#suddenly i feel much better over getting a negative comment on ao3!
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Blinded by Better Judgement
AO3
Ship: Asmodeus/Solomon
Word Count: 2019
Warnings: Mention of pregnancy scare, implications of sex
A/N: Yes I used to be a big omegaverse girly back in the day. I just never wrote them. But now I have one. So please enjoy it to your heart's content!
Comments are appreciated <3
It was nice to no longer have Asmodeus screaming at him. The past 12 hours had been nothing but panic, anxiety, and absolutely chaos. Asmo had switched from sobbing over what he would tell Lucifer and throwing things at him.
Of course Lucifer would have been furious for a multitude of reasons. He didn't like Solomon, and he certainly wasn't supposed to be allowed near Asmo during his heats. Accidentally getting the baby brother of one of the highest ranking demons in the entire Devildom knocked up when he already hated you wasn't the best road he could walk down.
"How don't you remember if you wore a condom?"
It was a phrase he became intimately familiar with. Yes, it had all been incredibly irresponsible, but when an omega as sweet smelling and as adorable as Asmodeus was giving him bedroom eyes and rubbing against him at every given moment, it wasn't easy to ignore his desires. When an omega as sweet smelling and as adorable as Asmodeus was making out with him, latching onto his neck, and pushing him towards the mattress and whining into his mouth, he didn't stand a chance. He vaguely remembered bits and pieces after being tossed into an untimely rut. Asmodeus had been begging to see him. Sexting wasn't enough. His heat was bad, it hurt, and nothing was working. He needed help. He would simply die if he couldn't have Solomon. In short, he'd been the pinnacle of sexual frustration.
So Solomon relented. He'd met up with Asmodeus and the rest was history. The time between his back hitting the mattress and waking up no longer connected to each other had been a blur. It had all been bliss, until they couldn't find a single trace of protection. They'd laughed it off. Surely they wouldn't have forgotten. Right? And then Asmodeus got anxious. Every store had been sold out of Plan B, and suddenly he thought he saw symptoms. That was how Solomon had been awoken by a very unhappy omega and discretely going out to buy a test. It was embarrassing how much he felt like a teenager. Waiting for the results had been an eternity. Asmo refused to even look at him, snarling whenever Solomon made an attempt to go near him.
Then, the first negative, and the second. A sign of relief washed over both of them and suddenly Asmo once again felt much more cuddly with the alpha who had been at the sharp end of his fury. In the aftermath of the anxiety, they cuddled up in a well put together nest (courtesy Asmodeus) and picked out a light hearted film. But as the hours ticked by, another feeling crept into Solomon's veins.
"I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a little.... disappointed," he said.
Asmo barely glanced up, eyes fixed on the movie and nibbling on a cookie, "About the plot?"
"No... about that." Solomon gestured at Asmo with his hand.
Asmo stopped abruptly, "Shut up."
"What?"
"You're not funny."
Solomon raised his hands in defense as Asmo swatted at his chest. The pretty omega was staring pointed and dangerous daggers at him. "I'm not being funny, I'm being serious."
Asmo's expression shifted from annoyed to confused faster than he could count.
"Think about it, your beautiful nests, maybe a couple of little ones scampering about, and you'd have that perfect glow," Solomon whispered, accenting each point with a kiss, "Doesn't that sound wonderful?"
Asmo softened and went back to curling up with Solomon, "I suppose." Disappointment quickly flashed across his face, and then a perfectly manicured finger tip poked his nose. "But if you want that, you've gotta get Big Brother's approval, Mister. Do you know how long he'd lock me away? He already hates that I come home smelling like you."
Solomon laughed and nuzzled his head into Asmo's. "I know Darling, don't worry, I'll get him to like me one way or another."
“Doubt it,” Asmo giggled, “You should hear him complain about your ‘alpha stink’ on our couch. He spends days washing and rescenting everything.”
Ah of course. Lucifer seemed to complain about any alpha that was not one of his brothers or Diavolo who dared step foot near the House of Lamentation. Of course he seemed to harbor a particular disdain for Solomon himself, but that was perhaps slightly understandable.
“And I thought he only complained when I was there.”
“He's contained while you're still there,” Asmo corrected, walking his fingers up Solomon's chest, “He hates that your scent lingers on my skin, tells me how I shouldn't be cozying up to an alpha who hasn't stuck their claim on me.”
Solomon felt himself being pushed back again. Oh his omega was aggressive with what he wanted, and Solomon loved it. As those strong and slender legs straddled his waist, he couldn't help but leaned back, eyelids lowering, one hand on his cheek and the other across his abdomen, and a lazy smile on his face. He adored that Asmo could take charge. Sure he played pretty and submissive for his adoring audience, but Solomon knew the real him. The real Asmodeus left pretty bruises scattered across his body and angry red scratch marks down his back. He opened jars that Solomon struggled with and pulled him into the warmest hugs that had the strength to crack ribs.
“Hmmm, he has a point.”
“He's old fashioned,” Asmo countered.
“In that case I should definitely wear a condom this time.”
“Or you could not.”
All Asmo offered was a shrug at the look Solomon gave him. Asmo had almost killed him seconds ago for a scare, and all the sudden he had a change in rationale. His hand moved to Asmo's thigh in an attempt to ground him, “Asmodeus, are we forgetting that you asked me to get your brother's permission first? I like where my head is. Thank you very much.”
“But he's sooooo old fashioned,” Asmo said, setting his hand on top of Solomon's, “If I have mini yous, he'll have to be okay with you marking me.”
“That logic seems flawed.”
“What's flawed is you not fucking me.”
Solomon laughed and let Asmo lean down to kiss him through the laughter.
“What do you want? Hickeys?” he teased through his lips, “Will that get you going? Get you hard enough to put a little Sol in me?”
Despite himself, Solomon felt arousal stirring. He snorted and leaned into Asmo's lips, “You're not making good choices My Love, I thought for sure you were spent.”
“I was, but you know I can never get enough of you.”
Solomon let his hand slide further up Asmo's hip, a soft hum echoing in his throat as his fingers tapped away. “I think, you have had enough,” without warning, he flipped the both of them over. Asmodeus squealed as his back hit the mattress, eyes widening in shock up at Solomon, “For now that is.”
“That's not fair! Cheater!”
“Maybe so, but I think it would be easier for the both of us, if we waited until after I've gotten Lucifer's approval,” he chuckled, poking his demon's nose, “Wouldn't you agree?”
Asmo whined before pouting up at Solomon, “It's your fault for putting the idea in my head in the first place.”
“And one day, I will very much make this up to you.”
Rolling back over to his side, he made space for Asmo to snuggle up underneath his arm if he chose to do so. Asmodeus did just that. They continued to watch the film in a comfortable silence, picking at their snacks and enjoying the warmth of company.
“Do you think we'd have cute kids?” Asmodeus asked after some time had passed. He didn't even wait for Solomon to respond, “I think we would, I mean they are related to me so how could they not be cute? They'd totally be the cutest in all three of the realms!”
Solomon continued to listen to him ramble on. Talking about everything and nothing, whatever potential future they had together. Perhaps one day they'd be in a similar situation together, starting their own little life. They'd have a little one on the way, Asmo would build beautiful nests and Solomon would do any work around the house as needed. Of course Asmo would grow frustrated with him. His demon liked to be pampered, but Asmo also occasionally liked to do things for himself. They'd have plenty of space for their children to run and play and Solomon would read to them every night. But the absolute best part would be coming home to Asmodeus every day, falling into his loving arms and just being.
He buried his face into Asmo's hair despite his protests and let out a sigh. This would be the life.
“You’re messing up my hair!”
“Hush, I want to remember you like this before my scent no longer lingers on your skin,” he whispered, “By tomorrow it will be but a faint memory of my senses, and I wish to linger in this dream for a bit longer.”
“Fancy words to say Lucifer is going to make me soak and scrub until he’s happy that I don’t smell like you any more. I can only imagine how terrible it will be for my skin,” he tilted his head upward to kiss Solomon’s lips, and Solomon felt himself relax further into his lover’s embrace, “But you’re so cute, it’ll be worth it.”
Asmo’s hand caressed his face, and Solomon couldn’t help but lean into it. He was so warm and soft and comforting. Solomon could feel himself turning to mush. Pulling Asmo closer, he let his fingers dare to slip past the fabric of his shirt and trace the vertebrae on his back. A shudder left Asmo’s lips and then a stifled whine.
He was biting his lip and looking up at Solomon now, his cheeks turning a pretty shade of pink, “Solomon, if you want me to cool down, I can’t say this is the best course of action. You’re teasing me.”
“Perhaps I’ve had a change of heart.”
If he could, he’d keep his scent on Asmodeus forever. He may not be able to do that, however he could make it stronger.
Asmo was on top of him in a heartbeat, nipping and sucking at his neck, adding yet another hickey to his growing collection. The moan that left him was more than audible. Perhaps they shouldn’t have started teasing and toying in Purgatory Hall, but he could apologize later if anyone asked or was disturbed.
“Protection first this time.”
“I’m not in heat anymore, it’s fine.”
“Asmo that’s not-” he didn’t get to finish that thought as Asmo ground down on him. His fingers clawed at Solomon’s shirt and a growl left him.
“Off.”
His omega knew what he wanted, and there was no arguing with Asmo when his mind was made up. For better or worse, he was set in his ways, and god did Solomon love that about him. As his shirt was pulled over his head, Solomon knew he wouldn’t be calling any shots for the time to come, and that was more than okay with him. Only what Asmo allowed was what he’d do. Solomon was nothing if not a man of standards, and he wouldn’t be contemplating death by a top ranking demon if he wasn’t serious about Asmo being with him.
Perhaps he was blinded by his potential future with his pretty demon. There were steps he needed to take before having that happy sunny fantasy in his head.
Perhaps he should want to say no to him a little more.
Perhaps he was being a bit reckless, but it couldn’t be helped.
Asmo inspired bad ideas, and Solomon loved it.
Solomon had a habit of thinking too much, and Asmo’s willingness to just do was exactly what he needed in his life. They were good for each other. Solomon could afford to have a few more bad ideas, and Asmo was showing him how good they could be.
#ruewrites#obey me#solodeus#asmosolo#soloasmo#obey me solomon#obey me asmodeus#a/b/o#omegaverse#omega!asmodeus#alpha!solomon#au!a/b/o#au!omegaverse
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Not sure how long this is gonna be, my hand really hurts (and my back just kicking in lol thaaaaanks), just wanna get some thoughts out
Been recovering lately, defo feeling better but not there yet. Been so stressed and busy since, well, November really. But January and February defo took the cake. Work was brutal, but I was taking advantage of an opportunity before it vanished. In a better world, we would have started getting ready back in August when I first started asking (thinking that was late to start planning for the Feb event), but because of politics and all that guff we didn’t even get the go until late Dec/early Jan.
I am not going to get into the details, but rest assured I was working my batutty off. Then I got covid lol. While in another state. *throws hands up*
So yeah, it was about what I expected, with some minor differences. Took a full week off work (which sucked bc half those days were supposed to be vacation recovery days, not sick recovery days), worked from home for a week and a half, and finally went back into the office today (tested negative a few times and took a few extra days anyway, it was fine).
I just have this lingering cough that, guess what! Gets worse when I talk! *snickers* That week off where I just slept a lot, I didn’t have a cough. Minute I get back to work (remote but phone calls), suddenly I start coughing. Bah! So that leaves me pretty tired at the end of the day. Also my back is acting up because of all the sedentary laying around I’ve been doing, but that will work itself out as I get more active again. The biggest problem with today is for some reason my hand feels like it’s cramping up constantly, without actually cramping. owie :(
Anyway, before my hand gives up, I just wanted to get some thoughts out that weren’t just whining. I have been trying to keep my submas interest up (or any interest, let’s be real it’s hard for me to do anything extra when I’m so work tired) through the months, but leaving an avenue to revive the spark when I have the time and energy to work on it. Threw on my submas playlist on the way home, and yeah, I’ve definitely forgotten what songs go to what scenes/ideas other than vibes. Just need to do a few daydreaming sessions to pick some of it back up I think, plus go over my notes and all.
I’ve also been thinking I should just...post the raw ideas to Ao3. Started thinking it when I saw a post going around about how...historians? I forget what their job/passion was, but people who like to ready histories, understand why people liked the stories they saved, highlights and notes in the margins, the every day small loves that don’t make the big history books, that sort of thing. How those people were basically writing a love letter to people who save those little snippets, print out fanfics, things like that.
I think it was another post, might have been the same, that was also encouraging people to use Ao3 as the archive it is. It doesn’t have to be complete works. It’s there to archive the words, that’s all.
So yeah. As much as I want to and intend to try to write the full stories, I’m thinking of just transferring some of the tumblr posts/ideas, some of the snippets from my notes, into Ao3. Because I want to share the stories with people, and if I can’t write them in full, at least I can share the heart of the ideas. I still need to transfer old fics to Ao3 too, unfinished as they are. And I’m kinda hoping that new eyes and new interactions spark my interest again, get my brain going into story-mode again.
I’ve been trying to do some reblogging on my backlog of tumblr stuff. I know I could just hit the heart button. I know I could reblog without comment or tag. But I really like leaving people comments. It’s just another thing that takes a bit of energy, that I haven’t had too much of. But doing a bit at a time is good too!
My pain and energy levels have prevented me from doing much of anything for so long. I can’t say it will change much. I spend time with friends, which don’t get me wrong i love, but it eats into my free time, and more importantly my energy. I have a trip coming up in May, which yeah sounds so far away, but it will be upon me way faster than I expect. Who knows when I’ll have another flare-up (hand plz im almost done), or if work is going to drain me. But now that the hardest is behind me, I’m hoping to keep things reasonable and have a chance to be creative again.
I want to start my garden (made a few small moves toward that). I want to make more bracelets, and maybe sell some (character bracelets! seriously i love my submas bracelets, i wish i could take pictures that do the colors justice). I want to hang out with friends. I want to write. I want to write. I want to write my stories and share them so much. Just need to wrangle my brain together. Balance them to my energy. And not let my responsibilities pull my mood down or stress me out too much (guh just thinking about some of them make me so tired buuuuh).
Okay hand is too ow now. If you made it this far, feel free to let me know what you think about posting the ideas to Ao3, even if I later post a full story about them. Or anything really. Gotta get my brain juices flowing again!
#personal opinions ahead#whine whine whine#but only partially#there's more but for now my hand is giving up lol#want to start having energy and me time again so i can play in fandom#and so i shall
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Panicked
Summary: After losing Lucille, Negan is full of anxiety when Y/N falls sick with a cold. It brings back old memories for him and Y/N does her best to assure him everything is going to be okay.
Characters: Negan, the reader (OC)
AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31540796
Warnings: Swearing, anxiety, etc.
Notes: This was another request for a fluffy one shot with Negan. Hopefully it's okay. Thanks for reading.
This time of the year was the worst. Every single year it seemed like whenever the beginning of summer hit, Y/N was struck with a really bad cold. It had been that way most of her life. For some reason, the change in temperature always seemed to affect her body and not always in the best of ways. Thankfully Alexandria had given her the time off to rest and get better. She had been working so hard lately that she was sure the exhaustion didn’t help her immune system in fighting this thing off either.
Right now she had herself buried beneath the blankets in her bed. Sleep was the best thing for her. There wasn’t much she could do for herself, so getting some sleep that she hadn’t be able to get and let her body heal itself was the best idea. She knew that, but hell it frustrated her being bed ridden. Most of the time she was always on her feet doing things. Being knocked off her feet and feeling like shit was so hard for her. There was a lot she could and should have been doing right now, but she just didn’t have the energy to do it.
Adjusting in bed, she pulled the covers with her and let out a surprised sound when the door to her bedroom opened. Looking over her shoulder, she saw Negan standing in the doorway with a tray in his hands.
“Negan?” she muttered her boyfriend’s name knowing that he should have been helping the town rebuild. Since they were known for giving him a hard time, she didn’t think she would be seeing him anytime soon or even close to now. At the end of the night he was always walking in and he was always exhausted. Looking over at the clock she had, she saw what time it was and let out a long sigh. “What are you doing here?”
“I convinced Gabriel to let me come and be with you,” Negan informed her moving into the room and setting the tray that he had on her desk. Moving across the room, he pulled open the blinds and the dark room was suddenly bright making her wince. Reaching up, she covered her eyes and let out a tight groan. It gave her an immediate headache. She had been in the dark for so long, that her body and her eyes just got used to it. “I’m sorry baby.”
“It’s okay,” she waved her hand in the air dismissively while he attempted to adjust the blinds so there wasn’t as much light flooding in. He made it where it was just enough for them to be able to see around the room. When she finally lowered her hand from her eyes, she lifted her gaze and saw that Negan was staring out at her. His eyebrows were furrowed and he seemed to have an exceedingly nervous expression. “I’m surprised that the rest of the town was okay with you coming here.”
“Let’s be honest, I’m the person who does the most work. They can live without me being their slave for a fucking day,” Negan scoffed in regards to the rest of Alexandria. Negan had been working so hard to be the best version of himself for everyone and they didn’t appreciate his work at all. There was no doubt that the people of Alexandria had been hard on Negan. No matter what he did, they were always giving him shit. Even if he did something right, they were always being hard on him. No one worked as hard as he did and Alexandria would be in a much worse place right now if it wasn’t for him. “Nothing I ever do will be good enough for those people. So, I’m just going to take care of the person I love because no matter what they would be pissed at me. I’m screwed if I do and I’m screwed if I don’t.”
“Baby,” she frowned, reaching out for his hand and she hooked her fingers loosely with his. “I don’t think everyone here hates you. Some people see the changes you have made.”
“Well if they do, they really are fooling me,” Negan sighed, stepping in closer to the bed so he could hold her hand in his tighter. There was a silence and he simply shrugged his shoulders. “It doesn’t matter what they think because at the end of the day there is really only one person that I care about and that’s you. You’re the only person I have to worry about.”
“And I think you are perfect,” she assured him, tugging softly at his hand to get him to lower down on the bed beside her. Obeying her request, he sat on the edge of her bed and she lifted herself up enough to be able to stare him in the eyes. “If I wasn’t worried about you getting sick, I would totally kiss you right now. I think you are the best person I know. Anybody who doesn’t see how much you’ve changed and how eager you are to help, well I just think they are ignorant, blind assholes. Because I see everything right in the world when I look at you.”
“Well, I guess it’s a good thing that I think you are worth it and I totally am going to kiss you now after that,” Negan winked, moving in closer to her when his fingers loosely hooked around the back of her neck. Delicately pulling her toward him, Negan’s lips pressed in over hers. Cherishing the warmth of him, Y/N reached up to brush her fingers through Negan’s hair and found herself in awe of Negan. Every…single…time he kissed her, he took her breath away. When he pulled away, his eyes were hooked on hers and he cupped her face in his hands. With the gentle strokes of his rough thumbs over the side of her face, it made her feel comfortable and at ease. It was the first time today that she had actually felt that way. Hell, who was she kidding? In general Negan was the only one in Alexandria that made her feel relaxed and comfortable. At night when he held her in his arms was when she felt the best. She felt safe and loved. Nothing could make her feel better than Negan did. “Kissing you will always be worth it. I love you, so much.”
“I love you too,” she reached up to place her hands over his and caressed over his flesh. After a moment of staring at her, Negan’s Adam’s apple bounced in his throat and he forced himself to look away from her. There was definitely something wrong with him. It was obvious in the way that he was acting. This wasn’t normal of Negan. “Negan? What’s wrong?”
“I’m just…I’m worried about you,” Negan explained, forcing himself to look up and his right hand brushed up over her head to check her temperature. He almost went pale when he felt her warm to the touch. “You’re still running a fever.”
“I’ll be fine,” she tried to assure him, but he stood from the bed and folded his arms out in front of his chest. He seemed to think about things for a moment before starting to pace. Watching him, she wasn’t sure what to say. He was so tense and she didn’t know what would comfort him. “Baby? What are you doing?”
“I’m going to get you a wet cloth to help you try to bring that fever down,” Negan informed her, nodding toward the bathroom. While she appreciated the gesture, she really didn’t feel like she needed it. Before she could say anything, Negan had already headed off to the bathroom without allowing her to speak up and she sighed heavily. Since she had gotten sick, Negan had been doting on her so much that she even questioned if he had been sleeping himself. Lowering back down to the bed, she tried to get comfortable again, still leaving enough space for Negan beside her. Negan came out of the bathroom a few second later holding a dripping cloth in his hand. “I also have some tea with the soup over there on the tray. We want to make sure that you get as much fluids as possible.”
“That was very nice of you Negan,” she felt the bed dip beside her when he sat on the edge of it. A whimper fell from her throat when the freezing cold, damp cloth covered her forehead. Immediately it made her arch up from the bed with how cold it was and Negan’s nervous eyes narrowed while he looked down at her. Not only was it freezing, it was also dripping still. “That’s…very cold.”
“I’m sorry, I just want to make sure that we don’t have you burning up,” Negan reached up to stroke over the side of her face and she attempted to keep the cloth over her head. It helped, but at the same time it gave her more of a headache with the sharp ache the coolness had over her forehead. “Are you sure this is normal for you?”
“Having a sweet, caring boyfriend? No, I’ve never had one quite like you,” she joked and Negan seemed to get frustrated with her comment.
“I wish you would take this serious. You are super fucking sick and you have been for days. This isn’t something to joke about,” Negan grunted with a wrinkle of his nose and he went to move from where he was sitting, but she reached out to grab a hold of his hand. It was obvious that she had upset him because he wasn’t looking at her and she frowned.
“Why are you so upset about this Negan?” she questioned, feeling bad that she had made him upset with just her teasing comment. Caressing her thumb over the pulse point on his wrist, she offered up a weak smile and could see that he wasn’t even willing to smile back.
“I’m scared something is wrong with you…something more,” he confessed, letting out an anxious breath when she lifted herself up from the bed to press her back against the headboard. When the cloth fell from her head and into her lap, she winced and reached for it. Negan gave her a sideways glance before grabbing the cloth to set it aside. Reaching for Negan’s hands, she clasped her fingers around his and he dramatically shrugged his shoulders. “You’re really pale, you have a fever, you can barely eat, you shake when you sleep…”
“It’s a cold Negan. I have these all the time around this time of the year,” she insisted, doing her best to let him know that everything was going to be okay. “I get hit really hard with it for a few days and then in no time I’m feeling better. You don’t have to worry about me Negan.”
“Yes, yes I do,” Negan denied her comment while shaking his head repeatedly. There was a muscle in his jaw that flexed. With each second, he seemed to get more and more upset. “You have no idea how hard it is for me going through seeing someone I love being sick like this.”
“Hey, I had it last year too,” she reminded him and Negan gave her a frown.
“Yeah, but last year we just started dating each other and it was like two days you were sick. That’s what you told me. I wasn’t around to see you like this and it’s been more than two days Y/N,” Negan corrected her making her sigh when he said it. Well, he wasn’t wrong. They had only just started officially dating this year. For so long they had relentlessly flirted with each other when she would bring him things to his cell or when they worked on chores together, but things weren’t actually official until this year. She was also pretty certain that it was lasting longer because of the exhaustion her body had gone through. “I’ve had this happen before where someone thought it was nothing, but the flu or a cold and it ended up being…”
Before he could finish his sentence, there was a hitch in his voice and he lowered his head. Noting that something was wrong, she sat up straight and slid in beside him. Reaching out, she urged his jaw up to get him to look at her with her index finger. There were tears in his eyes and his bottom lip was trembling making her heart break when she saw it.
“It ended up being something else,” Negan’s voice was raspier than usual and without even asking she reached out to wrap her arms around him. Holding him tightly, she could feel that he was shaking in her arms and she felt awful for finding him so over the top originally. “I’m sorry.”
“Baby, no. It’s okay,” she hushed him, swiping at one of the tears over his face with her thumb. “What is it Negan?”
“I told you that I lost my wife, but I never really explained,” Negan swallowed down hard and his eyes narrowed while she brushed her fingers through his hair to try and soothe him. “Before this world fell to shit, I wasn’t a good man. I lost my job after getting into a bar fight over something…honestly, something kind of stupid. I felt like a piece of shit for being unemployed and I went in a downward spiral. I was cheating on my wife and I was so focused on myself that when she would tell me that she was aching or not feeling good I just ignored it. I thought that it was just her overworking and being overwhelmed. Maybe a cold…”
Instead of saying anything, she let him continue and she saw his lip quivering harder and more than anything she wanted to wrap him up in her arms. While she wanted to hold him, she knew in the end he needed to get this off his chest. But damn, seeing him cry like this was breaking her heart.
“She was having an MRI and I blew her off to cheat. God, when I came home I found out she had cancer and I just…you have some of the symptoms that she had,” Negan whimpered, reaching out to stroke his fingers through her hair. “It’s been scaring the hell out of me because I can’t lose someone else I love. I never thought I would be able to love someone again after I lost Lucille. I closed myself off from the potential of love. I didn’t think it would happen, but then you came into my life. God, I felt like the luckiest fucking guy ever when you actually agreed to being with me.”
“There’s a whole lot to like about you Negan,” she hushed him knowing that he was having somewhat of a meltdown over her being sick and that was the last thing she wanted. While she wanted him to be open with her about what happened to Lucille, she didn’t want him to make himself sick worrying about her. “I’m lucky to have you.”
“No, you’re not. I’m the one that is lucky because you deserve so much better than me. I’m just greedy and I love you so much. I just…I can’t lose you Y/N,” Negan repeated and she brushed her fingers over his face to sweep away the tears. Pulling him to her, she hugged him tightly. Immediately, Negan seemed to bury his head against her shoulder while he cried and she did her best to comfort him. “I have nothing in this world and I got used to that, but then you came along and I just can’t imagine a world without you in it.”
“I’m not going anywhere Negan. At least not now. I promise you this is a cold,” she continued to stroke her fingers through his dark hair. With the way he was shaking, she knew that he wouldn’t believe her and she pressed a loving kiss over his head. “Negan, trust me…life has only just begun for me with you. I’m not ready to leave it yet. I’m just getting my ass kicked by this cold, but I promise you…there is so much in store for life with us.”
“If you start feeling worse or abnormal, do you promise me that you will let me know?” Negan begged, pulling back enough for her to see that his face was red. Caressing over his tear stained face, she did her best to try and calm him, but she knew that he was emotional over this and she didn’t blame him.
“Of course Negan. I swear,” she promised, nodding her head when she spoke before leaning in to collect his lips in a loving kiss. Stroking over the side of his face, she felt awful for him worrying like he was. After all he went through it made sense that he would get upset over her being sick. She would be the same way if she was in his position. Now all the extra over the top stuff he was doing was beginning to make sense. This of course made her feel very guilty. “I’ll drink that tea and eat that soup. Whatever I have to do to make sure that I get better soon. Okay? And then you will see there was nothing to worry about.”
“I love you Y/N. Of course I’m going to worry about you,” Negan frowned and leaned into her touch. To love and be loved in return was something Negan never thought he would have again, but he found it with Y/N. It was both the more exhilarating feeling in the world, but also the most nerve wrecking. Now, not only did he have to worry about himself, but he was worried about her too. She was everything to him and the thought of losing her just destroyed him. “I don’t know what I would do without you.”
“And I don’t know what I would do without you either,” she assured him with a wink and she leaned in to press her forehead against his, “let’s just hope neither one of us has to find out for a very, very long time.”
----
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A Close Call
Part Three of The Best Things Dwell Out of Sight Series
Summary: After bounty hunting in the jungle, Mando comes back to the Crest with many pent up... feelings. (6k words) ao3 link here
Warnings: NSFW, smut, canon typical violence, descriptions of injuries, blood, yearning, mutual pining, rough sex, the helmet stays ON, breeding kink if you squint cause its Mando, also no season 2 spoilers
A/N: this series will be uploaded in a non-linear order! i realize that this way of doing things might not be everyone’s favourite so please let me know if you would like to be notified when all the parts are uploaded (which will be linearly in my masterlist) <3
The sweltering heat was heavy, drowning you in your own sweat as you walked deeper into vines, tall grass and thick foliage of the unfamiliar jungle.
The air was humid, the forest vast and dense, filled with shades of greens that you never thought you’d experience with your own eyes. You were seeing colours you had only previously dreamt of. It was such a stark contrast to the ice planet you had been on maybe a week prior to this. You weren’t sure which extreme you preferred but you were not the biggest fan of the way the humidity was making your hair puff out, curl exaggeratedly and stick to your neck and forehead with the sheen layer of sweat coated on every inch of your body. Your clothes were beginning to stick to your skin as well.
Mando was a fan of that, however. Yet the helmet gave away nothing, as always.
The moment you landed on the planet, he noticed the way your chest heaved, taking in the supple, fresh air for the first time. The look of wonder in your eyes, taking in the flora and fauna you could only have only ever dreamed of previous to this. You were very endearing, it made his heart feel heavy, tense, as if you were squeezing it in your perfect little hand, bleeding him dry.
You couldn’t believe this was your life now; travelling with a deadly bounty hunter, caring for him and his adoptive child day and night. What was even stranger, perhaps, was that you were having the time of your life.
No matter how cold Mando could be, how rude, closed off or just straight up silent he could get some days. You wouldn’t trade it for anything. This was much better than your life on that dingey planet, working that dead end job in the scummiest bar in town. You tried not to think too much of your past, but you couldn’t help the few untamed thoughts that crossed your mind every now and then. You shrugged them off with relative ease, usually being whisked away in some task the Mandalorian asked you to complete, or by the cries of the Child.
No matter how hard the days could get, no matter how lonely you felt some nights, you were thankful for the loving affection of the kid, you were thankful for how much he seemed to care for you. And you cared for him in return. Not because it was what you signed up for, to more or less be his babysitter, but because you truly cared and maybe even loved the little green booger like he was your own. He was very sweet, kind, curious and reckless like Mando. You liked how they seemed so similar in some strange little ways, it made your heart feel heavy.
Heavy with some emotion you wouldn’t dare name because it would only fuck you up further, fuck up the missions, fuck up your tasks, fuck up everything. That sickening feeling you got in the pit of your stomach everytime you caught Mando talking to the Child, staring at him sweetly, catching the way he seemed to stare at you sometimes too. At least you think he was. Whatever, that helmet made it near impossible to ever tell what he was thinking, feeling or even just looking at.
No matter how little he was actually beginning to warm up to you, he was still extremely apprehensive and closed off. He had his moments of perceived kindness, gentleness or whatever it really was, but he always seemed to take five steps back when he realized he had been too vulnerable with you.
You couldn't blame him though, he was on the run from people who were trying to take the kid from him, or busy chasing after bounties himself, he didn’t have time for… whatever it was you were feeling. Whatever emotion you were terrible at suppressing, you know without a doubt that Mando didn’t have time for such trivial, childish things.
You huff and look down to your side, the Child’s pod floating seamlessly along your side, the two of you just a few steps behind Mando.
The Mandalorian was tracking a bounty and he said there was a good chance he’d be on this jungle planet seeking refuge with a friend or something like that. You had literally begged him to come along, not wanting to spend another day alone in the ship with the Child. It had taken a few days to get here, and you desperately needed to stretch your legs and breathe some fresh air. Mando was reluctant, very reluctant, but after enough begging and pouting from you he allowed for the two of you to come along, figuring it would be a pretty easy quest anyways.
Oh how he was wrong about that.
His visor display was showing multiple footsteps having walked in the same direction that the three of you were now walking. The footsteps were strange, seeming to be left by a herd of long bodied, four legged animals. Mando had no way of knowing if they were a threat or not, but he had a feeling he’d be finding out soon enough. The Child’s safety and… and yours was not something he felt like gambling with today.
Mando stopped dead in his tracks and you nearly walked right into him, having been engrossed in a more or less one-sided conversation with the Child.
“Head back to the ship.” Mando commanded, his voice trying to give the sense that there was no room for discussion. He barely even turned around to glance at you, but you noticed his hand hovering over his blaster.
“Why? What’s wrong?” Your own hand now hovers over your own blaster, technically Mando’s but he had trusted you to wield it after that one stunt back on Batuu when you saved him and the Child.
“Animals. Too many of them, you’ll be safer on the Crest.” He turns to glance at the Child who coos back up at him, his ears turning downwards as if he too knows of the animals which creep up on the three of you.
“No, I can stay and fight. I’m not leaving.” You, I’m not leaving you, you want to add. But you bite your tongue.
You can’t see because of the hemet but Mando is rolling his eyes at you, at your stubbornness but also your resilience. How eager you are to stand by and help him almost blindly. He doesn’t doubt that you judge him or criticize him in your mind, but he doesn’t think he’s ever heard a negative comment leave your mouth. You’re always sweet to him. Sweet girl.
“Our job is to take care of the Child, make sure he’s safe,” He huffs, pressing a few buttons on his vambrace and suddenly the Child’s pod is floating away at a leisurely pace, back in the direction you’ve just come from. “Follow it back to the ship, close the hatch and do not leave until I’ve returned.”
You glare at Mando and how he’s given you no choice but to head back to the ship. There was no way you’d leave the Child floating unattend, and without Mando’s directions, you had no way of finding the ship again on your own. You sigh but turn on your heels after the pod, following its lead through the jungle and back to the Crest like Mando had programmed it to.
//
It’s been hours.
Or at least it feels like it’s been hours. You aren’t aware of the planet’s day cycles so you have no idea if it's been minutes, hours or days but it was dark now and you’d been trying to keep the kid occupied, distracted from the fact that his dad wasn’t here and you had no idea when he would be.
Luckily, the Child was in an agreeable mood so he was distracted pretty easily, playing with various shiny things that he usually reached for on the ship. You made him a couple of snacks with what you managed to find stashed away, he took a nap and you cleaned up the tiny mess he made. Overall, a pretty good day for him.
You on the other hand, were fucking stressed.
It was dark, really dark, and Mando hadn’t even contacted you on the comlink, not that he even did that before but you think that if he comes back- no, when he comes back - you’re definitely going to make that a new rule.
The Child was rocking sweetly in your arms, you had been trying to get him to fall asleep for the past thirty minutes and he was finally getting a bit dopey. Those big eyes of his seeming to get heavier, his blinks growing slower. His little hand was wrapped around your thumb and you quietly hummed a random song to him, maybe it was one your mother sang to you, you’re not quite sure but it seems to be doing the trick.
You can hear small disturbances outside the hatch and you use your hand which isn’t holding the Child to hover over your- Mando’s blaster. You lean against the wall, blaster in hand, hoping, praying it’s him.
Please be him, please be him, please be him.
The hatch groans as it releases its locks and opens slowly to the ever humid jungle. That familiar beskar glints and shines in the moonlight like a precious jewel. You exhale a much needed sigh of relief, Mando was back.
You tuck the blaster back into your holster as you watch him roundup the quarry into the ship, pushing him aggressively up the inclination. He stands wide, broad and big as he does his job. He’s tired and annoyed, you can tell. You can always tell, but he’s strong too, always strong.
The quarry’s hands are shackled, his face beat up and bloodied. Mando really did a number on him…
The quarry’s eyes meet yours, take in the sight before him, a beautiful young girl cradling a strange little green baby. He seems confused, he looks back to the intimidating Mandalorian inquisitively. It’s the last thing he sees before he’s frozen into carbonite.
You say something something to him, to Mando. You sound worried, but he can barely make it out. He had seen the way the quarry’s eyes racked the length of your body, landing on the Child as well. Mando saw red, his adrenaline still pumping heavy and potent in his veins, coursing through his body from the chase, the act of hunting.
So much so, that he hadn’t even realized he had come to tower over you, caging you in against the wall which you had been leaning against.
You look up at him with wide, worried eyes, you look flustered, lips red and swollen. He wants to touch you, he… he wants to do more than touch you-
The Child’s sleepy cooing breaks him out of his wicked mind. He looks down at the kid who reaches for him sleepily with his tiny hands, eyes half closed. He takes him from you, out of your motherly hold. Your hands brush and he wishes he wasn’t wearing gloves.
“W-What did you say?” He finally asks, remembering you had said something to him and he heard absolutely nothing.
“I said your arm is bleeding, Mando.” Voice so small, gentle.
Mando huffs, barely acknowledging it before he steps away from you, turning to the Child’s pod and placing him gently inside. It closes with a hiss. You suck in a shuddering breath.
Mando rummages around for a few moments before pulling out his tool kit, sitting down on the edge of his cot and pulling out his taser-like contraption. You watch almost dumbfounded, trying to piece together what exactly it is he’s doing. He reaches for the tear in the thick material of his sleeve, pulling on it and tearing it further to better show off his wound and his… his skin.
Flesh. Mando’s arm.
Maybe you weren’t supposed to be looking, maybe you were breaking his creed by seeing part of his skin but you couldn’t look away, and he made no motion for you to do so either. So you stand transfixed as he begins to shoddily cauterize his tanned skin.
“L-Let me help you, please.” You take a step forward, towards him, hands reaching out.
“I’m fine.” He basically growls at you, his rough tone startling you, stopping you in your tracks.
So you stand by idly, watching him burn his own skin, attempting to close his open wound.
You only interject again when he starts taking longer breaks between each electrifying tase. When his hand starts to shake and his movements slow down, motivation and determination leaving him as he slowly accepts the pain of the deep gash on his arm, blood trailing down his toned bicep.
“Here…” You say quietly again, hoping he listens to you this time. You reach into the tool kit, pulling out his bacta gel before coming to stand in front of him, your knees grazing his bent one from where he sits on the edge of his cot.
He seems to have listened, his movements having stopped, the taser held weakly in his hand. You take it from him, setting it back in the metal box before zeroing in on his bleeding cut.
You shudder at the sudden proximity, his pent up adrenaline and anger palpable, intoxicating. It lays thick and heavy in the air between your two bodies. Your hands shake as you gently douse the wound with the gel, trying to stay focused, trying to get the bleeding to stop. You fingers brush gingerly along toned, scarred skin and you try, you try so fucking hard to focus. To not let your fingers linger, not let them wander to regions unknown to any other living thing.
Mando groans as it begins to seep into the wound and you wince as well, feeling his pain as your own. You mumble a quiet ‘I’m sorry’ but continue to apply the thick substance to his bicep.
His gloved hand suddenly shoots out and latches onto your hip bone, fingers grasping the clothed flesh in a deadly grip, as if trying to ground himself to you, to the ship, to ignore the throbbing pain. You didn’t realize it would hurt that bad, maybe it went deeper than you thought.
When you’re finally done with the gel, you turn slightly to get some gauze to wrap the wound in. Mando’s touch never leaves you, his hand seemingly welded into your form. His thumb begins to absentmindedly rub up and down in soothing motions, you try to ignore the way it makes your heart pound but… but it's not really a big deal is it? No, Mando’s touched you before, what's so different about it now?
The air? The tension? The way he looks up at you, through that mask, begging to be seen?
God, you wonder what colour his eyes are.
You bet they’re soft, beautiful, kind. They probably give away how secretly gentle he is, something no one else would notice or dare assume about the deadly Mandalorian, but you know. You know because he’s been touching you more lately, especially since the ice planet. Just passing touches but still, you can’t imagine how much significance a simple touch holds for a man covered head to toe in armour, and who’s never shown his face to another living being in decades.
“Who are you?”
His voice startles you. It’s dropped several octaves since he last spoke, it felt like hours had passed since he last spoke- or more, growled at you.
“What?”
“What are you? H-How do you do this to me?” He helmet tilts to the side as he gazes up at you and your heart fucking pounds in its cage, trying to escape and expose itself to this metal man, expose everything you’ve been feeling since you met him.
“Mando-” You don’t understand what he’s saying, he’s not making any sense. Could the pain really be that bad? Making him this incoherent?
“You’re not real… you’re too good, to us, too good to the child… to me-” He was rambling. Mando was rambling. When has he ever spoken this much to you before?
Never.
“You’re good to me too.” You interject meekly.
“But not as sweet… not as sweet as you.” His words make your next intake of breath sharper than usual, no doubt he catches it by the way his helmet tilts up further. You wonder if he’s looking you in the eyes. It sure feels like he is.
“I-I don’t know what I would do if, if anything happened to-” His fingers tense on your hip as he lulls over his words, tossing them around on his tongue, afraid. “The Child… or you.”
“You keep us safe Mando.” You try to reassure him, but you’re not sure if he’s listening. His left hand joins his right one, both sides of your hips now engulfed in his large, strong hands. You throb everywhere, your body pulses for him.
Mando thinks about just letting his helmet fall forward, to let it rest against the softness of your belly but.
But he can’t. He’s too fucking scared. You scare him more than anything. More than any unknown animal in an unfamiliar jungle, more than any quarry, bounty chase, Mythosaur. More than anything, you scare him more than anything because this is the only domain Mando truly always fucks up. Feelings or whatever the fuck going on in his head right now.
“You take such good care of us.” He says, deflecting your words.
He pulls on your hips and you rock forward, almost losing your balance but your hands come forward to lean against his beskar covered shoulders, dropping the gauze you held. You shudder at the cool bite of the metal on your warm, overheating palms. Mando barely budged at your added weight, and you look down at him from where you now tower over him.
Your eyes rake over the sharp edges of his helmet in the low light of the hatch, down to his wound which still needs to be wrapped up but he was... Seriously distracting you for lack of a better word. You notice the heave of his chest, the heavy fall of his breaths like he’s having trouble getting oxygen into his body. And then you notice- you notice the bulge forming underneath his thick pants.
Mando takes you in as you do the same, watching as you finally notice his state, finally notice what you do to him. What you’ve been doing to him since the moment he met you.
“Take your pants off.”
You think your brain short circuits.
Because there’s no way that’s what Mando has more or less just ordered you to do, judging by his harsh tone.
“Wha-”
“Take them off or I will.” He groans, hands squeezing your hips again.
You whimper and bite your lip, trying to see through the pitch black T of his visor, trying to find the man underneath the beskar. You remove your trembling hands from his shoulders, standing up straighter and letting them travel down, down, down towards the button and fly of your utility pants.
“M-Mando, I-”
“Don’t make me ask you again, sweet girl.” You whimper at the nickname, it wasn't the first time he used it but this was probably only the third time at this point. With his thumbs relentlessly caressing your hip bones, you shiver underneath his touch.
You had been dreaming of this for months now, dreaming of his hands on you, sexual or not, you were so deprived of intimacy, having gone months now only barely touching, grazing each other. You both needed this, both needed this more than fucking anything esle right now and you were no one to deny him of what he wanted.
Mando keeps the helmet trained on you as your nimble fingers pry the button open, admiring how easily persuaded you were by his thick, lust-laced words. He couldn’t believe he had managed to draw this out as long as he did, his urge to just tear your clothing away from your body and sink his raging cock into your tight heat the moment he entered the Crest was…. overwhelming to say the least.
But he had barely touched you up until now, and he wanted to work you up to it, no matter how much restraint that meant he had to have on his part.
The sound of your metal zipper sliding down below your belly button tests that restraint. He keeps his eyes on you even though he knows you wouldn't be able to tell where he’s looking. He knows you feel it, knows you feel the way his eyes burn holes into you, devouring you silently, pleading with you, please, please show me.
He feels your hands come to rest over top of his gently, as if you’re still nervous about touching him. You interlace your fingers with his and lower your pants, shimmying them down your hips and thighs together. It makes Mando’s breath catch in his throat and his heart pummel in his chest.
Never had he undressed someone before. Never had the patience, never cared to. But with you, oh with you.
Maker, did he care.
Maybe cared too much, but now was not the time for such ill inducing thoughts. You were becoming more and more bare to him as the seconds passed. You only let go of his hands once your pants went past your knees. Pushing them down to your ankles, you stepped out of them, kicking off your boots as well.
There you were, standing before him in a black tank top and that fucking thong of yours… of course that’s what you had decided to wear today. Mando groans as his hands come up to touch you again, tentatively this time. He can’t believe you were allowing him this, letting him touch you, letting yourself be vulnerable with him when he wasn’t sure how ready he was to be vulnerable in return.
Maybe he could learn.
His hands travel up to your hips again, toying with the thin waistband of your panties, letting his gloved hand run along your pristine flesh that was once covered in ugly bruises. He-
He thinks he wants to be the only thing to bruise you. From now on, he made a promise to himself (and to you, secretly) that he was the only thing in this galaxy that could mark you up, claim you.
Mando’s hands travel back, reaching for the supple meat of your ass, clutching it in his large hands, kneading it before he pushes you forwards again, into him. You yelp as you land in his lap, catching yourself quickly as both of your knees rest on either side of his hips. You readjust and sit back down, your minimally clothed cunt coming to land on his hard bulge, you gasp, eyes wide as you look into his visor. He was so hard, he felt big too.
“S-Sorry I didn’t mean to-”
“What are you apologizing for now, hmm?” He asks tauntingly, helmet tilting slightly to the side, as if he were considering you.
His gloved hands come up your sides, going underneath your tank top and brushing along the underside of your breasts, feeling the tight skin. You unintentionally rock in his lap, creating friction on your already embarrassingly wet center. Mando’s hands tighten at your sides, groaning as he tries to still your movements but. But it feels too fucking good to stop.
He brings a gloved finger to your lips, running the worn leather over the pillowy flesh as if to let you taste it. You look at him, confused.
“Bite.” He instructs, voice clipped, sharp.
Without needing further instruction, your teeth latch onto the absolute tip of his glove, letting him slip his hand out of its leather confines, revealing to you the most precious amount of skin of his you’ve ever seen.
Tanned skin, thick fingers, large palm, perfect. Him. The urge to litter the rough calloused skin in kisses, lick his entire hand, just put the whole fucking thing in your mouth was all consuming. Yet you sat there in his lap staring at his hand like it was a vase of water and you were a flower, parched for water. He asked you to do the same with the other glove and of course, you did as he asked. You quickly found yourself wanting to please him.
You stared at his bare, rough, strong hands in awe, watched as he let them peek underneath your thin top to skim along your silky smooth flesh, an expanse unknown to him. His fingertips brush over your nipples, feeling how the pretty buds pebble for him. He twists and pulls them in between his fingers, watching the way your face contorts in pain and in pleasure. It’s his new favourite thing, he feels drunk off of you already.
“Please.” You aren’t quite sure what you’re begging for, Mando isn’t really sure either. But he knows one thing, and it's that the sweet sound of your voice, begging for him, begging for anything, just so desperate, was enough to make him cum in his pants. His fingers dig into your skin, trying to cool his overheating mind, trying to slow down a bit before he actually does cum in his pants, before he’s even properly seen you.
His bare hands come down to your panties, toying with them again between his agile fingers.
“You want this?” He asks, daringly pushing your panties to the side, getting the smallest glimpse and your slicked up and drenched pussy. He thinks he could die right now, die happy, never want anything, ask for anything again.
“Yeah, yeah I do, always- have.” You choke on a hiccup, emotions welling in your eyes already from how fucking built up all of this is. You feel like you were both about to burst at the seams. You still couldn’t believe this was happening, even if it were to stop now and not progress any further, you couldn’t believe he had allowed you this much of him.
Mando wraps his arm around you completely, gripping your waist tightly to spin you around, pinning you underneath him in the tight space of his cot. You gasp, shriek at the sensation of it all, as he comes to rut against you, grinding his thick bulge into your cunt.
You notice how his arm has begun to bleed again, the skin ripping open and the deep red liquid trickling down what little part of his bicep was exposed, further proving his humanity, exposing the man beneath the beskar. You really felt like you could cry.
Lost in your whirlwind, Mando pulls off your thong, throwing it somewhere unpreciously behind him before doing the same thing with your tank top. Completely vulnerable, you laid bare before him as he hovered above you, covered head to toe, save for his hands, in beskar. That fact alone made you throb deep inside. The sheer power and size of him enough to get you off.
You knew what little he had already decided to show you was all he could afford, you were so grateful for it anyway, that he was even willing to show you his hands, the little glimpse of his bicep. His skin was beautiful, but you couldn’t possibly grasp the words to tell him.
So you hook your legs around his backside and pull him to you, silently begging him to do something, anything. You would take anything he gave you, you’d even thank him for it at this point.
“Fuck.” Mando growls, bare hands coming to work at unbuttoning his pants, pulling them low enough to pull out his engorged, thick cock.
Mando was… he was huge.
This came hardly as a surprise to you, however. You would have had to be blind to not noticed how he walked. He walked like it was big, talked like it was big, fought like it was big. But fuck.
You were not prepared for that.
“Mando, I-I don’t know if it’ll-”
“It will.”
You moan and arch your back towards him, needing it now, needing that sweet burn and stretch that you know is about to come.
And oh does it come.
Mando thrusts into you without further warning, giving you no time or preparation to adjust to what he was packing.
He makes you take it. He makes it fit.
The stretch burns, it bites and it knocks every single breath and thought from your body as he nestles himself all the way up against your cervix. Your body convulses in retreat, trying to push him away from the aggressive intrusion but your mind wants more, needs more. Needs him to fucking split you in half on his cock.
You scream and Mando growls, loud, his helmet falling forward and resting in the crook of your shoulder which meets your neck. His helmet is cold and your skin is burning hot, it creates a fog on his visor and he desperately tries to wipe it off on your skin, trying to look at you so up close. The way your eyes screw shut, squeezing tears out, watching the beautiful dew drops roll down your cheek so perfectly.
It hurts. Maker, does it hurt but fuck does it feel good. The pleasure overrides the pain more than you could imagine and you find yourself begging him to give you more even though he’s already started thrusting into you like he’s on a mission, a mission to sever you in half with his cock.
He was surely succeeding.
Mando watches you cry in pleasure as he fucks into your pussy with such aggressive fervour, like someone had a gun to his head. One hand on your hip and the other around your neck, bruising your skin in that beautiful way he always wanted, how he always dreamed of. He holds you in place so that his hips don’t drive you up his cot because they surely would from how fucking deep and hard he’s pounding into you. Stars, you think you can feel him in your stomach, in your throat.
The hand on your hip travels up to one of your bouncing breasts, kneading the sotf flesh in his palm and watching you wither beneath him. So desperate -
“S-so helpless.” He moans, watching your body bend to his will beneath him.
“Mando- oh my god.” You cry, hands and arms flailing at your sides, not knowing where to put them. Mando sees your struggle and takes both of your hands into each of his, pinning them above your head and using it to drive into you even harder somehow.
Your pussy squelches obscenely, trying to suck him in deeper, keep him inside forever. The only sounds in the cot are fucking lewd, skin on skin rhythmically slapping. You pray the Child can’t hear any of this from inside his pod, you pray he’s asleep.
“So fucking wet... You’d let me do anything, wouldn’t you?” You nod your head so fast you think you’d give yourself whiplash.
“A-Anything, anything Mando- fuck.” That familiar coil was beginning to tighten in your belly, your toes curling, fisting gripping onto his, no doubt cutting off some of his circulation.
Eyes rolling into the back of your head, your chest arches up, up, up your breasts rubbing against unforgiving beskar.
Underneath said beskar, Mando felt like he wasn’t getting nearly enough oxygen into his helmet, his skin flushing underneath the heavy armour but the pleasure rolling off of you and into him would be enough to sustain him for hours, he thinks.
Your pussy was squeezing him so tight, the ridges of your inner walls so soft, warm, wet, inviting. You felt like home. Absolutely fucking drenched, no wonder you were able to take him whole with almost zero preparation, you had fucking wanted it that way. Wanted him to be rough like this.
“I’ll never leave- never leave this sweet pussy...” He moans, hips stuttering, rolling and grinding deeper and deeper and you felt your orgasm quickly approaching, his words were only bringing you that much closer.
“Please, I- I…”
“Cum for me ner mesh’la, need you to cum for me.” He groans, cool and sharp edges of his helmet resting on your cheekbone.
You envisioned the faceless man deep inside you, what his face must look like now, deep in the throes of pleasure only inches from yours. You pictured the tanned skin covering his entire body head to toe, flushed and splotchy, hot to the touch.
Would his eyes screw shut? Would his mouth hang open, little pants, groans, moans slipping through swollen lips, only loud enough for the ears of his lover to hear?
Your legs wrapped tightly around his waist, you try to look into his visor as your orgasm wipes your mind blank, eyes screwing shut, an endless stream of tears falling onto already damp cheeks as you moan and cry his name into the tight space of his cot.
Mando.
Mando.
Mando.
You don’t think you could recall anything if anyone asked you. Not the name of the planet you were currently on, not the name of the planet you were born on, the bar you used to work at, your old bosses name, your name. Nothing.
With two, three, four more thrusts, Mando’s hips still after he drills himself into the deepest and darkest parts of your hot cunt, spilling white hot cum into you with the lowest moan you think you’ve ever heard flowing deep from within his chest. You gasp at the sensation, that warm pleasant feeling of being absolutely stuffed full, somehow more than you already were.
He draws his cock out before pushing it back in, plugging you up with his cum, pushing it deeper and deeper inside of you. You cry, bordering on overstimulation, his cock only softening in the slightest so the hard intrusion was almost too much for you to bear.
“Fuck Mando I’m- I don’t have the implant..” You whimper, suddenly worried, voice coming out uneven with your ragged breaths.
Mando feels another surge of blood to his cock at your words, groaning as his dick twitches and thrusting into you a few more times…. For-
For good measure, he thinks.
Not that he would necessarily want that right now but fuck. Fuck did the mere idea of it make him painfully hard against his own will. You…. swollen with-
“Fuck.” He growls, pulling away from you a bit to better look down at you. Your eyes are shiny, lashes coated thick and wet with your precious tears. Lips swollen, chest flushed. You look worried, but beautiful. His.
Mando remembers your old job at the bar…. Wouldn’t they have made it mandatory for all the girls to have the implant to prevent them from getting pregn-
“But- your job, you-?”
“I didn’t do that, I didn’t fuck them… just drinks.” You smile up softly at him due to fatigue, bashful nonetheless.
Mando likes that, it puts him at ease in some fucked up way to know that those men in those types of places couldn’t get too far with you, even if they wanted.
“We can, I can get it for you on the next planet if- if that’s what you want?” He asks, hips still gently thrusting into you and you start to see stars behind your eyelids. You whimper, feeling his cum mix with your and gush back onto his cock and down the backs of your thighs.
“O-okay… thank you.” Mando nods but says nothing, pulling his cock from your fluttering pussy. You gasp at the sudden loss, feeling terribly empty and used. More cum dribbles from you and you quickly cup your cunt with your palm, trying to stop it from leaking everywhere on his cot.
Moving quicker than you would have expected him to, Mando stands up straight and tucks his wet cock back into his pants before walking away abruptly. You, however, barely notice as you lay flat on your back, head staring up at the ceiling with eyes closed, trying to catch your breath, regain some sense of self after getting all of it fucked out of you.
You’re made aware of Mando’s return by the touch of a warm and damp washcloth to your abused pussy. You gasp and sit up on your elbows, looking down the length of you to see the Mandalorian between your thighs, wiping away the mess that both of you made. Together.
You want to thank him again but you can’t find the words within you, all of them lost to you because of this sudden display of dare you say affection.
“Stay here, gonna put us into hyperspeed. Once we’re up there, go clean up.” Mando orders softly, nodding his helmet at you. You nod back, still breathless, still shaking.
#the mandalorian#the mandalorian x reader#reader insert#din djarin#din djarin x reader#imagine#smut#din djarin smut#the mandalorian smut#my writing#the best things dwell out of sight#fan fiction series#a close call
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Fandom: Inuyasha
Genre: Romance/Humor/Fluff
Pairing: InuKag
Rating: T
Originally written for @inukag-week on tumblr circa 2016, now officially being updated. Its been a hot minute, hasn't it?
For InuKag Week - Day 2: Warmth
Part 1 l
Part 2
Word Count: 2,600
Can also be found on FFN and AO3.
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Kagome couldn't remember the last time she had laughed so hard.
Sometime between the moment she met the arrogant, rude man known as Inuyasha and the three shots she had consumed, they had fallen into a flirtatious banter that she rather enjoyed. Gone was the pompous jerk who had so rudely called her audacious names, replaced by a man who proved to actually be decent company.
No, she hadn't forgotten about their initial meeting, but as she downed another shot of whiskey, she realized she didn't much care. For the first time in months - maybe longer - Kagome found herself enjoying her evening. With her shackles removed and her inhibitions lowered, she relished in the sweet taste of freedom that had been sorely lacking from her life.
"You did not!" she squealed with absurdity in her tone, clamping a hand over her mouth.
Inuyasha chuckled, tilting his glass and giving a half-shrug. "I did," he confessed sheepishly, but not at all ashamed of his actions. "Miroku ran down the dorm hall, completely naked, screaming after me."
Kagome shook her head. "I can honestly say I have never stolen my roommates clothes while they were in the shower. Or pulled any pranks on them, really."
"To be fair," he continued, signaling the bartender for another round. "He actually met his girlfriend that way."
"By running naked down the hallway?"
He nodded. "Knocked her down and stopped to apologize."
"Still want to leave the tab open?" Kouga interrupted.
"Yeah, that's fine." Inuyasha finished off his beer. "Another round of whiskey shots while you're at it."
Flashing Kagome a smile, Kouga took their empty glasses. "You're going to dry me out."
"It's still early," Kagome barbed playfully. "Your bar will last until midnight at the very least."
He chuckled, filling up their shot glasses and handing them another drink. "Oh, thanks. I was afraid I'd have to close up soon."
Leaving with a, "flag me down if you need me," Kouga wandered to the other end of the bar where a busty blonde waved at him.
Typical, Kagome thought sourly. On the one hand, she didn't like the way her thoughts were turning, considering she didn't really know Kouga, and hated grouping him in with the rest of the spineless male population she had become accustomed to - especially since he was a bartender and it was literally his job to tend to the needs of his customers. But on the other hand, she couldn't help but feel bitter about his attention leaving her. Maybe it was because she had so blatantly been deprived of it for so long, that her longing for companionship had been exacerbated ten-fold.
Taking a sip of beer - which she had switched to once they started doing shots - Kagome heard her phone buzz in her purse again; it had already gone off several times during her conversation with Inuyasha. She finally pulled it out and unlocked it, frowning at the array of messages popping up on her screen.
Inuyasha raised a brow at the irritable look that overcame her expression before Kagome sighed and locked her phone. She quickly downed her shot of whiskey, not even bothering to 'cheers' him.
"Everything okay?" Inuyasha questioned, against his better judgement. There was a reason people showed up by themselves at a bar on Friday nights - either to drown their sorrows in whiskey or to find company for a few fleeting, midnight hours.
Kagome pressed her lips together. She didn't come to the bar to talk about her problems. She wasn't some sad case that needed a therapist to pour her drinks. If anything, she wanted to forget about the emotional damage that had been inflicted earlier that day. Her heart had been broken, her ego bruised, and no matter how many times her friends had told her he wasn't worth it, their sympathies didn't make her feel any better.
But, alcohol had a funny habit of turning into truth serum, and she found herself spilling her guts before she could stop herself. "Just my ex-boyfriend - er, fiance - blowing up my phone."
Inuyasha chuckled. "Can't take a hint, huh?"
Kagome shrugged with a bitter smile. "I mean, he broke off the engagement. Not sure why he can't follow through with his decision."
She had expected sympathy, perhaps even empathy. That's what most people offered in a situation like this, when they didn't know what to say or how to react. But Kagome was caught off-guard by Inuyasha's next question.
"How long were you together?"
Kagome eyed him curiously, his honey gaze hiding a wealth of understanding. "Five years," she answered him, twirling a strand of her dark hair around her finger. "Planned our life together, put a ring on it, and even booked the venue. But… I suppose he got cold feet a long time ago."
"His loss. What kind of bastard would put someone through that?"
She hummed thoughtfully, but didn't answer. It wasn't in her best interest to start talking about the past now, and she would rather take the spotlight off of herself all together. "What about you?" she asked her barstool companion as she took another sip of beer. "Any lucky ladies in your life?"
Inuyasha chuckled mirthlessly. "Nah, not anymore."
Kagome arched a brow. "Dare I ask?"
"Not much to tell. Her career and ambitions drove a wedge between us, and she decided they were more important than me. Simple as that."
"Sounds high maintenance."
He grinned. "Something like that. I mean, she knew what she wanted and didn't care what stood in her way. Even me."
Kagome felt an ache beneath her breast for the man beside her. She knew the pain of rejection very well. "Put out in the rain just like a dog. Doesn't that bother you?" she asked, tilting her head.
He frowned at her choice of words, and Kagome knew she may have touched a nerve then, but the alcohol had stripped her of her filter apparently.
"Well, I guess we're all damaged somehow," he replied with a shrug.
She scrunched her nose. "That's a bit thoughtless."
"What can I say? Shit happens. Get over it."
And then Kagome suddenly remembered the arrogant, rude, condescending jerk she had met when she had sat down at the bar earlier in the night. She narrowed her eyes. "Why are you such an ass?"
Inuyasha smirked while bringing his beer to his lips. "You are what you eat?"
Kagome let loose a growl of frustration. She had only known him for a short time, but she had quickly learned that Inuyasha was the most infuriating human being on the planet! "Your immaturity is revolting," she stated matter-of-factly, waving down Kouga for another shot of whiskey. She was definitely not drunk enough to deal with the way the conversation had turned.
"I'm not known for my friendly disposition."
Kagome glared at the man sitting next to her. "Is it fun being a jerk to me? Does it satisfy you?"
Inuyasha chuckled. "Actually, it is pretty entertaining."
She rolled her eyes. "You know, Inuyasha. You can hide behind that fake bravado all you want, but I know you're just a big softie underneath."
"Keh," he grumbled, finishing off his beer.
Kagome threw him a glare. "What? No witty repartee?"
He set down his empty glass with a little more force than usual, grabbing Kagome's attention. "I know your type, wench," he snapped, his amber eyes boring into hers. "I know exactly the kind of person you are; all high and mighty, acting as if you're better than everyone else. You think you can show someone how great life can be and how fantastic it is if I would just try. Well, sorry to break it to you, sweetheart, but not everyone is worth saving, all right?"
His words left Kagome stunned into silence for a brief moment. How did their witty banter only a few minutes ago turn into this? This… This denied anger and unadulterated cynicism had Kagome reeling, her thoughts turning to what exactly had penetrated Inuyasha's life so completely that he had such a negative outlook on such.
She pursed her lips. "How much do you think you're worth?"
Inuyasha shrugged. "Like twenty bucks. Or two twinkies." He grinned at his own comment, but Kagome didn't find it very funny.
If anything, Kagome felt pity for him. No matter how bleak her life became, she always managed to find the good in it. If a person couldn't do that… Well, that was a pretty sad way to live. "As much as I would love to hear you divulge all of your secrets, this is a great song and I feel like dancing."
"Look, wench," Inuyasha barked out, his anger palpable. "I'm not looking for your validation. I'm pretty fucking happy with my life of dirty pennies and whiskey bottles. We don't all need to be Barbie."
She looked over at him, the low dim of the bar lights shining off his silver hair, and found she could only nurse one wounded heart at a time. "I just wanted you to leave tonight and think the world is a little less horrible than you thought."
"Hey, pretty lady," Kouga greeted as he appeared at the perfect time with another shot of whiskey for her and a full beer, stealing her full attention away from Inuyasha.
Kagome immediately downed the shot and chased it with her beer, ready to forget half of the night and lose herself in the music pounding through the speakers. As the evening wore on, the bar became busier, and the DJ had started up a round of tunes that had half the customers on the dance floor.
Kouga watched her curiously, arching a brow. "You alright there?"
"Dance with me?" she called over the bass pounding through the speakers. Oh yes, it was now the time of the night in which she had no qualms for asking for what she wanted.
He chuckled and glanced over at the other bartenders who appeared to have things under control. "You can steal me for a few minutes."
Kagome grinned and giggled like a school girl, leaving Inuyasha behind without delay. Kouga met her at the end of the bar and took her hand in his as she pulled him out onto the dance floor.
Some upbeat dance music blasted through the speakers. Kagome moved and swayed through the bodies crowding near the DJ, the vibrations of the music becoming part of her energy, raising her up several levels at once. Gone were her heartbroken wallows and the biting arrogance of her barstool companion. Her mind buzzed with pure joy. She moved in her dress like her hips were made to sway, the black sequins catching the disco ball that twirled above, causing her to glitter on the dance floor.
Kouga pulled her close, his strong hand pressed against the small of her back, his chiseled chest pressed against hers. She ran her fingers through her messy hair and pulled it to the side, feeling the beat of the music pound with each beat of her heart. Bodies pressed in tighter all around them. Kagome felt the part of her that was really her come out to play, to feel the vibe of the music and let her body go free.
"You're beautiful," Kouga's voice whispered in her ear, sending shivers down her spine.
His lips looked soft and very kissable, and Kagome knew her decision-making skills were indeed hindered by the alcohol that buzzed through her veins. And then his attention was caught by something else, his royal blue eyes pulling from hers to the outskirts of the dance floor. He said something to her, attempting to shout above the music, but his words were swallowed up by the electric beat that kept her entranced.
Kagome felt his hands slip from around her waist and he disappeared into the crowd. She didn't bother to follow, her hands playing with her hair, her hips moving to the music as she lost herself within it. This was what her heartbroken soul had fiercely needed; a night to forget all the troubles of the day.
Large, meaty hands found her waist, but they were unfamiliar and too warm to the touch. Kagome felt a warm flush find her cheeks as she gazed up to meet a stranger's hazy stare. He pulled her in close - too close - and even in her alcohol-ridden mind, she felt mild panic begin like sparks in her abdomen.
She tried to push him away, first gently and then forcefully, pretending to laugh at his behavior. "Thanks for the dance, but I need some fresh air."
"C'me on, baby," he slurred, pulling her tighter to his sweaty frame, his hot breath rolling over her skin. "We just met. Let's dance s'me more."
Kagome frowned. "I said no." Before she could stomp on his foot and fight her way out of the throng of dancers, the man was forcefully pulled away from her. They became separated by another man, one with very familiar silver hair who had his back to her. She didn't hear the words exchanged, but whatever was said was enough to send the man scampering off to the other side of the bar.
Inuyasha turned around, his piercing honey eyes studying her expression, before his hand gently wrapped around her waist. His grip on her wasn't strong like Kouga's, or possessive like the stranger. Inuyasha's hand was warm against the small of her back, and the anxiety she felt moments ago melted away.
"You okay?" he asked, swaying his hips in tune with hers as they continued to dance to the beat of the music.
She grinned up at him. "Were you worried about me, jerk?"
"Keh," he grumbled, his lips pulling into a smirk. "I despise you more than any other human I've ever had the displeasure of meeting. You're loud and wild and apparently have no sense of self-preservation. You also act like you have the mental capacity of a five year old."
"Are you flirting with me?" she barbed in return.
"Maybe."
His hand found the back of her neck, his fingers finding purchase in her hair, his hips grinding against hers. Warmth pooled into the pit of her stomach, his breath caressing her skin, and she moved her lips to find his.
Kagome barely had a moment to react before he pressed his tongue to the seam of her lips and delved inside her mouth. It was a very sloppy kiss with the strong scent of beer being exchanged between their billowing breaths. Her arm reached up and tangled around his strong neck. She pulled away and arched up into his broad chest, letting a moan escape in the contact of body heat against her own, before she drew back into his lips.
She could nearly taste the slight bitterness of the beer as it rolled off her tongue and seeped down her throat with every push of his tongue against hers. The kiss coupled with the beer and whiskey humming through her system obliterated every thought. For the first time that day, her mind was locked into the present. Her usual concerns for her life were suspended, and she had no wish for the kiss to end.
But as the music changed, they pulled apart. Inuyasha's skin shimmered with sweat and his amber eyes flecked with gold held her gaze. The beat of the music consumed them under the crazy neon lights, and Kagome felt alive during a night that was still so young.
#inuyasha#kagome#inukag#fanfiction#inuyasha fanfiction#inukag-week#sassy stays classy#my fanfiction#double shot of heaven
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Here's a quandary I've suddenly found myself in: where do you stand on writers deleting their own works, fanfiction or otherwise? I've had this happen to me on more than one occasion - I go to look for an old favorite and find it's since been deleted from whatever site I read it on.
On the one hand, I'm inclined to think that, "Sure. The author wrote it, it's their call. I don't own the work - I certainly didn't pay for it. It's their decision, even if it's disappointing."
But at the same time I can't help but consider the alternative - if I believe in death of the author (and I do), that an author's work fundamentally isn't solely theirs once it's been published, posted, etc., then it also seems wrong to have a work deleted. Stories aren't the sole property of their creator, after all.
But then I circle back. D'you think there are different obligations between authors and readers and the works being made in fandom space? I know if I had bought a book and the author decided they wanted it back, I would feel pretty comfortable telling them no, given I'd paid for it and whatnot. But that's a different world from fanfic and fandom space generally.
So. You're insightful Clyde, I'm curious as to what you'll have to say here (and to all y'all thinking about it, don't flame me. I haven't decided where I stand here yet - haven't heard a good nail-in-the-coffin argument for or against yet).
Val are you a mind reader now? I’ve been thinking about this exact conundrum the last few days!
(And yeah, as a general disclaimer: no flaming. Not allowed. Any asks of the sort will be deleted on sight and with great satisfaction.)
Honestly, I’m not sure there is a “nail-in-the-coffin argument” for this, just because—as you lay out—there are really good points for keeping works around and really good points for allowing authors to have control over their work, especially when fanworks have no payment/legal obligations attached. In mainstream entertainment, your stories reflect a collaborative effort (publisher, editor, cover artists, etc.) so even if it were possible to delete the physical books out of everyone’s home and library (and we're ignoring the censorship angle for the moment), that’s no longer solely the author’s call, even if they have done the lion’s share of the creative work. Though fanworks can also, obviously, be collaborative, they’re usually not collaborative in the same way (more “This fic idea came about from discord conversations, a couple tumblr posts, and that one headcanon on reddit”) and they certainly don’t have the same monetary, legal, and professional strings attached. I wrote this fic as a hobby in my free time. Don’t I have the right to delete it like I also have the right to tear apart the blankets I knit?
Well yes… but also no? I personally view fanworks as akin to gifts—the academic term for our communities is literally “gift economy”—so if we view it like that, suddenly that discomfort with getting rid of works is more pronounced. If I not only knit a blanket, but then gift it to a friend, it would indeed feel outside of my rights to randomly knock on their door one day and go, “I actually decided I hate that? Please give it back so I can tear it to shreds, thanks :)” That’s so rude! And any real friend would try to talk me out of it, explaining both why they love the blanket and, even if it’s not technically the best in terms of craftsmanship, it holds significant emotional value to them. Save it for that reason alone, at least. Fanworks carry that same meaning—“I don’t care if it’s full of typos, super cliché, and using some outdated, uncomfortable tropes. This story meant so much to me as a teenager and I’ll always love it”—but the difference in medium and relationships means it’s easier to ignore all that. I’m not going up to someone’s house and asking face-to-face to destroy something I gave them (which is awkward as hell. That alone deters us), I’m just pressing a button on my computer. I’m not asking this of a personal friend that is involved in my IRL experiences, I’m (mostly) doing this to online peers I know little, if anything, about. It’s easy to distance ourselves from both the impact of our creative work and the act of getting rid of it while online. On the flip-side though, it’s also easier to demean that work and forget that the author is a real person who put a lot of effort into this creation. If someone didn’t like my knitted blanket I gave them as a gift, they’re unlikely to tell me that. They recognize that it’s impolite and that the act of creating something for them is more important than the construction’s craftsmanship. For fanworks though, with everyone spread around the world and using made up identities, people have fewer filters, happily tearing authors to shreds in the comments, sending anon hate, and the like. The fact that we’re both prefacing this conversation with, “Please don’t flame” emphasizes that. So if I wrote a fic with some iffy tropes, “cringy” dialogue, numerous typos, whatever and enough people decided to drag me for it… I don’t know whether I’d resist the urge to just delete the fic, hopefully ending those interactions. There’s a reason why we’re constantly reminding others to express when they enjoy someone else’s work: the ratio of praise to criticism in fandom (or simply praise to seeming indifference because there was no public reaction at all), is horribly skewed.
So I personally can’t blame anyone for deleting. I’d like to hope that more people realize the importance of keeping fanworks around, that everything you put out there is loved by someone… but I’m well aware that the reality is far more complicated. It’s hard to keep that in mind. It’s hard to keep something around that you personally no longer like. Harder still to keep up a work you might be harassed over, that someone IRL discovered, that you’re disgusted with because you didn’t know better back then… there are lots of reasons why people delete and I ultimately can’t fault them for that. I think the reasons why people delete stem more from problems in fandom culture at large—trolling, legal issues, lack of positive feedback, cancel culture, etc.—than anything the author has or has not personally done, and since such work is meant to be a part of an enjoyable hobby… I can’t rightly tell anyone to shoulder those problems, problems they can’t solve themselves, just for the sake of mine or others’ enjoyment. The reason I’ve been thinking about this lately is because I was discussing Attack on Titan and how much I dislike the source material now, resulting in a very uncomfortable relationship with the fics I wrote a few years back. I’ve personally decided to keep them up and that’s largely because some have received fantastic feedback and I’m aware of how it will hurt those still in the fandom if I take them down. So if a positive experience is the cornerstone of me keeping fics up, I can only assume that negative experiences would likewise been the cornerstone of taking them down. And if getting rid of that fic helps your mental health, or solves a bullying problem, or just makes you happier… that, to me, is always more important than the fic itself.
But, of course, it’s still devastating for everyone who loses the work, which is why my compromise-y answer is to embrace options like AO3’s phenomenal orphaning policy. That’s a fantastic middle ground between saving fanworks and allowing authors to distances themselves from them. I’ve also gotten a lot more proactive about saving the works I want to have around in the future. Regardless of whether we agree with deleting works or not, the reality is we do live in a world where it happens, so best to take action on our own to save what we want to keep around. Though I respect an author’s right to delete, I also respect the reader’s right to maintain access to the work, once published, in whatever way they can. That's probably my real answer here: authors have their rights, but readers have their rights too, so if you decide to publish in the first place, be aware that these rights might, at some point, clash. I download all my favorite fics to Calibre and, when I’m earning more money (lol) I hope to print and bind many for my personal library. I’m also willing to re-share fic if others are looking for them, in order to celebrate the author’s work even if they no longer want anything to do with it. Not fanfiction in this case, but one of my fondest memories was being really into Phantom of the Opera as a kid and wanting, oh so desperately, to read Susan Kay’s Phantom. Problem was, it was out of print at the time, not available at my library, and this was before the age of popping online and finding a used copy. For all intents and purposes, based on my personal situation, this was a case of a book just disappearing from the world. So when an old fandom mom on the message boards I frequented offered to type her copy up chapter by chapter and share it with me, you can only imagine how overjoyed I was. Idk what her own situation was that something like scanning wouldn’t work, but the point is she spent months helping a fandom kid she barely knew simply because a story had resonated with her and she wanted to share it. That shit is powerful!
So if someone wants to delete—if that’s something they need right now—I believe that is, ultimately, their decision… but please try your hardest to remember that the art you put out into the world is having an impact and people will absolutely miss it when it’s gone. Often to the point of doing everything they can to put it back out into the world even if you decide to take it out. Hold onto that feeling. The love you have for your favorite fic, fanart, meta, whatever it is? Someone else has that for your work too. I guarantee it.
So take things down as needed, but for the love of everything keep copies for yourself. You may very well want to give it back to the world someday.
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11 from angst with hotchniss romantic
This... is appallingly cliche and sounds exactly the same as "lauren" and "the date." I apologise. I have one mood when it comes to Hotchniss. Clearly. But this is under 1.5k! Very proud of myself
I've given up on proofreading. I also have no idea where in canon this is, so I need everyone to forget about the timeline and events that occur. Yeah. If anyone picks up on the headcanon I threw in... I love you <3 and my arm hurts an insane amount, so... there may need to be a break from writing these!
11: “what happened to us?”
Trigger Warnings: implied past domestic violence (Hotch's parents), past child abuse, self destructive behaviour, implied past panic attacks, relationship breakdown, negative self image, no happy ending
read on ao3!
He knows what she's doing. He knows because he has done the same thing. He still does. They're similar in a lot of ways, him and Emily Prentiss, but in this, they are identical.
They both believe that they are not worthy of being loved. That nobody is capable of loving them unless they hide something. Unless they pretend to be someone else. Unless they fit a certain view that is held of them. They both believe that the moment somebody sees them for who they really are, they will leave.
And so they test the boundary. They push and they manipulate and they act out and they do a thousand different things to work out what the limit is. To work out just what they need to decide that they aren't worth it. To leave. Aaron stopped doing it a while ago, because it wasn't fair to Haley or to himself.
Emily has never stopped, no matter how few lies she now tells her therapist, or how many anniversaries her and Aaron make it to. Aaron wonders every day if she even realises she’s doing it. She does. Sometimes. She doesn’t care enough to stop.
She’s testing his boundaries again. He’s trying to be patient but it’s difficult. No amount of breathing exercises or rational thought seems to be helping because deep down, he is annoyed. Secretly. Quietly. Not because he’s manipulating her, but because he can’t let himself be angry. Not with her. His father got angry with his wife and nothing fixed the damage. He can’t repeat that mistake. He won’t. He’ll die before he does that.
They’re arguing. Again. It seems to be the only thing they do these days. And Aaron knows that it’s just her trying to test him the same way she has always done, but he’s so tired. He wants to love her the way he always has. He wants her to love him the way she used to. Without this fear, that didn’t exist before Ian Doyle. It makes him want to kill the man again.
Emily has no idea why she’s arguing with him. Or over what. It’s more than likely that it's a combination of all the things that have been hurting her since she was born. Almost all of them were not the direct result of his actions. She doesn't care though. Because her and Aaron may be alike in many ways, but not in this. He will always fight. She will always run.
"Em, just tell me the truth. I won't be angry. I promise."
Emily looks away. Jack was the first one to call her Em. As she turns, she sees a photo. And suddenly, she knows what to say. She knows what will make him leave her, of his own free will. Because she needs him to leave. Before she destroys him and everything she loves. Because she will. It's all she's ever done. It's all she is good for.
"Yes you will," she says. Because she knows how to hurt him.
She watches him clench and unclench his jaw. "No, I won't. I just want to help you."
Her last thought before she speaks is a prayer. To a woman that deserved better. Forgive me, is the thought.
"You don't want to help me. You're only with me because you can't have Haley."
There is no truth in the statement. It is an insult to Haley's final wish for her husband. To Aaron and his heart. To Jack and the lessons his father has taught him. To everything they have built together.
Aaron keeps his promise though. He isn't angry. He's devastated. Emily watches his face crumple, but remains rooted in place as he leaves the room. It feels like a weight has been lifted from her chest, and that can't be normal or healthy, but it's how she feels.
Time passes. She cannot say how much. But it passes. And Aaron does not return. So despite everything, she leaves the room to find him. Before she does, she presses her fingers to her mouth, and then to the photo of Haley. She also whispers an apology.
Aaron is sitting in their bedroom, head buried between his knees. A soft sound leaves her throat, and he raises his head enough to shake it. It does little to soothe her.
Emily sits beside him. He shifts away, not even realising. She tries to let it not sting. It's her own doing.
"What happened to us?" She asks, after a silence that is nothing like their usual comfortable ones.
The short answer is they've changed. The long answer is that they want different things from life. That he is tired, and she is exhausted. That she no longer wants him and he no longer needs her. That they aren't right together. Not anymore. The truth is that he is fighting for something she no longer believes in.
"Life," he spits, not even caring that he's being cruel.
Emily doesn't even blink. Her comments about needing to know that she can be human, which still hurt him in that moment the same way they did when she first spat them in his face, make all the more sense. She just sits there.
They sleep in the same bed, and she even kisses him on the cheek when he leaves for his morning class. The BAU were given some leave because they did successive cases, but Aaron couldn't cancel on his seniors when he only found out two days before. There was a time when she would have driven him, or sat in his office doing her own paperwork. Not today though. She just watches him leave.
Aaron's been married before. Emily hasn't. There's been a few longer relationships here and there, but Aaron is her only spouse. It's why she doesn't quite understand the look on his face. Neither do his students. They can't quite tell where his mind is, only that it's not where it should be.
Aaron is thinking about his feelings. The sense of dread that pricks at the back of his neck and makes his whole body tense. The nerves that are causing him to make silly mistakes. The pit in his stomach that tells him something bad is going to happen. And he is thinking about Emily. The look on her face as he walked out the front door matched the look Haley had worn when he'd walked out of their bedroom. And she had been gone when he returned.
Emily is also gone when he walks through the door that evening. In some sad way, he had been expecting it. But unlike Haley, she has only taken the bare necessities. He phones Derek, saying that he doesn't expect anything more than a confirmation of her safety. He gets that. As well as a promise to support both of them, no matter what happens.
Aaron is the one that files for divorce. He asked Emily if she was going to come home, and when she didn't reply, simply reading the message, he knew that this time, he had to do it. He had to be brave. He had to give them both a chance at happiness. If such a thing existed for people like them.
He sends them to the sixth floor too. Not to be hurtful, but because he had no other option. And Emily signs them after unintentionally endangering the life of a subordinate of someone so much younger than her- too young to be with the BAU.
And as the world kept spinning, taking some people with it and leaving others behind, the two of them kept searching for a love that would last. Neither of them found it. They were both just too doubtful of everyone.
#hotchley's 500#hotchniss#tw implied domestic violence#tw past child abuse#tw self destructive behavior#tw past panic attack#tw negative self image#tw relationship breakdown
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Autumnal
Pairing: Saeran Choi / Male CMC (Rowan)
Word Count: 2942
Warnings: Chronic overthinking
Notes: this is for mystictober’s day 1 prompt: favorite character/rings!! knocked out two in one. entirely self-indulgent, just to get me in the writing spirit.
you can also read this here on ao3!! enjoy!!
Between the warm tones of his sweater and the color of his hair, Saeran blends in against the red and orange leaves perfectly, his eyes being the only thing making him stand out. They’re fixed on the sinking sun in the distance, watching with a content expression as he fiddles with a piece of the chocolate chip cookie he had yet to finish between his fingers.
An autumn picnic had felt just right. It took a few weeks for Rowan to put it together, deciding on the right foods to bring, the perfect spot, and whether a surprise was acceptable or not, but he finally made the decision. Things had to be just the right balance between perfect and comfortable.
The food -- and the sheer amount of it -- was definitely overboard, but he knew it would be appreciated. Three types of cookies, ice cream, cinnamon rolls, cinnamon bread, chocolate pecan pie, brownies, and cupcakes had been carefully packed away, sectioned off into containers, stored either on the back seat or in the freezer box they had brought along.
For once, he had skipped using his motorcycle, instead choosing to borrow one of Saeyoung's cars. It was an SUV, with plenty of room in the backseat and the trunk for food storage. Most of them had been too cramped, or "too precious" -- though he was sure that would've been tossed out the window if he revealed his plans for the evening.
Of course, he didn't. He couldn't. If the answer was no, then it would make things devastatingly more awkward. And, in the hopes that it was a yes? Saeran wouldn't exactly be rushing to tell his brother. The enthusiasm the revelation would bring was something he would almost certainly have to brace himself for long ahead of time. That wasn't a problem for Rowan; he was willing to wait. If the answer was a yes.
The doubt bubbling up in his chest, he lets a sigh escape from his lips, tensing as his boyfriend glances over. Though the redhead doesn't say anything, the question is obvious. Is everything okay?
Shoving another helping of frosting into his mouth to keep himself from stuttering out anything stupid, he nods, taking his time swallowing. It looked ridiculous, he knew, but it gave him time to think of a suitable response. "I'm fine. Just… thinking. You know how difficult that is for me. I get worn out in seconds," he jokes.
Saeran rolls his eyes at the self-deprecating joke, flicking a sprinkle still stuck to his finger at his boyfriend. "You can think just fine. Oh, and your mouth is…" He gestures to his own lips, prompting Rowan to wipe at his mouth with the back of his hand. It's totally covered in black frosting; in his haste to keep himself quiet, he hadn't been careful to not make a mess.
He can't help but smile at the ridiculousness of it, running his tongue along his lips and wiping the rest away with a napkin. "Surprised you didn't try to get a taste, sweet tooth." Though he doubts his boyfriend would've been that bold, he wasn't one to shy away from the opportunity to tease.
Unsurprisingly, he only gets a huff in response, though he doesn't have to check to know there's a light dusting of pink on the redhead's cheeks. "I was wondering when you'd say something like that. You've been quiet."
Just like that, the soft smile on Rowan's face fades into a slight grimace. If Saeran was mentioning it, that was a problem. Quiet was rarely a bad thing to Saeran; in fact, he usually preferred it. The fact that he was saying it like it was a point of concern meant that there was nowhere to run; Rowan had been figured out, and his only options were to stay quiet and make things awkward, try and fail to weasel out of it, or fess up.
The first two options would almost certainly ruin the cozy mood, not to mention put them both on edge. Confessing and putting his plan into action was definitely a risk, but at least it had a chance of not going horribly, right? They had been together for three years. It was unlikely that all of that could be ruined by this, even in the worst-case scenario.
Wrapping his fingers around his cup of hot chocolate, Rowan takes a sip, grateful that the other man never called him out on his tendency to stall for thought. The drink is far cooled down now, the taste being more uncomfortable rather than satisfying and relaxing, so he catches one of the remaining marshmallows with his teeth to chew on.
It takes a couple of minutes before he's able to speak again, voice uncharacteristically soft. "I was planning something for a while, but now I'm second-guessing myself. Are you fine to talk about something… kinda, barely, a-bit-yes-a-bit-not serious? And maybe a little sappy? You can say no at any time, but I just wanna know whether to say it or finish off these cinnamon rolls and drop it."
Saeran pauses, considering it. Rowan always liked watching him think, whether it was something a bit serious or more mundane, like which ice cream he wanted Rowan to get from the fridge. Something about seeing his boyfriend lost in thought -- as long as it wasn't in a negative sense -- made him feel strangely happy.
Silently, Saeran nods, snapping the brunette out of his lovestruck trance. Taking in a shaky breath, the nervous man turns his gaze back towards the sunset. Why was it that all the words he had planned out decided to escape him now, of all times?
"So, uh," he starts, already feeling a grave irritation at himself for his clumsy entrance into the topic. Blue eyes watch the other man curl his knees up to his chest, getting comfortable in preparation for whatever words Rowan would be able to stutter out. "I've been thinking. Again. But, for longer, and with a lot more difficulty. Shocking, I know."
Rowan doesn't give time for his quip to sink in. "I care about you so much. I don't say it a lot because I don't wanna overload you with fluff, but even just sitting in silence with you makes me so overwhelmingly happy, happier than I've ever felt before. You've changed my life for the better. I won't go over all that again, because I don't want either of us to cry on our cozy little picnic, but you know you have. You're my favorite person, my best friend, and--" Wait. Shit.
"I'm not proposing," he says suddenly, a bit too loudly, putting his hands up. Saeran jumps a bit at the sudden outburst, making Rowan mumble a quiet apology, but he settles back down easily. "This is… not that. Nuh-uh. That wouldn't be a bad thing," he clarifies, "but that's not what's going on here."
Once the redhead nods in acknowledgment, he tries his best to continue, deciding to abandon the sappy build-up. "I was in the store picking up some ice cream and snacks to restock the minifridge, and, well, right by the entrance, there's the jewelry display. Apparently, they were having a sale, so I popped over to see if they had anything nice."
Reaching into his pocket, Rowan pulls out a tiny velvet pouch, tracing his fingers over the soft material. "Most of it was the normal shit: fake diamonds, overly eccentric junk, a bunch of things that look almost exactly alike being treated like the makers didn't just super-glue a different fake jewel in the same spot. But then I saw one that kinda reminded me of your sweater. I mean, the pearl on it is exactly the same color. And then I went, 'oh! His birthstone is a pearl!', and… ended up getting a bit attached."
His eyes flit up to gauge the other man's reaction. As expected, Saeran's face was almost unreadable, though he was definitely listening. Granted, he hadn't given him much to work with. Good job. You started out sighing and moping like it was some grand big deal and now you're telling him about your grocery store trip. Get to the point.
"I actually found out they were doing a 2-for-1 deal, so I decided if my brain wanted to get that one, I should get another. I was looking at different designs, but I found a pretty similar one, with a black jewel. That's pretty fitting for my style, so I picked it up, and it wasn't until I got out of the store that I realized they matched. Like, really well."
Undoing the drawstring, he shakes the two rings into the palm of his hand and turning them where Saeran could see. With the gems facing away, they looked nearly identical; both with narrow bands, and a small gem pressed on the front. The only thing differentiating them from each other was the contrasting gold and silver metals.
"I know that matching stuff can mean a lot of different things in relationships. Some couples do it just for fun, sometimes things like jewelry can have… stronger meanings. Some people see matching like that as a promise to stick together." Wow, he really did sound like he was proposing, huh? Part of him wants to look up, to see if his last comment had changed anything, but his neck felt stuck in place, paralyzed by his own nerves. The rings noticeably tremble in his hand; he hopes it isn't as visible on Saeran's end.
"And, well… I'm not going anywhere if you aren't. I--" Rowan lets out a shaky sigh, brushing his hair out of his face, something he rarely bothered to do. "Honestly, it's not even as serious as I'm making it out to be. I only thought to do this because my stupid brain got attached to both and I realized, 'hey, you'll look really stupid matching with yourself', and I know your birthstone is a pearl, and I like the color black, so… yeah."
He can't bring himself to look up at the other man, but the silence across from him was almost sickeningly overwhelming. Shoulders slumping, he fiddles with the ring he intended for himself, trying to distract himself from the pit in his stomach.
"I kinda fucked up and made things awkward, but… to shorten down my rambling: do you wanna match these cheap-as-hell rings with me, as some kind of symbolism that we care about each other and won't leave each other, or whatever?" Rowan stumbles over the words, trying to scoop together what was left of his brain into a cohesive sentence.
There's a long pause as the words sink in, the world around him feeling totally still until Saeran leans forward, resting his chin on his knees. "You mean a lot to me, too," he mumbles, voice quiet. It's hard to distinguish any specific emotion with his volume, so Rowan listens intently.
"It's... nice, that you thought of me, and..." Anyone else might be worried over the hesitation and reservedness of the words, but his answer comes as a great relief to the brunette. He's not rejecting anything, or pushing him away; he's taken off-guard, which isn't ideal, but there's no trace of upset or discomfort in his tone. It gives Rowan the courage to look up again.
"I'm not going anywhere either." The redhead parts his lips as if to say more, but can't seem to find the words, closing them again and instead wordlessly holding his hand out, palm up. Rowan presses the pearl ring into his palm, watching with a small smile as he admires it. It hadn't gone poorly. Things were fine. Nothing was falling apart.
Saeran's nose wrinkles in distaste all of a sudden, as if he imagined something unfavorable. For a moment, Rowan feels a spark of panic, but he quickly puts the pieces together. "I've got some necklace chains you can hang it off of at my apartment. They should be long enough to tuck under your sweater so your brother doesn't see. I'm probably gonna wear mine like that, anyways. I can't wear it over my riding gloves."
The other man hums in acknowledgment, the look on his face relaxing into something more content that makes Rowan's heart clench. Finally feeling that nervous knot in his stomach fully slip away, he turns his attention back to the picnic, taking another cinnamon roll and enjoying the silence. It was like nothing had changed, and yet, he felt even happier than before. Though his boyfriend didn't say anything further, he could tell the other man felt the same.
The moment lasts for several minutes, picking away at the food still left in comfortable silence. It's only interrupted by a small splash of water against Saeran's cheek, causing him to blink in surprise and glance upwards. During their distracted peace, a storm was beginning to roll in, the previously white-clouded sky now totally covered in heavy gray clouds.
"Shit," he murmurs under his breath, tearing Rowan's attention away from the brownie he was finishing off. He quickly begins tucking away the food still left out, the other man joining him once he feels a droplet hit his skin.
Saeran is the first one to get to his feet, walking halfway to the car before turning back to watch him. There was no need to; it wasn't as if Rowan would slip away on the slowly wetting grass, or that they'd lose sight of each other, but it simply felt right.
Neither of them say a word as they begin shoving food haphazardly into the backseat, Rowan giving an annoyed huff as he takes note of the lack of room, reaching up between the seats to pop the trunk instead of going around to the front doors. As he wiggles his way back out, his boyfriend's voice surprises him.
"Thank you."
"Mm?" Rowan turns to glance at him, the tenderness in his voice making him momentarily forget the basket of sweets in his arms, the blanket strewn over the top turning dappled with rain.
"For all of this, and…" Saeran raises his hand, showing off the ring now slipped around his finger. "It was good enough to have an excuse to get out, but you still put in more effort to make it perfect. You didn't have to, but you did. Thanks."
It wasn't often that Saeran was the one to fluster him, but the grateful comment had his cheeks heating up. "M-mhm. It wasn't a big deal, I just… wanted to do something nice for you, and wanted to make things more comfortable. I know you get claustrophobic in the bunker, and it's always nice being out this time of year. I thought you'd enjoy it; I'm glad you did. It makes me happy, seeing you happy."
Just as quickly as the redhead had gotten to him, he turned the tables back around, the other man busying himself packing food into the cooler to avoid a response. His joy from the evening going well getting to him, Rowan continues to speak.
"I'm relieved everything went well. I was worried about so many things -- maybe the cooler wouldn't be cold enough and things would melt, or something would get dropped or squished, or you'd think I was weird, that I was doing too much but then that I wasn't doing enough… a bunch of irrational shit like that. So, um… it really was perfect?"
"Yeah, it was." The short answer makes him smile, bouncing on the balls of his feet for a moment when Saeran isn't looking. The other man was never bothered by his stimming, nor did he judge him, but for once, he was the one more embarrassed by his love for the other man.
“Honestly? I had a dream about giving you some big romantic speech like that and wanted to make it real. Only this time, it wasn't as smooth, and the sky doesn’t explode.” Saeran pauses, mid-tucking away the picnic blanket.
“What?”
"Yeah. it was some biiiig date I set up, and I had fireworks and everything, but somehow the fireworks messed up earth's atmosphere and ended up killing all of humanity. Really sucked. This is a lot nicer. Less heat death of the universe and more coziness, y'know.”
Saeran stares incredulously for a moment, finally sighing and shaking his head. “I don’t get how you work at all.” His tone is affectionate despite his words, and the corner of his lips struggle not to twitch up into a smile.
“If I recall correctly, you just signed up to not get me, like, three minutes ago. Forever.” Rowan lifts his hand to close the trunk, pausing before looking back at his boyfriend with a smile, turning and falling into the cozy mess of blankets stuffed into the trunk, wiggling his fingers at the other man.
At the open invitation to cuddle, Saeran doesn't hesitate, shoving the cooler over a bit before moving to settle in front of him and leaning back against his chest with a frown. “You’re implying that I won’t ever get you.“
“Well, I don't know. I don’t have a me manual, pumpkin. If you want one, you’re gonna have to write that yourself. Good luck.”
The redhead tilts his head back to look up at him, lazily brushing his lips against his jawline for just a moment. “Mm, you’re not that complicated. Give me two weeks.”
“Two weeks?!“ Saeran smiles, turning his head away to watch the rain, quietly treasuring the warmth the other man provided. He could handle this forever.
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rare as the glimmer of a comet in the sky
It’s the perfect little getaway, exactly what they needed. It would be even better if she could only stop thinking.
“So, tell me.” Jake holds her hand over the table, forcing her back to reality. “Five top moments for us 2019, go. Countdown-stylez.”
Three different New Year's Eves, as celebrated by Jake and Amy (and Mac).
read on ao3 💕
december 31st, 2019.
The hotel guests checking in before Jake and Amy are a family. A little girl with blonde hair, maybe four or five years old, is carrying her own pink backpack and making up dance steps around her father’s feet as he goes through the information with the receptionist, and an even younger boy is hiding behind his mother’s legs as he watches the people in the lobby with wide eyes. Looking up, Amy realizes that the mother’s open coat is revealing a baby bump, too. She’d put her at six, maybe seven months pregnant. Three kids. Amy feels a pang of jealousy.
Even with the observation skills of an experienced detective, it shocks her how good she’s become at picking out families and pregnant women in any crowd. It’s an interesting talent, but measured against the pain it causes her, Amy wouldn’t call it a very useful one. She notices Jake looking at the kids as well, a daydreaming look on his face, and somehow, that makes her pain worse.
The idea behind going away to a hotel upstate for New Year’s was so they could get away from the stress for a moment; go somewhere else, rest and relax, forget about the pregnancy master calendar they’ve stared themselves blind at for a few days. Amy didn’t realize how impossible it would be to get away from all the other reminders.
She draws a breath of relief when the family in front of them gets the keys to their room, the little girl running first towards the elevator and her brother laughing as he chases after.
“Cute kids,” Jake whispers, watching them longingly.
“Yeah.” Amy tries not to think about the negative pregnancy test she threw away in the bathroom trashcan before they left. “Really cute.”
//
“I’m excited you said we could drink tonight.” Jake toasts his White Russian with her glass of Sauvignon. “It’s been a while.”
“I know, “ Amy feels the guilt wash over her. “Well, it’s not New Year’s Eve every day. I think we’ve earned it.” And I already took a negative test, she thinks.
“We sure have.” He gives her a closer look, pressing his lips together like he always does when he’s worried about her. “Hey, are you okay?”
“Just tired,” she says. It’s not technically a lie. “I didn’t sleep that well last night.”
“Lucky we have a huge hotel bed to help with that tonight, then. Seriously, this place rocks.”
Amy’s prepared to agree on that part – she did her research the moment it stood clear they would both get New Year’s Eve off. After getting their room, they’ve spent the evening getting massages in the hotel spa, dining at the surprisingly nice restaurant, and now they’re admiring the view from the bar on the top floor, waiting for the fireworks. It’s the perfect little getaway, exactly what they needed. It would be even better if she could only stop thinking.
“So, tell me.” Jake holds her hand over the table, forcing her back to reality. “Five top moments for us 2019, go. Countdown-stylez.”
“Number five!” She rolls the r and holds on the i, earning herself an amused look from the older couple next to them. “Okay, I’m going to go with… that date you took me on for my birthday. I can’t believe you got into the puzzle bar this time!”
“I might have convinced the guard to let me in because it was your birthday, but still a good one. Number fooo-uur… the Cinco de Mayo-heist. God, that was fun, even if the tasing hurt like a bitch.”
“Agreed. Number three – when Holt finally invited us to that dinner party and I almost didn’t lose my cool once.”
“You keep telling yourself that, babe. Number two… the Jake way. Seriously, I still think we should try that again. It was awesome.”
“It was, but also way inappropriate,” she reminds him, but he just shrugs. “Number one, then.”
“I know which one is mine, but you go first.”
Amy swallows, then sighs. “Mine is after the manhunt. When we decided to start trying. That’s still my favorite moment.”
“Mine, too.” Jake looks her in the eyes, and she knows the bittersweet feeling is shared. “It’s going to happen, Ames. I know it. Maybe this month’s the one.”
Amy doesn’t have the strength to correct him, tell him she’s already taken an early test and that she’s lacking any confidence there’s going to be a second line when she tests again in a couple of days. Luckily, she doesn’t have to, because right then, the fireworks that have been going off a few at a time in the distance begin to multiply as the countdown starts.
Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four…
Amy leans forward so she can be kissing him already when the new year begins.
Three, two, one… happy new year!
The crowd around them erupts into cheers as the sky glows with colorful explosions when burning bits of metal lighting up the darkness outside. Jake kisses her deeper, seeming to forget that there are people around with a bit of alcohol in his system and his hands cupping her face. For a moment, Amy lets herself just be happy.
~
december 31st, 2020.
The instant Amy closes her eyes for the more-than-well-deserved nap Jake told her to take while he made dinner, Mac begins to cry from his crib again.
“McClane, please,” Amy pleads, as if reasoning with her two-month-old would solve his discontent. “You can't seriously be hungry again, that’s insane.”
She tries with the pacifier first, checking his diaper, even standing up and walking around with him for a bit to eliminate anything else, but Mac is still clenching his fists and only looking even more furious with her, so Amy gives in. She sits down with him again, unhooks one side of the bra and lets him find his grip, exhaling when the peaceful suckles begin and the desperate crying finally ceases. She swears it looks like her son is side-eyeing her for taking too long, but to her defense, she fed him for a good forty-five minutes only a little over an hour ago and it's exhausting being used like a human pacifier. Growth spurt, Camila Santiago said when Amy called her in tears yesterday, and the problem-shooting section in the 0-3 months baby-binder had agreed. Amy would argue that sounds way too innocent for something which is turning her otherwise happy and smiley baby into a constantly hungry and crying mini-monster who won't close his eyes for more than twenty minutes at a time.
There's a soft knock on the door after a few minutes, and Jake peeks in. He’s wearing his fancy kitchen apron, which Charles gave him for Christmas with the comment that there’s nothing sexier than a dad who can cook. It hasn’t magically improved his cooking skills, but Amy’s willing to admit that it does look good on him.
“You guys doing okay?”
“He is, for now. I’m going crazy. How’s our dinner going?”
“Well, I haven’t burnt it yet, but there’s still time,” he grimaces, sitting down at the foot of the bed. “Do you need anything, babe?”
“Sleep, but that’s not going to happen.” Amy rubs her eyes. “It’s fine. He’s got to fall asleep at some point, though, this is nuts.”
“Don’t challenge him, he’s breaking records,” Jake says, leaning forward to tickle Mac’s feet. Mac reacts by kicking at the boob he’s not currently feeding from, making Amy curse. “Oops, sorry. Anyway, I’m sure he will fall asleep at some point, and we can have a nice, calm New Year’s dinner. I mean, he has to be exhausted, right?”
“God, I hope so. I’m starving.” She can see Mac’s eyelids getting heavy, but every time she thinks they’re about to fall closed, it’s like he twitches and stares at her, wide awake. “He’s lucky he’s cute.”
Jake grins. “Lucky indeed.”
Mac starts pulling away at that moment, a little bit of milk still dribbling from his cheeks. Amy reaches for one of the muslin blankets that’s never more than a few feet away in their home nowadays, lifting him so he’s upright against her shoulder and patting him on the back. She expects a burp, but instead, she gets an unpleasant surprise when he spits up, managing to get sour baby puke down her back and in her already greasy hair. She groans, giving Jake an exhausted look when she sees him stifling a chuckle.
“Hey, I’ll take him. You go take a shower and I’ll put him in the BabyBjörn. Maybe that will do it.”
“That’s the hottest thing you’ve ever said,” Amy mumbles, and she’s not entirely kidding.
She makes the shower as long as she possibly can. Most days, she has to shower with Mac in the baby bouncer on the bathroom floor, so even the chance to be alone in the bathroom for more than five minutes feels like a luxury. She lets the shampoo really lather and the conditioner take its time to sink in, trying to massage the knots in her neck and shoulders under the hot water. She can hear Mac still fussing from the kitchen, and it makes her feel guilty even though he’s barely left her arms today.
“He’s fine,” she whispers to herself like a mantra. “He’s fine. Jake can handle it. He’s perfectly fine. Everything’s okay. You deserve this.”
She still skips the make-up and nicer clothes she had been planning to put on, throwing on a pair of maternity leggings and one of Jake’s old hoodies instead.
The dinner looks fantastic, some sort of chicken baked in the oven with rice and a lemon sauce, and Amy’s actually impressed. She imagines it would have been even nicer if she could have eaten it warm and together with Jake, but they only make it through toasting in orange soda and the first two bites before Mac wakes up from his ten-minute-nap, wailing as if he truly believed he’d just been abandoned. They end up having to take turns eating and walking laps around the living room with him, because he starts crying again if they stop moving for a second or as much as make an attempt to put him down. Amy is suddenly relieved they said no to her brother Tony’s New Year’s party-invite.
She can barely believe it when after what feels like the fiftieth or so feed of the day, Mac falls asleep. Curled up like a little frog on her chest and letting out the cutest of baby snores, he finally seems to relax, and Amy doesn’t even dare to breathe too sharply for the first ten minutes. Eventually, though, once it seems like he’s not going to wake up from the slightest movement or a raised voice anymore, Jake tucks them both in under a blanket and gets the Ben and Jerry’s from the freezer and orange soda from the fridge. Then he gets another blanket for himself, and they snuggle up together in the corner of the sofa in front of the tv. From live footage at Times Square, Amy can see crowds of people waiting for the ball to drop.
“Wishing you were there?” Jake winks, but she just laughs.
“Are you kidding? Cold, crowded, and you can never even get a good view. This is better in every way.” She strokes her thumb over Mac’s dark hair. “I have this one and you. That’s all I need. And ice cream,” she adds, digging out a piece of cookie dough from the tub.
“You’re right, it’s pretty damn close to perfection. Top five moments of 2020?”
Amy shakes her head, pointing to Mac. “No point. They’re all about him, anyway, and they’re all too good to compare.”
“True that.” Jake shakes his head. “Hey, isn’t it crazy that although he’s been kind of a nightmare today, I’ve already forgiven him?”
“No, it makes perfect sense, because I’ve almost wanted to give him away several times and now I can’t even remember why.”
“Having a baby makes us kind of crazy, huh?”
“Oh, absolutely. I wouldn’t change it for the world, though.”
“Me neither. Not even if I was offered a role in the next Die Hard-movie and Taylor Swift did the soundtrack.”
“That’s pretty big,” Amy laughs, leaning in for a quick kiss. “Would Taylor Swift do the soundtrack for Die Hard, though? Realistically speaking?”
“It’s a daydream, Ames!”
She has no time for a comeback, though, because right then, the countdown starts on the tv and Jake raises the volume a few bars so they can hear.
Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four…
p;
“New Year’s kiss,” Amy says, holding Mac up slightly so they can both reach him.
Three, two, one… happy new year!
They both smother his cheeks with kisses at the same time as the fireworks explode over the sky in the distance outside their windows and the crowd begins to cheer on tv. Mac doesn’t even flinch, completely oblivious to the celebrations going on outside. Amy sighs.
“How can he magically sleep through all of this, but wake up the second I put him down in his crib at night?”
Jake shrugs. “Babies, man.”
~
december 31st, 2021.
Amy has only started to take off Mac’s winter overall before he starts trying to flee, kicking wildly with his boots and pointing towards the kitchen where he’s already spotted Rosa. Jake notices her struggle and is quick to help her, and the instant the toddler is free, he hurries off towards his best friend.
“Wo-wo-wo-wo-wo-wo!”
“Mac! Hey, happy new year, man!” Before Amy can even take off her own jacket, Mac is already in Rosa’s arms and babbling excitedly as he plays with her gold necklace. Amy wonders how much of what Mac’s saying actually makes sense to Rosa, but she’s nodding and smiling and seems to have abandoned whoever she was previously talking to in favor of the one-year-old.
“Jake. Amy.” Kevin appears to take their coats, shaking their hands. “Welcome. Drinks and hors d’oeuvres are in the living room, and I see your small child has made himself at home.”
“He found Rosa, yep.” Jake grins. “And he has a name.”
“Ah, yes… McClane.” Kevin nods. “Very well. I have to go check on… the kitchen. Enjoy your evening.”
“He’s never going to like me,” Jake whispers to Amy the moment he’s left.
“Well, I think we both might have lost a few points with the name choice, babe.”
“He’s one to talk names, he’s got a dog named after a cheese!”
“I know, but we can’t tell him that. Come on, Jake, I have to find something to chew on before I get sick.”
“You can always blame it on the alcohol, if you do.”
“Jake.”
“Just kidding,” he grins. “You go check on Mac and Rosa and I’ll locate the snacks.”
It turns out Rosa is more than willing to guard Mac for the evening, currently showing him the model train she's found in the library. Mac is watching with focus as Rosa helps him turn on the button that makes the train drive around the tracks, laughing as it lets out a choo-choo sound.
“Your son is much cooler than the rest of these lame partygoers,” she shrugs when Amy asks her if she's sure it's fine. “He says what he's thinking, unlike the rest of all these dum-dums.”
“Dum-dums,” Mac repeats, proud. Rosa nods.
“Exactly. I’ll call you if something happens.”
And so, in an unexpected turn of events, Amy finds herself able to sit down for most of the evening without having to chase a wild toddler around to keep him from whatever dangers he could somehow manage to get himself into in Holt’s and Kevin’s house. She supposes it looks quite antisocial of her, and maybe it is, but she’s six weeks pregnant and the early symptoms of nausea and fatigue seem to be coming on both stronger and faster the second time around, so Amy doesn’t really care. She’s got lemon sparkling water for a non-alcoholic drink, a paper plate of carrot sticks, salted crisps and almonds, and she’s not going to talk to anyone unless they sit down next to her. It’s practically heaven. Jake checks on her from time to time, assuring her multiple times that they can just leave early if she wants to, but however tired she feels, Amy doesn’t want to insult Holt that badly. They’re staying until midnight as per proper New Year’s party etiquette, and then — and not a second later — they can go home so she can crash in bed.
Rosa finds her again when Mac begins to get sleepy, rubbing his eyes and yawning but still shaking his head when Amy asks if he's feeling a little tired. He crawls over to her arms anyway, laying his head on her shoulder and hugging his arms around her chest.
“Thanks for looking after him,” she tells Rosa, but she just shrugs.
“No worries. I don't get to hang out with him enough. Your kid is dope.”
“Douh,” Mac whispers, mimicking her, and Rosa laughs.
“Repeats every word you tell him, too,” Amy says. “Yeah, he’s pretty awesome. Come over to our apartment at five-thirty in the morning on any weekend and you can hang out with him all you want. I won't stop you.”
Rosa scrunches her nose. “I’ll consider it.”
“He’s in a great mood then, I can assure you that.”
“I'll take your word for it. Also, Jake was tipsy talking baby names with some etymology professor when I saw him last, and he seemed very intense about it for a guy who's not currently thinking of naming any new babies. Or?” She raises an eyebrow.
“No, he just get thats intense when somebody implies McClane is a weird name,” Amy says, and makes a note to herself to remind Jake about their agreement not to tell anyone else at least until the twelve-week mark. “Which, to be fair, I warned him that people would think. But here we are anyway.”
“It is a weird name. Couldn’t imagine him being called anything else, though, even if I still don’t understand why you agreed to it.”
“There was a really good PowerPoint involved.”
Rosa looks at her questioningly, but Amy shakes her head, knowing there’s no point in explaining the unexplainable.
“Hmm. You guys are weird. You make pretty great kids, though.”
“Yeah.” Mac has fallen asleep by now, drooling a little bit on Amy’s shoulder. She kisses the top of his head and thinks of the abstract idea of her second kid, the thump-thump of an already present heartbeat they got so lucky as to hear on an early ultrasound yesterday. “The best.”
As midnight draws closer, most of the guests take on jackets, scarves and shoes to venture out into the garden to watch fireworks. Not wanting to be left out, Amy and Jake manage to get a half-sleeping Mac, who wakes up suddenly interested when he hears about the promise of fireworks, into his overall and join them. It’s a surprisingly good view from the garden, the cold winter air waking them up, and Jake points out the vibrant displays in the sky to a drowsy Mac, who blinks at them dazedly. It’s so cute it makes Amy tear up. Being both a mom and newly pregnant does that to her; she’s given up trying to fight it.
It’s hard to believe that two years ago, she was toasting in champagne in a hotel bar and wondering if they would ever make a baby together, and now she’s standing in a garden watching Jake with their one-year-old son and knowing that next New Year’s, if all goes well, they’ll be parents of two.
“What are you thinking of?” Jake must see her tears, because he looks worried, but Amy just smiles.
“Just how quickly things can change. How happy I am. And how much I love you.”
“Love you, too. Top three-hundred-and-sixty-five moments of this year,” Jake says, hugging her close so they’re standing in a little family bubble. “Every single day I get to wake up with and then come home to my family.”
Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four…
They both lean in so they can smother their son with kisses, and he laughs as he figures out what’s about to happen.
Three, two, one… happy new year!
The sky explodes with color, Jake and Amy attack their son with kisses, and as the new year begins, Amy thinks she might just be the luckiest person in the entire world.
~
#happy new year!#my writing#b99#peraltiago#jake x amy#b99 fic#peraltiago fic#i've spent twenty minutes trying to fix the spacing on this and it still won't work because tumblr is a fucking hellsite#read it on ao3 if you want spaces
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Trying To Balance With A Part Of Yourself Missing
Summary: Thor bargains with Odin on Loki's sentence, and he wins. Loki is moved with the Avengers to fix his past mistakes. But Odin's term changes everything, and Loki's foe is not their mistakes, but their self-image.
Warnings: each chapter has individual, the work in general is pretty dark
Notes: When a dialogue of Loki is in bold, he is speaking English. And when a line is in italics without a dialogue, it's an intrusive thought.
Chapter 5: The Doctor
Chapter summary: Banner takes Loki for the tests.
Warnings: Language, gender dysphoria, gender dysmorphia, internalized racism, intrusive thoughts, needles, blood, medical themes, mentions of child neglect [not on screen], mentions of self harm [not on screen]
First | Previous | AO3 | Next
This time, Friday wakes them up, reminding them of the appointment with Banner. Loki groans and drags himself out of the bed and into the bathroom, it's better to get rid of that smell, at least for as long as it can hold.
At least Loki doesn't have to look at their body as they wash themselves, an advantage of blindness they didn't think of until now. Still, being forced to touch all the time is unpleasant and uncomfortable to no end. And trying to wash his hair without scratching his hands on the horns or his claws scratching his scalp is a task unimaginably difficult.
Loki now understands why Jötnar run around naked, wearing a shirt with these horns is almost impossible. But, they must hide the chest plate, at least from everyone but Thor. And Banner, after the examination. And, shit, he probably has to take breakfast with them…
They sigh and glance at the mirror, only to make sure they don't look so much for a mess. His appearance is acceptable, so he takes the now charged earpiece and walks away, wearing it as Friday starts instructing.
A hand touches their shoulder, making them flinch away. Thor, the owner of the hand, mutters something, probably an apology, but he can't hear it thanks to Friday. They take a breath out and smile at Thor, muttering a good morning. Thankfully, Friday stops talking.
"How are you feeling? You look…" Thor trails off, trying to appear as polite as possible.
"F-f-feverish? It's fi-fine, just-just a b-bad day," he brushes off, suddenly glad that he doesn't need Friday's translations.
"But, you're ill," Thor argues, making Loki sigh.
"I'm not-not, it's a bad d-day," they answer.
"Loki, you can't fool me. You're unwell, why don't you admit it?" he groans. Truth be told, Loki rarely admits any weakness with ease. As long as one can walk, there's no need for whining, Odin had said countless times and Loki never stopped obeying.
"I d-d-do. It's a b-bad da-day," he speaks slowly and as clearly as possible.
"Loki, you're having a fever. It's not just a bad day, and you are allowed to admit that you're ill. Please," Thor begs, actually begs. If Loki wasn't so pissed off, they'd be touched.
He pulls Thor closer, mostly to maintain some secrecy. "I am on m-m-my pe-pe-period," they hiss, watching as Thor's last brain cell comes to life.
"Oh… well, this explains the irritability of yours, brother. You know your patience always runs low these days," Thor nods, all matter-of-factly. Loki has to take deep breaths and remind themselves again and again that murder is a convicted crime, and they should not get locked up in a Midgardian prison. Or any prison, anytime soon.
Luckily, Thor remains silent after that. The only one who breaks the silence is Friday, reminding Loki that he can't eat before a blood test, or the results will not be accurate. Fine, they didn't really feel hungry anyway.
Perhaps, if you skip today's food entirely, you'll lose that disgusting bloating of yours. He tries hard to not grimace at the thought. No, they have to remind themselves, it will leave after a few days, it always does. Just do the damn tests and then eat, it's not that hard.
When they reach the kitchen, Loki can feel eyes on him and a mix of confusion and irritation in the air. Alright, just stay quiet and it will pass.
Wanda mutters a good morning, her magic swirling around her like some form of shield or blanket. Loki repeats the wish, forcing a smile. They don’t know which is worse, the jealousy building up or the guilt over the last time they listened to that feeling.
Thor helps him find a chair in the bright chaos, and even pulls it. For fucks sake, they're not unable to sit on a fucking chair! He tries to prove it by being the one who adjusts it on the table.
"Morning, dude. How're you feeling?" a man asks, Wilson. Just by his voice, he sounds kind, less judgemental.
"Fine, thank you for asking," they answer, plastering another fake smile (one of the best skills being a prince has given them).
Still, Wanda is seeing through it and attempts to find out, by using a simple mind invading spell. One that makes the base of Loki's skull feel ablaze. As loud as he can, he thinks of the word stop, making Wanda pause and retreat, her curiosity replaced with shame.
Then, a conversation occurs. Loki doesn't want to take part, but the combination of the voices and Friday's translations is overwhelming, making his head pound. Friday catches the message and stops translating, but the voices are still too fucking loud. Loki sighs and decides to just take a sip of water, and see if it'll help, but it turns to ice before it touches their lips. But fuck, he's thirsty and in pain.
A hand touches their shoulder, and they jump up, turning around to see a short person dressed in purple. "Are you ready for the tests?" He asks, Banner. Loki nods and gets up, pardoning himself before walking away.
"Are you okay?" he asks, making Loki groan.
"Wh-wh-wh-why does e-e-everyone ask me-me if I'm okay? I'm f-f-fine!" they snap, stopping only after feeling Banner freeze.
"I asked because you looked like you were about to start crying over there. No offence, they can be loud sometimes, but you didn't seem like you were taking it well," he answers, half expecting his skull to be crushed. But Loki is just ashamed he didn't hide the pain better.
"N-n-n-none t-taken. Noise is not exactly we-we-we-welcome, and I used to to-to-tone it down w-w-with spells. Now, I c-c-c-can't," they explain, just beginning to collect themselves.
"You know, you can ask Friday to deafen, if you use the earpieces. It helps," he suggests. Loki nods, happy with the silence that they fall into. At least Banner doesn't feel like he has to talk all the time, even though he's nervous. He's still afraid of him, even though it's not necessary any more.
The lab is a fucking bright room, Loki has to cover their eyes and let Banner navigate them, after lowering the lights.
During the examination, Loki comes to realize that Asgard and Midgard are opposite when it comes to healing. First, Banner promises secrecy, any information stays private until Loki asks for a leak, or in a life or death situation. And then, he just asks about everything and listens to the answer. No doubt, no comments and no painful examinations with leeches or smelly potions that make people’s skin pink. Well, the examination on light sensitivity was painful, and Loki swears to piss on the grave of whoever thought a flashlight in the eyes is a good idea, but the rest were fine.
When he was young, Odin would not easily believe Loki, no matter what. The times when they were forced in hunts that were leaving them in the healing wing for weeks or feasts until they faint on their plate due to fever are uncountable. The show would usually begin with Loki faking the illness because he’s lazy, come to its climax when Loki would be deemed delicate and weak while being tossed in the healing wing and the parade of hypocrisy would end after Loki returns to his chamber only to be forgotten there. Loki learned two lessons from this. One, if they can stand up, they're not ill, and they shouldn't bother other people with whining. And two, if he's truly ill, it's wiser to deal with it on his own than let others draw conclusions.
The change feels so odd, yet it’s so welcome.
Until the time for the blood test.
"Just follow my instructions, I'll make it as painless as I can," he promises, and then instructs Loki to lift their sleeve and show the armpit, the non-dominant one. Loki doesn't show his nervousness, and tries to appear as cold as possible when he reveals the hand, and everything he's done to it. Banner doesn't comment and doesn't show pity, but his skin grows just green enough for Loki's eyes to notice.
The other instructions were easy. Clench the fist, breathe in, breathe out and relax the hand. Banner is surprised to say the least when he sees the tube filling with blue liquid instead of red, but doesn't comment.
Do you think he could bleed you dry and be done with this shit show? Loki hitches a breath and clinches their stomach, stopping when the sound of something breaking and a hot pain blooms in their arm. Did he freeze the tube and break the needle?
Banner fetches something from a table and grabs Loki's hand, muttering something about getting the needle out. Loki hisses from the pain, and manages to freeze Banner's glove, but he still covers their hand with gauzes. The white starts turning blue and freezing in some parts, Banner is about to do something about it but Loki hums a no.
"Do you want to try again?" he asks, Loki could feel how he was expecting a negative answer. But he nods a yes and covers his right hand, so he’ll uncover the left one and clench. This time, they don't dare looking at the needle and mentally play some random songs for a distraction. Banner tells him to clench again, and then gives him some cotton to press in the hole before he vanishes behind some machine.
"What were you humming?" Banner asks, making Loki's face go ablaze.
"I… em… a song," they mutter, and mentally berate themselves for the lack of words. Banner laughs, but not out of malice. And he hands over a paper box and a bag. Loki stares at him and tilts his head, but Banner tries to brush it off as "something that's always done when someone gets a blood test". As if Loki is also a fool, apart from blind.
They're about to get dismissed and leave when Friday tell them via the earpiece that Banner will ask questions when he sees the test results. Loki sighs, it's better to be the one who tells him, right?
"Ba-banner, about th-th-the te-te-te-test, y-you may so-see some… abnormalities in th-th-the tests. It's n-normal, yet-yet-yet uncomfortable," they trail off, feeling confusion on Banner's side instead of clarity.
"Would you mind being more specific? I need to know what to ignore,"
"Hormonal, m-mostly… on, em…" he groans in frustration, feeling like an absolute fool, "on me-me-menstruation hormones… and y-y-yes, I kn-know wh-what it implies. B-but, d-don't tell anyone, only Th-th-th-thor knows," they get it out, waiting for a myriad of feeling emit from Banner. But he just makes a small oh sound and hands over another paper package.
"I guess you'll find them easier than tampons. If you finish them, just come to me. Don't try to steal Nat's, you'll be disappointed, and possibly earn a chinned tooth," he smiles, but Loki can sense the warmth from saying Romanov's name. Love, he concludes, what a complication when towards your co-worker, from what he's heard.
"W-w-w-we're done?" they raise an eyebrow and look down at Banner, glad he doesn't look afraid. Interesting, just enough inspection, and he isn't afraid any more. What a gullible scientist.
"Friday will find anything we missed, and she can help Tony make you some glasses, if you decide you want them, or inspect the brain damage from the other guy," he answers. Loki nods and is about to turn around, before thinking twice about the answer he got.
"W-w-wait, wh-wh-wh-what brain d-damage?" they blink. Apart from the nightmares, thoughts, flashbacks, headaches and general fuckery, his brain works perfectly. Well, perfectly might be an exaggeration, but the Hulk hasn’t done anything.
"You're telling me you walked around with a dead ear since the Attack and didn't notice?" Banner is now the one to raise an eyebrow.
"I w-w-was in so-so-solitary c-c-confinement until y-y-yesterday. Not much to h-h-h-hear," they explain. But… he should have heard Thor coming today in the corridor…
"Yeah, your left ear is dead, or the nerves getting messages from there to your brain. You can thank the other guy, and there's nothing to be done," he isn't exactly mild on announcing another damage on this throughout fucked up body, but it doesn't exactly matter. So, they just nod and go back to hiding under their sheets, but this time they make Friday play some music, just to cover up the silence.
~~~~~~
Taglist: @lucywrites02 @electroma89 @the-emo-asgardian @rorybutnotgilmore @hybrid-in-progress @weirdfangirl2416 @darkacademicfrom2021 @nicoistrying
#marvel fanfic#marvel fanfiction#mcu fanfiction#marvel fic#tw gender dysphoria#tw body dysmorphia#tw language#tw racism#tw needles#tw blood#tw intrusive thoughts#tw medical#tw self harm#tw child neglect#cw self harm#angst#heavy angst#hurt/comfort#jotunn loki#loki needs a hug#genderfluid loki#odin's a+ parenting#incomplete#work in progress#queer characters#ace characters#aro characters
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You Make My Heart Smile
So, happy (belated) birthday, Tina @tnapki Your edits make me smile (pardon the pun) and I wanted to thank you for that and everything you bring to the fandom.
I based it on your GORGEOUS EDIT
I also made it about food cause it’s SO you. On AO3 HERE
Also thanks to the gorgeous Kait @an-awesome-wavve for being amazing and my part brainstorm, part beta, part researcher and part undercover partner in crime.
Renowned Chef Klaus Mikaelson has a bad reputation until he meets food blogger Caroline Forbes and has no idea how to handle her or the unfamiliar feelings she evokes, especially that annoying ability to make him smile.
3 May - Alinea - 1723 N. Halsted St, Chicago IL - 3pm
“I’m not going to do some stupid interview, you know I have other, more important things to do, right?”
Klaus Mikaelson didn’t do interviews. He didn’t need to because his accomplishments spoke for themselves. He hadn’t slogged away in kitchens since he was twelve and worked his way through culinary school and some of the best restaurants to waste his time.
Being a world-renowned chef owning not one, but four, three-Michelin-starred restaurants across the globe meant he could do whatever the hell he wanted.
But yet here she was running his life.
Still.
“Like yell at me? I mean, you’ve been doing that since we were little so I guess it’s nothing I haven’t experienced before. ”
“I knew I should have never mixed business and family,” he snapped. “You always throw our childhood back in my face as an excuse to insult my life choices.”
“Because it’s too easy not to,” she pouted, flicking a stray, blonde lock over her shoulder. “And, while I am unfortunately related to your sorry ass, I am also your publicist and this interview is good for your career.”
“I don’t need publicity.”
“Correction, you do need publicity,” she argued, her fork now attacking the very veal he’d cooked with more fervour than needed.
“Easy on the product, little sister,” Klaus growled, his protectiveness for his art on full display.
“Oh, silly me I thought it was already dead,” she shot back, tartly. “And before you interrupted, I was going to say that, yes maybe you shouldn’t need publicity given your career achievements, but that was before you dropped an entree on the food critic’s lap from the Chicago Tribune, fired your sous chef in front of the entire restaurant and insulted Gordon Ramsey on national television.”
“Ramsey is a sell out, I stand by my comments,” he muttered. “The critic had it coming and, now you mention it, so too did that sorry excuse for a sous chef.”
“You realise people call you the angry chef, right?”
“Better than the naked chef I suppose.” He shrugged his shoulders indifferently. Klaus wasn’t in the business for gimmicks or to secure his own cooking program. He took his food seriously and there was nothing wrong with that.
“At least people like Jamie Oliver,” she replied, arching her eyebrows knowingly. “Anyway, there’s no point in arguing because she’ll be here in five minutes.”
“Please tell me you didn’t just schedule an interview without my permission?”
1717 N. Halsted St, 3:10pm
“What’s with the expression of impending doom, Care Bear?” He asked, lugging his camera equipment as they walked up the block toward Alinea.
“What have I told you about calling me that?”
“Not to do it but it’s too fun not to, Care Bear.” Given his general maturity level, Caroline decided it was a losing battle and she had more important things on her mind.
“Anyway, it’s not doom,” she muttered. “It’s just the overwhelming desire not to do this interview but given I don’t want to get fired and also pay my rent, there’s no other option.”
“Is someone afraid of the angry chef?”
“Oh, puh-lease, I’m not afraid. Although, I might not be able to bite my tongue if he decides to insult me like he did Gordon Ramsey.”
Caroline wasn’t one to judge but his indiscretions were well-known and well-documented. Although, chefs with egos weren’t an entirely new phenomenon to the industry or to Caroline given interviewing them was her job.
“You and I both know Ramsey deserved that dressing down, if anything Mikaelson earned my respect that day.” Caroline couldn’t argue with that.
Although this one was another kind of beast.
The effortlessly attractive kind.
For Caroline, this was an unsettling prospect. Until she reminded herself why she was here in the first place.
Caroline loved food. Sometimes, she thought, more than life itself.
So, when she became a food blogger after graduating with a journalism degree from Northwestern, it wasn’t a surprise. She was currently the senior blogger at popular food blog Delicious.
“You love food and writing about it,” Was Enzo reading her mind? “How about instead of focusing on the negative, remember that this will be your biggest interview yet. Think about all of the exposure this will garner.”
The upper echelons of Delicious had decided that an interview with Klaus Mikaelson would be a big scoop. Caroline was all for interviewing chefs about their food and the passion behind it but she knew her editor wanted something less about his craft and more about his bad boy reputation.
“Yes, but I want to write about food, not produce tabloid fodder.”
“Just think, once you do this then maybe you’ll have enough of a following to start your own blog and write what you want and not what someone tells you to do.”
“Mmmm, you do have a point.”
“Of course I do because Enzo knows everything. Also, take me with you because you’d be lost without me, sweetcheeks.”
“Third person, huh? That ego of yours knows no bounds, Lorenzo.”
“You know it, Care Bear,” he joked, flashing his most dazzling smile. “Well, looks like we’re here.”
“Looks like it,” she murmured, noting the intimidating sign overhead and wondering what she’d gotten herself into. “Here goes nothing.”
3:15pm
“Caroline Forbes?”
“You must be Rebekah and this is my photographer Lorenzo St John.”
Klaus, who’d been throwing a temper tantrum not one minute ago, found himself looking up into the blue eyes of one Caroline Forbes. Suddenly, all of the white noise of the moment fell away and it was just the two of them in the room together and the blonde in question was looking at him expectantly.
It was paralysing.
But good paralysing he decided.
“Nik?” Rebekah questioned. Now they were both looking at him. Had he zoned out and not realised it? Well, if so, this was all kinds of embarrassing. “Caroline is the senior blogger for Delicious and she’s here for that interview, you know the one we talked about earlier?”
Yeah, ten minutes earlier, he thought to himself doing everything he could not to bite back in front of the new arrival.
“It’s nice to meet you Mr Mikaelson, I have to say I’m a big fan of your…”
“Look, it’s not going to be possible, I have to prep for dinner service,” he lied, although regretted it immediately when he noticed her expression. Klaus wasn’t used to being nice, it wasn’t in his DNA and usually it didn’t bother him.
Until now.
Klaus decided to blame it on the foreign feelings she was causing. As soon as he got some distance between them it would be fine, especially that vanilla scent he couldn’t ignore given it was infiltrating his first line of defence.
Klaus liked women, in fact he slept with many when his busy schedule permitted, but that was sex and nothing else. Just the way he liked it, easy and unemotional.
“Why don’t we multitask then? I’m happy to help. ” Her voice was light and melodic. Klaus was hoping it wasn’t going to sound so enticing. He also wasn’t expecting that response. “I worked in a restaurant kitchen for years, I can do dishes, polish cutlery and peel a mean potato and an onion, well almost without crying.”
Why was he buoyed by that ridiculous statement and increasingly trying not to flash her a goofy smile?
Klaus didn’t smile. He just didn’t. Ever.
This wasn’t how he saw his day going at all. He was going to kill Rebekah. Before he could reply, the current subject of his ire spoke.
“That sounds like a fantastic idea,” she grinned. “How about Lorenzo and I make ourselves scarce then?”
“It’s actually Enzo, darling, you sound a bit too much like my mother and my oppressive boss Care Bear here.”
Klaus hadn’t even realised there was someone else in the room up until this point but it was clear Caroline wasn’t too impressed by his nickname or the oppressive part. Maybe they had more in common than he thought?
Care Bear. Klaus thought it was adorable. Then he could feel it, that idiotic urge to smile again.
Before he could object again, Rebekah had made a quick exit with the photographer and she was just standing there. Klaus could feel the awkward tension between them and knowing he’d caused it wasn’t helping matters. But he didn’t know any other way to act.
Then the words he’d struggled with just tumbled out.
“How do you feel about fish?”
Not the most suave topic or question but this was his ‘uncomfort’ zone.
“Depends on the context.”
“The context?”
“I mean, if you think I can clean, fillet and debone a fish, you’ve obviously overestimated my cooking talents.”
Klaus had to practically eat the smile that was threatening to appear. Again.
“Everyone has to start somewhere and get their hands a bit dirty, otherwise what’s the point?” He advised. “But, if you don’t want to then…”
“Oh, I never back away from a challenge, chef,” she promised.
Again, the pesky smile was hovering just beneath the surface.
Leading her towards the kitchen, Klaus told himself that preparing a fish was definitely going to keep his emotions at bay and also block out that perfume which was throwing him off balance.
4:45pm
“Why do I feel like this was a ploy to distract me from my interview?” Caroline asked, dipping the fish into egg wash and then flour as instructed by her cooking mentor for the day..
This was not how she saw her day going. It was surreal to say the least. This guy was supposed to be an ogre but Caroline was realising he was something else entirely.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he shot back. “But you filleted that fish like a professional, maybe you’ve missed your true calling?”
“I suppose I had a semi-good teacher,” she admitted wryly.
“Wow, tell me what you really think, Forbes.”
Caroline was trying not to to get too caught up in the moment but Klaus Mikaelson had challenged every judgment she’d ever harboured about the temperamental chef. He’d been unusually kind and patient.
The one thing she’d noticed was that his overall demeanour didn’t match his expression.
He didn’t smile.
Not once.
A few times, Caroline could swear it was close or maybe she was just imagining it?
“So, why do you like food?” It was a question she wasn’t expecting. Especially seeing as she was the interviewer and him her subject.
“Isn’t that what I’m supposed to be asking you?” He was silent for a moment, almost like he was contemplating it. “But I get the impression you don’t like that question much?”
“I’d much prefer to hear your story first, call it a warm-up.” Clearly he was nervous and Caroline was happy to oblige if it helped.
“My grandmother,” she smiled knowingly, visions of her nana filling her head. “When I was younger I’d go to her house most weekends and we’d cook together. She could make anything and everything. She died last year and it’s been tough without her but at least I still have those memories.”
Caroline didn’t mean to get personal, especially with the so-called “angry chef” but for some reason she felt nothing but comfort in his presence, even if he didn’t smile.
“What was her specialty?”
“Banana cream cheesecake,” she smiled, the taste of it rushing back in all its delicious glory.
“Hard to beat,” he murmured. “Have you ever eaten a Bananas Foster? My restaurant in New Orleans does a modern version over flame. According to my maitre’d there’ve apparently been a few proposals over dessert.”
“Over your dessert?”
“Someone sounds dubious. Let’s just say it’s fireworks but without the danger. Well, unless the tablecloth is accidentally set on fire but the fire department down there are pretty good first responders I understand.”
“I just didn’t take you for the romantic dessert type.”
“I suppose there’s a lot of things you don’t know about me then.”
“So, why do you like food then?”
“Well, of course I like food, I wouldn’t be a chef otherwise,” he shared, moving swiftly in behind her and taking the fillets from her hand and placing them in the hot pan, Caroline was trying not to react to his touch or that welcoming and heady mixture of sandalwood, spices and soap . “But one interview isn’t going to even begin to answer that question.”
He had a point and Caroline knew it. How could you sum up what food meant to you in one interview?
“So, what exactly are you trying to say? I do have a deadline to meet.”
“How about we schedule a follow-up interview tomorrow morning? Dinner service is imminent and if you stay I’m going to have to ask you to do more than fillet a fish. My pastry chef Lucien is also very needy, requires constant gratification, and you don’t want to be on the receiving end of that.”
“Not gonna lie I’m intrigued and by that I’m talking about Lucien. Did you insult his choux pastry or something?”
“Not if I want my patrons to eat dessert this century. But, if you insist on staying, there’s a whole pile of onions there with your name on it and we can call it even.”
“You wouldn’t dare.” He raised his left eyebrow by way of response. Caroline was trying to ignore just how good he looked, even if there was no smile forthcoming.
“Fine,” she conceded. “Tomorrow morning but that’s it otherwise my editor might fire me.”
“Great, let’s make it 10:30, you can poach an egg, right? And I also expect extra crispy bacon.”
Caroline knew she was possibly in trouble and not because he was tasking her with cooking. Enzo would also parrot that particular concern but she couldn’t help herself.
Today was probably the best day she’d had in a long time and she didn’t want it to end. She told herself that she’d return tomorrow and get her interview, that’s all she wanted from him, right?
4 May - Alinea - 1723 N. Halsted St, Chicago IL - 11am
Klaus Mikaelson was in uncharted territory.
That’s what scared him the most.
Caroline Forbes was seated across from him at his best, window table in jeans and a cream sweater, her plate empty and a very full but satisfied look on her face. Klaus decided to add that to his favourite expressions file. It was fast filling up and he’d only known her for 20 hours.
He wasn’t this guy.
At all.
But she’d consumed his thoughts since their first meeting and all night through dinner service and beyond. He’d barely slept, but it wasn’t a bad thing. He’d been looking forward to seeing her as soon as she left.
The only problem? Not smiling because it was that difficult when she was in his presence. He had his reasons of course.
“So, why do you love food? And no arguments given I poached a mean egg and also let you have a reprieve yesterday.”
“The bacon could use some work, just saying.”
“Well, you’re more than welcome to cook itself yourself, Mikaelson. Are you always such a critic? Last time I checked that was my job. Also enough with the distractions. So?”
“My mum,” he admitted quietly, even if it took a minute or so to verbalise. For some reason her opening up about her grandmother had filled him with courage. He didn’t do feelings or talk about them for that matter. “She cooked with me practically from birth until she got too sick last year.”
Those last words wobbled, it was unfortunate as it was expected. He’d struggled for a long time and losing his mother had been difficult.
“What was her specialty?” Klaus recognised the question he’d asked himself yesterday, but the fact her hand squeezed his at the same time filled him with the confidence and warmth he needed.
“Rosemary braised lamb shanks, it was her favourite protein. I’ve tried to pay homage on all my menus since.”
‘So, that explains the Saddle of Elysian Fields Farm Lamb with Babaganoush, Romano Beans and Harissa Jus on your menu then?”
“You’ve done your homework clearly?”
“That and the fact it’s the first time I’ve seen you smile, and I have to say it’s really nice.”
Klaus didn’t even realise he’d let it slip but suddenly it didn’t matter anymore. He didn’t want to hide it, not with her.
“She used to tell me to smile all the time because I was too serious, you could say it’s something I’ve battled with ever since she passed.”
“All the more reason to smile, even just to introduce those dimples to the general public. Has anyone ever told you they should come with a warning?”
“No, but more than happy to discuss further.”
“If only, but I have to get going.” Klaus felt almost deflated that she was leaving as quickly as she’d arrived. Maybe he’d shared too much. “Deadlines and all that. But if you could just consult the email I sent confirming the details of our interview that would be great.”
Klaus felt disillusioned, he’d opened himself up to someone and she was running away. She was out the door before he could even move from his seat. Checking his emails was the last thing he felt like doing, but his hand went to work on his cell checking it anyway and dreadfully waiting for its contents.
“As of three minutes ago, I no longer working for Delicious. It wanted a story I wasn’t prepared to write. I like your smile and dimples too much and I also want a Bananas Foster.”
His chest constricted as he read each word and his grin was unmistakable. It didn’t take long for him to reply.
“You make my heart smile.”
Tabloids would report months later that famed food blogger Caroline Forbes married famed chef Klaus Mikaelson in rural England after proposing over a dessert of Bananas Foster in New Orleans.
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Cuddle Corner (Part 2)
A long time coming, literally ~5 years, the sequel to the original Cuddle Corner. This one was highly requested on ao3 and ff.net, but honestly? I wanted it just as bad.
This story is dedicated to @fruipit. One because your enthusiasm for the original was so energizing, and two, because I still owe you a larger fic but here I am on the one-year-anniversary of that to offer this one instead xD
Edit: for those who love to favorite and comment: ao3 and ff.net are now available!
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The background buzz of the mall’s food court droned around Anna and Kristoff as they dug into their meals. Work would come calling soon, but it was their lunch break, and the reuben’s they made here were well worth the drive, the parking nightmare, and the overpriced soft drink that came with it.
Kristoff watched Anna. While generally a reserved man, his quiet was different now, observant. After devouring half of his sandwich, the rest remained practically untouched, but Anna was too busy enjoying her food to notice. Too busy that is, until Kristoff cleared his throat.
“I think you should go back.”
Her sandwich stopped halfway to her mouth. "We are not talking about this."
"Anna..." Kristoff leaned forward, posture set firm. Anna met his gaze with equal and opposite determination - and to her credit, she gave it her all. But it was like trying to bully a mountain by throwing pebbles, and eventually she closed her eyes, giving in with a measured inhale and exhale.
"You know why I can't."
"Yeah, so you've told me."
"Then you'll have to forgive me for being short," Anna scowled. "I thought I'd made it clear that that could never be allowed to happen again."
"So, what?” Kristoff raised an eyebrow. “You're just going to keep yourself on house arrest and never interact with another human being ever again?"
Anna put her meal down. Based on the way her stomach was already tightening in knots, she wasn't getting back to it anyway. "Of course not, that's absurd." Kristoff spread his arms, awaiting an explanation. "Why are you doing this?"
"Because I care about you, Anna." Kristoff's face softened. "I won't go so far as to say I know how you feel, because I know that I don't and never truly will. But I do know you. And you haven't been yourself since that appointment." Anna stared at the tabletop, arms close to center. "I know you don't want to talk about it," Kristoff continued, "but whatever happened–"
“Nothing happened!” Anna shouted, drawing concerned looks from the other patrons. The words cut like glass. Her throat felt raw, heart bleeding as it pumped jagged pieces through her chest. She drew her hands back even further when Kristoff offered his own from across the table. She couldn’t. Not now.
God, she hated crying.
A foot nudged hers gently. Anna blinked back the tears, remembering where she was and who she was talking to. This was Kristoff, and he knew her better than anyone.
“Anna, you’re hurting.” He tapped his foot on top of hers, doing it again when she remained silent. “I’m sorry,” he said softly, “but I can’t watch that big goofy heart of yours shrink in on itself any longer.”
He paused and Anna felt the sharp teeth of dread.
“Was it Elsa?”
Anna’s eyes widened. “No! No, Elsa was… Elsa was perfect.”
“You said it reminded you of before.”
“And I stand by that, sort of.” Another nudge and this time Anna tapped Kristoff’s foot back, bringing a smile to his brown eyes. She gave him one of her own, small and weak in comparison. “Elsa was completely professional. We established boundaries and she constantly checked in on me to make sure I was okay. She never did anything without my say-so and she cared about my well-being.” Anna’s expression soured. “Which is exactly where everything went wrong. We hugged, sat together, swapped stories. I felt like I’d known her my whole life! I was even brave enough to put my head in her lap. I got so caught up that I forgot why I can’t do that sort of thing anymore.”
Kristoff offered his hand again and she took it, grateful for his patience. “When that timer went off, everything came flooding back. Everything. Guilt and fear and crushed hope. I threw all of it in her face. Elsa, she... she didn’t deserve that.” Anna’s shoulders dropped with the admission, a weight slipping the ground. She glanced up at Kristoff and shrugged awkwardly. “You know the rest. I’ve avoided talking about it and spent all my free time at home, trying to get my shit together.” She inhaled shakily. “I really thought I was done with this.”
A soothing thumb brushed the back of her hand. She tentatively reached out with her sneaker, warmth softening the sharp edges in her chest when Kristoff bumped her back.
“I’m guessing that means you haven’t called her back, even though you have her card.” Kristoff leaned forward. “You… do still have it?”
Anna nodded. “Right where I left it, stuffed as far down into my jacket pocket as possible.”
“I think you should call her,” He said after a moment of thought.
“Kristoff.” Anna took back her hand, bottom lip caught between her teeth. “I know you’re just trying to help but how many times do I have to say that we, Elsa and I, cannot be a thing? Being ‘a thing’ means spending time together, spending time together means we’ll be affectionate, and being affectionate leads to… more. A-And I can’t give, more.”
“Which is why I’m not suggesting that in the least,” Kristoff replied, face set. “I’m merely saying you call her so she doesn’t think you hate her.”
Ouch. That hurt.
“You’re not the kind of person to wrong someone,” Kristoff continued, “let alone wrong someone and not apologize.” More gently he added, “I know you enjoyed spending time with her, anxiety aside. You’re not even going to give her the chance? Not even to be friends? Professional chums?”
“I don’t know, Kristoff,” Anna crossed her arms. “Are you friends with your therapist?”
“Of course I am, why wouldn’t I be?”
“Oh.”
Kristoff grinned. “You were expecting me to say no, weren’t you?” Anna eyed the rest of her meal by way of answer. “I know she’s not your therapist, and trust me, I understand the urge to keep absolutely everything between you and Elsa professional. But sometimes in a space like that, where it’s just the two of you, you have to be honest too. Sometimes the best way for them to help you is to… well, let them help you.”
“Eloquent.”
“Just another way of saying I’m right, which I will take, thank you.”
Anna snorted at his antics, smiling a little too. But in the silence that followed the chilling trace of fear wound it’s way under her skin, trailing beneath her bones. She pressed her fingertips to her sternum. Heart and mind said two different things, and it was too soon to decide whether the fleeting spark of hope Kristoff was inspiring would save or destroy her.
“Please,” Kristoff pleaded, “no more of this. However you need to frame it -- for her sake or yours -- make things right with Elsa.”
-------------
Anna steeled herself, dial pad staring accusingly when she hesitated again before punching in the number on the card. Her hand shook as she put the phone to her ear.
She begged for voicemail.
"Hello?” Dammit. “Elsa speaking."
“H-Hey Elsa," she cleared her throat, suddenly hoarse. "It's Anna."
"Anna!" Came the joyful cry, "Wow, Anna I'm... I'm really glad to hear from you." Anna didn't know what to say so she didn't respond. "What can I help you with?"
"I um, I know it’s been forever since we met but I was thinking…” She took a deep breath. She wanted this, didn’t she? “I, wanted to see you again.”
Immediately Anna knew she’d screwed up. “In what way?” Elsa’s voice was dangerously low, cautious in a way that nearly broke Anna’s soft heart. No, not afraid of me, please no.
“As in an appointment,” Anna rushed, backpedaling so fast she felt dizzy.
"Really?” Elsa sounded back to normal, even delightfully surprised. “I mean, of course. That’s why I gave you my number after all.” She laughed, high and breathy. “When would you like to come in?"
Anna hadn't even checked her calendar. Could she be any less prepared? "Um," Anna racked her brain, trying to find an open slot, "how about Saturday?"
"Saturday is good. I have a noon and a four o'clock, whichever works better for you."
"Four is better."
"Great! I'll see you then," Elsa exclaimed. There was a moment of quiet, then, "And hey, Anna?"
Anna swallowed. Elsa's voice had changed again, completely. It was painfully searching, even if Elsa tried to hide with brevity. "Yeah?"
"Thanks... for giving me a second chance."
Elsa hung up, leaving Anna to wonder how she would manage to survive the next three days.
-------------
The waiting room was all too familiar, despite the fact she hadn't been back in months. The music hadn't changed, the buddha statue was still fat and happy, and the reeds still looked fake. Or real. Or both.
A different receptionist checked her in, all smiles and good smells. Apricot, Anna realized as she found a seat. Easy, considering she was the only one here, but unfortunate, since all she really wanted to do was hide.
But Kristoff was right, this was going to be for the best. Elsa, though they'd only interacted for an hour, deserved much more than Anna’s surprisingly cold shoulder.
"Anna?" Lost in her thoughts, she hadn't heard the door open. She looked up and found a pair of eager blue eyes, tempered in a way they shouldn't be. Too cautious.
She'd been hurt.
Shit.
“I’m–. We… are ready to see you now.” Elsa waved her clipboard. “If you’ll just follow me.”
Down the hall, past the same differently decorated rooms. Elsa’s open white button-down flared over black jeans as she walked, pale braided hair swinging back and forth delicately. It was nice, Anna thought, all these stark negatives against the baked clay hue of the walls and stained wood of the picture frames. Well, not negatives, Elsa could never be a negative, not like that. Anna was just appreciating the contrast–
She looked up when Elsa coughed. “We’re here,” she said for what must have been the second time. Anna immediately recognized it as the same room they’d been in when she was here last.
“Is this your room then?” she asked, moving inside.
Elsa shook her head. “We get a room assigned at random unless the client specifies. Technically you got the one two doors down but I thought since you knew this one and I didn’t want you to feel…” Her eyes changed, losing their confidence. “Unless you wanted another room, then–”
“Thank you,” Anna stopped her, touched by her concern. “This one is perfect.”
Elsa closed the door and handed over the clipboard. “So. Anna. Sign a few places and we can get started, same as last time.” She froze, searching Anna’s face. “Or not the same since, well…,” she trailed off.
They both looked at the door handle.
Anna swallowed, fighting the anxiety suddenly clogging up her throat. She realized that if this was going to work, she was the one who needed to set expectations too. Anna scribbled her name, then tucked the pen under her thumb and held out her other hand, palm up. “It won’t be the same,” she said with a confidence she was still finding. “It’ll be better.”
She saw Elsa hesitate, meeting Anna’s gaze instead. Her expression was schooled but Anna saw the cheer in her eyes. “That’s cheating,” she replied, humor lending warmth to her voice, “your time hasn’t started.”
“Then let’s start.”
Now Elsa smiled, unfiltered and without shadow.
Elsa set another timer on her phone, laying it down on the table. Caught up by the slowly ticking numbers on the screen, Anna nearly started when Elsa took the hand she’d offered before. Thankfully, Anna turned the reflex into a motion towards the bed. “Shall we?”
Elsa raised an eyebrow. “Who are you and what have you done to Anna Fields?” She chuckled, but let herself be led across the room.
“Ms. Fields has had a lot of time to think.” Anna settled herself on the side of bed, dropping her purse off her shoulder. “And she’s got some things to say.”
The mattress dipped on her right as Elsa settled next to her. Their hands were still connected. Anna took a deep breath, settling her nerves, “Starting with, ‘I’m sorry’.” Elsa made a humming noise and rubbed her thumb across Anna’s knuckles. “I’m sorry that I left things the way I did, I promise I’m not usually so… volatile. I know I didn’t explode on you or anything but, it must have felt like a switch got flipped. One second perfectly relaxed, the next…” In her mind Anna heard the timer again, felt the tightening pull of her muscles, saw the half remembered steps to the door. Her free hand clenched over her knee. “A-And I wouldn’t look at you, I couldn’t.” She felt Elsa’s eyes on her now, and the irony that Anna was struggling to meet her gaze, still, wasn’t lost on her.
When a few moments passed without either speaking, Elsa shifted, kicking her shoes off and pulling her legs up onto the bed. “I know you have more to say, and I want to hear it. But we are the Cuddle Corner after all. Can we try this?” Elsa moved behind her, then turned her back and sat cross-legged, facing the opposite wall. “I think you’ll like this one,” she said, speaking a little louder so her voice carried. “Just mirror what I’m doing, and rest your back against mine.”
Anna thought about it, but only for a moment before she reoriented herself and slowly eased against Elsa. Then she shifted, straightening her back and sitting up taller. Of course Elsa had good posture. At least, better than her own.
“Relax,” Elsa said calmly, though Anna heard the distinct upward lilt of humor buried in that one word. “And when you’re ready, place the back of your head on mine, too.”
Anna could feel every one of Elsa’s breaths, expanding lightly against her spine. It was distracting, but pleasantly so, soothing and gentle. Finally Anna tilted her head back, looking straight ahead.
“How are you doing?” Elsa asked.
Anna closed her eyes and breathed deep. Her awareness traveled from her head to her center, where things were still a little messy, but more calm than before, quieter. “Better,” she replied honestly.
“Good.” She felt Elsa raise her chin. “Try to keep looking forward. You’ll want to speak to the side or turn your head, to see my facial expressions. But,” she paused. Anna heard the smile step into her voice and she couldn’t help the one that grew to match, “part of this exercise is to trust what you feel and hear coming from the other person, without relying on what you see. Is that still okay?”
Anna straightened again. From the crown of her head to the tips of her toes, she felt a peace steal over her. Maybe it was something about the position, or maybe it was the rhythm of Elsa’s breath. She wrapped that feeling around her like a cloak, snug, overlapping her heart.
In answer, she continued where she left off.
“At the end of last session I… wasn’t myself. I shouldn’t have left like that. Shouldn’t have left you like that. You didn’t deserve it, especially because, well, it wasn’t your fault.” Anna shifted, attempting to look over her shoulder before remembering Elsa’s advice. “I want to make that very clear: you, Elsa? Did nothing wrong. In fact, you did everything right. You just, pah-,” Anna made a little outward motion with her hands, a small explosion, “made everything work, just for a moment.” Anna felt more than heard Elsa’s small giggle against her back and felt her ears get hot. “Yeah I’m, not always the best with words.”
“It’s more common than you think,” Elsa replied. Anna saw her move her hand out of the corner of her eye. “When you can’t see someone it’s normal to raise your voice and use your hands more, since you’re still trying to get your point across with less to work with.” There was that laugh again, hitching against her ribs. “Though I get the feeling you talk with your hands anyway.”
“My family knows not to keep glassware around me after dinner, yes,” Anna snorted. “And Kristoff stocks the break room with extra napkins, just for me.” She rolled her eyes. “Real charmer that one.”
“I think you mentioned this man, Kristoff, the last time you were here too,” Elsa said softly. “He must mean a lot to you.”
“Yeah!” Anna beamed. “He was the first friend I made at my job and now…,” she paused, considering, “well now I think he’s my best friend.”
Elsa made a noise of curiosity, a little wordless question. “I would have thought he was your brother, the way you sound when you talk about him.”
“You wouldn’t be the first,” Anna sighed, leaning back into Elsa. “It’s probably because we hug and hold hands and he gives me piggy back rides across the parking lot just for the fun of it. I tried to give him one once and nearly broke my knee. I’m strong, but he’s a mountain man.” Anna laughed to herself. “Actually, people think we’re dating most of the time.”
“Oh?” Elsa sounded genuinely surprised, the sound bouncing high off the walls, “you’re not?”
“Nnnnnope!” Anna replied, popping the ‘p’. “I mean he’s sweet and all: attentive, caring, soft-hearted. Anyone would be lucky to have him. But I’ve never thought of him that way.”
Instantly Anna felt a flush creep up her neck, and she sat forward. “W-Well,” she stammered, “not like that like that, I mean. Sure he can be charming in a rough sort of way sometimes and it feels really nice to be held in his arms because he’s so much bigger than me and yes we buy each other gifts just because we know it’ll make the other person happy b-but… I…” she swallowed, staring at the bed spread past her legs. “N-Not like, the anything that comes after… all that.” Anna fussed with the hair behind her ear, self-conscious. “But I suppose if I had to pick a dude, he’d be really great.”
Anna thought she heard an, “Oh,” from Elsa again but she wasn't sure. She realized they weren’t touching anymore, and in the same heartbeat realized that she’d sort of, almost, accidentally come out to Elsa.
A pit opened in her stomach, enough that her heart dropped just a little, enough for anxiety to find a little home and buzz through her chest.
It was a soft ball, an underhand throw, of a coming out, easily brushed aside or misinterpreted. Elsa was professional, she probably wouldn’t even ask.
Anna really wanted her to ask. But she also really didn’t.
But mostly she just didn’t want Elsa to feel weird about her.
“Anna?”
Elsa was looking at her, over her own shoulder. “Are you okay?”
“Me?” Anna blinked. “Am I--. Of course I’m okay. Oh, shit,” she scooched backwards until she felt Elsa’s waist again and leaned back, touching her head to Elsa’s. “I left the position, sorry.”
Elsa was quiet for a moment, and Anna swore she could feel Elsa’s thoughts winding themselves down her spine. But Elsa’s next words held only warmth. “It’s more about the exercise than anything else,” she said, and Anna could tell she was still speaking over her shoulder, directly to her. “You can leave it at any time, for any reason. I just wanted to make sure you weren’t uncomfortable.”
“I’m not uncomfortable, promise,” Anna twisted to face Elsa. “I think I’m just really bad at… explaining… myself…”
Elsa’s eyes softened and for a moment Anna couldn’t see anything else. They were so close. She’d turned and now they were breathing the same air. Inches. Centimeters.
He used to call this kissing distance.
“Anna?”
“Yes?” Anna murmured. Every nerve in her body was aware of itself. Her skin prickled with their energy, thorned as a rose.
“You don’t have to explain yourself to me. Ever,” Elsa stated firmly. She leaned back into Anna, the smallest upward turn on her lips. “I don’t need to understand to care.”
But Anna saw that she did understand. And better, that Elsa wasn’t afraid of her, or anything Anna brought with her.
And that was… a lot.
Anna closed her eyes, took a deep breath--
And flopped down against the plush mattress.
She heard Elsa laugh behind her hand as she opened her eyes. “Too much?” Elsa asked, humor making lines around her eyes.
“No, not too much, just,” Anna mulled her words over, “you make it sound so easy. You make this so easy,” Anna gestured with both hands to the space above her head broadly, encapsulating the room and everything in it, physical and immaterial. “I started out apologizing, and those thoughts were all tangled up in my head because I wanted to be sincere and make this time different and it is different, so different, and I guess now I’m just, really… really grateful.”
Elsa nodded as Anna finished. “There’s a part of me that wants to say, ‘Well, it’s my job after all’, but I really am glad that I’ve been able to help, Anna.” She laid herself down too, on her side, propping her head up on her hand. “And in case you’re the kind of person that needs to hear it: I forgive you, Anna, so you don’t need to apologize anymore.”
A great breath washed out of Anna. She stared up at the ceiling, arms outstretched. “Thank you.”
After a brief pause, Elsa replied, “I’d actually already forgiven you, before you got here.”
Anna sat up on her elbows. “What? Why? I hadn’t even said anything yet!”
“It was the fact that you called at all.”
“But--! That doesn’t…”
Elsa held up her hand and shook her head. “You’re overthinking it,” she said gently, “which is alright, since that’s what I pegged you for anyway.”
Anna went to reply but stopped herself, trapping the air in her cheek. Then, she said, “You know, it’s not terribly cuddly to insult your clients, Elsa.”
“Hmm, true,” Elsa acquiesced, though her tone begged to differ. “What I mean is, you struck me as a ‘Thinker’ is all, even on your first visit.”
“A ‘Thinker’?” Elsa nodded again. “Like the guy who sits on a rock all serious-like?”
“Not quite,” Elsa chuckled, “although at times I’m sure that makes for a good analogy. I can explain it for you, but we’re still on your time here.” Elsa sat up, cross-legged, similar to Anna’s first visit. “The last few times I’ve been making the suggestions to help you relax, but I saw you take initiative when you first got here, and I want you to feel like this is your space as well. Now, as much as you’re comfortable, what do you want me to do?”
Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.
Anna gulped. It wasn’t that big of an ask, and it made sense. Boundaries, two sets. A middle ground of mutually agreed upon comfort and engagement. She could do this.
Elsa sat patiently, in no rush at all. Anna looked back up at the ceiling and pondered. Suddenly a phantom feeling stole over her. Another time, another place. Someone warm next to her. A starlit sky above, cold ground below.
“On my stomach,” Anna said out loud. She turned her head and saw Elsa’s bewildered expression. “Sometimes when Kristoff and I hang out we lay on each other, and we’ll put our heads on the other’s belly.” Anna felt her face heat up a little, knowing it sounded more intimate than it really was. At least, not that way, but people usually didn’t believe that. “But you don’t have to if you don’t want to, I can think of another one.”
“Won’t I be too heavy?”
Anna blinked. “Huh?”
“Won’t it hurt?” Elsa rephrased. “Heads weigh more than people think, and stomachs are notoriously soft.”
A beat passed.
Then Anna laughed.
At first it was small, like the quick kind of chortle and dash of amusement from an inside joke, but it rapidly changed to loud, full from her chest laughter, curling her legs towards her ribs in an attempt to contain it. Elsa’s concern was so endearing, and it soothed parts of Anna that were still hidden in the dark, but it was also utterly silly, too.
And that made the last trace of Anna’s trepidation disappear like mist in the morning.
“Notorious is a strong word,” Anna managed past her giggles. “I’m not sure who told you that, but maybe that’s just about your head.” One of Elsa’s eyebrows raised to acknowledge the comment, but as smooth as she tried to pass herself off, Anna could see how her mouth twitched with her own tamped laughter.
“It’s not terribly cuddly to insult your local professional, Anna,” she mimicked, sending Anna back into hysterics.
“I’ll… be fine,” Anna wheezed, wiping a tear from her eye as she flattened out again. “Kristoff is literally twice your size, I think I’ll make it.”
“Okay well,” Elsa lowered herself down, resting the back of her head lightly on Anna’s side with barely any weight at all. “Like this?”
“Yeah except you’re going to put your neck out like that,” Anna teased. “I said it was okay, Elsa. Trust me this time.”
After a moment of hesitation Elsa moved further back until she was fully settled, her shoulders hitting Anna’s hip and lower ribs. She sighed, making a few more adjustments until Anna could tell she was comfortable too.
They breathed in silence for a while, listening to each other. Anna realized she hadn’t eaten in a while and worried, briefly, that her body might make that fact known, but she supposed it wasn’t anything Elsa hadn’t heard before.
“So what were you saying earlier?” Anna re-broached the subject. “About how I… think things too much?”
“It’s not always the amount that you’re thinking,” Elsa chuckled. Anna felt the sound reverberate across her stomach and chest, warm and light. Elsa talked upwards, her head rising and falling in time with Anna’s breathing. “People process things in a lot of different ways, but many find that conceptualizing two categories - Thinking and Feeling - helps them more easily navigate those styles. Some people analyze and scrutinize and run over scenarios from as many angles as they can, and sometimes they do that to an excessive amount, which can cause more anxiety than it reduces. And some people,” she reached out and patted the bedspread. It was probably just to indicate that she was speaking about Anna, like the back to back exercise where they couldn’t see each other, but for some reason Anna reached out too, and put her hand beneath Elsa’s. She heard Elsa smile as she continued explaining, curling their fingers together. “Some people just have emotions that drift and bounce and trace around their body all the time. They’ll sit with a feeling until they’ve experienced all that it can give. Maybe they experience joy that floats them for hours, but they also feel sadness that sinks them into a sea of their own making.” Elsa turned her face towards Anna. “I’m fairly certain you’re the first one.”
“Huh.” Anna thought for a moment, feeling Elsa’s weight with every inhale. “So you’re a Feeler then?”
A smile tugged at Elsa’s lips. “How did you know?”
Anna shrugged. “I didn’t really, I just guessed.” She looked back up, rubbing the back of Elsa’s hand idly with the pad of her thumb. “Although, now that I think about it, you’ve always been thought-ful. Always checking in on me, asking me good questions --those always felt more experienced than logical though, if that makes sense. But the reasoning behind them seems more intuitive, like you just… know.” Anna paused, struck by something. “Actually, I didn’t have the word for it then, but I think I noticed it back when I called you.”
“To… schedule this appointment?” Elsa asked, sounding a little mystified.
“Yeah. It was in the way your voice changed when--,” and now Anna stopped because she felt embarrassment crawling up the nape of her neck. “When I said I wanted to see you again.”
“Oh.” Elsa turned her head to look at Anna. She had the smallest grimace on her face. “Sorry, that was pretty unprofessional of me.”
“On the contrary, I think checking to make sure your clients aren’t developing that kind of attachment to you is probably the most professional thing to do.”
“Well the paperwork helps,” Elsa hummed, “but you’re not wrong. Thankfully I haven’t encountered that problem yet, but I know some co-workers have.”
“It makes sense. I mean, this is the kind of thing most people imagine couples doing.”
Elsa shrugged. “Not everywhere. There are places where this is normal for family and friends, where physical affection isn’t locked behind the potential marital status of the individuals. And frankly, it’s normal here too, but not everyone experiences intimacy the same way.”
Intimacy.
The word clings to Anna’s throat, even though she hadn’t said it. A tightness, a dark line from neck to stomach, pooling invisibly around light Elsa’s hair.
“That’s good!” Anna blustered. “For them I mean, the people who get it. Wait no, not that the people who don’t feel that way are like-- What I mean to say is that that’s good! That people do that, somewhere: here, there, anywhere. I didn’t mean to say that people who don’t are doing bad, just, like, ‘Hey, good for them!’, you know?” She smacked her free hand over her eyes with a groan. “Grammar and statement of purpose have abandoned me. Feel free to tell me to stop talking whenever.” She felt Elsa’s laughter in the bunching of her shoulders against her stomach.
“Thinker,” Elsa chastised warmly.
And then it just became… chatter.
Catching up, laughing at anecdotes, learning about the other. Elsa asked about Anna’s job and Anna responded that she was training some promising new hires who were positively electric about their fields. Anna asked Elsa about her day job, making a mental note to check out a charity event a few blocks from her work. The first appointment seemed like a lifetime ago, and now that the air was clear and they’d settled, a lifetime seemed like just the thing to fill up the room.
Until Elsa scrunched her eyes up and said, “Okay, I think we’ve got to change positions, I’m getting a little dizzy.”
“I get it,” Anna empathized, “it’s the ups and downs. It gets a little disorienting”
“Yeah.” Elsa sat up and blinked hard a few times, her hand splayed out wide on the bed to keep balance. They’d kept them mostly entwined over the last part of their session, but Anna couldn’t help talking with her hands and it turned out that, at times, neither could Elsa.
Anna stretched, feeling like a cat in a sunbeam. She was as comfy as she was last time with her head in Elsa’s lap, but this time she knew the timer couldn’t surprise her. That enough words had passed between them for old wounds to not rear their heads. And while she didn’t anticipate it, for that would mean the end of her time with Elsa (for now), she did acknowledge it’s reality, and she was not afraid.
But she was damn cozy though.
“You look like you could fall asleep right there,” she heard Elsa say above her head. Anna opened her eyes to mirthful blue.
“I think you’re right,” Anna agreed, blocking a yawn with her hand.
“You’re welcome to take a nap. It’s--”
“--More common than you’d think,” Anna recited at the same time, making Elsa hide a smile behind her hand. There was a lot that Anna had learned in her short time here, but mostly that her knowledge of what people did when they felt safe and comforted was different than she’d expected. But it was a good kind of wrong to be, the eye-opening kind. The kind that made your heart feel a little bigger and softer. “You say that a lot.”
“Well it’s true!”
“I don’t doubt it,” Anna held up her hands, placating. “I’m just saying, it’s like your catchphrase.” Anna swept her outstretched arm in an arc, wiggling her fingers, “‘The more you know!’, with Elsa, the Cuddle Expert.”
Elsa bumped her arm. “You’re a tease. But I mean it, you’ve got time. Even if you don’t fall asleep, laying back and relaxing is part of cuddling you know.”
Anna stifled another yawn and turned onto her side. “I’ll at least sleep on top of the covers,” she replied, her voice dropping as she closed her eyes. “That way you don’t have to wash all the sheets.”
“Well they get washed anytime they’re used, and there’s spares in the hall closets but…,” she heard Elsa snicker, “you really think of everything, don’t you?”
“I think that joke has already run its course,” Anna smiled, then patted the open space in front of her invitingly. “C’mon, you might as well get a break too--.”
The bed dipped behind her.
“Well I can at least keep you warm this way; it’s kind of a classic cuddling position.”
The words were joking and light, Elsa’s voice so close to her ear, practically glowing.
“I don’t know who designed these rooms,” the voice continued, “but they let the air blow right above us. It gets incredibly chilly sometimes, and that’s coming from me of all people!” Forearms braced themselves against her spine, legs pressed against the back of her own, and soft exhales tickled the baby hairs at the nape of Anna’s neck.
And suddenly Anna was not at Cuddle Corner.
Her vision tunneled. The opposite wall retreated, backing itself down a long, dark corridor. Her peripherals feathered, the thorned, hyper-awareness from before screeching back, focused on the blazing points of contact between them.
Anna?
Her back was a ramrod, a live wire. When she breathed the air had nowhere to go, her lungs shallow and tight.
Breath on her neck and hands on her shoulders.
“Anna?”
Elsa’s voice.
Anna gasped, air traveling deeper, chest expanding, and the room returned to normal. Anna licked her lips, nerves settling under her skin, buzzing inside her ribs to join the dark feathers still flitting and hovering there.
“Maybe we should switch.” The words were strained but Anna tried to make them sound casual. To make them sound less like they hurt and more like before, just moments before when everything was perfect.
“...Are you sure?” Elsa replied over Anna’s shoulder. She’d moved away, touch gone, leaving phantom prints behind. Anna hesitated but nodded slowly. “Okay…”
The bed moved again. A moment later Elsa lowered herself down in front of Anna, facing away. Her braid was pulled over her shoulder, out of reach, exposing the light skin of her neck. Unable to see Elsa’s expression, Anna swallowed the dark, heavy thing inside her throat and attempted to gauge Elsa’s mood through posture alone.
“You can come close,” Elsa said. A simple and straightforward invitation, but Anna thought she heard an edge creep into it, like something was slicing each letter off at the joint.
“R-Right. ‘Cuddle Corner’,” Anna said with feigned cheer, a little fain-fair. She laughed. Elsa laughed.
It was weird.
Slowly, uncertainty running under her palm, Anna reached her arm across Elsa’s chest. Her legs came up under Elsa’s until their bodies were nearly flush. She could smell Elsa’s shampoo, and felt her breathing against the crook of her elbow.
And she could tell immediately that Elsa wasn’t comfortable either.
There was a weight in the room, a miasma escaping the seams between their bodies. It scraped between Anna’s fingers, threatening to lift her hand up entirely, and take it away. Her eyes unfocused, the lines of Elsa’s body becoming blurred, trembling the way heat makes the air waver and shake.
Elsa turned her head, so Anna could see the barest corner of her eye. “You’re pushing yourself,” she said quietly.
Anna tightened her grip, a wordless promise, but stopped when Elsa flinched. “I’m not.”
I’m not, she told herself. Elsa is a good person. People do this all the time, even friends! This position, spooning… it’s about comfort, not anything else. Just… stop being all up in your head about this.
But Anna could sense herself backpedaling, falling backwards into herself. Right in front of her was the shell of Elsa's ear, the slope of her neck, the curl of her white-blonde hair before it twisted into her braid -- and it made Anna wonder...
Was this... it? Was this what made people fall? A quiet moment, a scrap of skin. Was this enough to make them... feel?
Had it made him feel something, looking at Anna like this?
Warm fingers thread through hers, a bobber dropped into the well of her thoughts. Elsa's hand didn’t hold the sting of fear, and like sunlight on murky water a balm spread at her touch, expanding with each even breath.
But this time, it wasn’t enough.
Anna's thoughts rushed around her head, swirling, clinging, flying like beads snapped away from a string cut under stress. No longer sentences but fragments, worries and doubts in a whirlpool, sucking her down. What hadn't she done? What else could she do? How could she be so cold? Why couldn't she do this, for him? For anyone?
Why wasn't she enough?
The trembling started in her shoulders. She couldn’t stop it anymore than she could stop time. Her arm shook and by the time it reached her wrist Anna silently begged Elsa not to notice.
But of course she did.
Elsa turned in their embrace, her eyes widening for just a moment before she cupped Anna’s face, lightly, so light with her first touches, before brushing away a tear.
Anna hadn’t even realized she was crying.
“It’s okay Anna, you’re safe here.”
Anna hiccuped, her chest stuttering as more tears splashed against Elsa’s thumbs. She found Elsa’s forearms and held her tight, needing something beneath her hands. “I’m sorry,” she whispered hoarsely.
Elsa shook her head. “Don’t be. You’ve apologized more than you’ve ever needed.”
Then Elsa’s forehead is nestled against Anna’s own. Anna doesn’t know how to react as Elsa’s eyes slip closed and she breathes slowly, carefully, like she’s counting the second. Anna feels herself matching the time, even as the sobs she harbored keep trying to find a way out. They get smaller, a boulder, then a rock, then a pebble in her lungs. Elsa’s soft exhales washed over Anna’s face, her very presence a well of tranquility, like immersing one’s hand in the cool waters of a brook. Elsa felt like flowing water, a place Anna could lay down the things that dragged her down, setting them adrift, letting the current carry them for a while.
Anna didn’t know how long they stayed like that. Long enough for the tears to start to dry, and the rawness of her throat to begin healing. But it couldn’t last forever.
Again the patter of rain, the rumble of thunder, and the distant, muted buzz of Elsa’s phone vibrating across the room. Anna exhaled a shuddering breath.
“The timer,” she croaked, voice like sludge, addled by tears.
“Ignore it,” Elsa murmured, pressing her face closer.
“B-But it’s over--”
“It’s okay.”
Anna attempted to shake her head, but Elsa merely brushed her cheeks with her thumbs. “You have another client. Another appointment.”
“I don’t.”
“Elsa…”
“Anna.” Elsa opened her eyes.
This close, Anna couldn’t mistake what she saw. Even if she didn’t have a name for it. And maybe there wasn’t a name to call the emotion heavy in Elsa’s eyes -- the eyes of a still-stranger, an almost-friend -- but whatever it was settled the last prickling nerve in Anna’s heart, soothed the last lash in Anna’s memory, and finally let her breathe long enough to listen. “I don’t have another appointment, you were my last for the day. An extra minute isn’t going to hurt anyone.” Elsa watched Anna’s face as she combed stray hairs back behind Anna’s ear. “I don’t want you leaving this place thinking you have to shoulder everything you came in with. It’s okay to leave some of it here, here with me, if that helps.” She smiled, her eyes wet. “It’s my job to make you feel comfortable, relaxed. But I also want you to feel that way, as Elsa, as me. I think you have a lot going on, and I want to help with that if… if you’ll let me.”
This time Anna closed her eyes, overwhelmed again. Unconsciously she leaned more into Elsa’s touch, which was enough for Elsa to continue. “You don’t have to decide today. Just know that I’m here for you, if you need me. But for now just,” and she shrugged, the motion taking Anna’s head with her, causing them both to laugh, “leave the timer be. It’ll take care of itself.”
They stayed like that. The timer silenced itself, and with the quiet came rest. Anna knew she didn’t fall asleep, but she thought she might when Elsa started playing with her hair again. Eventually, Anna knew she had to go and rolled over, sliding her shoes back on her feet. She heard Elsa do the same as Anna gathered her things.
“Should I expect another call?” Anna turned, shouldering her bag. Elsa sat on the edge of the bed, hands folded in her lap, expectant.
Though she knew her cheeks were already blotchy from tears, Anna felt another emotion color her face, and instead of feathers in her chest there were butterflies in her stomach.
"Yeah," she returned, putting a hand on the back of her neck. "But I think I'm going to have to do some thinking first, again. Which I'm sure you already expected."
"Maybe a little." Elsa tilted her head, never losing her warmth. "But take all the time you need. And talk to others, too. Kristoff seems like a good place to start, if you haven't already."
Anna snorted, feeling her phone buzz in her pocket. "Oh don't worry, I'm sure he's left three voicemails by now wondering how this all went."
"And how did it go?”
Anna beamed. “Better.”
“Such glowing praise,” Elsa teased. “I’ll take it I suppose.”
Anna took a step back, towards the door, then hesitated, and turned back.
"More to say?" Elsa asked.
"Um..." Anna paused, then blushed again. "Actually, I did, but now I can't really find the words. It was ‘thank you’, again, but then there was other stuff and it got a little lost."
Elsa hummed at that, propping her chin up in her hand. "Knowing you, even for a short time, I'm sure they'll work themselves out eventually. Probably with hand motions."
Anna laughed and agreed. "Probably with hand motions. And maybe sound effects."
“You'll have to tell me,” Elsa smiled lightly, showing bright in her eyes. “Next time?”
Anna smiled back. “Next time.”
#please let me edit my tags you pos website >xD#OH I CAN DO IT ON MOBILE BUT NOT DESKTOP 🤣🤣🤣 I hate >xD#[clears throat] .....anyway#Cuddle Corner (Part 2)#my writing#fruipit#Anna#Elsa#not that I’m not confident but fingers crossed that you (and y’all) like it#Client!Anna#Cuddler!Elsa#wow these tags are literally 5 years old WOW#but I’ll add these too:#ace!Anna#asexual!Anna#I’m going to eat now though bc I’m STARVING I skipped dinner to finish this and get it posted#laser focus - but now I hUNGER#time to go eat my fridge
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So, this is a little goofy thing featuring Arkham Knight Eddie and a female!o/c that was inspired by an actual dream I had recently. Like, literally, the dream mentioned in this story is almost exactly the same.
It’s pretty short and I’m....not entirely sure it’s good but I dunno...I wanted to get that dream out of my head somehow and turn it into something positive so...here is this silly drabble.
Contains some smut and suggestive comments, but nothing overly explicit.
Words: 2104
Title: i'm best when I'm In love
Rating: M (going with the AO3 smutty content labels here)
“My Dear, you’re struggling,” Edward said as he moved one of his pawns.
“Well, I have yet to beat you, Eddie,” Sara responded in a tense voice, letting out a sharp, frustrated breath.
“True, but lately, you’ve been performing much better than this. Right now, your tactics are sloppy, like when I first started teaching you.”
“Chess takes time to learn, right?”
“Correct, and you have the benefit of learning from an astounding genius like myself. However, your focus is not on the game, so no matter what I say, you’re still going to lose much sooner than you should.”
“It’s not over yet.”
Edward’s gaze moved from the chess board to Sara’s agitated expression, noting the almost pained look in her eyes as she tried so very hard to concentrate on the game. It was easy to see that she was becoming more panicked by the second, and whatever skills she had acquired from his teachings had gone out the window for the time being.
“No, but the way you’re tap, tap, tapping that Knight piece on the table indicates there’s a much more serious problem here,” Edward said.
Sara hadn’t even realized she was doing it, and quickly stopped once she looked down at her right hand. The Knight piece was given a much-needed break as she set it on the table and tried to gather her thoughts.
“Sorry,” Sara said, running a hand through her hair.
As much as Edward wanted for Sara to look at him, he knew how nerve-wracking it could be for her to make direct eye contact when she was upset. It did sadden him, though, that she had barely glanced at him the whole time they’d been together that day, and part of him wondered if there was something he did to make her uncomfortable -- or something he didn’t do. Both of them had a lot of pent up emotions, and while they were quick to unleash them when under stress, they were also terrible at asking for help or simply being vulnerable in general. So, he had to approach this cautiously.
“Where is your mind at, Dearest Devinette?” he asked, tilting his head slightly to the side.
Sara let out a little huff which was as close to a chuckle as she could muster upon hearing one of his (rather adorable) nicknames for her.
“I’ve just got something on my mind,” she replied, resting her head in her left hand as she leaned on the table.
“Obviously,” said Edward, rolling his eyes. “But what precisely is on your mind?”
Sara chewed on her lower lip as she pondered how to respond. It was stupid, she told herself, what she was thinking, what she had been thinking, and she was almost embarrassed to admit it out loud -- let alone to herself. Edward was not going to take “no” for an answer, though, nor would he believe any lie she could toss into his lap. She was a terrible liar to begin with, and he was far too perceptive.
“It’s about, um….” Sara began, her throat starting to clamp up as her heart raced in her chest. “It’s, uh, about...a…”
The need to “hide” was too great at that moment, and Sara abruptly stood and turned her back to Edward, bringing her index finger to her mouth to bite at the second knuckle.
“It’s about a dream I had recently,” Sara confessed, her mouth dry and her heart beating so loudly in her ears she thought Edward might hear it.
“Ok?” Edward said slowly, waiting for her to continue despite feeling a little impatient.
As much as Edward wanted to help his love, there was little he could do without knowing the details of what troubled her so. Being helpless like this -- being helpless at all -- always drove him crazy. He needed to solve this, but he also needed answers first.
“Well, in the dream, we were working together,” Sara continued. “At a job. At a company. We were programmers.”
“It sounds like a very tame dream so far,” Edward commented.
“We were on a project together, and we liked each other. You liked me. I felt so happy to be noticed by a guy, and I thought I had a chance with you. But then...things changed. A new programmer started working there, a pretty blonde woman who was really smart. Like, a natural. You suddenly stopped paying attention to me, choosing to spend time with her. You both looked very happy, had lots to talk about, and whenever I tried to get your attention, you would...brush me off. You even...removed yourself from the project we were working on so you could work with this woman on a different one. I was invisible to you after that, and very alone.”
Edward felt a mixture of frustration, sympathy, confusion, and hurt over Sara’s dream. It was pure nonsense, no doubt, in every possible way, but clearly, it had an effect on her. Insecurities could twist your thoughts and emotions in painful ways, ways that didn’t even make sense. But they tugged at you until you gave into them and believed what they believed.
He could relate to that, even if he wasn’t willing to admit it out loud.
Edward got up from the table and approached Sara, wrapping his arms around her from behind to hold her against him.
“Oh, my silly little riddle,” he said with a smile, trying to brighten her spirits in some way. “It was just a dream, nothing more.”
“But...would you ever…?” Sara asked, her voice cracking.
“Would I ever, what?”
“Leave me for someone smarter, prettier…”
“What? No! Don’t be foolish!”
Edward made Sara turn to face him, his heart breaking upon seeing her tear-streaked face.
“I’m not going to leave you,” Edward said, cupping her face in his hands so she’d look at him. “You are the only one I want to be with. That dream was absolute nonsense, My Dear. I cannot even fathom for a second the mere idea of choosing someone else over you…” He leaned in and nuzzled her nose with his, smiling sweetly. “...my favorite distraction, my Darling Devinette, my Ravishing Riddle...”
Sara snorted, a grin spreading across her face.
“My Endearing Enigma,” Edward added, relieved to see her giggling.
“The nicknames are killing me,” Sara said, wiping her face. “You’re goofy.”
“”Goofy? Goofy, you say?”
“Yes, and a total fucking nerd!”
“Oh, is that how it is then? Hmm?”
Edward scooped Sara up into his arms, humming contentedly.
“Well, this ‘Goofy Nerd’ is going to whisk you off to bed and physically -- very physically -- demonstrate to you exactly how I feel.”
“Oh, my…” Sara said with a chuckle.
“I am going to make it so that you won’t be capable of coherent thoughts or speech,” Edward said with a smirk as he carried her to their bedroom. “You’ll be so overwhelmed with pleasure that the only thing you’ll be able to do is feel. No more negative, idiotic thoughts!”
“I’ll hold you to that,” Sara said, biting her lip.
---
“Oh, God, Eddie, there, please!”
“You’re so perfect, My Darling, so perfect…I can’t get enough...Oh, God!”
“What?”
“Oh, no, no, no...not now!”
Sara watched Edward sit up, one hand covering the lower half of his face. While she couldn’t see anything yet, she knew what was happening.
“Oh, Eddie,” she said, quickly grabbing tissues for him.
Edward took them and applied them to his bleeding nose, looking completely humiliated. Sara reached out to him, brushing hair from his face, but he jerked away, too embarrassed to even look at her. The poor man suffered from chronic nosebleeds, probably because his nose had been broken so many times (Thanks, Batman), and sometimes he got them during the most inconvenient moments.
“Let’s go to the bathroom,” Sara said.
She followed Edward into the bathroom, grabbing a wad of paper towels to hand to him for his nose. He threw the bloody tissues into the waste bin with a grunt, still unable to look her in the eye.
“I’ll run a bath,” Sara said as she went to turn on the tub faucet.
Edward’s nosebleed did slow while the tub filled up, but he still hated himself. Why did he have to have one while he was in the middle of…? With her? He was supposed to be making her feel good, not...bleeding on her. It was disgusting -- he felt disgusting. What kind of lover was he?
Sara tapped Edward’s shoulder, telling him the bath was ready. He mumbled something, tossing the blood-soaked paper towels into the waste bin before turning to her. Why did she have to look at him like that? Like she was worried? Why did she care so much? Why wasn’t she angry with him for ruining ‘the mood?’ Or grossed out? There was drying blood on her shoulder still, and yet, she didn’t seem to care.
Edward and Sara got into the tub with her sitting behind him. Taking a rag, she soaked it in the bathwater then handed it to him so he could clean his nose, lips, and chin of blood, and thankfully, the nosebleed had stopped by then. When she started to shampoo his hair, her elegant fingers lightly scratching his scalp as she hummed some random tune, he remembered the dream she had told him about. Once his hair was rinsed, he turned to face her, his expression full of guilt and sorrow.
“What’s wrong, Eddie?” Sara asked.
“This is just one of the many reasons why I could never want someone else,” Edward said quietly. “You’re so kind to me, so gentle...and I didn’t do anything to deserve it -- to deserve you. No one has ever treated me the way you do, no one has ever looked at me the way you do, no one has ever spoken to me the way you do.... I never realized how...how alone I was until I met you. I’d do anything for you, give up everything for you…”
Even my own life, he thought.
“So, please, never doubt how much you mean to me,” Edward said.
Sara was blushing, trying to come up with a response but too flustered to speak properly.
“I...I don’t know ….I don’t know...what to say,” she admitted, smiling shyly. “I’ve….never heard someone say something like that before…”
“You don’t have to say anything,” Edward assured her with a small, warm smile. “Just be with me.”
“Of course.”
Edward turned around so he could rest against her, his head on her shoulder as she wrapped her arms around him. While he was planning to finish what he started once they were out of the tub and back into bed, in that moment, he felt absolutely perfect where he was. All his life, he’d never had affectionate physical contact. Sure, there was the awkward hug here and there, or obligatory embrace when he had a lover (and there were very, very, very few of those), but nothing that was genuine or even remotely pleasant.
But in moments like this one with his beloved, he felt like he could be as vulnerable as he needed because she’d never hurt or humiliate him. When she hugged him, it was always warm and welcoming. Whenever she held his hand, she loved to lace their fingers together, almost like she was “trapping” him but in the most romantic way possible. Whenever she kissed him, he felt absolutely smitten because her kisses were so comforting or even playful.
“I love you, My Dearest Horny Geek,” Sara whispered, barely holding back a cute chuckle.
Edward rolled his eyes but smirked at her outrageously endearing nickname for him.
“And I love you, My Dearest Horny Enigma,” he replied, and they both couldn’t help but chuckle.
“Two horny peas in a pod,” she said as she placed a kiss to the top of his head. “And, you know, if you’re still up for it, you could put your ‘pea’ back in my ‘pod’ once we’re done with this bath.”
Edward slowly turned his head to look up at Sara, his cheeks a bright pink and his gaze full of bewilderment. When she snorted in amusement, he soon found himself joining her in a fit of childish giggles. And here she had been worried he would fall out of love with her. No one could make him laugh or grin like he did. No one could make him feel loved and needed like she did.
Only her.
What a lucky little shit he was….
----
And there we have it! Hopefully it’s not too crappy. I’m not totally satisfied with it but don’t feel like making it a longer story (at least, not right now). Let me know what you think and damn, I have really depressing dreams sometimes.
#arkham knight riddler#edward nigma#riddler#edward nigma x oc#riddler x oc#the riddler#edward nygma#the riddler x oc#edward nygma x oc#nsft#fluff and smut#feels
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better with time. Ch 14
change your mind.
Your future with the scouts is decided, along with new duties! (AO3)
Words: 2,390
You sighed shakily on the other side of the doors, three curious cadets eyeing you over.
“Let's get back to work guys.” You said, and without another word the four of you were sweeping, dusting, and mopping in silence. Just as you were wrapping up in the kitchen, Erwin appeared in the doorway asking for you. Jean pointed in the direction of the kitchen doors as you were pulling them open.
Your brows raised in question but Erwin’s character wouldn’t allow him to answer you just yet, instead he simply opened the canteen door wider prompting you to step through and follow him down the hall. The silence was heavy, the only noise being your collective footfalls. Erwin turned his head in your direction, smiling down at you.
“I heard about your experience from the other day, how are you feeling?” He waited patiently for your response, watching the way you were sputtering trying to quickly get your words out.
“I-I’m okay now, glad to be up and about cleaning for once. Heh.” You chuckled awkwardly, his face remained unchanging.
“Glad to hear it. Step into my office.” With that he opened his heavy office door, and inside Levi and Hange were still present, the latter turning in their chair to face you.
“Ohh, Y/N!” They said, pleased with your appearance.
“Don’t act so surprised Four Eyes, we’ve only been talking about what to do with her for the last three hours.” Levi grunted, a tired look to his eyes. They flicked in your direction for only a moment before watching as Erwin took his seat behind his desk.
“So, let’s get to the point, shall we? Y/N we’ll continue our research of course, only this time Eren Jeager will be attending. We’ll use what we know about him to help you tap into whatever titan abilities you may have. There are many things we need to test for, you see, Hange if you will.” Erwin prompted. Hange turned to where you sat flipping through their notes to explain what they all know about titans from previous work with Eren and experience outside the walls.
“First, we tested to see if you could transform. That’s still up in the air, with that comes healing and regeneration...” Hange paused to gage your reaction, you looked puzzled.
“Regeneration? What do you mean?”
“Think of it like this, brat... If I cut off your arm now, will it grow back tomorrow?” Levi questioned, his tone seemed threatening but you couldn’t tell if you should actually be worried or not. You swallowed loudly, your hand coming to rub comfortingly against your forearm.
“E-eh! But no worries Y/N! That won’t happen! We do have to test it but we won't take any limbs, or even any phalanges!! Just a cut to your palm to see how fast you heal, titans and shifters heal much faster than normal humans from what we’ve seen.” They continued to explain, you masked your nausea with forced determination.
They need to know, and the more they know the quicker this can be over. Not that you know what will happen to you after all of this.
“And if you can shift, can you move during the nighttime, because most cannot. How did you manage to regain your humanity? Are there others like you? Can you communicate with them? These are things we need to know.” Erwin added, his blue eyes floating over your face, taking in your features. Visibly scared and reluctant, a storm in your eyes.
"Basically, if you're of any use or are you worthless." Levi added flatly.
“But the good news is, we’re still the only ones that know about you. You’re safe here, Y/N. We’re not planning on letting anyone know of your existence until we know wall that there is to know. The others can be...” Erwin searched for the word in his mind before Levi cut in.
“Idiotic? Useless? Dimwitted? They wanted to cut the other brat open when they found out about him.” Levi said, crossing on leg over the other.
“The others?” You asked, your lips were parted in astonishment. Cut him open?
“The military police and the church.” He replied matter of factly, noting your bewilderment.
“Thats exactly why we want to keep things under wraps before they catch word. They don’t have experience with titans so their fear takes hold and they become irrational. They’d sooner kill you before hearing you out.” Erwin said, lacing his fingers together on his desk. This was a lot to take in. Things were more complicated than you had previously presumed, but even still what did you expect? You know nothing of these people and their society. All you have ever known was this one base.
You heaved a shaking sigh before shifting uncomfortably in your seat. Hange. Levi, and Erwin all exchanged quick glances before changing the topic of conversation.
“Well, I have good news, Y/N!” Hange cooed, wrapping their arm over your shoulder and pulling you close. The cloud of negativity in your head instantly dissipated at the contact.
“What is it?” You asked, curiosity prickling your skin.
“I feel bad only seeing you clean and get hurt here, so I got permission to let you help out in the kitchen at meal times! You can help cook!”
“Really?” You glanced between Hange and Erwin, who only smiled in response.
“I think I'd love to cook... t-thank you so much.” You said, suddenly feeling like a part of your character revolved around cooking and eating with your family, though the full memory eludes you still. Levi scoffed, folding his arms together.
“We don’t eat human meat around here, if I find even a single finger in my soup--” He was quickly cut off by Hange’s boisterous laughter.
“Lighten up Levi! This’ll be good for Y/N.” Hange said, giving you a squeeze before heading for the door. Levi’s eyes narrowed at Hange’s words before they slid over to you. Your smile, your eyes looking soft and appreciative. Your bottom lip trembled for only a moment before you sharply inhaled and lifted your head.
“Follow me Y/N! I’ll show you the food we got!” Hange said and you followed their lead. Levi hadn’t noticed but his frown instantly vanished the moment he saw you almost brought to tears by this new job for you. Erwin always the one with sharp eyes for these things hummed to himself in thought.
“How are things?” He asked, bringing Levi back down to earth.
“Tiring. She used to be insufferable, utterly a chore to be around.” Levi complained, surveying his nail beds to keep from making eye contact with his Commander.
“Used to be?” Erwin asked, a playful lilt to his words. Levi’s brow twitched before he stood to take his leave, wordlessly.
...
For dinner that night, tomato soup with bread. Unlike what the cooks for the evening were used to, you added cream to the soup and other seasonings you found collecting dust.
“OOOOH! WHO’S ON KITCHEN DUTY? I need to hug them!” Sasha announced, shedding euphoric tears at the unusual, yet delicious flavor. The other young cadets exchanged cautious looks before simultaneously taking a small spoonful of the soup into their mouths.
The table fell silent as they assessed the flavor, then the next second only the sounds of spoons, slurping, and blissful sighs could be heard. The squad leader table, consisting of Levi, Hange, Miche, Moblit, and Erwin watch as their cadets chow down.
“Bunch of pigs...” Levi comments, he turns his attention to Hange who he finds eating just as monstrously as the cadets. He groans eyeing his soup over; he glances to Erwin who just finished his first bite. He gives a delighted hum at the food before dipping in his spoon for another. Miche sniffs, a smile forming on his face. He and Moblit dig in leaving only Levi who hasn’t tasted yet.
Having finished cleaning up in the kitchen, you joined their table with a bowl filled with your own soup. You felt giddy hearing the way Sasha and Connie whined for more food.
“Do you like it?” You asked Levi, seeing as how he didn’t seem to be having as much of an outward reaction as everyone else. Your eyes caught a glimpse of his spoon, completely clean. You couldn’t fight the way your shoulders dropped seeing that he hadn’t even tasted it yet.
“Oh... well, I hope you like it.” You said before grabbing your spoon and taking your first bite. Your lips curled into a satisfied smile before you went for another, and then a third. Levi couldn’t deny that it smelled nice and fresh, different from when regular cadets had their turn to scrape something together.
Levi gave his soup one last look before finally dipping his spoon in and taking it to his lips. You waited with bated breath for his commentary. The two of you used to butt heads a lot, but something in you wanted his approval on mundane things. Maybe it was that you wanted him to think differently of you. Maybe it was something else.
Seeing as you weren't going to take silence for an answer, with the way you even ventured to scoot closer to him, Levi felt pressured to respond. He sighed dramatically, rolling his head on his shoulders in agitation.
“It’s edible.” He said, cocking his brow at you, daring you to complain. You snorted at the comment before returning to your soup and he did the same in silence. It was really good, but his pride wouldn’t allow him to admit that it’s the best thing he’d eaten in a long time.
“Y/N were you a chef in a past life or something?” Hange asked, not realizing the unintentional gravity of their question, but you ignored the painful throb it gave your heart.
“I’m not sure, haha.” You replied wearily, your chuckle was forced and there was no smile to your eyes. It wasn’t Hange’s fault, you desperately wanted to remember who you were. Or, at least, you quickly wanted to make peace with the fact that you may never know. Moblit gave Hange a soft nudge with his elbow, nodding in your direction. Hange noticed you looked sad for a moment, but quickly deflected the growing melancholy.
“I’m glad you liked the food! I had to learn how to work a lot of the things back there, but once I did, I had a lot of fun. Got my mind off things for a few hours.” You said, a sad smile on your lips, but a genuine one. The table fell silent for a moment but it was interrupted by Levi standing from his seat.
“Meet me outside.”
Your brows knitted together in confusion at the order, but nevertheless, after you deposited your bowl and his at the sink in the kitchen you did as you were told. You met him outside where he kept his back to you. Next to him sat a few buckets and scrubbing brushes. More chores. Great.
“You’re not as troublesome as you used to be. Today was your last day of cleaning duty. I'm upgrading you to stable duty. Keep ‘em clean and orderly how I like.” That didn’t sound like much of a gift, but you were happy to not need to clean the entire kitchen all the time anymore.
“Take care of the horses, feed and water them, brush ‘em out all of that. It’s dirty work, but I imagine you’ll enjoy the horse's company.” He said, finally turning to face you. He stalked forward to you, closer than he has ever been before. Reading the situation completely wrong your heart fluttered in your chest, your cheeks burning at the sudden proximity.
“The horses are important and vital to scouting missions. You mess up, you’re done. That’s it.”
“O-okay! Thank you, Captain!”
“Don’t call me that...”
“Thank you, Levi!” You corrected instantly, sweat beading at your brow. You don’t understand why now you were so insecure in Levi’s presence but, that’s something you’ll put to the back of your mind for now. This was a big job requiring a lot of trust from him, the fruits of your labor.
“There's only three things you need to worry about now. Cooking, shoveling horse shit, and getting Erwin results from your titan experiments. So, get it done.”
You nodded in response and with that, he left you to get acquainted with the horses. You watched as he disappeared inside, you turned on your heel and when rounding the corner there they were. The stables were modest, just wood and nail constructed to house a fleet of horses. On the inside, it was dirty. Very dirty . Whoever’s job it was to clean this before were obviously lacking in discipline you thought. You whined but before getting yourself dirty making this place clean, you met the horses.
The horses farthest to the end was Levi’s, a huge stallion with marvelous shiny black fur. A luscious mane, and kind eyes. You smiled at the horse, offering your hand for it to sniff. It huffed at you before lowering its head for you to caress.
“Your rider makes me nervous. How do you work with him so well?” The horse whinnied in response making you laugh.
“Look, I’m not sure if I’m afraid of him or just desperate for his faith. But it’s doing a number on my nerves either way.” The horse neighed loudly, swishing its tail back and forth.
“Don’t laugh at me! I’m serious! One moment he’s mean and intimidating, the next it’s like he kind of thinks I’m tolerable. Like I’m his friend at least sometimes!” You pressed your forehead to the horse's snout before humming to yourself.
“Well, horsey, next time you see him, tell him to give me a break. Now let's get this place cleaned up."
Outside the stable, Levi listened as you retrieved the rake and began shoveling the hay around. His arms were folded over his chest, his once knitted brows softening as his eyes shifted to his feet at the ground. He had come to tell you not to bother with brushing out his horse, in fear that it wouldn’t be up to his standards but...
He thinks his horse is in good hands now.
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I Love You, Baby
Sullivan X Andy one-shot | Rated M | Canonverse
A/N: Amidst my Surrera breakdown tonight after reading the episode synopsis for 4x16, I wrote this to settle my heart rate. I have no idea how the Station 19 finale will go, but hints about a Surrera baby are running wild, so this fic inspired by those and everything else *Rated M for non-explicit sex/TW regarding the mention of George Floyd’s death (briefly)*
•
You can read this work on ao3 and fanfiction.net as well
Written & cover by @thedefinitionofendgame (aka me)
The cover is split between 3 different sections, just because :)
Alarms blared and sirens wailed but Lieutenant Andy Herrera heard none of them. Her thoughts were too crowded with her husband’s voice. No, not the way he whispered sweet nothings against her skin in the early mornings or the outrageously sexy way his voice deepened when he fought with her over control in the bedroom. Instead, it was the things he had told her over the last few months when the whole world had flipped upside down. The coronavirus started which put enough strain on a marriage alone. Then Andy’s husband, Robert, and a member of her Station 19 family, Dean, had wound up in jail mainly due to the colour of their skin. Robert had even had a gun pointed at his head, as he rushed to his wife who had been shoved to the ground. Less than two months later, a man across the country had died claiming he couldn’t breathe, filmed for the whole world to witness and make opinions about. None of it made sense to Andy, but then again she didn’t see things in the same way she had just half a year ago before she married her husband.
She loved his eyes. They were kind and held so much emotion. She loved the way his hands held her face when his lips brushed hers, no matter how gentle or rough their kiss was. His firefighter-status fitness level was a definite bonus; his hands were way larger than her own but she liked that they fit around hers like a glove. These were just some of the physical features she loved about her husband. Not once did she think about the colour of his skin and how that affected her love for him. It simply didn’t, at least not in a negative way. Robert was her husband; the colour of his skin never made any difference to her one way or another. Until it did matter, although not in a bad way. Suddenly, he was a target and Andy was thrust into a world that didn’t see a kind and dedicated man when they looked at Robert Sullivan. They saw someone that Andy would never compare to her husband, all for the colour of his skin.
Our marriage is the only good thing in my life, he had told her. The only good thing was her. They both had no one else, no parents or siblings. Sure, they had Station 19 who were basically family and Andy’s aunt, uncle and cousin. But in terms of immediate family, it was just them. Robert’s comment had left Andy’s head turning. Maybe it was the truth in his words, maybe it was the desperation he had said them to her in. Maybe it was because Andy wanted more than just their marriage to be good in his life. And maybe it was a little bit of all three.
Whatever it was, Andy was sure the problems couldn’t be fixed with what she had in mind. Although her idea wasn’t rational, it was the only thing she could think of. Robert and her had talked about the prospect of it before but it hadn’t gotten farther than that. The question remained whether or not it would break them up or make them stronger. At this point, Andy wasn’t ready to find out.
Yet somewhere in the universe, a light shone. A spark was lit, a flame caught on and from there, it was an inferno. One thing led to another and soon a giant ball of fire was heading for the only good thing in Robert (and Andy’s) life. It was only a matter of time before it crashed into them, leaving nothing but a mist of smoke behind.
“Hey, are you okay?” Robert’s concerned murmur washed over Andy, as she slid back into bed next to her husband.
Andy nodded, desperate to feel the warmth of his skin against hers again. The early-morning air was cold and the firefighter wasn’t ready to get up yet. “Just had to use the bathroom.”
“Mhm.” An arm wrapped around her shoulders, making Andy feel safe. Home was wherever Robert’s embrace was. “Some long trip to the bathroom you took. Also did I hear you throwing up?”
Andy’s heart thumped in her chest. “No, why did you think that?”
“Thought I heard it. If you didn’t, it’s fine. Just wanted to check,” Robert pressed a kiss to his wife’s forehead. “We have ten more minutes until the alarm goes,” he informed her.
“So kiss me.” Andy’s reply was quiet but Robert reacted immediately. His lips moved from her forehead to her eyelids, her cheeks, her nose and landed softly on her lips. Andy shifted so that she was more upright, and Robert’s hands moved to cup her face. The kiss deepened, and the sheets soon ended up on the unoccupied side of the mattress.
Morning sex was something Andy hadn’t really indulged in during her hookups with Jack and Ryan. Sure, it was a better way to wake up than turning over and hitting snooze on the alarm but she was mostly concerned about not getting caught by her father or anyone else at the station.
The alarm blared, interrupting the couple’s post-orgasmic bliss. With a sigh, Andy pushed away from Robert and threw on his discarded Station 19 shirt from the night before. “Cereal good for you? I’m not in the mood for French toast which is the-”
“Only thing you know how to make for breakfast, I know.” Leaning back against the headboard. Robert put his hands behind his head and smiled at her. “You tell me every morning.”
“Hey, I’m just reminding you what you signed up for when you married me.” She threw on yesterday’s jeans (her own this time), leaving the room.
“I married you for other reasons besides my breakfast options!” Robert shouted after her. He heard her infectious giggle from the stairs, which made his smile stretch even wider. Andy was going to be the death of him, but he would happily go if it meant the last thing he saw was her. The thought was cheesy, Robert knew, yet that was the state the ex-battalion chief was constantly in around his wife. She brought out a completely different side of him that had been hiding for the years between his first wife’s death and him coming to Station 19.
His first wife was probably watching from whatever afterlife she was in, happy for him. A day didn’t go by that Robert didn’t miss Claire, but he knew she would want him to find happiness again. Lucky for him, Andy was the woman he never expected to fall in love with and he did anyways. He was a very fortunate man to get two loves of his life.
After stretching, Robert rolled out of bed and trekked to the bathroom. Water was splashed all over the counter, which made him shake his head. While his wife kept a fairly clean locker at the station, their bathroom had no idea. He grabbed a small towel off the rack and mopped up the small puddles, then turned on the shower. Taking less than two minutes to get clean, Robert had a towel wrapped around his waist and was brushing his teeth while observing himself in the mirror. Clearly all the workouts he had been doing recently to deal with the emotions he had been feeling were helping tone his figure. Raising an eyebrow at himself in the mirror, Robert let out a laugh. He felt a bit stupid, so he quickly turned off the light, rinsed his mouth in the sink and went to change for the day.
A pair of Andy’s socks showed up in Robert’s drawer, so he opened up her side of the closet to put them away. But before he could move, something solid caught his eye amongst the squishy socks. He was about to investigate, then realized it wasn’t his. It was Andy’s and if he looked, it would be invading her privacy. So he closed the drawer and went back to putting on his own clothes. Yet Robert’s curiosity was piqued and the wheels in his head were already turning with possibilities. A surprise for him, perhaps. Or many it was a female-related object, one that she clearly didn’t want him to know about. Or maybe it was a- “Hey Andy, do you own a vibrator?” The question escaped Robert’s lips before he could stop himself.
Robert had never seen his wife appear in their bedroom so fast. “Robert, what on Earth have you been doing in here?” She asks, alarm lighting up her face.
Feeling like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar, Robert admitted to what he had seen in Andy’s sock drawer. “Do you own a vibrator?” He repeated, once he had recounted his story to his wife.
Andy let out a huff of laughter, as she turned towards Robert. “Um, I did, before I married you. But it’s long gone, so don’t worry you don’t have any need to get your feather’s ruffled.” She crossed her arms. “Would you have been mad if I did own one?”
“No way, I would’ve suggested we use it to spice up our sex lives even more,” Robert told her.
Andy smacked her husband’s arm, before turning to leave the room again. “You need to get dressed because we gotta go in like fifteen minutes. I got out the cereal.”
“Okay, thanks.” Robert listened to his wife, and joined her in the kitchen for coffee moments later. He offered her the coffee pot, but she shook her head. It surprised Robert as Andy wasn’t one to skip out on caffeine.
Andy could tell her husband was starting to get a bit suspicious, so she made her exit. “Gonna change, then we can go,” she said in a rush, then jogged up the stairs to their bedroom again.
Shutting the door behind her, Andy leaned against it, before sliding to the floor. It was getting a little exhausting trying to keep their teeny tiny surprise a secret, especially from her husband. Not that she wanted to be keeping secrets, but this one was too big to tell him yet. Andy wasn’t ready for him to know. Unfortunately, keeping it from him went against the main slogan of their marriage: no more secrets. Robert had told her that on many occasions, always with a kiss on her lips following. This was an exception, or at least that’s what Andy told herself to make her feel better.
The young woman shed her clothes and put on clean ones, then grabbed her purse and a pair of socks. She turned the hidden object over in her hand once, before slipping it back and smiling to herself. “Baby, you ready to go?”
“Yep, and I have coffee for you to go,” Robert handed Andy the travel mug, which she dutifully took. Hopefully she’d be able to pour the contents down the sink when her husband wasn’t looking.
They got in the car and drove to work. The streets were pretty empty, as it was barely six-thirty a-m. Andy silently prayed people would stay safe today, making their job easier but also keep people living. It also meant Andy wasn’t taking big risks, something she knew she should avoid for the foreseeable future. Robert didn’t think anything was different, as he reached across the center console to take Andy’s hand. She smiled at him, and he pressed his lips to her fingers. They were stupidly in love without a care in the world.
Once they reached the station, the couple changed into their work attire and headed up to the kitchen for their second breakfast. Andy realized she conveniently forgot the travel mug of coffee in the car, and sighed with relief. Except the second they came around the corner, Ben was offering a second coffee to Robert, and extended it to Andy.
“I’m good, thanks Warren,” she said, avoiding Robert’s gaze and scurrying to sit with Maya and Vic at the table. “Hey guys.”
“Hey Andy,” Vic greeted her.
“We were just talking about Pru’s recent development in mobility,” Maya explained.
Babies, Andy thought, I can talk about that. “Is she still doing the butt-scootch thing?”
Vic nodded. “Yep. Dean’s been trying to get her to take a few steps because she’s more than ready. But she’s a stubborn girl.”
It would be awhile longer, but teaching a child to walk was something that thrilled Andy. “I can’t wait for that,” Andy accidentally burst out, before catching herself. “I mean, I can’t wait for Pru to start walking.”
“Same.” Learning back, Vic looked like a proud mother, despite the fact that Pru wasn’t her kid.
Maya waited a second longer, before pushing her chair back as the rest of the A-crew took a seat. “Okay, Montgomery and Herrera, you two are on aid car today. The rest of you guys, make sure the truck’s in tip-top shape.”
After a chorus of ‘yes-es’, the team spread out. Andy and Travis were called to a house regarding someone who choked on a piece of sausage (the Heimlich was performed swiftly and effectively), while the rest of the firefighters were sentenced to putting out a warehouse fire. A machine had caught a spark, which spread to all the wood materials lighting on fire. Not a great combination, yet Station 19 was prepared and managed to evacuate everyone in record time. Maya commanded the radio outside, as Vic, Robert, Jack and Dean did a final sweep. The aid care, with Andy and Travis inside, pulled up just as Maya was about to call her firefighters back. No one was hurt, but it was good to have the care on standby just in case.
The radio crackled, and Vic’s voice rang out. “There’s one more person in here! They’re trapped under a wooden shelf.” Static, then there was a muffled noise, before a shout could be heard. “Dammit!”
Instantly Maya had the radio switched on. “What happened?”
“The fire just lit up the entire back wall,” Vic reported. Andy’s heart beat loudly in her chest, as she feared for her fellow firefighters’ lives, and most of all her husband’s.
“Get the person stable, and then get out,” Maya ordered. “Gibson, Miller, what’s the status on the exit?”
“Clear. The direct path has nothing structural that could fall. But the smoke is thick. We need to start putting out the fire in the main area or else it has the potential to block off where we need to go,” Jack reported.
“Okay, good. Get out and you can help the other stations spray from the windows.” The warehouse luckily had a bunch of windows, which made access to the fire easier. Maya had had the windows smashed in earlier.
“Copy that.” Jack’s radio went muffled for a moment, then two doors opened at the side of the building. “Hey Herrera, Montgomery, nice of you to join us,” Jack said with a laugh. Travis nodded hello while Andy didn’t even look in Jack’s direction. She was too focused on whatever fate her husband had. Recently her emotions and hormones had been all over the place, leaving her wanting to cry one moment and incredibly turned on the next. Right now though, Andy was scared for her husband’s life.
“We got them!” This time it was Robert’s voice on the radio. “Heading for the exit.”
The seconds ticked away as everyone who wasn’t spraying water at the fire, had their eyes on the double doors where they expected Vic and Robert to emerge from. Maya was worried, and turned on the radio again. “Sullivan and Hughes, where are you guys?”
The only answer was static. Andy thought she head a shout but it was too muffled to tell. Then one door pushed open, and she rushed towards it. Vic called out, “Help me grab the guy!”
Andy held open the door as Vic stumbled through it towing a man behind her. She coughed loudly, as the smoke was incredibly thick. Robert was nowhere to be found.
While Travis did his job and checked over the man, Andy turned to Vic. “Where’s Sullivan?” She asked, remembering to use her husband’s proper title since they were at work.
Vic didn’t answer her. Instead she spun around and fixed her helmet back on her head. “I’m going back in there,” she said.
“No you aren’t.” Maya stopped her.
There was panic in Vic’s eyes. “Sullivan is still in there. A huge beam came down just as I was rounding the corner to the exit. Sullivan jumped back just in time, but we were separated. The smoke is so bad, and I had the guy with me. I could see the exit, so I thought I could just drop him off and the go back for Sullivan.”
“You left him?” Andy whirled on Vic.
“No, I couldn’t get to him. I had a civilian and I told him I’d go back. I have to go back,” Vic repeated to Maya.
“No. No one is going back in there.” Maya stated firmly. She picked up her radio and said, “Sullivan, do you copy?”
There was nothing, except for Vic’s voice apologizing. “I’m so sorry, I just couldn’t reach him and I had the civilian and-”
“Nothing. You made the call and it was what was necessary.” Maya attempted to contact Robert via the radio again, with no luck.
Suddenly, there was a huge crash and a section of the warehouse roof began to cave in. Andy watched in horror as smoke billowed out into the sky and there continued to be no response from the radio. “ROBERT!” A scream left Andy’s throat as she lunged herself towards the doors her husband was still trapped behind. Much to her dismay, both Maya and Vic lunged after her, stopping her from charging in after him. She struggled against the women but soon gave up. “Somebody do something!”
Maya shook her head sadly. “It’s up to him to get out, I can’t risk another firefighter. Andy, he’ll be okay.”
“You don’t know that!” Andy was practically in hysterics, which wasn’t like her at all. She was normally pretty put together, even when his life had been in danger before.
Jack came over and looked Andy right in the eyes. “I know he’ll make it out to you. He’s been a firefighter for a long time, and will be fine. Trust him.”
“Okay.” Andy’s voice was small as she nodded. Jack gave her shoulder a reassuring pat, then stood off to the side. He was worried about his friend because she was rarely this emotional while on a call. Sure, she had broken down from time to time, but it was rare for to lose it at the scene. Maybe she and her husband-it was still weird to say that after almost a whole year-had had a fight beforehand, and she didn’t get the chance to work things out.
Water continued to rain down on the building but the radio remained silent. Maya tried over and over to reach Robert with no response. The panic was just starting to settle in, when someone shouted that they saw movement through one of the broken windows.
Inside the building the air was thickening with smoke and Robert was losing air fast. But he had someone to fight for, well two someones actually. He was not about to leave his wife the way his first wife had left him. Claire’s death had almost killed him, and he would do whatever he could to save Andy from losing someone else. Up ahead, Robert saw the exit that separated him from the love of his life. With a last surge of strength, Robert burst open the doors and stumbled a short distance before he fell to the concrete. Cold, fresh air filled his lungs as he took in gasping breaths. He looked up and saw that the sky above him wasn’t smoke but clear and blue with the sun shining too. I’m safe, he thought. I’m safe and I'm alive.
Seconds later, two figures reached him. One was Travis, thrusting an oxygen mask into his hands for him to put on, and the other was his wife. Her arms engulfed him in a hug, and she practically lay on top of him on the ground. At first, Robert thought she was just happy to see him alive and well, then he felt her shaking in his lap. “I’m safe, it’s okay,” he told her, pulling back slightly so he could wipe the tears from her eyes.
“I thought I lost you,” Andy told him, as she pressed the oxygen mask to his face. Travis stepped back and gave them a few feet of space, as the rest of the group worked to spray the flames.
“You’ll never lose me, I’m too stubborn to die,” Robert reassured her.
Andy nodded, but she wasn’t convinced, She was just thankful he had made it back to her, and didn’t leave her all alone to raise their child. “I love you, baby,” she managed to get out.
“I love you.” His words echoed back and he hugged her tightly again. Moments later, Maya appeared at his side, and Andy moved to get up off of the ground. “Hey Captain Bishop, things were getting a bit toasty, huh?”
“Just a bit,” Maya rolled her eyes. “You okay Sullivan?”
“Fine.” The man in question had regained enough oxygen in his lungs and strength in his body, to rise to a standing position.
“You should head over to the aid car and rest; we can debrief later.” Maya glanced around, then leaned over to her fellow firefighter. “Hey, is Andy alright?”
Robert raised an eyebrow. “She’s fine, why?”
Maya sighed. “She acted overly emotional when you were struggling to get out of the building. I totally understand why, but it’s unlike her. I just wanted to make sure things were okay.”
“Oh, I understand.” Pausing, Robert hesitated how to approach the subject of why when he knew Andy didn’t even know he knew about her secret. “I’m sure she was just worried.”
“Right,” Maya said. She didn’t look completely convinced, but luckily thought Robert didn’t get questioned any longer. He made his way over to Travis at the aid car and got his head looked at. It was just a bruise, which would heal in no time.
The fire eventually died down and lost the war against the firefighters and water. Station 19 began to pack up, and Andy came over to give her husband a check up of her own, before getting back into the aid car. Vic apologized profusely to Robert for leaving him, and he told her that he would’ve done the same thing, had he been in her position. As Andy and Travis pulled away, Robert was leaning over to give Vic a reassuring hug; all was okay.
Once they got back, chores needed to be done, then people started heading to the showers or to crash in a bunk room. Andy slipped away and went back to the barn, swinging herself up to sit on the back of the firetruck amongst the many hoses. It had been a long day, even though it was barely eight o’clock. All she wanted to do was go to sleep, with maybe a little loving from her husband first.
Speaking of Robert, his voice carried through the barn as he spotted her. “Hey, can I join you?” He asked.
“Yeah,” Andy nodded, moving so he could come up too. She let out a loud sigh, and ran a hand through her messy curls.
Robert watched her, concern in his gaze. “Everything okay?”
“Today was a close call,” Andy began, looking at her hands instead of her husband. “I’m glad you’re safe.”
Robert wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close. “Me too.” There was a moment of silence, until Robert decided it was time to rip off the bandaid. But first, he needed to tell her something. “I love you, you know that?”
Pulling away, Andy snuck a glance at Robert. “Of course, silly. I love you too.”
“Good.” Robert smiled slightly, then bumped her shoulder with hers. “Then I just wanted to tell you that I know.”
Andy whipped her head towards her husband. “You know what.”
“I know. Don’t try to hide it any longer.”
“What do you know.”
“I know.”
“I know you know, but what do you know?” Andy was very stubborn, and was not about to show her cards first.
Robert, who gave into arguments like this with her more often than she did, sighed and told her: “I know about the baby. That you’re pregnant.”
“Dammit.” She looked back down at her hands. “I was trying to keep it a secret for a little while longer. How did you find out? You didn’t look in my sock drawer, did you?”
“No, I wouldn’t invade your privacy like that,” Robert reassured her.
“Then what was it?”
“Well you’ve been acting funny the past couple days. Avoiding coffee, being way more emotional than normal-which there’s nothing wrong with but it isn’t like you normally-and disappearing to throw up at the same time for the past five days. You deny it but I know my wife.”
Shaking her head, Andy let out a sigh. “I can’t keep anything a secret from you.”
“So are you pregnant?” Robert wanted his wife to say it, to confirm his theory.
“Yes, I’m pregnant.” Andy nodded.
Robert didn’t hesitate. He leaned over and pulled his wife into the biggest hug, then began to press sloppy kisses all over her face. She laughed, swatting at him lightly. “I love you so much,” Robert gushed. “And I love you too, baby,” he said, looking down at Andy’s non-showing belly.
Andy took his hand and placed it where their baby was growing inside of her right now. “You’re not gonna want to miss this, ever,” she said.
“Never,” he agreed.
They were quiet for a moment, just breathing together. Then Andy spoke: “Before you tell me to lighten my duties, I planned on talking to Maya later this week. We have a girl’s night in the works, and I need to tell her before she suggests we go to a bar for shots.”
“Didn’t even cross my mind yet, but I’m glad you knew what I was going to ask in the future,” Robert said with a laugh. He pressed another kiss to Andy’s lips, then looked all around him.
“What?” Andy asked, as she watched her husband.
“I was just thinking, this is where it all started. Right here in the barn, when I was introduced as the new captain of Station 19. Who knew that we’d be here now, married with a baby on the way?” He lay back, pulling Andy down with him, and they tangled themselves amongst the folded hoses, snuggled together like they had lay that morning before getting up.
Andy confessed, “Not me. I hated you for a good while, before I realized I was using hate to cover up what I felt for you.”
Robert chimed in, “And I told myself I wasn’t going to fall in love with a firefighter half my rank. Look where that got me.”
“You love me.”
“I do.”
“And we’re going to be good parents, right?”
“The absolute best. First thing we’re going to do is teach them Spanish. After English of course.”
“Okay. Only if I get to teach them how to make French toast because-”
“It’s the only thing you know how to make for breakfast.”
#station 19#station 19 fanfic#andy x sullivan#andy x sullivan fanfic#surrera#surrera fanfic#andy herrera#andy herrera fanfic#robert sullivan#robert sullivan fanfic#fluff#fanfic on tumblr#the definition of endgame
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careful son (you got dreamer's plans)
Wilbur gasps back to life with mud between his fingers and rain in his eyes.
Wilbur was dead. Now, he is not. He can't say that he's particularly happy about it.
Unfortunately, the server is still as tumultuous as ever, even with Dream locked away, so it seems that his involvement in things isn't a matter of if, but when.
(Alternatively: the prodigal son returns, and a broken family finally begins to heal. If, that is, the egg doesn't get them all killed first.)
Chapter Word Count: 3,775
Chapter Content Warnings: swearing, references to scars, implied s.uicidal ideation
Chapter Summary: In which Wilbur makes it to Technoblade, and a conversation is had.
(masterlist w/ ao3 links)
(previous chapter) (next chapter)
Chapter Two: shiver to that broken beat
He underestimated how cold he would get. By the time he finally finds Techno’s cabin, Ghostbur’s memories guiding him over the hills, he’s fairly certain that his fingers and toes are halfway to frostbite, and he’s shivering uncontrollably. If Techno ends up wanting to kill him, he won’t have to do much. Not letting him inside would be enough.
He isn’t sure if he’d respawn. Isn’t sure if he’s got another three lives, or if it’s just the one. Whether it’s three lives to live, three lives to lose, three lives to waste, three lives that he shouldn’t have in the first place, three lives to spare. Two lives to throw away, if need be. Or if it’s just the one.
(the one that he never wanted at all)
(an image flashes: Tommy staring into lava. Ghostbur found him like that, once, and thinking about it now makes his heart stutter in his chest)
He mounts the steps to Techno’s cabin, sparing a glace for—are those polar bears? Does Techno have polar bears tied up outside? He shakes his head, because yes, of course he does, it’s Techno, and then he is standing in front of the door, and he’s suddenly feeling a lot more trepidation about this whole thing. It’s irrational, really, but he can’t shake it, can’t shake the fear that this is going to go terribly, and this whole journey was a mistake.
“Fuck,” he murmurs, his breath puffing in front of his face. “Fuck everything.” The swearing doesn’t make him feel much better, but watching his breath fog up does remind him that he is very cold, and that he needs to be inside now. Even if this ends in him respawning, it’ll be somewhere warmer than this, hopefully.
He knocks. Four times, loudly. There is no response, so he does it again. There is still no answer, and he can’t resist the dark glare that he casts at the door. If he’s come all this way only for Techno to not be home, he’s going to be very put out. He’s also definitely not above breaking into his house, if need be.
He knocks one last time for good measure, already mapping his way in. There’s a window he can break—
“Hold your damn horses, I’m coming!”
It’s unmistakably Techno’s voice, and every muscle in Wilbur’s body tenses up, ready to fight, ready to flee, ready to do whatever the moment asks of him. For a brief, hysterical moment, he entertains the idea of abandoning this whole thing, of ducking out of sight and letting Techno think that it was someone playing a prank. This is the last moment to back out.
He doesn’t, in spite of his better judgment,
(or perhaps because of it, he doesn’t know, doesn’t even know if he has ‘better’ judgment at all, these days)
and he jams his hands in his pockets and tries for all the world to adopt a casual pose before the door is swinging open, and Techno is there.
(his brother is there)
“Alright, who—” Techno starts, and stops just as quickly, staring at him with wide eyes.
Techno looks… good. He looks good. Dressed in warm layers, that damn red cape he’s so fond of flowing out behind him, his stupid crown on his head. His hair is braided neatly, his tusks sharpened to gleaming points, and if, perhaps, the bags under his eyes are a bit darker than they should be, Wilbur won’t point it out. What’s a little lost sleep, in the grand scheme of things? Technoblade seems like he’s thriving up here, the Antarctic Empire all over again, and Wilbur feels a sharp flare of
(jealousy)
(relief)
emotion. He tries not to let it show on his face.
“Hello, Technoblade,” he says. “Can I come in?”
For a long minute, Techno says nothing at all. Just stares, motionless, unblinking. Wilbur can’t remember the last time he saw his brother look so shocked.
(yes you can, you liar, you dirty liar, it was the first time he heard you yell at Tommy, really rip into him, and the shock was only there for a second, he hid it well, but you saw it, you know you did, you just pretended not to, pretended that this was all normal and what you were doing was justified)
“I hate to press you, but it’s fucking freezing,” he adds.
“Shit,” Techno says. “Shit, how are you—Phil said that it didn’t—Wilbur.” He bursts into motion, then, and Wilbur barely tamps down the instinct to punch him, to claw at him and fight and get away as he suddenly steps forward, gripping him by the forearms, crushingly enough to hurt, to leave bruises later. Wilbur furrows his brow at this reaction, but doesn’t have too much time to think about it, because Techno is right there now, right in his face, and that’s too close. Too close. Too much. Techno’s hands almost seem to be burning through the sleeves of his coat, and his skin tingles, as if there are sparks rushing across it.
“It is you, right?” Techno says. “Not—no, Ghostbur wouldn’t, and—wow, I’m gonna need all of you to be quiet. Wait, so where’s Ghostbur, then?”
The bitterness that washes over him is surprising. Perhaps it shouldn’t be. Because it isn’t surprising that Techno asked as much, and something in him, a snarling, angry thing, whispers, of course, of course he would rather have Ghostbur than you, of course he’d rather the pathetic amnesiac remnant, the fragment of a soul that couldn’t handle a single negative emotion, much less act on one, of fucking course that’s the version of you that he likes most, what else did you expect?
(of course he prefers the you that isn’t insane, that doesn’t lash out at anything and everything, even your own family)
“Gone,” he says, short and clipped. “Or so I assume. Sorry to disappoint.”
Techno has the nerve to look confused, his ears twitching. “What? No, that’s not what I—” He stops, then, looking him up and down, his brow furrowing, and Wilbur is about two seconds from breaking out of his hold in the most violent manner possible, because it’s too restraining and too much. “Wow. Okay. You are not dressed to be out here. C’mon.”
“Do you really think I don’t know that?” he gripes, but he doesn’t resist as Techno tugs him indoors, biting back a gasp as the warm air surrounds him. He spares a cursory glace for the inside of Techno’s house, but he knows the layout—Ghostbur was here often enough. “Why do you think I wanted to come inside in the first place?”
He’s expecting a snarky comment back. It’s an old song, an old dance that they do, built on sarcasm and quips and hiding all the feelings underneath. But Techno just looks at him again, looks at him like he’s a puzzle, like he’s something to be figured out, like he’s something unexpected, and Wilbur hates it. Hates being under a microscope, scrutinized, and Techno is only one person, but he feels for all the world as though there are people all around him, looking at him, whispering, like he’s on display, stuck in a glass cage for everyone to point at—
“I, uh,” Techno says, “really, that thing about Ghostbur? I was just wonderin’. It’s not that I’m not happy to see you, Wilbur, honestly. I just… wasn’t expecting it. Phil said that the whole resurrection thing, uh... didn’t pan out.”
… Right. That’s a thing that happened. Ghostbur and his stupid determination, his stupid insistence that the server needed him back, needed him alive, and Wilbur wishes he could take Ghostbur by the collar of his sweater and shout at him until he got it through his head that Wilbur alive is the absolute last thing anyone needs.
“Yeah, that’s not why I’m here,” he says, and—Techno is still holding him, and it’s weird, and he doesn’t like it. His stomach is doing flips. It’s too much, and it’s especially too much coming from Technoblade of all people, because sustained contact has never been how Techno shows affection, or much of anything else, for that matter, and the fact that he’s doing it now is throwing Wilbur off balance.
So he steps away, further into the house, and it seems that this is finally enough for Techno to get the hint. His hands slip from his arms, and Wilbur pretends that he doesn’t feel very cold all of a sudden, a cold that’s different from the snow and ice of outside, a cold that starts inside and works its way out, and—
“Then why are you here?” Techno asks, and a smile pulls at Wilbur’s lips, twisted and not at all happy.
“Ask Tommy,” he replies. “Or better yet, ask Dream.”
“Dream’s in prison,” Techno shoots back. “You’re telling me he did something from a jail cell?”
“What, Tommy didn’t tell you? It’s the whole reason they kept him alive. To bring me back. Not that anyone bothered to consult me about it, but there you go.”
It’s interesting, watching Techno’s face. He has never been outwardly expressive, has always presented a mask of stoicism to the world, but Wilbur knows him, knows what to look for, knows that the slight tightening around his eyes conveys anger, that the flick of his ears indicates discomfort, and a lot of it. What could be causing that, he wonders, feeling a grim sort of amusement. Is it the fact that Dream is alive? Or the fact that he is?
(which would he like it to be? he doesn’t know. part of him wants Technoblade to be put off by him, he thinks. it proves that things are different. that things have changed from their shared childhood. that his experiences meant something, that they mattered, that they are remembered, that he has a reason to be the way that he is)
“Tommy hasn’t been telling me much of anything, lately,” Techno says, and Wilbur only just manages to pick up on the fact that his voice is too even, too monotone, even for him. “We’re not exactly on speaking terms.” He pauses, maybe waiting for Wilbur to say something, maybe not, but after a moment, he says, “You want a drink or somethin’?”
“That would be nice,” he admits. His shivering has begin to abate, but his clothes are still very damp, and they’re not doing anything to warm him up. He should probably ask for a change, but something in him balks at the idea. He doesn’t want to ask Technoblade for favors. Doesn’t want to owe him anything. He’ll take what’s offered, but that’s all.
“Cool,” Techno says. “I’ll get on that.”
They stare at each other. Nobody moves.
“Right,” Techno says. “I’m just gonna… walk past you here.”
Wilbur steps to the side, letting Techno pass him. He’s close enough to touch, close enough to brush up against him if he were just a few inches to the left,
(and something in him is screaming for it, is longing for a gentle touch, for a touch that doesn’t mean pain and doesn’t mean war and isn’t weighted with a thousand betrayals, but he doesn’t know that he can find that here, so much blood is on the floor between them)
but he doesn’t, and Techno disappears from sight. A moment later, there is a clatter, and the sound of cabinets opening and closing. Wilbur stands there for a moment longer, and then takes it as his cue to make himself comfortable.
Not too comfortable, of course. But he sits on Techno’s couch and peels off his coat, and he immediately feels warmer as the air hits his bare arms. He stares at them for a moment, pale and unmarked, and it feels wrong, that they shouldn’t be scarred. He can’t remember if he ever took wounds there, but he’s sure he did at some point, somewhere between the declaration of war and the battles and the explosions and the exile,
(because respawn brings people back, but it doesn’t erase what happened, not completely, and it’s always a tossup as to what will remain, what will linger on as a reminder)
and frankly, he feels like the ripped and torn state of his soul should show externally somewhere.
He breathes out, long and slow, and listens to Techno banging around his kitchen. He braces his forearms against his legs, clasping his hands together and lowering his head.
It might have been a mistake, coming here. He’s not sure what he expected to find, but it wasn’t quite this, wasn’t quite a once-brother who seems to have no idea what to do with him, wasn’t quite conversation that is awkward and stilted and strange because neither of them knows the other anymore, haven’t since the festival, or perhaps since they reunited in Pogtopia, or perhaps since he and Tommy left home, or perhaps since Techno did, or perhaps they never knew each other at all, not really, and they were only playing house all that time.
(that can’t be true, he knows, because he remembers the days when Techno taught him how to fight and he taught him basic guitar chords, remembers the days when he bandaged Tommy’s scrapes and bruises and knew in turn that his little brother would do anything to defend him, remembers the days when the warmth and comfort of Phil’s wings were only a step and a heartbeat away, and they were happy, they were, they were)
Absently, he brings one hand up to touch his chest. He thinks he’s searching for his heartbeat, searching for a bit of reassurance, a bit of stability, but that’s not what he gets. He can feel it even through his shirt, a knot of gnarled scar tissue, thick and raised against the rest of his skin. He slips his hand under his shirt to better prod at it, to map out its edges, and it should hurt, probably, but it doesn’t. There’s not much sensation there at all, a numbness that speaks to nerve endings that didn’t quite heal right.
He knows what it is. He’s not surprised that he brought it back with him.
“Um,” Techno says, and he looks up. Techno is back, is standing in front of him with two steaming mugs, is openly fidgeting, obviously unnerved, and Wilbur might congratulate himself on it if the circumstances were any different. As it is, he takes his hand out from under his shirt and gives Techno a flat stare.
After a moment, Techno huffs and settles on the opposite end of the couch, offering him a mug. Wilbur accepts it, sniffs it, and the scent is familiar, but he can’t place it. He takes a small, cautious sip and almost spits it back out, and not because it scalds his tongue, though it does. He knows what it is as soon as the flavor hits his taste buds, and for a split second, he is overwhelmed by
(tea in his hands and more on the kettle, his father’s voice, low and soothing, and so much nostalgia that he chokes on it)
memories. It’s been so long since he had this. So very, very long.
“Phil left some behind last time he was here,” Techno says. Wilbur looks at him; he’s regarding him carefully, as if he thinks he’s going to—to do what? What does Techno think he’s going to do? Yell? Attack? Bolt? All of those have their attractions, but he sits there instead, his mouth burning with the remnants of the heat.
He doesn’t know what he’s going to say when he opens his mouth.
“I haven’t had this blend since before Tommy and I left home,” he says, the words spilling out without his permission. “It was… the day before, I think? Sometime that week, at least. Phil and I sat in the kitchen and drank tea together, and he told me—” He cuts himself off; that’s too personal. It hurts too much to think about, now.
(he looked into his eyes and said, I’m proud of you, Wilbur, and he tries not to think about it too much, because thinking about it too much means interposing that Phil’s face, calm and smiling and happy, over the face of the Phil that he saw next, tears streaking down his cheeks and his expression twisted in desperation and grief as Wilbur begged him to—stop don’t go there not right now)
“He’s got his own base now,” Techno says, “but he’s not too far away. He said he might stop by tonight. You wanna stick around for that?”
Wilbur goes cold.
He hadn’t really considered it, in all honesty, hadn’t given due thought to seeing Phil, even though he knew very well that he would at least be in the area. Faced with the possibility, he’s not sure what to do with it.
It’s not what he’s here for. That much is certain. He should try to keep from being distracted, probably. He needs to remember that he’s not here with Techno out of familial obligation, but rather out of a desire to find information, to better know what he is about to be walking into.
“Maybe,” he says. “We’ll see.” He takes another sip of his tea. Swallows. Gathers up all of his emotions, and locks them away in a box.
He’s never been too good at compartmentalizing. But he can do it. It’s necessary,
(when you’re not even twenty-five years old and leading your little brother into a war)
sometimes.
“I was hoping you could tell me what’s been going on lately,” he says. “I want to go see Tommy, but I don’t want to walk in without knowing anything.”
Techno snorts.
“I figured it’d be something like that,” he says frankly, and Wilbur’s not quite sure how to take that. “I don’t know why you think I know anything. I don’t exactly have many friends over there right now.”
“Anything is better than nothing,” he responds, quiet and serious, meeting Techno’s eyes. He doesn’t quite know what expression he’s making, but it must be enough to persuade Technoblade, because Techno lets out a sigh, rolling his eyes.
And he talks.
He’s not lying; he doesn’t know much about the state of the server as it is now. But he knows some things, and Wilbur is interested in hearing them. Is interested in hearing about what Techno knows about the final battle against Dream. Is interested in what happened before, and what has happened since—there doesn’t seem to be a lot in the second category, thankfully, so perhaps Tommy has been able to enjoy some peace for once. Wilbur’s about to waltz in and destroy it, of course, but at least he had it for a time.
The exhaustion hits when Techno begins to talk about some kind of egg. Egg government. Egg cult? Techno doesn’t seem to know which it is, and Wilbur can’t make heads or tails of it, and it is then that he realizes that his eyelids are drooping. Which is not good; he didn’t intend to fall asleep here, and frankly, he’s not convinced that it would be safe to do so.
(lie)
But his body refuses to listen to his rational mind, and his thoughts are growing fuzzier by the minute, Techno’s voice falling further and further away. Still talking about the egg. It must be an important egg.
And then, the voice stops. Blearily, Wilbur lifts his head. He hadn’t realized that he’d begun to nod off. Techno is looking at him, something that can’t be softness in his eyes, something that can’t be fondness, because that affection was spent a long time ago, somewhere between Pogtopia and what came afterward.
“You still with me?” Techno asks.
He frowns. “Of course,” he tries to say, but the words come out slurred, just enough that he has no hope of hiding it or excusing it. Sure enough, Techno just laughs. At him. Which is rude and annoying.
“Sure,” he agrees, his voice making it clear that he is not actually agreeing at all. Before Wilbur can protest, he reaches over and plucks the mug from his hands. “I’ve got some guest rooms. Do you want me to set you up?”
“‘M not staying,” he says. Because he’s not. He’s made that determination just now. He’s gotten the information he needs out of Technoblade, and it’s time to move on. He doesn’t want to stay here,
(in a comfortable bed, safe under his brother’s watch, safe for the first time in forever, safe, safe, safe)
that’s for sure.
“Okay,” Techno says, and Wilbur is finding it increasingly difficult to think—and this exhaustion has hit fast, and that better be all that it is, because he doesn’t have the time to be sick—but he is still well aware that he is being mocked. “I’m gonna get you a bed ready, how’s that?”
“No, fuck you,” he mutters, but Techno is already gone, walking upstairs, chuckling to himself. Wilbur glares after him, trying to set him on fire with the force of his gaze, but it doesn’t work, and he is left alone in the room, on the couch, and it seems that he’s not going anywhere tonight. Not unless he takes this opportunity to leave, to venture back out into the cold with nothing but a trenchcoat that hasn’t even finished drying from his first expedition, and—
And this couch is comfortable, actually. Perhaps he can give himself permission to relax. Just this once.
He lies down. Curls up. It’s warm like this. Nice. His mind starts to drift.
He is vaguely aware of Techno’s return, sort-of cognizant of the way he stands over him for a few minutes before muttering to himself, too quiet for Wilbur to bother to parse the words out. Then, there is something covering him, soft and warm, and he must be tired to the point of hallucinations if he truly believes that Techno has just—what, tucked him in? That’s ridiculous. But it’s a problem for the morning.
There is a flash of blue in the corner of his eye. But he’s too out of it to pay it any mind.
Wilbur lets himself sleep.
He wakes up once, to the sound of a door opening, to the sound of voices, two of them, quiet and familiar. He doesn’t know what they’re saying. He doesn’t care. He’s safe here. That’s what matters.
---------
As a note, I’m new to writing for this fandom, so while I don’t have a taglist for it yet, I’m happy to make one if anyone would like, so feel free to ask!
#mcyt#dsmp#dream smp#dsmp fic#wilbur soot#wilbur dsmp#alivebur#technoblade#/rp#cat writes fic#long post#when i posted this on ao3 i got several comments that were just 'TECHNOSOFT' so there you have it
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