrival and set up a cot to place the warrior upon. Once he is laid down, you roll your aching shoulders, biting back a wince as the movement irritates the headache lingering at the back of your head.

The warrior hadn’t made one noise the entirety of the trip bringing him here. Even now as he rests on the cot, his breaths are so quiet you would fear he wasn’t breathing at all if not for his chest moving. You touch his hand impulsively, laying yours over his gloved one. There is no response, not a twitch or spasm.

A sharp gasp of surprise has you whirling around, eyes landing upon Maar standing in the doorway between the clinic and her living quarters. She clutches a glass jar of spotted red herbs labeled nysillin against her chest, staring at the warrior like she is looking at a ghost.

“Maar,” Ahsoka calls out softly, coming to stand by your side. A long moment of silence passes before the older Togruta manages to drag her gaze away to focus on you and Ahsoka, green eyes a bit too wide-eyed and haunted. Your sister’s gentle tone remains when she inquires, “What’s wrong? Do you...do you know him?”

Maar chokes out a brittle noise sounding like a cross between a dry laugh and a derisive scoff. “Personally? No.” She moves closer to the cot, the white circular markings around her eyes softening with what you confusingly identify as sympathy. “I’ve heard stories of his kind though. Years ago, many considered the Mandalorians the only ones capable of defeating the Imperials.”

“Holy frak,” you gasp before you can stop yourself.

As a youngling, your mother used to tell you stories about the fiercest fighters in the galaxy known as Mandalorians. They lived on Mandalore and had a special connection with their weapons, a bond nobody else could understand or mimic, trained to handle guns and knives as soon as they could walk. They defended the galaxy from unlawful rulers and the threat of enslavement, unafraid to spill blood when they knew peace would follow. Your mother told you they never lost a battle. Defeat was a word unknown to them.

At least until—

“Mandalorians were wiped out during the Decimation of Alderaan,” Ahsoka interrupts your thoughts, voice pitched high with disbelief. “And the few who lived were hunted down shortly after. The Imps made sure there weren’t any left to challenge them.”

As if triggered, you recall a detail from your brain glitch, a thought that had crossed your mind when you were flying through the storm. You had been looking for Aldera, the capital of Alderaan.

It’s just a coincidence, you think. But a voice in the back of your head that sounds suspiciously like your Aunt Shaak counters, there are no coincidences.

And as much as you loathe admitting it, that voice is right. Having the image of a mudhorn slip into your brain shortly before you find a warrior—no, a karking Mandalorian of all people—with the same creature on his armor? It is too precise to be a coincidence. Your paths were meant to cross each other.

If only you had the slightest clue as to why.

Maar sets the jar down on a nearby table, then picks up the Mandalorian’s wrist to check his pulse. “That is what we all thought,” she agrees after a minute of counting has passed, dropping his hand. “His armor is characteristic of their kind. Nothing in the galaxy is as strong or valuable as their beskar. Let’s pray to Ai our beliefs about the Mandalorians’ extinction are mistaken,” she nods towards the unconscious warrior, “especially for his sake.”

Realization creates a sickening pit in your stomach.

Regardless of the status of his kind, when he wakes up his whole world is going to be flipped upside down.

Three hours later, not much has changed except the room is brighter, afternoon sunlight pouring in through the window, and smells sweet due to the bowl of herbs Maar left simmering on the table near the Mandalorian’s head, explaining the aroma will cure him of his hibernation sickness as he breathes it in.

“He’ll wake up when the marg sabls open tomorrow,” Maar told you with a gesture towards the potted red-and-pink flowers in the windowsill. They grow all over Shili, popular because they open their petals in a sunburst shape every morning.

Ahsoka comes and goes, blessedly not criticizing your decision to sit at the warrior’s bedside when you have a list of chores to complete—doubled now that you lost your bet with Ahsoka earlier. She intercepts curious younglings hoping to sneak a glimpse of the Mandalorian whose presence has become known throughout the village. Nothing stays a secret long in the community. Gossip spreads as quickly as colds and takes twice as long to get over.

If the stormtroopers catch on, the consequences will be disastrous. For once, Ahsoka shares your fears, admitting she isn’t capable of tricking a whole platoon.

“The Elders aren’t happy,” Ahsoka says in-between sips of bone broth. “They think it’s too dangerous having him here.”

You swallow your mouthful, shaking your head. “I think it’s the opposite.”

“What do you mean?”

Averting your gaze towards your lap, you scratch at an imaginary stain on your leggings. “Just a feeling I have.”

Ahsoka leans forward in her seat, pointing an accusing finger at you, causing your head to jerk back up. “The Force connected with you again, didn’t it? I knew you were acting weird before we found him.” She frowns, hurt flickering in her eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I never wanted to be special, Ahsoka,” you reply honestly. “I never wished or prayed to have visions, to have these random details pop into my head, to feel others’ emotions so strongly it’s like I’m trapped inside their bodies. There is nothing cool or entertaining about it. It’s…” Your voice cracks embarrassingly, forcing you to take a pause. You inhale a shaky breath. “It’s terrifying.”

“I had no idea you were struggling so much,” your sister murmurs, voice soft with contrition.

“How could you when I didn’t even want myself to acknowledge that I was?” you counter, feeling as if a weight has been lifted from your shoulders as the truth sinks in. “I tried to ignore it all as best as I could. If not for meeting our friend over here,” you tilt your head in the Mandalorian’s direction, “I’d probably still be in denial. But I can’t ignore the Force this time. Not when the message is this important.”

“What is it?”

“We were meant to find him. To bring him back with us. I think—I believe he’s important. Remember what Maar said? About how people used to believe Mandalorians would beat the Empire?”

Ahsoka’s brow furrows incredulously. “You really think one warrior can defeat Emperor Gideon’s army? The rebels have been trying for years and the Emperor is always one step ahead.”

You can’t help deflating a bit, shoulders slumping. “Well when you put it like that…”

“Have you considered an alternative reason why he’s important?” she asks. When you don’t answer right away, she takes it as a cue to continue, “Maybe you’re right and he is going to change the galaxy for the better. But he could also be a warning. The Imps wiped out his kind, what if they plan to do the same to us?”

Your lips part to respond, only to close again wordlessly. You thought by accepting your brain glitches as messages from the Force they would become clearer, easier to understand. A lantern guiding you through this maze of darkness epitomizing your life.

But you have never felt more lost.

Falling asleep is a mistake.

You didn’t know this when you rejected Maar’s suggestion to head home and sleep in your comfortable bed instead of curling up on her spare cot that squeaks whenever you move. The prideful side of you believed it was best if you were the first face the Mandalorian saw when he woke up because he would remember you and the promise you swore. He would trust you to explain everything to him.

Within a second of waking up, you realize how naive you were to think you had even a shred of influence over him.

The sound of something shattering has you nearly tumbling off the side of the cot, jerking awake with a sudden burst of fear. You blink rapidly to clear the haziness of sleep from your vision, struggling to make sense of what you are seeing.

Pieces of Maar’s ceramic bowl litter the floor along with bits of charcoal and ash. Ahsoka and the Mandalorian stand on opposite sides of the room, staring each other down, poised to fight. The Mandalorian has a vibroblade clenched in his hand, while your sister crouches low, fists raised. You know Ahsoka can hold her own in a fight, even without the advantage of a weapon, but fear winds its way down your spine, cold and slimy, when you can’t help but notice how small she looks compared to him. Not only because he is a few inches taller, but because he also exudes an undeniable aura of intimidation: his unwavering silence, the skilled manner he wields his knife, even the sharp gleam of his beskar pieces reflecting the pale morning light has your chest tightening with dread.

The clinic’s lights flick on right as Maar announces her presence by cocking a blaster pistol. It is the Mandalorian’s own weapon, removed from his holster when Maar examined him earlier. “Alright,” she says to the room at large as she fully enters, dressed in her sleeping robe. “Let’s all settle down. Blood isn’t an easy stain to clean and I’d prefer it if none was spilt.”

You see the moment the Mandalorian decides to comply, shoulders loosening beneath the pauldrons and stance shifting from defensive to neutral, as he processes he doesn’t need to fight his way out of here. The vibroblade is sheathed within his right boot in one fluid motion and it is startling, truly, how quick he transforms from a dangerous threat to a potentially dangerous threat.

Ahsoka is reluctant to yield, staring him up and down for a drawn out moment that does little to soothe your frayed nerves. Only when Maar pointedly clears her throat does your sister finally obey, straightening to full height with a hand propped on her hip, the picture perfect image of nonchalance. In another life she would have made a fantastic actress in a holovid drama.

“That’s better.” Maar nods, satisfied. “Now why don’t we—”

The Mandalorian moves so quickly that you jerk in anticipation of attack, eyes widening to the size of moons as you watch the pistol fly out of Maar’s hand and straight into his outstretched one. Your lungs seize up, a single thought flashing through your mind. This is it, the moment we all die.

Except instead of shooting, he re-engages the safety mechanism and promptly holsters the gun at his side where it belonged. Without saying anything.

Ahsoka’s slack-jawed expression would have been comical if it hadn’t matched your own stunned face. Even Maar, who has witnessed over fifty years worth of shocking spectacles, looks awed by the unexpected display.

You recover first, somehow managing to piece together the right words to ask a coherent question. “Are you a Jedi?”

It is only because you are staring directly at him that you notice the virtually imperceptible tilting of his head. “I’m a Mandalorian,” he answers bluntly, oblivious to how your heart skips a beat. “Weapons are part of my religion. It’s important to earn their trust.” He addresses Maar then, adding, “Especially if they’re stolen from us.”

His baritone voice has changed from when he spoke on the ship. Without the exhaustion wrapped around his vocal chords you are able to hear his normal timbre. Due to the modulator in his helmet, it has a husky quality, an intriguing mix of smoke and honey. But that is not what has your montrals prickling and your spine straightening.

“I disarm all my patients,” Maar replies, back to being her cool, calm, and collected self. “I would have given it back—”

“How old are you?”

You don’t realize you have spoken until two pairs of eyes and an expressionless visor look at you.

The Mandalorian’s fingers curl and uncurl at his sides once, twice. “Nineteen,” he answers after a few seconds of lapsing silence.

“Oh Ai,” Maar murmurs, vocalizing your own thoughts.

All this time you have been thinking of the Mandalorian as a man beneath the amor. A hardened and seasoned fighter who has seen a lifetime of bloodshed and violence. But the reality is he is only two years older than you. Standing right on that thin, blurry line between being seen as a teenager and being considered an adult.

“Who are you?” the Mandalorian asks, glancing first at you then your sister and back to Maar. Frustration and wariness blend together, sharpening his voice. “Why am I here? What happened?”

Ahsoka meets your eye with a question in her gaze, one you don’t have the answer for: where do we even begin?

Series Taglist: @pedro4ever

Permanent Taglist: @promiscuoussatan @vintagesaph @sylphene @over300books @chibi-yuki @theocatkov @oh-no-a-whovian @absurdthirst @freeshavocadoooo @you-and-i-deserve-the-world @lin-djarin @happiestsparkleofall @randomness501 @gallowsjoker @coaaster @captain-jebi @leilei-draws @disgruntledspacedad @melobee @stilllivindue2spite @pointy-sharp @artsymaddie @waywardmando @thisshipwillsail316 @mylifeofcalculatedchaos @grogusmum @asta-lily @rogertaylorsfalsettogivesmehives @sherala007 @mejswho @uncle-kenobi

#Din Djarin #din x you #din x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #din djarin fanfiction #mandalorian x reader #mandalorian fanfic #togruta #ahsoka tano #the last mandalorian #my fic #my writing #pedrostories

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seijojoh · 4 years

Text

You Should Be More Careful | T. Amajiki

Pairing: vil!Tamaki x fem!Reader

Synopsis: In which you are saved by the indigo haired villain by some lowlife. What was supposed to be an innocent rescue turns out to be something more.

Warnings: NSFW towards the end, yandere themes, cursing, reader gets hurt, slight gore. WC: 1.1k A/N: This was a little something I whipped up for a friend from discord. I had a lot of fun writing this and Tamaki could seriously like, get it <3

How did you get yourself into this situation again? It was supposed to be a quick trip, really. Order over the phone to your favorite take out spot, walk the short five minute walk it took to get there, pick up your food and head back. Simple, right? Right - so why the fuck were you being cornered by this below average villain who was claiming to make his name known to the world in the nastiest alleyway possible?

Also your perfectly good food had been spilled onto the dirty concrete next to your feet.

“A shame to hurt such a beauty like yourself, but don’t worry. I’ll try to go easy on you, babe.” You know you should have had a better reaction. Pushed him away, screamed for help, reached into your pocket for the pepper spray you always carry with you in times of danger, but your mind could not process the means of protecting yourself when it was in an insane amount of pain.

Your body was hot, on fucking fire; not literally, but it was close enough. You suddenly began to sweat, your mouth open to suck in any cold air down your lungs just to ease the pain. What the heck? Is this his quirk? Some stupid thing that allows him to burn up his victims? There was no time to think before you fell down on all fours, your hands and knees feeling like jello as you attempted to gain control over yourself.

“I understand things must be getting hot for you, huh?” He spoke, but you didn’t hear. “What a fickle thing. This heat your feeling is from my quirk called Mind Melt. Your brain is quite literally melting from the inside the longer I am close to you. Just gotta get a good stare into your eyes for a few seconds and you’re done for. Cells begin to die, nerve conduction slows, and altogether you will stop functioning altogether. Sorry, again toots. If I could make this as painless as possible, I would,” he sighed, squatting down near your hunched over form to deliver a head pat. You were sure he could feel the intense levels of heat emanating from your skull.

“S-Stop,” you whimpered weakly, coughing up the bile and blood that surged out of your panicking body. “P-Ple...Please!”

“No can do, babes. I am gonna show these heros exactly who I am. They’ll know to fear Hot Shot! And-!” The villain didn’t even get to finish his statement before he was sent flying all the way down the alley by a very large… tentacle?

With the added distance, the heat stopped just as fast as it came on. “Oh shit,” you breathed out softly, lifting the sleeve of your arm to wipe away the drool that pooled out of your mouth.

“What the fuck?! Who the he-” you could hear Hot Shot scream from wherever he was flung to but he was cut off again by a gruelling smash, and then silence. With an unsteady head, you looked over at the noise, finding a third party standing over the villain who attacked you, foot directly pressing into his face. “Imagine being that fucking desperate that you attack an unsuspecting civilian,” the third voice chuckled, hardly budging as the man underneath him struggled to break free.

“You want to make it big out there as a villain, you’re going to have to try a lot harder than that,” he chuckled. From where you were placed, you could see the same foot the man used transform into… what is that? A chicken foot? Before you could confirm or deny, two of the sharp talons sunk into the villain’s eyes, pulling a scream out of him.

That seemed to wake you up from whatever trance you were doing. You gasped softly and shifted further away from the two, but with your body still in shock, it was unlikely you were going anywhere. Too panicked to get away from the scene, you didn’t notice when the screams stopped and the heavy footsteps started making their way towards your crawling form.

You gasped when a large and warm hand rested on your back, while the other gripped your chin to turn your head to face him. “Tsk, look at the mess he left,” you stared at the stranger whose laxed eyes bored directly into you. It was enough to make you freeze in your spot, horror shooting down your spine as you couldn’t find the means to move at all. “What a shame too, looks like he got you pretty good.”

His face was suddenly closer to yours, his indigo hair brushing against your cheeks. If you could cower away from his touch, you would. However, you sat there helpless, too weak to do anything but whimper out of fear that you would meet the same fate as Hot Shot. “Awe, don’t be scared, bunny. I’m not an asshole who’ll hurt you. No, no. I don’t do that to good ones like you,” he hummed softly, grip tightening on your jawline softly to turn your head to both sides, inspecting you for further damage.

“A-Are you gonna let me go?” It was a stupid question. A stupid question that shouldn’t have been asked. You could see with his growing smirk and his head cocking to the side that he found enjoyment in such an innocent, desperate question

“You would like that, huh?” He chuckled, bringing his thumb and pointer finger up to squeeze your cheeks, effectively puckering your lips outwards. “I could, but what if someone else comes by and hurts you on your way home? There’s no guarantee that I’ll come to your aid,” his gaze was trained over your lips, lifting the hand from your back to bring his thumb against your bottom lip. “Plus, such an innocent bunny like yourself is so badly hurt. You can hardly hold your own weight.”

It’s true. With this much shock your body was undergoing, it was beginning to shut down. Your vision was slowly becoming hazy, breathing much more ragged and your body felt uncomfortably warm still - an aftermath from the quirk used on you. A small whimper left your lips when he pressed his thumb further into your bottom lip, the tip of it just barely entering your parted lips.

Slowly, as if not to scare you any more, he moved his head closer so that his forehead lightly rested upon yours. All you could stare at was him and he fucking loved it. Special bunnies like you should only look at the ones who will promise to take care of them, look at them for aid when something is not right. And he wanted it to remain that way. Forever.

“I’m gonna take extra good care of you, my little bunny~”

#tamaki amajiki #bnha tamaki #mha tamaki #tamaki x reader #tamaki x you #tamaki x y/n #vil! tamaki #villain tamaki #tamaki amajiki x reader #tamaki imagines #tamaki scenarios #tamaki amajiki smut #tamaki smut #tamaki scenario #my hero x reader #my hero academia smut #my hero academia tamaki

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that-other-him · 3 years

Text

In the belly of the Leviathan

Warmind!Au Destiny story inspired by and tying in with @hdreaper 's own story just posted. Please enjoy!

Fear was something of an old hat to Winter. Memory skips left her anxious, quarantine duty made her anxious, being cut off from Rexy, her frames and the network made her anxious, the anxiety making the memory skips worse made her anxious...

But the fear she'd been living with for the last month blew all of that out of the water.

Ra-1, the fist of Rasputin, the Dragon Ascendant, had personally sent her a message to say that if she didn't start doing exactly what he told her, he'd activate the code-black killcodes built into her Rasputin Exo body, and blow her Exomind into electronic spaghetti. After all, she was wired into the Charlemagne network, and had a documented set of fears he could abuse. She'd gather confidential data for him, she'd send him warnings of Charlemagne's actions, and she'd allow his scientists to try and duplicate Rexy, and the fear of final death would keep her in line.

But.

But but but.

Rasputin's records of her had been accurate...once. Yes, she was still afraid, but her body was no longer a Rasputin model. It couldn't be; that whole area was considered an infohazard now, and her last body was never coming home. And without that final threat, she'd found the courage to do something...stupid.

So here she was, on Ra's flagship in deep space with Charlemagne's blessing. She'd met up with lance troops a few times for debriefs, but recently she'd been allowed to spend time on the flagship itself, ready for Ra to send her where he wanted her. But that same set of interface skills that had allowed her access to Charli's files had also granted access to just a few of Ra's.

Winter paced back and forth in the tiny cabin she’d been assigned. She wasn’t sure if it was some kind of power conservation action, but the light down here barely cut through the shadows. She could have headed up to one of the main decks where things were a bit less claustrophobic, but Ra’s soldiers were everywhere there, and being the only blue-lit Exo on the entire ship guaranteed her the kind of attention that, if things went wrong today, could get her killed. She checked the ship’s clock fruitlessly. Somewhere out there, right now, Ra himself was boots-down on Riis. The data scraps she’d found didn’t say why, or for how long, but there was no question that he was just a little vulnerable right now.

Just a little would have to be enough; her Guardian contacts, who she’d affectionately nicknamed Fireteam Fuzzy, had cut their way through all kinds of monsters since she’d met them, and she’d made damn sure they knew exactly how dangerous he would be. She’d helped Fuzzy find their targets and coordinated some bounties for them down in the Quarantine zone, and when she’d outlined her proposal, they’d agreed to pass it on without question. It could have been typical guardian bravado, but she knew they’d lost friends to Ghostbuster rounds in the attack on the farm a while back. Maybe they actually trusted her.

Maybe that trust was going to get them killed.

Pushing that thought away and herself to her feet, Winter shoved her way past the door and started striding away towards the lifts. One way or another, with the Ira Terra still out in the styx, any news of the strike would take time to arrive, if her information had even been good in the first place. If she was going to stew in uncertainty, she may as well do it somewhere that felt less like a prison cell. Ra may have been a terrifying, merciless, wannabe-tyrant, but the facilities he provided for his troops were actually first rate. She’d find a sim-station no-one was using and throw herself into some story until the guillotine had, one way or another, dropped.

She had made it to the first brightly lit corridor of the barracks floor when her whole body exploded into pain.

Protocols cut in, protecting her mind from the overwhelming agony, partitioning and quarantining it. The feeling of burning alive dipped, sank, then seemed to drain from her whole body into solely her left forearm. When she could see again, she was crumpled against the wall of the corridor, chest heaving, digital heart still pumping on overdrive. It felt unpleasantly like the worst of the memory blips-she was in pain, alone, with no idea why or what to defend against. She cast her eyes down and to her left, and just like with the blips, her circumstances slotted into place. Set into the casing of her arm, where her network interface and uplink were supposed to be, were a smoking ruin of burned and self-destructing circuits. Her only remaining Rasputin hardware, her connection to her frames, to Rexy, to the ship’s system.

Ra-1 had just tried to kill her.

Oh, if she had thought she’d been afraid before, it paled in comparison to the terror that swallowed her now. It felt like her heart was going to burst out through her chest. There was no way her guardians would have told him she was responsible, right? They knew she was undercover, and even in the heat of the fight, he could have sent the kill codes at any time. They’d keep her secret...

...until their dying breaths.

There was a crackling noise that initially failed to cut through the panic, until it resolved unto the familiar voice of the great warlord, and even as the announcement rang out the ship’s engines powered into life and rumbled the flagship into thunderous motion.

“Attention, warriors of the Broken Lance. A guardian strike team has just made an attempt on my life, using information given to them by a traitor within our ranks, Winter-1. The guardians have been dealt with, and I have already ensured she has been rewarded as a traitor deserves. However, an example must still be made. Have her remains gathered and waiting for me upon my return to the Terra. Her masters shall have her broken husk returned to them. A commendation to the squad who has her corpse in my office upon my arrival. Ra out.”

Oh.

Hmm.

Ah, ok.

Winter was pretty sure she’d just lost a minute or two by the time her awareness came back to her. She still felt like she was about to die (fully independent of the hundreds of trained and eager killers probably now closing in on her position) but the freeze instinct was graduating to flight. She had an exit strategy, at Charlemagne’s insistence. It wasn’t a good strategy, but the warmind had explicitly ordered her to try. She reached out with her interface to the subroutine she’d left running on the ship’s server, and-

Ah. Her eyes once again turned to the sparking, melted mess where her interface was supposed to sit. It felt like one of her senses had been scooped out; a huge, gaping wound where the network was supposed to be. Nevermind just the escape protocol, without the access codes built into it, ninety five percent of the systems in the ship would no longer recognise her as a person, including the ones required to log into any network access point on the ship. She knew where her escape protocol was located, and could theoretically trigger it if she could reach an unsecured terminal.

But right now she could already hear tramping boots approaching from the barracks and she had no choice but to run.

She lost count of how many times she blipped as she led a desperate game of cat and mouse through the guts of the ship. The Ira Terra was bigger than the Stultorum had been, back when she’d served upon it, but if the ship ran about the same, the cargo deck mid-flight would be on skeleton crew with nobody caring if an unsecured terminal was technically a security violation. So she kept heading down and back, focusing on that one thought to the exclusion of all else. When she blipped in this time, she was halfway down a corridor created by two shipping containers, moving towards the illuminated sign of a shift breakroom. She took the next step and immediately fell nearly to the floor, sprawling gracelessly and nearly braining herself on the container. Oh-she’d been shot. That explained why her right side and upper leg were one big mess of static and pins-and-needles. She supported herself on the side of the crate and limped forward, conscious of the shouts and stomping boots echoing from somewhere in the distance behind her. She made it to the door, shouldering it open, almost collapsing with relief when her flickering vision was met with the friendly glow of an open terminal. She immediately dragged herself to it, closing the chat and shipwide alert windows to immediately start digging for her protocol.

She must have been five seconds in when she heard the shatter of breaking crockery behind her.

Slowly turning to face the noise, Winter looked into the eyes of the exo washing the dishes in the kitchenette, set into the corner of the breakroom. For a moment, both were still, surprised, the other Exo’s hand still in the air where it had been holding the coffee mug a moment ago. Then his eyes flicked to the screen of the terminal, where a moment ago had been the bounty on the only blue-lit Exo on the ship.

She didn’t even question trying to engage him. She whirled back to the screen, fingers flying as she desperately raced to run the command. The man had no weapons, probably no combat training, but he crashed into her from behind and her leg went out from under her, skull bouncing off the frame of the screen as he tried to wrap his arms around hers, voice bellowing that he’d found her. She was so close it burned, even more intense than the pain. She gripped one of her hands with the other and shoved it over her shoulder as hard as she could, outstretched thumb punching into his optic and causing a very human scream that no amount of mechanical upgrades would prevent. His grip slackened, and she pulled herself out of his arms and high enough to see the screen.

There were shouts behind her, the sounds of guns being brought to attention, the exo at her feet was tightening his grip again, and her vision was fading into black on the edges.

She hit the last key on the screen.

Everything went white, then black, silent and cold.

It was maybe ten seconds before the first ship thundered across her line of sight in the perfect silence of vacuum, the many supporting ships of Ra's fleet rushing to keep up with the flagship as it finished positioning itself for the jump. Even its coasting speed had brought it far enough away from Winter to render it a tiny dot in the distance, before there was a flash of light and the ships were gone.

Her transmat had been a random distance in a random direction, untraceable, and searching for her would delay the ship's travel to pick up Ra. She'd be left behind in the void, passing beyond its signal jamming, allowing the beacon hidden in her circuits to finally begin transmitting. A waiting friendly vessel would be on route to pick her up, provided the fleet hadn't shot it out of the sky.

Which left Winter here, curled in a ball as the moisture on her clothes crystallised. In theory, Exos were built to be vacuum-resistant, but she had a feeling that resistance didn't account for there being two bleeding holes in her dermis.

The thought drifted through her brain as her senses shut down one by one:

Who would claim her first: the cold, the bleeding, or her rescue?

She found herself thinking that she didn't want to die again.

Slowly, the black faded back to white.

#destiny 2 writing #warmind au #Winter-1/2/3

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exquisitley-obsessed · 3 years

Text

Fiancés, Firebirds, Foxes and Fawns: 5

Author: @exquisitley-obsessed

Summary: A few weeks after Briallyn’s attempt at uniting with Koschei, Lucien opens the door of Lockhart Manor to find Elain, cold from the rain and holding a note from the High Lady of the Night Court demanding her to assist Lucien in building alliances with the human councils. Forced to work together by their exhausted High Lord and Lady, Elain is able to convince anyone to do anything, while Lucien has the acquaintances to go anywhere he likes. Together, they attempt to unite the fae and mortal lands and unravel the deal made between Koschei and Vassa, while Lucien remains haunted by his own promise to Elain’s father. ELUCIEN, POST-ACOSF

Pairings: Elain x Lucien, Elucien

Warnings: None.

A/N: This is going to be a long, slow burn fic (hopefully)

MY MASTERLIST

THIS FIC’S MASTERLIST

AO3

Chapter Five: Madman

“Hello my little fairies,”

“Jurian, please-” Lucian groaned, his arms folding over his chest as he leaned back with a groan. They’d only been waiting a few minutes before their fae hearing had picked up on Jurian’s footfalls and accompanying whistle.

“Sorry fox-boy, but you’re the idiot who got yourself and princess over here stuck on your first day.”

Lucien said nothing, just glared at his friend with a look that could’ve killed. Jurian paused in his approach, taking a moment to survey the cage. Then he cocked his head.

“You didn’t do this on purpose right?”

“Jurian-”

“Okay, okay,” Jurian grinned, holding his hands up in defence. Throughout this exchange Elain had remained perched on the fallen tree, doing her best to ignore the boy’s bickering.

With a comedic deliberance, Jurian reached over and began to hoist the cage upwards. The contraption must’ve been heavier than it appeared given the audible grunt that came out of the semi-mortal man. Lucien sprang to his feet and held out his hand to help Elain up before snapping it back to his side. She ignored that. She ignored the sinking feeling in her gut too, and bent low and shuffled under the lip of the cage to freedom, Lucien close behind.

“You owe me one,” Jurian huffed as he let the cage fall, the wood groaning in protest.

“We should’ve discouraged the councils from putting these up,” Lucien glared at the Ashwood cage, and Elain could now see how the wood was black like the forests caged in the Nolan residence. Involuntarily, she shivered.

“Councils would think you a mad-men if you began suggesting they forgo protecting themselves against fae.” Jurian eyed his friend, his hands digging into his pockets.

“It’s not safe, not when allies who are fae come to visit. What kind of message does that send?”

“Lucien, you can’t demand the whole human world put down their swords just because your mate is in town.”

Both Elain and Lucien stiffened at the word, the acknowledgment of the bond they both had so insistently ignored for two, whole years. It was like the floor falling out from under them, and the friendly bantering they’d just shared lost its innocence and gained a heavy significance. Nothing could be simple between them it seemed.

Nesta would’ve gone mad Elain realised, to know that Elain had been trapped with Lucien who she was convinced was an uncontrollable beast. But Lucien had done nothing to make her uncomfortable, quite the opposite in fact.

“Huckleberry Hall?” Elain spoke into the silence, as Lucien and Jurian continued to glare at one another. Lucien with danger in his eye, Jurian with amusement.

“Maybe you should go back to the house,” Lucien said after a moment, kicking a stone near his foot.

“What? Why?”

“It’s dangerous out here,” Lucien gestured vaguely to the Ashwood cage. “You can just come with us to Huckleberry on the day, you don’t need to know the way just yet.”

“You’re the one that got us trapped,” Elain bit out. There was more emotion in her voice than she’d heard in a long time. Lucien, it seemed, had this tendency of making her break out of the fog that had descended on her mind following the Cauldron. Making her laugh. Making her angry. “I’m an emissary just like you, why shouldn’t I know the way?”

“No I…I didn’t mean it like that,” Lucien sighed, his brows furrowing as his shoulders hunched. But what other reason was there? Could Elain truly never escape the preconceptions the world had of her – lesser, inconsequential, useless.

“No, I get it. Don’t worry,” Elain could hardly control her anger at this point, folding her arms over her chest as though it could barricade her emotions in. Around Lucien everything was intensified, electric – it was making her feel sick.

“Elain…” Lucien said softly, and if she were not mistaken, from the corner of her eye she could see him extend a hand towards her - reaching out for her.

“Come on princess, I’ll take you home,” Jurian spoke as though he were reminding them of his presence, and Elain saw as Lucien’s hand retracted back to his side. “I have a new contract with the Darlington’s which I wouldn’t mind you looking over.” Jurian came over and Elain looked him over as though for the first time. Scruffy brown hair, a beard that could do with a trim. Brown eyes like Elain’s, and like Elain’s, they were somewhat glazed over, as though he were not truly there.

Elain just nodded at him, her back still somewhat turned to Lucien. But before Jurian could lead Elain back to the Manor, her mate spoke again.

“You keep her safe,” he said, and Elain couldn’t help but peek at him. He’d spoken with such steel in his voice, and his eyes were blazing with raw power as he glared at Jurian. It set something inside Elain alight.

“The house is 15 minutes away, please, have a little faith,” Jurian rolled his eyes.

“Pigs will fly before I put faith in you Jurian.” The man just rolled his eyes and turned back to the dirt path which they had all just come from. Elain turned to go, peeking over her shoulder one last time as she did so.

Lucien seemed to linger for a moment, an internal battle raging inside of him, before his expression darkened and he turned his back, walking away without a second glance.

“You don’t look like your sister, not really?”

“Which one?” Jurian was walking behind Elain, and with every step Elain felt his eyes boring into the back of her head.

“Both. Feyre’s all Nigh Court ink and the other one’s all hellcat.”

“I’ll be sure to let them know of your opinion.”

“You’re like me,” Jurian surprised her by saying. Elain flushed.

“I’m not sure about that.”

“Oh really? I think we’re quite similar. In fact, I think we might be just the same.”

“I really don’t think so,” Elain marched forward, swatting at the bushes as the arched over the path.

“You don’t sometimes feel a little…crazy?” Either she was going mad or Jurian’s voice was dangerously close to the back of her neck.

“No…” she breathed, not much longer now, the house should come into sight in between the trees any second.

“Do you still have visions?”

“No,” Elain said quickly, too quickly, “They stopped after the Cauldron was reforged.”

“How can you be so sure?” She definitely just felt Jurian’s breath on the tip of her left ear. “Your sister still maintained her powers, before giving them up for Feyre…silly girl.” Elain came to a halt and spun around.

“Be careful with how you speak about my sisters.” Raw fury lined her voice. She’d had enough, and all the tension of the last two days appeared to have peaked.

But, she hated that he had got this reaction out of her, hated that glint in his eye which revealed just how delighted he was.

“What are you doing here, princess?” Jurian said after a moment, his voice was painfully, uncomfortably soft.

“I’m here to look over your work with the councils-”

“No,” Jurian said simply, “What are you really doing here?”

Elain paused, her eyes boring into the madman’s, refusing to look away. Inside of her, she felt something spark into life, and for the first time, she didn’t blow it out – she kindled it, holding it in her hands and encouraging it to grow.

“Are you really do arrogant – so pompous – to believe I have an ulterior motive in my stay.” The words came out hot and fast, and Elain felt something inside her finally breaking. “You clearly believe I do, in fact, it’s clear you think you know said ulterior motive. So why don’t we ask you, Jurian, why am I here? If you’re so convinced of my disloyalty.”

If Jurian was phased by Elain’s extremely uncommon outburst, he didn’t show it. He just continued to peer down at her with cold, calculating eyes.

“Forgive me, Lady Archeron, if I do not believe in the honesty of the Night Court.”

“Your beliefs are not my problem.” The anger was easy now, too easy. It was no longer buried deep within her, in some unreachable pocket, it was bubbling under her skin, aching for release.

“They are when it appears the Night Court has sent perhaps the least suitable person for a job we didn’t even need. Anyone with two brain cells to rub together can see your position is unnecessary. You’re not needed…so why are you here?”

Jurian insulted her so casually, with so little remorse, that Elain wasn’t quite sure she’d heard him correctly. He couldn’t speak to her like that, right? No one, no one, spoke to her like that. No one insulted her to her face, no one told her she was not needed – especially not after the Cauldron. No one would’ve dared insult her in the Night Court, not with Feyre as her sister and Rhysand her brother-in-law. And Elain had thought…she’d thought no one would insult her here, not with Lucien around. But Lucien couldn’t be with her all the time, and everyone else, well they owed her nothing.

“How has talking to the councils worked for you?”

Jurian seemed to still. At least she’d caught him off guard.

“…pardon?”

“Because I don’t think I need to look at the contracts to know that your progress has been futile.” Jurian seemed to stop breathing, his eyes turning dark and dangerous. Elain wondered for a moment if Lucien had realised the only danger he’d left her with, was Jurian.

“Careful how you speak,” the madman’s voice was low, deadly.

“Have you ever wondered why? Why you’ve made no progress with the humans? Hasn’t it crossed your mind that a half-crazed man who used to be a finger and an eye in a ring, and a queen who metamorphosises into a bird come daylight, might not be the best approach to a land of mortals?”

Jurian stayed silent, and whether encouraged by bravery or stupidity, Elain didn’t stop.

“Humans are simple people, really. But everything they’ve been taught over the centuries has told them that fae are dangerous and not to be trusted. The humans are probably looking at the two of you thinking if they open themselves up to the world of fae, then they’re going to end up the same. Lucien he…well…I can’t imagine he knows much about humans either. What you need is someone who understands these people, who knows the right thing to say so they believe the fae mean no harm.”

“And let me guess, this person is you?” Jurian goaded with a condescending smirk that had no humour.

“Say what you want, Jurian, but I’m the most human one here.”

Jurian assessed her, his eyes clouding over with thought.

“Yes…human…you’d like that wouldn’t you.” It was Elain’s turn to be startled.

“Pardon?”

“Is that not why you’re here? To play dress up with your old life, to pretend that nothing’s changed, that you didn’t change.”

“No-” Elain practically hissed.

“I saw you the day Nolan’s boy rejected you. Brutal, but at least he’s honest, I’ll give him that. You were a wreck that day, princess, I bet you don’t even remember that I was there. But I was, and I saw that fire in your eye…I guess in that way you are like your sisters.”

“I…” Elain hated that her thoughts had turned sour, and her tongue had frozen. Now, she was drowning in memories of that day. That horrible, cleaving day.

“The look in your eye was of a woman who wasn’t going to give up on what she wants, not now, not ever.”

“I am a female,” Never had Elain referred to herself as such, but in the face of Jurian’s vitriol she had never felt such an urge to defend her fae-ness, “And you know nothing of what I want.”

“Then please, enlighten me,” Jurian was close now, too close, and Elain cursed herself for how her speech faltered, for how the words ran out. What did she want?

“Is it him?” Jurian pushed and Elain felt her whole body flush. Jurian just rolled his neck. “Only took you two years-”

“I didn’t-”

“I don’t care,” Jurian glared out at the forest, “You’re crueller than I thought, Lady Elain, to keep Lucien only till you want him. Do you like that? Keeping males on leashes till you get over your petty trauma-”

Elain slapped him.

Granted, the minute her hand collided with his cheek she was already cradling his face and apologising profusely. But still, Elain had slapped him.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, oh Gods, I didn’t mean to, I just – I just – oh gods I-” Jurian was rubbing at his cheek, but the fog seemed to have cleared from his eye. Elain couldn’t stop apologising, down right mortified in her actions, particularly in the ease in which she’d raised her hand and struck a man. This wasn’t her; she didn’t defend herself like this. Too much time around Mor, that had to be it.

“Please don’t apologise, and you didn’t hit me that hard, I’ve had lovers do worse,” Jurian grinned cheekily. Elain just scrunched up her nose, a furious blush spreading across her cheeks.

“I wish I could say you didn’t deserve it,” Elain muttered as she watched the skin of Jurian’s cheek prickle into a dull rose. Horror washed through her for saying such a thing, but Jurian just shrugged and ruffled his scruffy hair.

“I refuse to lie,” he said, eventually.

“I’m sure that works brilliantly for you in the world of politics,” Elain couldn’t take her eyes away from the blushing skin of Jurian’s cheek. “Let me say this once, Jurian. Just so we know where we stand with each other,” she began, somewhat awkwardly as she fiddled with the cuff of her sleeve. “You know nothing of me. You know nothing of my wants, and you certainly, certainly, know nothing of my pain...”

It seemed that Jurian had nothing to say to that, and Elain couldn’t stand the look in his eye, so she turned to the endless forest.

“If you spent five minutes in my mind…”

“What?” Jurian ground out, and Elain looked at him sharply.

“Those 50 years would look like child’s play.”

Jurian’s eyes darkened, and he seemed to look over her as though for first time. Drinking her in. Elain thought he would’ve been offended but, he just looked thoughtful, as though he’d been propositioned with a new puzzle.

“Till you prove me otherwise,” he finally began, moving around Elain and walking forward along the path, “I cannot believe that some part of you, no matter how small, is only back here to try and go back to your old life. That’s just what I’ll believe.”

Elain said nothing, she just fell into step behind the madman. What was supposed to have been a short trip to Huckleberry had turned into strangely casual bantering with Lucien and a confrontation with Jurian in which she had physically assaulted him. If today was any indication, perhaps Vassa would give her another strange encounter come nightfall. All she had to do till then, was look over the contracts. That would be simple enough.

“Elain,” Jurian spoke up, not bothering to even turn around.

“Yes?”

“Please prove me otherwise.”

***

Lucien was pretty sure he was scaring the humans. He’d walked into Huckleberry Hall with flames practically sizzling from his fingers and had given a small gaggle of human women a nasty fright as he spun the corner.

He was now waiting on the updated maps from the humans’ best cartographer. Lucien didn’t like waiting. He didn’t like staying still. He needed the world to keep moving and he needed it to keep dragging him along, because when he stopped like this, he became far too aware of exactly how things were.

Things had been going fine with Elain. No, not fine – great. For the first time, ever, Lucien was pretty sure he’d caught a glimpse of Elain. Not Elain when she was stuffed in Night Court black or silent whilst her sisters spoke for her, but just, Elain.

She’d laughed at his joke. Cauldron fry him – she’d actually giggled at something he’d said. Lucien hadn’t even had time to consider how that was their first time alone together, just the two of them. If the world were kind to him, maybe one day that would be their story – the first time they talked because they’d quite literally been trapped together.

But the world wasn’t kind to him.

What had gone wrong? All of a sudden Jurian was there and things were bad again. Lucien had done what he always does, he’d said something stupid, and he’d watched as Elain, quite literally, retracted into herself.

And now he was alone at Huckleberry Hall, and all the excitement he’d had merely hours ago, at the prospect of being with Elain and making some progress, had evaporated. Groaning, Lucien ran his hands down his face.

“Lucien?” A sweet, bubbly voice called out from behind him, and it took the male a moment before he could place the voice. Turning around, he forced an easy, courtier’s smile onto his face.

“Delilah,” Lucien smiled, greeting the woman with a slight bow of his head. “How are you?”

“I’m well, how are you?” Delilah was the daughter of Lord Darlington, the human who appeared to be in charge of the armies, Lord Nolan supplying the arms for his escapades. Lucien didn’t understand how human courting worked, in the fae lands when he liked a female they’d usually be in his bed before sundown, but from what he’d heard of the human crowds, Delilah had been described as the ‘diamond of the season’ – whatever the hell that meant.

Lucien supposed that meant a lot of men were scrabbling for her hand, and he supposed she fit the human model for attractive. Her hair was of palest blonde, and she had a dainty body with bones that reminded Lucien of a bird. She wore pretty frocks with high necklines, and seemed to have abnormally, cosmetic rouge cheeks and lips. She was sweet, but in the face of-

“Are you sure you’re well?” Her voice was high and sugary, “You look ready to explode.” Lucien huffed what he hoped was an amused laugh.

“It’s been a hectic night and day.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Delilah chewed her bottom lip. “Any reason in particular? Any way in which I can help?” Lucien shook his head.

“No…we’ve just had a new arrival from Prythian, a high fae like me whose here to assist with negotiations.” Lucien tried to keep his voice neutral, but he was sure that somehow Delilah knew he was talking about his mate. Surely she heard his heart, racing in his chest.

“Oh, how exiting!” Delilah’s eyes seemed to brighten with a seemingly innocent interest.

“Really?” Lucien had cocked his head and raised his brow, “I thought you humans would hate having a new fae in town.”

But Lucien knew Delilah wouldn’t mind. When Lucien had first arrived at the mortal lands things had been, strange. At least he was already well practiced in having strangers stare at him, but there was something unblazoned about the humans. The men always looked to be sizing him up, their eyes calculating exactly what it would take to take him down. The women…well. Women of an older generation were mortified by him – which was a first.

But the younger women, they hadn’t had so many years in believing the fae as wicked. The girls were curious, and Lucien was very handsome. He always had been, and it seemed that here, his scar and metal eye only added to the exotic ambiguity of his presence. Over the two years the women had become braver. They might come stand near him in gaggles, first they didn’t talk they only observed, then they were having loud conversations of when they would be taking strolls in the garden, unattended by their chaperones.

Lucien was amused. For one reason. The idea that Elain had once been like these human women had sent his mind whirring. Would she have been taken by him if they’d met before the Cauldron. It would’ve been so easy to see her when she was still human, he could’ve been the one to deliver Feyre’s letters, he could’ve crossed the border and knocked on her door and-

It was a fun dream. But that’s all it was, a dream.

“Maybe my father would hate a new fae but, I’m sure us ladies wouldn’t mind,” Delilah let out a giggle that reminded Lucien of too many sugars in his tea.

“Well, she’ll be attending the meeting on Friday, so plenty of opportunity for greetings then.”

“She?” Delilah seemed to falter slightly, her iridescent hair catching in the sun in a way that made Lucien’s eyes hurt.

“Yes,” Lucien sighed, he really hated to tell people of her, in some way he supposed it was his way of keeping her safe, especially when at the most important moment of his life he couldn’t shut up. But Elain was not his property, and not his secret to keep. “Lady Elain of the Night Court.” He confirmed, unable to keep the awe out of his voice as he spoke.

“Archeron?” Delilah’s voice, impossibly, rose in pitch.

“Yes…” Lucien wondered if he’d made a mistake given Delilah’s wide, calculating eyes.

“We…we never thought we’d see her again,” Delilah said, as though it were some kind of explanation.

“I…” Lucien’s brow furrowed, “I’m sure she feels the same.”

“Gods…will you be at the Nolan’s tonight,” Delilah went on, and yet her eyes still remained troubled as she looked at him.

“Me? No…no I don’t attend those kinds of things.” Lucien straightened himself up, folding his hands behind his back.

“It’ll be a lot of fun,” she smiled sweetly at him, and for a moment Lucien wondered why she was asking him. She’d extended the offer a few times two years ago, but soon it became well known that the Fae Male from the other side of the wall would have nothing to do with the Nolan family beyond basic respect.

“I’m sure it will, but, I have other duties I must attend to.” Not quite a lie. Not quite the truth. Who even cared.

“Of course,” Delilah bowed slightly, and Lucien was somewhat grateful that the young woman seemed to be taking her leave.

“But know,” she surprised him by taking a step closer, “You’re more than welcome should you…change your mind.”

And then she was gone with a curtsey and a flick of ice-white hair. Lucien watched as she disappeared down the golden hallway, her pale skirts dragging across the marble floor, and tried to ignore the sinking feeling in his gut.

#elucien #elucien fic #elucien fluff #elucien fanfiction #elain #elain archeron #elain acotar #elain x lucien #elain/lucien #elain and lucien #lucien #lucien vanserra #lucien x elain #lucien/elain #fffaf #jurian #vassa #band of exiles

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crispyjenkins · 4 years

Note

B U I R, continuation of the last fic? Padawan Obi and master Dooku are freakin great. Would like to see more of jango being a disaster & a himbo for one (1) man

(my kid enabled me and i’ve been writing this between packing/moving the last week and i don’t know when i’ll be able to start something new (tonight? tomorrow? next week? lord knows), so i’m very sorry to the quinobi anon, yours is next, i promise!!

imagine that one Stiles/Malia cuddle that literally will not stop looping through my brain even though i haven’t watched teen wolf

warning for minor blood and injury, minor descriptions/implications of torture. takes place maybe three years after the last!)

It’s a little uncomfortable, trying to sleep against a wall while also trying to keep your sort-of-love-interest's headwound elevated on your own lap, and whatever remains of Obi-Wan’s internal clock protests to the surely late hour should they have been on Coruscant.

Which they’re not, of course, because Obi-Wan has apparently run out of brownie points with the Force, and all his bad luck is catching up to him all at once: getting kidnapped by the Daan for ransom is one thing, getting his shuttle knocked clean out of the sky over Odos and barely managing to protect his fellow passengers in the crash is another entirely. A concussion and a Force-suppression collar later, Obi-Wan had been thrown in a clinically-plain but entirely-dark cell with a barely-conscious Mand'alor that he hasn't seen outside of holocomms since Concord Dawn.

And some part of Obi-Wan is thankful for the excuse to see the real Jango again, not just the fuzzy holos that barely passed recognition and had to be viewed in private, but most of Obi-Wan is livid that this had only been made possible by the both of them getting snatched by the beginnings of a separatist alliance in the mid rim.

Livid that Jango has been here days longer than him, the passage of time marked in fist-shaped bruises and a bleeding lip — and Obi-Wan can't do anything about it, not cut off from the Force as he is.

The single door on the other side of the durasteel bars slides open, spilling harsh white light into the room and sending a nauseating pulse of pain through Obi-Wan's head. The Rattataki nightsister that had dragged him out of the wreckage of the shuttle all but bounces up to the bars, smile cruel in its delight. Force, but she can't be more than twenty-four standard, and already she has two red 'sabers at her hips.

“Well, isn’t that sweet,” Ventress purrs, and Obi-Wan is far too tired to deal with her posturing. He elects to ignore her, letting his head sag into the corner all while giving Jango's wrist a harsh squeeze to surreptitiously wake him, careful to keep his free hand curled around the back of Jango's neck to let him know they're not in immediate danger, but to be wary.

The Mand'alor stirs, and he had been raised a soldier, he knows better than to give himself away immediately. Instead, he keeps his muscles slack even as he takes in the situation, the breathing of a third person in the room, the slow, steady brush of Obi-Wan's thumb over his pulse.

"You can ignore me all you like, Jedi," Ventress says, certainly sounding at ease in her upper hand. "When my master arrives, your tongue will quickly loosen."

Obi-Wan simply grunts, glaring at her for all the good that will do. "I do hope he's not quite so young as yourself," he drawls, as Jango carefully shifts and tests his aches and pains. "You'll have to forgive me for finding it difficult to fear one younger than some padawans."

Ventress hisses, one hand grabbing the bars to pull herself closer. "Not all can be so perfect as you, young Master Kenobi." Jango twitches against him, and Obi-Wan doesn't need the Force to feel his rage. "I do look forward to my master showing you what real power is."

"Well, then I hope he arrives soon, before you manage to bore us to death."

"Obi-Wan," Jango murmurs in warning, stupidly alerting Ventress to his wakefulness.

To his credit, Ventress doesn’t even look like she notices, lips curling back as she waves her hand and the barred door slams to the side. It’s a careless use of the Force, Obi-Wan thinks, which is a shame because she certainly isn’t lacking in skill, though perhaps this isn’t what he should be focussing on.

Slinking into the cell followed quickly by two magnaguards from the hall, Ventress uses that skill to effortlessly grab Jango with the Force and drag him off of Obi-Wan, flinging him across the room into the arms of one of the magnaguards. The other shoves its electrostaff into Obi-Wan’s face to stop him from scrambling up to follow, Ventress leering over Obi-Wan with her fingers gliding over her ‘saber hilts.

“My master warned me of your wayward words, Master Kenobi, you are foolish to think you can use your powers against me," she hisses.

Maker, at least she's earnest. "I didn't think you'd be so quick to forget, darling," Obi-Wan says with a disarming smile, "that you've already made sure I have no powers to speak of."

Over Ventress’ shoulder, Jango jerks in the droid’s arms with a desperately angry frown aimed right at Obi-Wan, and he’s probably right: Obi-Wan really should stop antagonising their captors. It’s difficult, though, when the bleary half-light through the open door frames the fresh split at the corner of Jango’s lip, that Obi-Wan is helpless to remedy.

Ventress snarls at him and grabs the suppression collar underneath his chin, pulling just enough to make him grunt in pain as she forces his head up to look at her; Jango doesn’t make a sound, but yanks against the magnaguard’s grip with enough force that both he and the droid stumble. Ventress pays them absolutely no mind as she leans right into Obi-Wan’s face.

“You will learn to fear us,” she whispers, sibilance bouncing around his mind like the spots that start to dance at the edges of his vision. “We have some more questions for his honor, but you get to sit here in the dark and reflect, perhaps you should meditate, Jedi, on the fate that awaits you at my master’s hands.”

Obi-Wan has just enough leeway to suck in a breath, and uses it to murmur back, “I’m starting to wonder if you even have a master, with the way you hide behind his ‘power’.”

With a ferocious snarl, Ventress yanks him clean off the floor and into the air by the collar, his surprised gasp cutting off into a wheeze as his head snaps back. Jango barks something at Ventess, though Obi-Wan can’t hear exactly what over the roar in his ears.

He scrambles at Ventress' wrist in an attempt to pull himself up enough to just kriffing breathe, to take some of his weight off his neck, but it's been days since he's eaten, and his toes barely brush the floor, and Ventress knows exactly how to manipulate his body to make it hurt. Force, he can hear Jango's voice, low, dangerous, edged in panic, and he can't make out a single word. Instead, Obi-Wan curses his height that he normally doesn't mind, for the way someone at least five years his junior can hold him so powerless so easily.

And then after an eternity, after the world starts to grey and Obi-Wan almost feels like his neck will break, she drops him, oozing smugness as he crumples to the floor and barely manages not to smack his head against the durasteel; he lacks the strength to save his knees from the same fate. He chokes and coughs on the frigid, fake air, nearly retching at his lungs' attempt to suck in all his missing oxygen at once, and he's vaguely aware of Ventress saying something to him, probably gloating. He focuses on just keeping his head off the floor.

Endlessly gentle hands brace his ribs and the back of his neck as they maneuver Obi-Wan up from his stomach to the closest wall, and Obi-Wan knows to trust these hands, that the hurried murmur cutting through the din is not Ventress, that he should probably listen to the owner of those hands.

Jango presses two fingers under Obi-Wan's jaw and checks his pulse, his holo-fuzzy face only coming into focus when the bars slam back into place and the door glides closed on the other side of the room.

"You with me, ner ca'tra?" Jango asks, tilting Obi-Wan's chin up until he nods.

Chest still jerking but forcing himself to calm, Obi-Wan looks around Jango's shoulder to the door, finding with relief that both Ventress and the magnaguards have left them in the dark once again. "Ar-Ar you alright?" he coughs, voice sounding as rough as it feels.

Jango sighs sharply and drags his hand up to push Obi-Wan's loose hair back from his face. "Force preserve me from jetiise suicidal selflessness. I'm fine, kih'jetii, I'll pretend you asked because you've gone stupid from oxygen loss."

Obi-Wan laughs, though it still sounds like a gasp, and lets the Mand'alor pull him gently into his shoulder.

"Padawan," Yan says softly, side stepping in front of the Neimoidian senator that had been talking his ear off for the past hour. Obi-Wan relaxes immediately as his master blocks out the rest of the room, the sounds and the light and the people, and he's never so thankful for Yan's height than he is when chill creeps over the back of his mind and digs its claws into his temples.

It's easier now that he's older, he has more control, has a better understanding of the Unifying Force, and under Yan's tutelage, his shields certainly aren't lacking. Visions are rare, Obi-Wan mostly gets jabs and encouragement from the Force these days, and even in dreams, events are rarely clear enough to preemptively act upon.

But sometimes it's like this, ice starting just where his spine meets his skull, swiftly growing under bone and frosting over gray matter, crystalising his mental shields until they're brittle enough to shatter. He's been under Yan's care for more than half his life now, his master can feel a vision coming on almost before Obi-Wan does, and if it weren't for the crowded ballroom around them, Obi-Wan would sob in relief when his master gently settles two fingers on his temple and supports his mind from below.

Obi-Wan chases the flashes of colour and pictures, the vague senses of warmth and rain and contentment, before rock explodes and durasteel rends. Amorphous screams slam against the inside of his skull, and he leans harder into Yan's hand to combat it, to prop himself up until he can reach out and try and catch those will-o-the-wisps of answers, of hints of where or when these flashes will matter.

"Soon," he mumbles, feeling Yan move slowly and methodically over the cracks in his mind, patching them with care. "I don't... A terrorist attack, Master Yan, I don't—"

"Easy, padawan," Yan soothes back and sets his free hand on the other side of Obi-Wan's face, like he used to before Obi-Wan had learned enough control. "The details matter not."

He lets out a harsh breath. "The details matter not. The details... Desert. Refugees. Claw marks, master, and..." Obi-Wan frowns, pinching his brows together in confusion. "The... the stolen armour. From before."

Yan rumbles unhappily. "Are you sure, Obi-Wan?"

"I'm sure," he whispers. "I would know that armour anywhere."

Mand'alor — “Sole ruler”, contended ruler of Mandalore. ner ca'tra — “my night sky”, intimate term of endearment jetiise — “Jedi” pl., sing. jetii kih'jetii — “Little Jedi”, usually offensive but the relationship between Mandalorians and Jedi are better in this ‘verse so

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etherrealoblivion · 4 years

Text

Chapter Five: The Something In His Eyes

Table Of Contents

Fic summary: Owning a bookstore in downtown D.C. came with its fair share of downsides. You never thought that being the target of a serial killer would be one of them. Luckily, a nice FBI agent by the name of Spencer Reid is assigned to watch over you. What's the worst that could happen?

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Words: 1,963

MASTERLIST

Over the next few days, you fell into a rhythm. You’d work on schoolwork remotely from your room. It was pretty easy to keep up with all the free time you had.

So, obviously, the remaining time off was spent getting to know the enigma of a man

that was Spencer Reid. You formed a rather strange acquaintanceship with him, not quite friends but more than a protector and protectee. The real question was who was protecting who?

You discovered many things about him, some quite apparent, others not. For example, you assumed he was very into technology as most nerdy types were. In fact, it was quite the opposite. He despised all things electronic, from e-books to computers themselves.

“Do you even own a cell phone?”

“Yes!” he insisted, driving you to work for the third day in a row. “Sure, it’s not a fancy smartphone, but I can dial numbers so much easier, anyway.” He handed you his old-school flip-phone.

“How do you text people on this thing?”

He laughed politely.

“I don’t.”

You took the time to interrogate him on the nuances of text language, something he lovingly referred to as ‘dreadfully impractical’.

Maybe this wouldn’t be too bad.

Being constantly watched wasn’t as disconcerting as you’d expected. Well, being watched by Spencer wasn’t. You pretended you didn’t notice the dark blue honda with the tinted windows following you all the way to work and parking nearby. Strange that the FBI seems to need lessons in being covert.

Fortunately, rude customers and the smell of books managed to take your mind off your current situation.

What didn’t help was having to constantly stop Spencer from rearranging all the books in the shop.

“They’re categorized by the Dewey Decimal System,” he said, disgust in his tone making you stifle a giggle. “What? Everyone knows that the Library of Congress Classification System is far superior.”

“Maybe, but my workers have memorized the Dewey Decimal System. It’s easier.”

“But it’s too vague! When you’re categorizing books you need to work from all sorts of classifications. For example . . .”

It was amazing to see how passionate he was about sorting books. You’d never met a man that didn’t just throw a novel (or, more realistically, a comic book) back anywhere on the shelf when he’d finished it. Spencer treated each book like a separate piece of artwork, carefully placing them back in the correct spot without fail. He’d run his hands over the leather bound covers, caressing them as delicately as possible. You couldn’t help but notice the swiftness and gracefulness at which his hands moved.

“You okay?” you snapped out of your stupor and found him standing much closer, a gentle hand on your shoulder.

You took a step back and cleared your throat.

“Yes, ahem, sorry. I need to get back to work.”

Quickly, you walked back over to the front desk, starting to update the book index.

Maybe I should have requested Emily as my protector, you thought to yourself, dusting off a returned copy of Fahrenheit 451. Spencer was super nice and a huge dork. Maybe that was the problem. It was easy to start to think of him as a friend rather than someone just doing his job. Maybe if you’d met under different circumstances you might have been . . . friends.

But that wasn’t the case. Spencer was there to protect you. Any teasing or joking around was just a formality. But why did he have to be so damn enticing?

Around nine o’clock, customers started to peter out. Soon, the only people left in the shop were you, Caleb, your co-worker, and Spencer, who’d been sitting on the window sill reading book after book.

“Hey, I’m gonna clock out,” Caleb said, stripping out of his work shirt. God, that man took any excuse to take his shirt off. You didn’t blame him all that much. D.C, even in the dead of winter, was hot as hell. And when you had a chest like that, one couldn’t be blamed for showing it off.

“Okay, be in tomorrow at ten. I don’t trust Claire to come in on time.”

“No prob,” he waltzed out the front door into the illuminated street, the bell tinkling lightly.

You stood and stretched, glancing over to the windowsill Spencer had been sitting in.

Shocked, you saw Spencer exactly where he’d been about an hour ago, slumped up on the windowsill, fast asleep, using a book as a pillow.

Strange, though it was, that this man was an FBI agent, you couldn’t help giggling at the sight of him sacked out like a toddler.

“Spencer?” you hated to disturb him but you knew that he’d want you to wake him up. “Spencer, wake up.”

He moaned uncomfortably and stretched, jumper lifting up slightly to expose his lean stomach. It took all the self control you had not to stare.

“Whasitgonon?” he mumbled, rubbing his eyes and sitting up.

“You fell asleep,” you walked over to the loveseat in the center of the store and plopped down, sighing.

“Oh god. Sorry,” he stood, shaking himself awake and walking over to you, staring at the pile of books he’d devoured. “I guess I over-exerted myself.”

You scoffed.

“Oh, come on. I thought you were a genius,” you teased, tossing a pillow at him.

With a little fumble, he caught it and sat down next to you, smiling.

“Yeah, but after a night of restlessness, anyone’s an idiot.”

He said it with a sad smile, looking straight ahead. You decided not to ask about the restlessness.

“‘Care keeps his watch in every old man’s eye, and where care lodges—“

“—sleep will never lie,’” Spencer finished the quote for you. “Shakespeare.”

Without thinking, you looked at him, shocked to find he was already looking at you. There was something behind his eyes that made you freeze. Something curious.

And suddenly, in that moment, that split second, something shifted. You knew it and Spencer did too. You could tell by the sudden dilation of his eyes and the sharp intake of breath he let slip.

He recognized his mistake and broke eye contact, glancing away and clearing his throat.

“What, uh, what time is it?” he said, looking for a clock while nonchalantly moving farther away on the loveseat.

“Nearly eleven,” you said, glancing at the grandfather clock, smiling at the fact he didn’t wear a watch. Why is that so endearing? “We can leave now if you like?” You grabbed your purse and started locking up.

“Isn’t it closing time?”

“Well, usually customers stop coming in at around ten, but we close officially at eleven.”

“Then why stay? Why not just leave at ten?”

“I guess I like to think that if someone has a book emergency, it’s comforting to know that I’m here.”

You blushed. You’d never really told anyone that. Claire and Caleb probably had no idea that you stayed as late as you did. What was it that made you tell Spencer?

He hadn’t said anything so you looked at him.

The darkness of the shop made it so you could only see his silhouette. A tall figure against the light of the street lamps, he was poised and solid, staring out into the empty street.

“Spencer?”

“Get behind me,” his tone scared you. He spoke with urgency and you could see his hand on his hip where he’d concealed his gun.

Without hesitation, you stepped behind a bookshelf, slightly peeking around it so you could see what he was doing.

He moved like a shadow, slipping out of the shop and moving onto the street, towards the dark blue honda down the road.

Why is he sneaking up on the undercover car?

There was a screech and the car zoomed off and Spencer leaped into a sprint, running after it.

It finally clicked in your brain and you scolded yourself for not realizing it earlier.

That wasn’t an FBI car.

Becoming quickly aware of the danger you were in, you moved from behind the bookshelf to behind the loveseat, crouching as low as you could and trying to slow your breathing.

Your breath froze in your lungs as the soft sound of the bell by the door tinkled, alerting you that someone had entered the store. You snapped your hand over your mouth.

Praying it was Spencer but not actively believing it was, you stayed silent, waiting for the person to make themselves known.

“Y/N, it’s me. Are you here?”

It was Spencer.

You stood up from behind the sofa and ran to him, throwing your arms around him, hugging him tight and finally letting the tears fall from your eyes.

Feeling Spencer tense against you wasn’t the best feeling, but it was worth it for the way he melted into you after a moment, sliding his hands around your waist.

Breathing in deeply against his chest, you started to relax. His chest was harder than you’d thought. There were definitely some muscles he was keeping hidden.

Before you could enjoy the embrace too much, Spencer pulled back and looked at you.

There was a flicker of something in his eyes when you separated, but it was gone before you could analyze it, turning back to his professional demeanor.

“M-nine-L-D-G-seven,” he said robotically.

“What?” you said, removing your arms from around his neck and wiped the tears from your eyes, worrying that your brain had just short circuited.

“I got the plate but i’m sure he’ll replace it. It’s unlikely he’ll use that car again but I still need to report it.”

“I should have said something,” you murmured to yourself.

“What do you mean?” he said, whipping out his phone and typing rapidly.

“I saw the car following us earlier today. I assumed it was the protective detail.” Then, upon seeing the shocked look on his face: “I’m sorry, Spencer, I should have—“

His phone started to buzz and he answered it.

“Hotch? . . . Yeah just now. . . . Okay, I'll bring her in. . . . Yep, see you soon.”

He hung up and looked at you, a guilty expression on his face.

“I have to take you back to Quantico — uh — headquarters.”

“Okay.”

You stayed quiet the whole car ride. Spencer kept looking over at you, trying to be casual. Nothing felt casual. The way he held you in the bookstore wasn’t casual. The way he ran after a speeding car to protect you wasn’t casual. The way he’d stared into your eyes not long ago was . . . well, something, but not casual. You weren’t quite ready to explore that something yet.

The ride up in the elevator to the BAU was dead silent. Another instance where elevator music would come in handy.

Your reflection in the elevator doors was strange. Alien. It wasn’t you. It was as though a ghost was in your body, keeping you upright as you watched from behind your eyes, unable to do anything. It was terrifying.

Then, warmth flooded your hand, Spencer’s fingers intertwined with yours, squeezing gently.

Without turning your head, you glanced at his reflection. He was staring straight ahead, no expression, but his thumb was drawing soft circles on the back of your hand.

Before the doors opened and Spencer’s hand slipped out of yours, you caught a glimpse of yourself again in the reflection, only for a split second. It was still not a you that you’d ever seen before, but for an entirely different reason. There wasn’t fear or worry in your eyes, but something more. The same something you’d seen earlier in the bookstore in Spencer’s.

Stepping out of the elevator and into the bullpen, you found yourself wondering when this would all be over with.

And definitely, totally, not wishing it might never end.

Taglist: @aperrywilliams @mjloveskids666 @dolanfivsosxox @criesinreid @fanficsrmylife @racerparker @sammypotato67 @lukeskisses @reidcrimes @you-had-me-at-hello-dear @l0ve-0f-my-life @thatsonezesty13 @yourmisosoup

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid fic #fluff #fanfiction #fanfic #mgg #matthew gray gubler #criminal minds

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