Idk About You But Joaquin Drunk Confessing That He's Been In Love W You Since He First Saw You Is So

Significant

Summary: Din has been calling you riduur for months. You finally find out what it means, and get a little more than you bargained for.

Pairing: Din Djarin x gn!Reader

Word Count: ~5.1k

Warnings: pining, absolute FOOLS in love, bit of grumpy x sunshine, lil angsty, possibly incorrect lore, fluff, lots of Mando'a (translations for the Mando'a at the end)

A/N: Happy Mandalorian Eve!! This is based on a short drabble I wrote, which you can find here! It's not necessary to read it first, though of course I recommend it! The reader and Din have been traveling together for a long time, and after removing his armor in front of the reader for the first time began calling them riduur.

“Riduur.” 

It may as well be your name, the way you turn at the sound of that word. 

“Din,” you return, adjusting the child’s little sleeve which had fallen down past his hand.

“Are you ready?” He asks as he tilts his head to the side. 

You smile and turn back to Grogu. “Dad’s impatient today, isn’t he?” The child coos up at you, lifting tiny arms, ready to be picked up. “Yeah, he is.”

“I’m not impatient,” Din grumbles lowly.

You raise a brow at that and lift Grogu into your arms. “You’re always impatient, Mando.” His head jerks to the side at your assessment.

You have to bite back a laugh. In truth, he is incredibly patient. Most of the time, and especially when it came to you and Grogu. The only time you’ve seen him truly lose his temper was with the Jawas, and really, that couldn’t be helped. 

The child reaches for Din when you turn back to him, and the Mandalorian immediately holds out his arms to take him from you. You deposit the little green baby there before grabbing your shawl. “Yes, we’re ready,” you finally answer. 

The baby gets tucked into the pouch at Din’s hip, before he descends the ship’s ramp out into the desert air that awaits you. 

You roll your eyes gently. 

Not impatient, but not entirely patient either. 

You follow, wrapping the light material around your shoulders. 

It’s subtle, but he does wait for you, his pace slower than if he were alone. His right elbow ticks out a fraction, and you smile before cupping your hand there. He would never ask you to take his arm, still the offer is usually there if he can accommodate it. 

He relaxes a little when you fit your hand against his bicep. “Supplies only,” he reminds you, ever practical. 

“Supplies only,” you agree. “Unless I see something for Grogu.” 

“The child is becoming spoiled,” he complains lightly. “We won’t have enough room in the ship soon.” 

You shrug and tighten your grip on his arm. You like the way he says we. So, you return with, “That’s just because our child deserves the best.” 

Din’s spine straightens a fraction and his shoulders tilt back. 

He’s somehow both stoic and incredibly bad at hiding his emotions. You can tell, just by the slope of his shoulders or the exact angle of the helmet or the precise way he stands or walks, exactly what and how he’s feeling. 

Or, maybe you’ve just spent too much time around him. 

Maybe, you just know him too well. 

And right now, he’s swollen with pride. Though you don’t know if it's because you’ve complimented the way he takes care of the child or if it were something else. Something in the way you said our.  

It’s not long before you reach the market, and Din sighs as soon as it comes into view. It’s much larger than the ones you normally frequent, a riot of color and sound that you both know you won’t be able to resist. The town seems to be in the midst of some kind of festival. 

The smell of fried food greets you before you’ve even breached the perimeter of the town, and your mouth waters. Something better than rations awaited you there. 

Din is single minded though, and you know he’ll immediately make for the most boring of the stalls and shops. 

Supplies only, after all, is what you’d come for. 

“Mando,” you remove your hand from his arm and he immediately halts at the loss of your touch and turns to you. “I’m going to go look around.” 

He stares at you, helmet tilting down. He doesn’t like telling you no, and knows it wouldn’t matter if he did anyways. But, he worries and so it takes a moment for him to reply. “Don’t go far,” he advises. “Do you have a comlink?”

“Yes.” 

“A weapon?” 

You pretend to search your person, “Hm, what’s that again?” 

“Riduur,” he reprimands your teasing. 

That word makes the inside of your skin light up pleasantly. Riduur. If only you knew what it meant. 

You’ve started to assume it means something similar to cyare or cyar'ika. But he’d had no problem telling you what those words meant. Darling and sweetheart and beloved. He’d had no problem telling you he was calling you beloved. 

But he no longer calls you cyare or cyar'ika. Since the first time he’d called you riduur, the day he removed his armor in front of you for the first time, he’d solely begun calling you riduur. 

Even your name is becoming a rarity from his lips. 

“Udesii! Yes,” you cross your arms. “You know I took care of myself for a very long time without you and nothing ever happened. I’ll be okay.” 

Din doesn’t answer, just sighs and gives a curt nod and marches off towards a shop selling medical supplies. 

The dramatics of it all makes you giggle. You like teasing him, especially because he thinks he hides how flustered you make him well. 

Although you enjoy traveling with the Mandalorian, alone time has become a complete rarity. You were always with Din, or watching your little green menace.

You eat your way through a couple of different stalls selling food, bundling up second and third servings to keep for Din and Grogu. 

Din wouldn’t think to get anything beyond rations. Both you and the child like a little more variety, where Din treats the act of eating like a maintenance routine. 

You drift past stalls hawking trinkets and jewelry, fending off the sellers as you crunch something sweet and sour you’d picked up at the last food stall, not entirely sure what it is.  

Textiles are next, bolts of cloth you run your fingers over but mourn not being able to afford. Still, it's nice to browse, nice to feel normal. The Mandalorian isn’t hunting someone for once, and you aren’t trapped in the interior of the ship, stale recycled dry air burning your nostrils. 

A little supply stop has become a little welcome relief. It’s giving you the chance to stretch your legs, to explore. 

Still, your mind drifts back to Din, the way he calls you something he would not name to you.

You’ve searched before, in other markets, on other worlds, for the answer to your question. What does that word mean and why won’t Din tell you? 

You’d tried to convince him once or twice, with gentle words whispered in his ear, when the helmet was off and your hands were pressed against his skin, the contours of his face still a mystery to you. 

Once, you’d felt the skin of his cheeks go hot beneath your hands when you told him he used his tongue so prettily, couldn’t he use it to tell you what riduur meant? 

He’d mumbled something else in Mando’a but had not explained himself. 

You can understand most of that he says now, but because he’s the only other speaker, you have to rely on him to tell you what new words and phrases mean.

Because the Mandalorians are such an insular people, you never come across any other speakers you could ask. There are no dictionaries to Basic that you could download and peruse. 

It’s frustrating, especially since the word seems to be laden with something heavy. Din says it with reverence, with a softness that doesn't cut through the rest of his words. His voice is softer when he speaks Mando’a anyways, but that word is held with a reverence on his tongue, like it’s precious. 

The only other time you had heard him use that tone was when he once called Grogu ad’ika, which meant child. 

You’ve almost given up on knowing, resigned to that fact that you may never know and he may never tell you.

Whatever it means, you’re sure it's important. You just don’t know why.

The market is loud, boisterous and colorful. Music floats through the air, shouts and laughter. 

It’s nice, it makes you smile and you wish you’d taken the child with you because you’re sure he’d have much more fun with you than with Din picking out rolls of bandage and rations and pulse rifle cartridges if he can find someone that has some. 

You stop suddenly in your tracks when you hear a conversation in a language you immediately recognize, the familiar syllables cutting through the afternoon chatter. 

You spin and find two men in robes speaking gently to each other in Mando’a. Before you can stop yourself, your feet have already carried you to their table where they sit sipping cups of caf. 

“Su cuy'gar,” you greet. They both look surprised, glancing at each other and then back at you. “Sorry to bother you. You speak Mando’a?” 

One smiles, “Yes. Of the few outsiders that do, I think.” 

“Were you foundlings?” It’s the only way, you think, that they could have learned it. 

“Once,” the older of the two says. “This one learned it at a university.” 

You can’t help the curiosity that burns through you, “At a university? Really?” 

“Only the very barest basics. From a woman being courted by a Mandalorian,” he dismisses with a wave of his hand. “That was a long time ago. Really I learned from him.” He gestures between himself and the other man. 

You shake yourself, “I’ve just never met another aruetii that does.” Let alone two of them, you think dizzily. Two outsiders who spoke Mando’a. 

“And how did you learn?” 

“My…” you trail off. 

Your what? You aren’t sure what exactly Din is to you, or what you are to him. You never have been. He treats you like you’re more precious than beskar, yet everything between you remains undefined. 

“My traveling companion. He’s a Mandalorian.” You swallow, “I wonder if you could tell me if you know what a certain word means? It’s one I’ve been curious about.” You don’t want to tell them that you’re seeking it out because it's something he calls you. That feels too private, too close to the chest. “He said it once and I’ve been trying to figure it out ever since.” 

“Why don’t you ask him?” 

“It would wound my pride. He’s already taught me so much. He overestimates my fluency.” 

They laugh and the man who was once a foundling says, “Yes, ask us then.” 

“Riduur,” you say, carefully pronouncing it so they don’t mistake it for another word. “Riduur,” you repeat with more confidence. 

The men glance at each other, brows raised. “Well, it has several meanings,” the more grizzled of the two says, “But I suppose it's all the same in the end. Spouse would be the most overarching translation. Partner, wife, and husband all work too.” 

For a moment, you can’t breathe, you’re sure your heart has come to a leaping halt in your chest. “Truly? Riduur?” You say it again, just to make sure. They laugh and nod and you decide to have your meltdown away from their table. “Well, thank you for clearing that up. Sorry again to bother you.” 

You turn away from them, a roaring in your ears. Your heart stutters in your chest. Riduur. He’s been calling you his partner, his spouse, for months? That word so softly spoken to you - to tease you, to call for you, whispered to you in the dark, said over and over, more than your own name. It meant partner, spouse, wife, husband?

Something inside you lights up with pride. The shape of it is warm, firm in the clasp of your lungs. Riduur. It’s a living, breathing kind of word, one that takes up space inside you. One you’re proud to bear the weight of, the title of. 

Spouse, you think, doesn’t carry the same gravitas as riduur. There’s something heavier and deeper in the word that a translation couldn’t really carry over into Basic. 

You start back down the road, smiling to yourself, but only make it several paces when Din steps up beside you silently from between two stalls. “Dank farrik,” you gasp, stumbling back. “Where did you come from? You scared me.” 

He doesn’t answer you, doesn’t even tilt his head towards you. You may as well have not spoken at all. 

“Mando?” 

Still, he doesn’t answer you. 

You raise a brow but don’t say anything else as he herds you gently out of the market, desert dust swirling around your calves. Eventually, when you reach the edge of the town, he asks, “Did you find everything you need?” His voice is flat, rough. 

“Yes, I got some food for you and Grogu to try. A little feast for you tonight, since it won’t hold.”

He merely grunts and you frown. “Is something wrong?” You glance over your shoulder. “Did something happen? Are we being followed?”

You glance around his legs at the baby, still securely in the brown canvas bag, who’s peering up at both of you with anxious eyes, big ears drooping. 

“No.” He answers curtly. 

The walk back to the ship is silent, and tense, and you aren’t sure why. 

It’s only when you’re in the safety of the mouth of the ship’s ramp, with the baby in your arms, that your irritation spills over. “Are you upset with me? I didn’t wander. I stayed close and had a weapon and -,” 

Din’s hands go to his hips, helm tilting at an angle as he regards you. His voice is agitated when he finally speaks. You expect him to tell you that you wandered too far, that he commed you and you hadn’t picked it up, that you’d unknowingly wandered into danger. And you expect to have to tell him once again that it's all fine, that you are fine, that you’d traveled without him for years and things always turned out alright. 

Instead, he says, “You should not call yourself an aruetii. That is not what you are.” 

For a moment, it doesn’t register with you what he’s talking about, that he’d clearly overheard your conversation with the Mando’a speakers, likely eavesdropped on it. 

All you are, for a few seconds, is confused. “But…I am an aruetii. I am not a Mandalorian.”

Din’s shoulders go stiff at your words. “That does not make you an outsider. You…you are far from an outsider,” he growls and suddenly spins away from you, his footfalls heavy and loud when he stomps across the hull.

He climbs the ladder to the cockpit and disappears, leaving both you and the baby alone, still standing on the ramp up to the ship. “He’s angry with me,” you say in disbelief, glancing down at the child in your arms, not really understanding why. “We’ll let him cool off,” you decide, bouncing the child against your waist. “Hungry?” 

The baby coos and you smile, worry biting into you as you settle with him in the mouth of the ship. The sun is setting on the sand, the air warm, casting red shadows over the world. There’s nothing around you but sand in any direction you glance, aside from the town from which you’d come on the horizon. 

In the distance, fireworks from the town explode in the sky. You point them out to Grogu, gently feeding him bites of food that you’d gotten at the market. He makes a sound that you suppose is a giggle, big eyes focused on the colors dissipating in the sky. He holds a tiny hand up, like he’d like it to fly to him. 

You curl a hand over his. “None of that,” you say with a laugh. “Those are meant for the stars, not you.” 

He goes back to eating, already distracted. 

A weight settles over your chest.

If Din heard you call yourself aruetii then he knows that you now know what riduur means. 

Maybe that was the true source of his irritation, that you’d gone behind his back to figure out what it meant when he clearly hadn’t wanted you to know.

You rub the tip of Grogu’s ear between your fingers and sigh. 

Any warm feelings you’d had are gone. 

Riduur. 

He’s been calling you that for months. But he hadn’t wanted you to know that he was calling you his partner. For some reason it stings. 

The Mandalorian is not cruel, not the type to play with another’s feelings. But, nonetheless, it feels like he might have been. Teasing you in a way you couldn’t begin to guess at. Or, like he could pretend without actually attaching himself to you, and you’d be none the wiser. 

You shake those thoughts away, listening to the music echoing over the sands. 

When Grogu falls asleep and the sun is just disappearing behind the horizon, you secure the ramp of the ship and carry the baby up into the cockpit. 

Din sits silently in the pilot’s chair, and doesn’t look at you as you tuck the child into the floating pod. 

You fidget with his blanket, not sure what to say. 

“I’m sorry,” he breaks the silence first. “Ni ceta.” 

“Din,” you perch next to him in the co-pilot’s seat. “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have gone poking around where I don’t belong. I’m sorry.” 

His head tilts toward you, the visor impenetrable. You swallow when he doesn’t answer, an inexplicable lump forming in the back of your throat. “Don’t belong?” 

“I shouldn’t have asked them what riduur meant. You didn’t want me to know.” 

Din stands and holds out a hand to you. You take it carefully and let him pull you to your feet. “That is not why I-,” he stops. “Do you really not know?” 

“Know what?” 

“I should have been…honest about the name I’ve given you.” He tilts his head and releases your hands. “I’m upset because-,” the Mandalorian pauses and seems to consider his next words for a long moment. Finally, he sighs and simply repeats, “You’re not an aruetii. By definition you can’t be.”

You stare at him for a long moment, before shaking your head. “I don’t understand.” 

He huffs, helm ticking to the side again. “Would you call Grogu an outsider?” 

“Of course not,” you answer, horrified. “No.” 

“And why is that? He’s not a Mandalorian either.” 

You don’t have to think about it, shaking your head before he’s even finished speaking. “He’s your child.” 

Din steps forward, close to you, but doesn’t say anything. “Our child,” he corrects eventually. “I am upset because you don’t seem to know you are a part of our clan. Even after knowing what I’ve been calling you. Riduur, ner riduur, for months. You still don’t know.”

Oh. Oh. 

“Osi'kyr,” you murmur softly. “How could I know that, Din?” 

He stands silent and still before you, so still you aren’t sure he’s breathing. “I thought it was clear,” he says stiffly. “I thought it was clear I was courting you.”

Something pleasantly warm settles in among your heart and lungs. “Maybe you should explain your customs to me more thoroughly,” you joke lightly. 

He doesn’t laugh, shoulders tense, hands curled in anxious fists. 

“So why not tell me what the word means?” It seems a bit past courting to you, to call someone riduur. It seems to you he’s already chosen you. 

He shifts from foot to foot, the movement somehow laden with vulnerability and worry. “If you did not…want the same - I’m not sure I could bear that.” 

You stare at him, not entirely sure what to say to that. “So, what,” you start, “you expected me to one day just realize you considered me your-,”

“I would have told you,” he interrupts quickly. “One day.” 

“Told me-,” 

“What riduur means,” he corrects. “And asked if you’d like to be that.” Din takes your hands again, “Just know that you are part of this clan, whatever your answer is.” His voice is so sincere, it breaks your heart a little. “Whether you want to be attached to me or not, you have a place in this clan. You are not an aruetii.”

You tilt your head at the same time he does, the nonverbal cues you both habit in reflecting between you. “I’m just a bit confused. Was that your idea of a proposal?” You smile so he knows you’re teasing him. 

Din gives a long suffering sigh. “Mandalorians do not propose.” 

“Oh. So what do you do then?” You lift a brow, sliding your hands to his wrists so you can work on tugging one glove off at a time. 

“We make an agreement,” he says, not trying to stop you. His voice is hoarse. “We make vows.”

You don’t look up, tucking the gloves in your belt before tracing your fingers along the veins in his wrists, the lines of his palms. “Oh. And did you make vows to me that I wasn’t aware of?” 

You’re still joking, but Din takes your words to heart. He shakes one hand loose from yours and presses it beneath your jaw, tipping your head gently back. “I did. I make vows to you everyday.” 

All the air seems to get sucked out of the ship. You gape at him, mouth opening and closing without any sound coming out as you struggle to find words. He chuckles, low and breathy beneath the helmet. You imagine he must be smiling. “Now you see how you make me feel. Like I can’t breathe.”

You finally manage to take a breath, lifting your chin away from his fingers, threads of embarrassment beating under your skin at his teasing. “You could have told me, you know.” 

“It was too large a risk. I wouldn’t risk you.”

Maybe you should hesitate in your next words. 

But you don’t. 

You’ve never been surer in something. 

“Din,” you step close to him. “I would take those vows.” 

“They…they are heavy vows. Not meant to be taken lightly. They’re bonding vows.”

He thinks you don’t get it, that you still don’t understand. “I understand what kind of vows they are. What are the vows?” You step even closer, the heat of his body seeping into yours. 

He smells like sun, like spices from the market and oil on beskar. It makes you dizzy, the usual scent of him is much cooler. Evergreen and pine. 

The cockpit is dark, the very last dregs of light on the horizon gone. The contours of the helm are shadowed, the flicker of lights from the control panels reflecting in blinking lights over the visor. 

There is no hesitation in his voice when he finally speaks. 

“Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde.” 

You mouth the words, doing your best to translate them. 

But he’s spoken too quickly, and you only understand part of it. He waits for you to ask for him to translate, giving you a moment to attempt it instead of immediately telling you. 

“I only understand part…We are one together and-,”

“We are one when together, we are one when parted, we will share all, we will raise warriors,” he says easily. “We are - we are all of those things already. I have kept the promise I made.” 

Your throat is dry, and you can’t think about how that’s true. “We’re raising warriors?” You attempt a joke. 

“Would you not call the child a warrior?”

“I would,” you agree. “I would also still take those vows, now knowing their meaning.”

There’s a long pause in which you can feel the Mandalorian’s stare. His gaze is intense, assessing, hot against your skin. You patiently look back, waiting. “You don’t have to.”

“You think I don’t want to.” 

He huffs, “I…don’t want you to believe you have to make vows to me. You are a part of our clan no matter what.” 

“Would you still call me riduur?”

“If you allowed it,” he takes a breath. “Yes.” 

The lip of the helm drifts up and you can sense he’s no longer looking at you, embarrassed. “Din.” His head snaps back down. “I know I am not an outsider.” You wait for him to digest those words. “I know this is my clan now. I still would like to make these vows to you.” 

He reaches up and presses his palms to either side of your jaw, the crown of the helmet pressing softly against your forehead for just a moment when he dips his head. “If you’re sure, repeat after me. We’ll say them together.” 

“Elek,” you agree. 

“Mhi solus tome,” he starts, reverence and disbelief lodged in his voice. 

In the distance, more fireworks explode in the sky. The colors reflect in the glass of the ship’s front window, sparking over the reflective helmet. “Mhi solus tome,” you say slowly, careful to pronounce each word exactly right. 

You’d never imagined yourself as someone who would get married, and certainly not like this. 

But that was before you knew Din. And all this feels to you is right. It’s both sudden and not. 

This was meant to happen. All your years with the Mandalorian lead towards this. 

You repeat the rest of the vows after him, slow and deliberate. 

When the final syllable rolls off your tongue, a muted kind of joy overcomes you. You’ve been a part of it for a long time, but you feel it now, the belonging to a clan and people. 

Din releases you and leans back. His chest rises and falls quickly. 

You close your eyes and reach for the edge of his helmet. 

You want to kiss him at the very least. 

But when your fingers skim over the release, he captures your wrists in one hand. You let go and Din reaches up with his opposite hand to take it off himself. 

You expect him to kiss you right away, but he doesn’t. You can only feel the lingering touch of his gaze. 

“Open your eyes.” 

“What? No-,” you begin to protest. 

“Yes. You can now, riduur.” The word rumbles out of him proudly, heavy in his mouth. 

You tilt your head and frown. “Are you-,” 

“This is the Way.” His voice warbles, just a little. 

“Are you sure?” You get the entire question out this time. 

Now it’s his turn to tease you. “No,” he says dryly. “I’ll change my mind after you open your eyes.” 

“Ha ha,” you deadpan. “You’re very funny.” 

“Open them.” 

You think you might be more nervous than him to see his face. You honestly never thought you would get to, and you had long ago made peace with that. It didn’t matter to you what he looked like, you knew his heart and that was more than enough. 

You’ve tried to picture him before, from tracing your fingers over his face, but the image is only half formed and without detail. It felt wrong, somehow, too, to try to picture the face of someone who deliberately hid it. 

 Slowly, you peek your eyes open at him. Whatever you had pictured is nothing compared to the man you find yourself gazing at. 

A sense of vertigo sweeps through you, because it's almost like looking at a stranger. 

You have to resist the urge, for just a moment, to tear yourself away from him. 

His hair is darker in color than you thought it would be, but just as feathery and lightly curled as you imagined. Din’s eyes are dark, a deep brown that you’d like to spend lifetimes memorizing, falling inside. You were right too, from your explorations of his face with your hands, about the shape of his nose, his mustache, the patchy beard. You’d pictured his eyes all wrong, the shape of jaw.

One thing you couldn’t have guessed at is the naked expressiveness in his eyes. 

It makes sense though, he’s spent a lifetime without the need to school his features into anything other than exactly what he was feeling. 

You wonder how many times he’s looked at you with such longing, and you never knew. 

He says your name, a question mark tagged onto the end of it, his voice wrecked and strange without the modulator muffling his voice. 

The sound of his voice rips the upside down feeling away. It’s his voice, it’s him. Not some handsome stranger. 

Your eyes flit up from where your gaze had lingered on his lips, the pink shape of his mouth against golden skin. “I was right.” 

He frowns, eyes soft and worried. It shocks you again, just how open his emotions read in his eyes. “About what?” 

“I knew you were pretty. You are pretty,” you tease, pressing yourself against him, the hard contours of him biting into you. You fist your hands into the fabric at his sides. “Mesh’la.” 

Din frowns at you. “I told you that means beautiful, didn’t I?” His voice is playful and doesn’t match his expression. 

You nod and don’t answer, reaching up to cup your hand against his cheek. Din’s arm settles easily around your waist, dragging you closer, the weight of his helm in his hand heavy against your hip. Normally, you’d let him close the distance between you but you can’t quite manage to let him now, gazing instead at the planes of his face. “Mesh’la,” you tell him. “Ner riduur.” 

“That’s my line.” 

“Not anymore,” you tease. “Husband.”

You tip your chin into his and wait for him to meet you there. 

He gives a slight smile before leaning into you. “Not husband. Riduur.” 

“Right,” you agree, because really, it isn’t quite the same. It can’t be. “Ner riduur.” 

The kiss lingers long on your lips. He’s savoring you, a warm passion that doesn’t quite extend into heat. Din’s tongue meets yours briefly, the groan it tugs from his mouth sending flashes of lightning all the way down to your toes. 

The fireworks outside are no rival for the feelings clawing up the back of your throat. 

You want to tell him you love him, but you think he already knows. 

He breaks away to set his helmet down. When he turns back to you, his hands roam over you, free in their movement, tugging at the band of your trousers. 

You can’t stop staring at him, suddenly overwhelmed, drinking in the sight of him, the naked expression of him, everything he’s thinking spread over his face like a well loved language. 

All you’d wanted was to know the name he gifted you, instead - this. 

You map your hand over his face, tracing the divot between his brows, the curve of one sharp cheekbone. “I never thought I would see your face,” you whisper. 

Those soft, vulnerable eyes meet yours, arm wrapping around you again, as his bare forehead presses to yours, “And I always knew you would.” 

Thank you for reading! Please let me know your thoughts!

Translations:

Riduur - spouse, partner, wife, husband

Ner riduur - my spouse, partner, wife, husband

Cyare - beloved

Cyar'ika - darling, sweetheart

Udesii - Relax, take it easy

Ad’ika - little one, baby

Su cuy'gar - Hello

Aruetii - outsider, foreigner, traitor

Ni ceta - an apology, rare

Osi'kyr - exclamation of surprise

Elek - yes

Mesh’la - beautiful

you gonna let me be good to you?

pairing: frank castle x fem!reader

summary: your little slip up forces you and frank to come to terms with your feelings for one another.

warnings: cursing, fluffy frank, mentions of blood (its frank babes), explicit sexual content (minors dni)

word count: 9.7k

a/n: this one goes out to all my frankie lovers <3 I promised this a long time ago and i've literally been working on it for weeks but it didn't feel ~right~ until now. i'm a slut for soft frank, and frank in general, so here's 22 pages of just that. as always, feedback is welcomed/appreciated!

Frank Castle was not a man who was easily taken by surprise. He was used to having the upper hand, normally several steps ahead of everyone else, but even in a tight unexpected situation he was able to come out on top. There were very few things left in this world that shocked him anymore. After his time in the marines, and the reputation that preceded him as The Punisher, he had seen and done things most people couldn’t fathom in their wildest imaginations. 

Yet, here he was, staring down at his phone absolutely and completely dumbfounded. As much as he knew he should, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the picture displayed on the screen. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from you. The longer he stared at it, the more he felt his jeans becoming increasingly too tight. His eyes anxiously flickered between the photo, and the door he knew you were just on the other side of. For the first time in a long time, Frank didn’t know what to do. He was completely in shock..because you had just accidentally sent him a photo of yourself in lingerie.

Frank had stopped by your office and asked if you could send him some photos of a few documents that you had found at the library that contained confidential information related to a “case” he was working on. You opted to take photos instead of printing the documents, not wanting it to be tracked back to you or him. Frank had met you through Karen, you were her best friend, and you graciously helped him out from time to time. 

He shouldn’t be thinking about you like this. He shouldn’t be staring. He should delete the photo and lie through his teeth saying he never got anything. He didn’t want you to be embarrassed. You two were friends, in a way he supposed. As much as anyone could really be Frank Castle’s friend. As soon as the door to your office swung open, Frank whipped his head up in the direction of your voice.

“Hey, did you get the photos? Sorry, I have terrible signal in here. I wanted to make sure you got them before you took off.”

Frank felt frozen. There was no doubt a light shade of pink coated the tops of his cheeks, which he knew he could easily blame on the heat in the building. But if he didn’t get the hell out of there fast, there would be little to no ignoring the effect the photo had on him. He could already feel all the blood in his body rushing straight downwards. Frank cleared his throat awkwardly, looking anywhere but at you, turning his phone over in his hands timidly.

“I uh..think you sent me the wrong thing.”

The furrow of confusion in your brows and the adorable pout that formed on your lips made his cock twitch in his jeans. He let his mind wander for a moment as he thought about how pretty those full lips of yours would look wrapped around the head of his cock. He couldn’t stop his eyes from traveling down your body, now that he knew what was hiding underneath. He paid extra attention to how the fabric of your pencil skirt clung to your curvy hips, and the little taste of cleavage he caught from your blouse that dived into a v-shape just above the swell of your breasts. Fuck. Stop it.

“I didn’t send you the photos of documents?”

“No..you uh..sent me somethin’ else. Somethin’ that uh..wasn’t..meant for me.”

Frank should’ve stopped you from checking your phone to see just what he was talking about. He should’ve brushed it off, told you not to worry and to just send the photos when you had a minute, and gotten the hell out of there. But another part of him was curious about your reaction to your mishap. As you unlocked your phone to check your previous messages with Frank, a sharp gasp suddenly left your lips and your hand flew up to cover your mouth. Your doe eyes were blown wide open as you stared down at Frank in panic. 

“Oh my god, Frank..I-I’m so sorry. Oh my god, I can’t believe I sent you that. I..I’m so..I’m so sorry.”

“S’alright. Honest mistake. I just uh..knew it wasn't for me. Thought you should..be aware, I guess.”

He had to look away. He couldn’t handle the sight of you biting your lip, even if it was innocent. All it did was fuel the sinful thoughts berating around in his head. Sure, he’d always thought you were pretty, even from the moment you two first met. But he never thought more of it. He never thought about you like that until now. Now that he had seen what your body looked like covered in thin black lace. You weren’t exactly naked in the photo, but it damn sure left nothing to the imagination. It awoke something within Frank he was having difficulty taming.

“It..it wasn’t for anyone really.”

You weren’t sure why you said that. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. You knew why. You wanted him to know those photos weren’t for anyone in particular. That no other man had seen that. Frank’s head cocked to the side at your confession, eager for you to continue but staying quiet.

“I..um..that was for Karen.”

If Frank’s cock wasn’t throbbing before, it definitely was now. His eyes widened in surprise, and you must have been able to read his thoughts at that very moment, because you rolled your eyes playfully and giggled as your full lips split into a playful grin.

“Not..not like that, Castle. We just..got drunk one night and somehow got on the topic of lingerie and..I told her I’d never owned any before and..um..wanted to know what it felt like..to wear it. So, she talked me into buying some. We actually bought the same set, hers is pink. But we didn’t remember any of that. So when it came in, Karen sent me a picture of hers and asked how mine looked so I um..sent her one back.”

Frank was thanking any God that was listening that he had brought a backpack today, and that it was currently conveniently placed over his prominent bulge. He wasn’t sure exactly what it was about what you had just said that was driving him absolutely mad. He couldn’t pinpoint if it was the fact that you had taken a photo like that to send to Karen, or the fact that he was the only person besides Karen that had ever seen that photo. That he was the only man that had seen you all dressed up like that. A sudden wave of possessiveness washed over him, and he knew he had to snap out of it. The room felt like it was shrinking and he could feel sweat starting to form along his hairline. He had to get the fuck out of that office. Away from you.

“Oh..well..uh..again, no worries. It..looks nice. Just uh, send me the photos when ya get a minute? Gotta..go meet a guy. Thanks again.”

Frank was on his feet in a flash and bolting out the door without another word, leaving you there stunned by his reply. His boots thudded heavily against the steps with every furious step he took, swearing at himself along the way.

“Fuckin’ idiot. ‘Looks nice’? Seriously? That’s the best you could fuckin’ come up with? You dumb motherfucker.”

Frank paused at the bottom of the steps, waging an internal moral war within himself. Part of him wanted to turn around, march right back up to your office, tell you what he really thought about the picture, then bend you over your desk and fuck you six ways from Sunday. But he knew better. He couldn’t get involved with you. He couldn’t get involved with anyone. 

»»———　　———««

It had been two weeks since you had heard from Frank. That wasn’t totally unusual. Frank was known to disappear for weeks, even months at a time, then would show back up when he needed something. You had met him several months ago through Karen. You had drunkenly confessed your crush on the big, bad Punisher to her. You knew she had a weird, complicated friendship with Frank. Karen was your best friend, and you two shared a lot of familiar trauma and a complicated moral compass. You both felt like you could understand Frank’s motives, subtly justifying his actions to no one but each other. That was why she knew she could trust you with him.

Seven months ago, Frank had showed up at your door at one-thirty in the morning, completely covered in blood. To say you were surprised was an understatement. Your shock must have been clearly written all over your features when you answered the door to find none other than Frank Castle leaning against the doorway, face covered in fresh bruises and gashes that were dripping with molasses of deep crimson. After what felt like an eternity of silence, he grunted and nodded his head towards you.

“Karen said you were a friend. Knew your way ‘round a first aid kit.”

All the pieces started to slowly come together in your head. Karen was out of town for a conference with the Bulletin. Frank must have come looking for her, and she had most likely redirected him to you in her absence, knowing that you would help him. Frank looked somewhat..nervous? His dark eyes trailed over you with uncertainty, clearly still unsure how trustworthy you were. He must have either been desperate or in a lot of pain to bite the bullet and follow Karen’s instructions to find you. Blinking away your stunned expression, you willed your foggy brain to clear up as you swung your door open wider and held your trembling hand out towards him.

“Oh..yeah, sorry. I..I wasn’t expecting anyone. Um..come in. What uh..what do you need?”

That was the first time you had patched up Frank. Your hands shook slightly with trepidation, due to the fact that Frank was hurt badly and you didn’t want to make it worse, but also due to the fact that you were face to face with the Frank Castle for the first time. Pictures didn’t do him justice. He didn’t make small talk, not that you really expected him to. He sat there silently, grunting every now and then as you stitched him back together and cleaned his various wounds, all the while watching you with complete scrutiny. When he finally passed out from either blood loss or exhaustion, you stayed up all night curled up in the chair across from the small couch his body had completely overtaken. If you hadn’t been so stressed, you might have laughed at the sight of his large body dangling off your tiny couch. 

You checked his breathing every twenty minutes, only stopping after two hours when his large hand darted out to grab onto your wrist carefully. His touch was rough and warm, a juxtaposition you welcomed eagerly. Your eyes widened slightly at just how large his hand was compared to your own, completely covering your fingertips up to the beginning of your forearm. Your breath hitched in your throat as he opened his eyes to look up at you, the moonlight filtering through your curtains illuminating a sliver of his hardened features. An achingly beautiful mosaic of purples and blues were scattered over his face where bruises had begun to bloom like the first day of spring. There was a tiny glint of reverence in his obsidian eyes that nearly knocked the breath out of you.

“I’m fine.”

“No, you’re hurt, and I really don’t want you to die in my living room.”

“You doubtin’ your own work, doc?”

“I..I’m not a doctor, Frank. Nor any version of a licensed medical professional. I’m an editor for fucks sake. I read manuscripts for a living. I just happen to know my way around a first aid kit because I have three fearless and extremely reckless younger brothers.”

That was the first time, and one of the only times, you ever saw Frank Castle smile. The corners of his mouth curved upwards into the ghost of a miniscule grin. You wanted it to last forever. But as most things with Frank, it was fleeting, and as quickly as it had appeared, it vanished. His large hand gently squeezed at your wrist before letting go. You hated how quickly you already missed the brief contact.

“I ain’t gonna die. Trust me, I’ve had worse. Get some sleep.”

“Frank-”

“Karen trusts you. So do I.”

»»———　　———««

And that was typically how it went over the next few months. If Karen was out of town or busy with a deadline, Frank came to you. Sometimes, he came straight to you anyway, grumbling some excuse about Karen being wrapped up in something. It made your heart swell with pride that you had won Frank’s trust, and that sometimes he came to you just because he wanted to. That he considered you two something along the lines of friends. There were moments that made you question if there was room for more than that. Frank always guided you to the opposite side of the sidewalk when you were out, taking the spot closest to the street himself. Sometimes he placed his large hand carefully on your lower back to usher you in the correct direction if you weren’t paying enough attention to where you were walking, the gentle act sending your brain into a frenzy. He even memorized your coffee order, although he would always insult it and scoff before giving it to you. “You ever try gettin’ any actual coffee with all that sweet shit?” You had tried several times to work up the courage to flirt with him in a way that was light enough it could be played off as banter, but you were never brave enough.

You supposed you could chalk all those little moments up to him just being a gentleman, and anything else you had derived had been a figment of your own imagination. Frank was a stoic, broody, incredibly intimidating man. He was never mean to you, of course. He had never been anything but gentle with you. Still, you were afraid. You could never gauge what he was feeling unless it was anger. He was extremely difficult to read, and he didn’t talk more than he had to. Frank was also a very complicated man, still very clearly in mourning of what he had lost. It felt wrong to invade on that. 

You thought you would eventually get used to the sight of him shirtless, or only in boxers. But unfortunately for you, that day never came. As a matter of fact, every time you saw him begin to shred his torn and bloodied clothes, it only made the ache between your thighs that much more unbearable. He was absolutely captivating. Every inch of muscle was defined perfectly, from his broad shoulders down to the delicious v lines that disappeared beneath the waistband of his briefs. Frank’s arms were bigger than your head, and his hands..God you loved his hands. You wanted to know what they felt like wrapped around your throat, digging into your hips, palming at your chest. You didn’t turn your eyes away from the scars that were scattered across his skin, but they did send fresh cracks throughout your heart every time they were on display. You wanted to trace your fingertips over them, and gently kiss every single one of them away. You knew the scars that covered his skin were nothing compared to the ones you couldn’t see.

There was one night you thought you had finally been caught. Your hands were shaking, not because you were nervous or because the gash on Frank’s hip was really bad, but because he was so close to you, closer than he had ever been. You were on your knees right beside him while he laid back on the couch, arm propped up behind his head showcasing his bulging bicep. Your palm was flat against his lower abdomen, right above the waistband of his briefs, as your other carefully stitched his torn flesh back together.

His dick was essentially staring you in the face beneath the thin fabric and it made it hard to focus. Everytime you moved in closer to Frank, your heart pounded so hard against your ribcage you were certain he could hear it in the silence. Feeling the warmth radiating from the proximity to his skin, skimming the taut muscle under your fingertips, smelling the scent of his musky cologne that filled your small apartment for days even after he left, it drove you wild. Frank chuckled deeply as he placed his large hand completely over yours, tearing your unfiltered attention back to his face.

“You keep shakin’ like that, you’re gonna stab me. I’ve had my fill of bein’ stabbed for one evenin’.”

“I..Sorry.”

“S’alright. I just need ya to relax for me, can ya do that?”

Your mouth went dry at his words. You knew he hadn’t meant for them to sound so suggestive, but it stirred something deep within you. You would do fucking anything that man asked. Letting out a deep breath, you pushed your selfish thoughts to the back of your mind and licked your lips, nodding your head slowly.

“Yeah..yeah, I-I’m sorry. This one’s just..it’s pretty bad, Frank.”

“I’ll live. Take your time, darlin’.”

Oh. That was new. The tone of Frank’s voice was so soft and gentle in comparison to the usual gruffness of it that it made you almost wanna cry. You had never heard him talk to anyone that way, not even Karen. Frank was never aggressive or demanding with you, but he usually wasn’t so soft spoken either. He had certainly never called you anything other than your name before. Frank’s voice was another thing you loved. It was so rough and coarse, the deep bass of it traveled straight to your core every time he spoke.

“Ya’know, we were trained to do this shit. Never know when you gotta piece someone back together while shit’s explodin’ around ya. We were trained for months, ya’know?. I tell ya, first time I ever had to stitch one of my guys up, I was scared shitless. It’s easy to prepare to do somethin’, but ya never actually know what it’s gonna be like ‘til you do.”

That was one of the few times Frank had ever opened up about his past to you, clueing you in to the Frank that might still be there under all the jagged layers of pain and trauma. It made you smile, that he felt comfortable enough to share that with you, like you had won over another small piece of him. A tiny victory. 

“It’s really hard for me to imagine you being scared.”

“I’m still human. Sure, I get scared sometimes. Not as much these days, ya’know. Not as much to lose.”

»»———　　———««

Unbeknownst to you, Frank had spent every single night of the past two weeks with one hand wrapped viciously around his cock and the other death gripped onto his phone with your risque picture on display. He knew it was wrong. He knew he should feel bad about it. Frank really did try to get that picture out of his head. He took cold shower after cold shower, cleaned every single gun in his collection twice, and even tried to take his frustrations out on the unlucky fucks that dared to get in his way. But it was no use. The swell of his cock refused to go down until he paid it some attention. It was relentless and Frank was desperate.

It was supposed to just happen once. Frank was supposed to get it out of his system, delete the picture, and move on. But every night he found a reason not to get rid of it. Every night, he had an excuse. He felt like a raging, horny teenager all over again, fucking his hand into the mattress of the motel bed every night to the sight of you in the barely there black lace, imagining what you would feel like wrapped around him. Frank hadn’t touched himself in weeks, had been too busy and focused to cater to his own needs. But wild imaginations of you had him feeling like he was going to fucking explode if he couldn’t give himself some relief. Throughout the day he was ansty, even more irritable than usual, hardly able to fucking sit still as he thought about what was waiting for him once he got back to his room.

It wasn’t just the picture that preoccupied his mind. Frank felt like he was fucking consumed with you. He found himself thinking about you constantly, wondering how your day at work was, if you were safe, what book you had your nose in this week, what latest bakery treat you were trying your hand at. As much as he hated to admit it to himself, you had grown on him immensely. He made excuses for himself when he would opt to visit you instead of Karen. He tricked himself into believing that Karen was busy instead of facing the truth that he just wanted to see you. Just wanted to hear your laugh when he said something you thought was funny. Just wanted to borrow another book from your collection to get a glimpse into your mind. Just wanted to pretend to be a burden when you offered to let him stay for dinner because it was the only fucking sense of normalcy he had these days. Just wanted to feel your soft touch on his skin as you carefully mended all of the parts of him that were torn and broken, even the parts you couldn’t see.

That picture shed a light on something that Frank had been desperately trying to ignore since the moment he met you and experienced your undeserved kindness. A feeling Frank swore he would never, and could never, encounter again. Part of him felt guilty. How could he be infatuated with another woman when he was still waist deep in revenge for the one he lost? The other part of him could no longer deny how badly he wanted you. That curtain had been pulled back, a glaring spotlight on everything Frank had tried to hide from these past few months. There was no more pretending.

Frank had a choice to make. It was either give in, or let you go. For good. His struggles with his feelings for you were beginning to get in the way of his work and if he wasn’t careful, he was gonna make a mistake in a big way. He had to make a choice, and fast, consequences be damned.

»»———　　———««

You had just finished getting out of a steamy shower, humming softly to yourself as you rubbed your favorite velvet amber and patchouli scented lotion all over your damp skin. After letting your hair down from the messy knot on top of your head, you put on a pair of silky sleep shorts and a tank top, slipping a pair of fuzzy socks onto your feet. You continued to hum as you padded through the open living room to the kitchen that was connected, not even noticing the dark figure sitting in the corner that was silently observing you. As you reached for a wine glass from the cabinet, a deep voice cut through the quiet and burst your blissful ignorance. 

“You really need a security system.”

You jumped with a squeal at the sound of the voice, instantly whipping around to face the dark figure with widened eyes. You had a few candles burning on the coffee table that cast an ambient golden glow over your apartment. You had planned a relaxing evening for yourself and decided not to run up your electricity bill when you had so many candles that you had been excited to burn. Your heart beat frantically in your chest as you squinted your eyes, trying to make out the silhouette in the corner.

“S’just me, darlin’. Don’t freak out.”

“Frank?”

“Didn’t even reach for a knife or nothin’. Thought I taught you better than that.”

A deep, breathy sigh of relief sounded from you as Frank slowly stood and took a few steps forward into the dim light, his large frame finally coming into view. You rubbed your palms over your face slowly, feeling your nerves start to settle now that there was not in fact an intruder in your apartment.

“Jesus, Frank. You nearly sent me into cardiac arrest. Why didn’t you make any noise when you came in?”

Frank stared at you silently, an unreadable expression plastered over his face. For a moment, he heavily regrets not alerting you that he was here while you were in the shower. Maybe you wouldn’t be wearing those tiny little shorts and a tank top with no bra. He grinds his teeth as he takes in your appearance. He can still see little droplets of water gliding down your collarbones, soaking into the fabric of your tank top. Your hair cascaded over your shoulders in loose waves, and your cheeks were still twinged pink from the heat of the shower. He can smell the scent of your lotion over all the burning candles, and it made his fingers twitch at his sides. 

“Sorry. Tried to holler, but don’t think ya heard me over the shower.”

That was a lie. He had knocked though, and then began to panic when you didn’t answer. It was late on a Saturday, so he knew you weren’t at work. The thought briefly crossed his mind that you could be on a date, but he furiously pushed that to the back of his mind as he fished for his spare key to your place and shoved the door open. His right hand flew to the gun tucked into the belt of his jeans, ready to shoot at whoever as his eyes darted rapidly around your apartment. He only stilled when he heard the sound of running water and the melodic tune of your voice as you sang some fucking pop song he didn’t recognize.

Frank had quietly shut the door, securing both locks into place before taking a seat in the chair in the corner of the room. He closed his eyes and relaxed back against the chair as he listened to you sing in the shower. It was a complete invasion of privacy, but definitely not the worst one he had committed when it came to you. Frank thought you sounded like an angel. He wanted to hear you sing more. Maybe he’d play guitar for you, if you’d sing along. Your voice caused a wave of calm to wash over him that he hadn’t felt in weeks. Although, it was short lived when he heard the water cut off and quickly had to come up with an excuse as to why he was sitting in the dark waiting for you.

You hadn’t noticed the way Frank was looking at you since your eyes were too busy scanning over his entire body for injuries. You tilted your head to the side, brows knit together quizzically as you made your way over to stand in front of him. Normally when Frank showed up like this, he was bloody, and there were wounds to be cleaned or stitched. But you didn’t see anything. No cuts. No scrapes. No bruises. No gashes or bullet holes from what you could tell. Not a single piece of his hair was even out of place. You dipped your head back to stare up at Frank in bemusement.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt? I..I don’t see any holes.”

You smiled at your own little stupid joke, but it quickly faltered when you took in the look on his face. Frank had begun to give in a little to your lame attempts to make him laugh, granting you mercy and offering the faintest of smiles or chuckles in response. But he wasn’t smiling, or laughing. His strong jaw was set in a hard line, and his expression was stony. There was something in his eyes though..something unfamiliar you had never seen before.

“I’m fine.”

Both of you stared at one another silently for what felt like hours. You began to feel uneasiness seep into your bones, feeling suddenly even smaller under his harsh gaze. Frank was huge, physically and height-wise. He always towered a good foot over you, which never made you feel unsettled until right now. He looked almost..mad? In that moment, you felt for everyone that had ever been on the receiving end of this menacing look. They didn’t have the luxury of knowing Frank Castle wouldn’t hurt them. Not like you did. Swallowing thickly, you took a shaky breath and spoke softly.

“So..if you don’t need patching up..what do you need, Frank?”

“To confess.”

Frank’s voice had dipped an impossible octave deeper and it caused you to shiver along with sending a flood of wetness between your thighs. You tried not to focus so much on his voice and instead on his words, feeling even more perplexed as they settled in your ears. You tilted your head slightly to the side as you stared up at him curiously.

“I..I’m not sure I’m the best person for the job. I’m not religious, Frank. You know that.”

“Yeah, but you’re the closest thing to an angel I’ve ever seen. Besides, it ain’t that kinda confession.”

Your heart thudded loudly in your ears and you felt warmth creeping onto your face, settling into a deep rosy tint that covered the expanse of your cheekbones. Your lips parted in surprise at his words. Frank had never said anything to you like that before. You had no idea where this was coming from, but you desperately wanted to find out.

“Oh..well..I’m not a cop either.”

“I know that, smartass.”

There was an edge to Frank’s voice that submissed you into silence. He wasn’t in the mood for games or playful banter. This was uncharted territory for you. Frank hadn’t been so impassive since the first night you met him, but he had also never spoken in such a harsh tone to you. It caused you to take a step back, and some kind of recognition flashed in Frank’s eyes about his slip. He wasn’t angry with you. He was angry with himself. He dipped his head for a moment, letting out a deep sigh through his nose before meeting your gaze again with a slightly softer expression.

“I need to confess somethin’ to you, personally.”

You didn’t know whether to speak or not, so you kept quiet, staring up into his dark ebony eyes and trying to find something, anything you could use to decipher his cryptic words. But he gave nothing away. Frank had an excellent poker face. There was nothing there but the emotion that was burning brightly in his stare that you still couldn’t identify. Frank squared his shoulders, bracing himself for whatever reaction you were about to have. It was now or never.

“I didn’t delete it.”

You blinked a few times as you tried to process his words, racking your brain for anything that would make them make sense. Confusion settled onto your features as you waited for Frank to continue, but he didn’t. He just stared at you in anticipation.

“What?”

“The picture. I didn’t delete it.”

It felt like your brain was swiveling back and forth as you tried to keep up. You had been so busy with work the past few weeks, and worrying about Frank, that you had almost forgotten about the photo you had accidentally sent him. Once that lightbulb went off in your head, your eyes widened slightly, lips parting to form an “o” shape, but you still didn’t speak. You had no idea what to say. You were still trying to process what he just said. Why did he say that? What did he mean?

“Oh.”

Frank’s hard stare shifted from your eyes to your full lips, trying to get a reading on what was going through your head. You typically wore all of your emotions, and normally that always helped clue him in to what you were feeling, but right now he couldn’t fucking tell. He could see the scarlet coating your cheeks, but he wasn’t sure if it was from embarrassment, anger or..something else. But that one simple word you uttered had completely taken him by surprise. His dark brows furrowed as they knit in the middle of his forehead, staring down at you in bewilderment.

“That’s it?”

“I..don’t really know what to say.”

“You ain’t mad?”

“Why?”

Frank cocked his head to the side as he stared down at you. He had prepared himself for a million different reactions from you. He had rehearsed an apology speech, was gonna let you use him as your own personal punching bag, nearly wore a goddamn bulletproof vest just in case. But this..was not in the realm of his expectations.

“What do you mean ‘why’?”

“Why did you keep it?”

Frank paused for a moment. Maybe there was a chance to salvage this. He could lie. He could say he just forgot about it, realized his mistake, and wanted to apologize. But you didn’t look mad that he kept it. You looked..intrigued. You weren’t yelling at him, calling him a pervert and tossing him out of your apartment, so he decided to press his luck and take it a step further. Fuck it.

“Because I thought you looked fucking beautiful in it.”

Frank’s words nearly knocked the breath right out of your lungs. You were having a hard time processing them, even as they echoed loudly in your ears over and over again. That fire that was burning in his predatory gaze was now roaring loudly, setting you ablaze along with it once realization set in. It wasn’t anger swirling around in Frank’s eyes, it was lust. 

You had to be dreaming. This had to be a dream. There was no way Frank Castle himself was here, standing in front of you, telling you he thought you were beautiful. Your brain wouldn’t accept it. This had to be some sick, twisted trick your mind was playing on you. Warmth spread between your thighs like wildfire at his admission, the wetness already there doing nothing to put it out. Frank’s stare was unwavering. He wouldn’t tear his eyes away from you. As if he could sense your apprehension, he took a bold step forward and hooked his index finger under your chin, tilting your head back so that you had to look up at him.

“C’mon, darlin. Talk to me. Tell me what’s goin’ on in that pretty little head of yours. ”

“I..I don’t understand.”

“What don’t you understand?”

“You think I’m pretty.”

Frank chuckled lightly, brushing the calloused pad of his thumb experimentally over your cheekbone in a soothing manner. 

“No, I said I think you’re beautiful.”

“Why?”

“The hell you mean ‘why’?”

You couldn’t think of an answer. You couldn’t focus on anything but the feeling of Frank lightly dragging his thumb slowly along the edge of your bottom lip, his gaze dropping just for a moment to linger on your mouth. Your eyes fluttered closed at the contact, reveling in the sensation of his touch on you for once. 

“Look at me, sweetheart.”

Your eyes instantly flew open at his gruff words, and a tiny smirk curled onto the corner of his mouth at your obedience. Cupping your cheek gently, he took a slight step forward to close the gap between you, placing his other hand gingerly on your lower back. He pulled you in languidly until you were flush against him, scanning your face for any sign of discomfort, but he didn’t find any. You melted into his touch, leaning your face into his rough palm like you had dreamed of so many nights before. You weren’t pulling away. You weren’t telling him to leave. You weren’t angry. You wanted this too.

“Atta girl. You been so damn good to me these past few months, sweetheart. You gonna let me be good to you?”

You sighed softly at his words, nodding your head eagerly as your hands flew up to grip tightly onto the collar of his black denim jacket. As you stood up on your tiptoes to capture his lips, both of his large hands grasped onto your waist to keep you in place as he stared down into your eyes with a shake of his head.

“I need words, sweet girl. C’mon, needa hear it. Tell me you want this too.”

“I want it, Frank. Please..please.”

That was all the affirmation Frank needed to crash his lips onto yours like violent waves in a perilous storm. The kiss was hungry and desperate, and you found yourself getting lightheaded from the lack of oxygen. He was everywhere but you felt like you couldn’t be close enough. You fervently shoved the worn denim down his shoulders, letting it fall carelessly onto the floor beneath as your fingers attempted to work on the buttons on his shirt. Frank chuckled against your mouth as he broke the kiss, grabbing both of your wrists in one of his large hands.

“Easy baby, we got all night.”

“But-”

“Shh. Let me take care of you for once, yeah?”

Before you could register what was happening, Frank had wrapped his strong arms around your waist and lifted you as if you weighed nothing, crossing the small space of your apartment in short strides towards your bedroom. You half expected him to toss you down onto the mattress, and were pleasantly surprised when he carefully sat you down on the edge of your bed. You dipped your head back to stare up at him in wonder.

Anticipation buzzed throughout your veins and you felt your breath hitch in your throat when Frank slowly kneeled down in front of you to be eye level with you. His large hands came down to rest on your bare thighs, squeezing gently to get your attention.

“The second I do somethin’ you don’t like, you let me know. At any point you change your mind, or wanna stop, tell me. I won’t be mad. Understand?”

Nodding your head fervently, you surged forward and grasped Frank’s face in your hands, hungrily chasing the taste of his lips. He chuckled against your mouth, tearing himself away which caused you to whine softly as he gently grabbed your wrists.

“C’mon, honey. What’d I tell ya? Need your words. Tell me you understand.”

“I understand Frank just..please..kiss me.”

You didn’t care how needy and desperate you sounded. Months and months of built up frustration were making you more impatient than usual. You had been dreaming about this for so long, and it was finally happening. You found yourself momentarily suspended in belief that Frank actually thought there was anything he could do that you wouldn’t absolutely love. 

“Yes ma’am.”

Frank settled on his knees in between your thighs, grabbing onto the back of your head as his other hand found its home on your waist. Your lips were incredibly soft and tasted of that pink grapefruit chapstick that you were always wearing. As he swiped his tongue along your bottom lip, you meekly whined, and the sound went straight to his cock. Frank was caught in tandem between wanting to take his time and worship every inch of you and wanting to be selfish and finally bury himself to the hilt inside of you.

This time when your timid fingers went to work on the buttons of his shirt, he didn’t stop you. He decided to let you set the pace, and would only go as far as you wanted. He tore his hands away from you only for a brief moment as you pushed the shirt over his broad shoulders, instantly returning his touch to every spare expanse of your skin he could find to ground himself to reality. You were here, and you wanted him. 

Your fingertips brushed against every curve of muscle, every raised and indented scar like you had done so many times before, but this time with renewed vigor. Frank’s skin was always so warm and you savored every ember of his heat. His fingertips cautiously slipped under the hem of your tank top, dancing over the exposed skin of your hips as he brought his lips near your ear.

“Can I take this off, honey?”

“Yes.”

You were surprised at how quickly you were able to answer. Lifting your arms above your head, you let Frank tug the soft fabric upwards, letting out a soft hiss when the chill in the room nipped at your exposed chest. Frank’s eyes widened slightly at the sight of you nearly naked before him, a low groan emitting in the back of his throat. He didn’t hesitate to lean in and latch his mouth around one of your peaked nipples causing a soft moan to tumble from your lips. The warmth of his mouth contrasted so sharply with your cold bedroom that it had your head spinning. You arched your back to grant your chest fully to Frank, becoming a whimpering mess as his large hand fondled your breast and played with your other nipple. You gripped onto the back of his neck, growing wetter by the second from his delectable assault on your chest.

“Frank..please..”

“What is it baby? What do ya need, hm? Tell me what ya need, I’ll give you anything. Anything you fuckin’ want.”

“Please touch me.”

You should be embarrassed at how breathy you sounded, already so worked up from so little. But that was just the effect Frank had on you, and he fucking loved it. He loved how responsive you were to his touch, and his words. His fingers slipped beneath the waistband of your little shorts and panties, giving the elastic on both a faint tug.

“Gotta take these off. Gonna let me do that, hm?”

“Please.”

Frank thought he was gonna cum in his pants just from the way you were already begging for him. He had barely even touched you yet, and his excitement only grew for how you would react when he finally did. In a flash, you were completely bare before him, and Frank thought you were the most beautiful fucking thing he had ever seen. Leaning in closer, his broad shoulders spread your thighs further apart to give him a better view of your glistening cunt, and he was fucking done for.

“Fuck sweetheart. You been like this the whole fuckin’ time?”

You shuddered at the ravenous look in Frank’s eyes as he zeroed in on your soaked pussy. The wetness that had accumulated since his confession had grown unbearable, and you just needed him to do something. Anything. 

“Everytime you’re around.”

Frank’s eyes darkened considerably as they flickered up towards your face, a wicked glint dancing around in his irises. 

“That right?”

Capturing your bottom lip between your teeth, you nodded your head quickly, feeling heat spreading even further throughout your thighs.

“My poor girl. That’s just fuckin’ mean of me, ain’t it? You take such good care of me, and I leave you like this. Fuckin’ cruel of me. You gonna let me take care of you now?”

Frank's large hands slowly inched up your thighs, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles over the tops of them. He stared you down intently as he braced his palms on your inner thighs, spreading you open completely for him. Raising his hand up slowly, he hovered his thumb over your clit as he waited for your answer. 

“Please, Frank.”

“Atta girl.”

The contact of his rough thumb pressing against your clit had you jolting upwards, a surprised gasp leaving your mouth without warning. Frank gripped onto your hip to keep you steady, using his index finger to collect some of your slick before starting to rub slow, purposeful circles around your clit. You moaned at the relief you felt when he touched you, grabbing onto one of his shoulders to tug him in closer. Frank fucking loved the way you sounded, and he wanted more of it. He slowly increased his speed, applying more pressure here and there before slowly slipping his index finger inside of you. He took a moment to gather himself at how tight you felt around just his finger, his cock twitching in his jeans at the thought of how easily he could ruin you for any other man.

“There we go, that’s my good girl. Go on, move those hips. Just like that baby. C’mon sweetheart, take what you need.”

You couldn’t stop yourself from rolling your hips against Frank’s hand, watching the way his arm flexed everytime he pushed his finger back inside your greedy pussy. He followed your movements like the tide chasing the moon, pushing back wherever you pulled. A louder moan rang throughout your otherwise silent apartment when he added a second finger, curling them both upon exit in a beckoning manner that had your eyes nearly rolling into the back of your head. He hadn’t even fucked you, and you were ruined. You would never be able to touch yourself again. You would never be as good as Frank. No one would.

“Doin’ so fuckin’ well for me, baby. Knew you would. Look so beautiful like this. Gonna let me taste you, hm? Bet you taste so fuckin’ sweet.”

Frank didn’t bother to wait for you to answer this time. The alluring noises you made were enough for him to pull you further to the edge of the bed by your hips, diving in to devour you completely. A silent cry hung in your throat when he wrapped his lips around your swollen clit and began to suckle, all the while still driving his thick fingers inside you at unexplored depths. You were hanging on the edge by a thread, trying your hardest to will away your orgasm so he would keep his head between your thighs forever. Your fingers weaved through his dark tresses, loving how good he looked with his hair slightly grown out, but loving even more that you had something to pull on. 

Frank hummed at your taste. He fucking growled against your pussy and the vibrations had your thighs shaking around his head. You tried to give him a warning, but there was no time. You couldn’t find your voice. The second he started flicking his tongue over your sensitive nub at an inhuman pace while curling his fingers against that spongy spot inside you, you were coming apart and Frank was there to collect every drop. Your inner thighs burned from the abrasiveness of his stubble, but you welcomed it eagerly. If anything, it was at least one reminder that tonight had been real.

Frank didn’t stop his assault on your clit as you rode out your high on his fingers, continuing to lap up everything that you had to offer. You whimpered due to the sensitivity from your commanding orgasm, trying to push at Frank’s broad shoulders to get him to budge, but the stubborn fucker wouldn’t move. You could feel him grinning against your core, hear him chuckling softly at your whines and pleas. He was enjoying this. 

“God Frank, please. Please..I need a minute.”

Reluctantly, Frank leaned back and licked the rest of your release from his lips. You stared down at him breathlessly, wanting to commit every single detail of the sight before you to memory. His mouth and chin were still gleaming with your release, dark eyes wild and blown out, hair disheveled from your incessant tugging, and broad chest rising and falling quickly as he attempted to catch his breath. But the thing that stole the breath right out of your lungs was that Frank was smiling. Not a crooked one that took up the corner of his mouth, not his usual cocky smirk. A full on, mouth split wide open, all teeth on display, eyes crinkling at the corners, smile. If you hadn’t been so dazed out in bliss, you might have cried at the sight of it.

“You alright?”

“You’re smiling.”

“Hell yeah I’m smilin’. Just made my pretty girl come, and she tastes like fuckin’ heaven. What’s not to smile about?”

A blush crept on your cheeks at his words, causing you to mirror the grin that had taken over his mouth. 

“I’ve never seen you smile like that before.”

Frank raised up off his knees, leaning over the bed and placing both of his large hands on either side of your head as he looked down at you so tenderly, it made your stomach flip and nervousness settle in your ribcage. The look in his eyes felt so..intimate. 

“Ain’t had a reason to. Until you.”

Grabbing onto the back of Frank’s neck, you pulled him down to mold your lips together in a passionate kiss. You wanted him to feel everything. You wanted more. This kiss was different from the ones before. It was more patient and evocative, a silent understanding between you and Frank. Your fingertips trailed down the expanse of his chest until you reached the buckle of his belt, pulling the leather from the confinements and popping open the button of his jeans. His lips migrated along your jaw and down your neck, sucking softly at the juncture just above your collarbone.

His large hand wrapped around your throat, not tightly, but just to keep you close. His teeth skimmed along your neck as you tugged down his zipper, pushing his jeans and briefs down his hips to set him free. Frank let out a grateful groan when his cock slapped against his stomach, pulling back just for a moment to shred the layers of fabric completely. You clenched around nothing at the sight of him naked above you. God, he was beautiful. You greedily accepted his kiss once again when he settled his hips between yours, reaching between your bodies to carefully wrap your hand around his base, eliciting a delicious moan from his throat.

Frank was hard, and looked painfully so. You smoothed your thumb over the leaking tip of his cock, causing his hips to jerk forward slightly. He was incredibly thick and long, feeling unbelievably heavy in your small hand.

“Shit. Feels even better than I imagined.”

Your eyes darted up to meet Frank’s at his quiet confession, searching the midnight pools intently as a tiny smirk tugged at your lips.

“Frank Castle. You’ve thought about me touching you like this?”

There wasn’t even a shred of shame in Frank’s eyes as he stared down at you with a wolfish grin, leaning in to brush his nose along yours as you continued to stroke him slowly.

“Might’ve left out the part where I’ve been gettin’ off to that picture you sent me every night the past couple weeks.”

Your mouth dropped open and your eyes went wide, a hearty laugh rumbling deep within Frank’s chest.

“And you’re just telling me this now?”

“I thought you’d be mad.”

“Do I look mad?”

“No, and I’m so fuckin’ glad you’re not. Thought I was gonna have to say goodbye to you tonight.”

Frank carefully pried your hand off of him and replaced it with his own, rubbing the head of his cock between your slick folds and teasing your clit every time he did so. Your brows furrowed at his words, but the second you felt the weight of him rubbing against your still sensitive clit, you gasped sharply. Gripping onto his bicep, you struggled through the pleasure to keep your eyes open. You weren’t letting those words go so easily.

“Why would you say that Frank?”

Frank hated that he could hear the hurt that laced your question, leaning in to press his forehead against yours as he sighed deeply. His hips moved at a tedious pace to keep you both placated, but not enough to satisfy what either of you really wanted.

“Thought you’d be mad, never wanna see me again. Thought..fuck, that I couldn’t have you. Shouldn’t have you. You’re too good to me, sweetheart. Too good for me. Didn’t think I deserved somethin’ so..fuck, so good.”

Frank’s face was twisted up in a concoction of hedonism and self deprecation. You knew what he thought of himself. You knew you would never be able to get him to see what you saw in him. But that didn’t mean that you were going to stop trying. You lifted your hands to cradle his face, parted lips stretching into the best smile you could offer when he was dragging his cock lazily through your folds.

“You didn’t think to ask me what I wanted?”

At that, you lifted your hips slightly, signaling that you were ready for more. That you wanted more. Frank took the hint and slipped the head of his cock into your entrance, watching the way your eyes lulled shut at the feeling. It took every ounce of will power he had not to dive inside your body. He took his time, moving inch by inch, allowing you to adjust to his size. It felt like you were fucking suffocating him, and for a minute he was genuinely worried he wouldn’t be able to last. Once he had finally bottomed out, he dropped his head into the crook of your neck and let a strangled moan escape. You dug your fingertips into his shoulders as he stretched your walls to their limits, sucking in a breath at the burning trail he created.

Frank pulled your legs up to wrap around his hips, snaking one of his arms beneath you and around your waist to keep your chest flush to his. He was fucking terrified that at any moment you would disappear. Frank remained as patient as possible, awaiting with bated breath for you to tell him he could move. He couldn’t remember the last time he had wanted something so fucking badly.

Turning your head slightly, you pressed the gentlest kiss to the skin beneath his ear. Frank lifted his head slightly so he could get a good look at you, feeling his heart race at the sight of you beneath him.

“I want you, Frank. All of you. If you want me too, then have me. Please.”

Frank stared down at you in disbelief, trying to figure out what the fuck he had done so right that had led him to this moment right here, with you. But who was he to say no to you? Without another word, he retracted his hips slightly just to bring them flush with yours again. He marveled at the sight of you under him, kiss-bitten lips red and swollen and parted, his name falling in breathy pants and moans from them over and over every time he reached that peak inside you. He could fucking die like this.

“Feel too fuckin’ good sweetheart, not gonna make it much longer. Need ya to let go with me. Can you do that for me, sweet girl? Hm?”

You weren’t sure if you nodded or even spoke. You weren’t sure if you gave any indication at all to Frank that you were coherent and understood what he asked. 

“Look at me, baby. Wanna see those pretty eyes when you fall apart.”

The second his fingers found your clit, you were seeing stars. This orgasm was so much fucking stronger than the last one, it suckerpunched every bit of oxygen out of you and you found yourself struggling to breathe. Violent tremors shook throughout your body and you fought so hard to keep your eyes open just long enough to watch Frank fall apart just as hard above you. Your legs tightened around his waist and you gripped onto the back of his neck, holding on as much as he could as his hips stuttered against yours roughly when he finally spilled into you. The loud moan that ripped through his chest was like music to your ears and it nearly sent you over the edge again.

The room felt like a sauna, sweltering and sticky with Frank’s body heat and the combination of your releases hanging heavily in the air. Frank’s panting breaths and your desperate whimpers were the only things your ears could register. Your brain had seemingly shut off and your vision became incredibly fuzzy while you were coming down. You weren’t sure how long that lasted, but the feeling of a calloused finger stroking your cheek seemed to tether you back to reality.

Frank beamed down at you when you slowly opened your eyes, taking in the completely blissful, fucked out look on your face. You nuzzled into his palm, finding your lips maneuvering into a smile of their own accord. 

“There’s my girl. Thought I lost you for a second there. Was worried I broke you.”

A symphonious giggle fell from your lips and Frank couldn’t help but grin even wider at the sound. You hummed softly as you looked up at him, shaking your head slowly.

“I don’t break so easily, Castle. Guess you’ll just have to keep trying.”

“That right?”

Lightly gripping onto the chain around his neck, you pulled him down to meet you in a head-spinning kiss. His large hand grabbed your face gently, and you giggled when you felt him nip at your bottom lip.

“That’s right.”

“Well, practice does make perfect.”

me and the joel miller girlies

Keep Moving Forward

Pairing: König x Reader

Summary: You’re determined to find out why everyone thinks König is so scary, afterall he’s just some guy that’s taller than most people right? He’s probably harmless! Well, he’s a little scary, but you still like him anyway.

(No use of y/n or mention of gender/race)

AN: Just want to say a massive thank you for everyones lovely comments on the last part, I can’t believe how many notes that has now 😱 I’ve got a taglist so if you want to be added or removed (I just stuck down everyone that commented or reblogged the last one with tags/comments) lemme know! Also I’ve got my own version of what König looks like and I’ve been including details so hopefully you like my thoughts on him 🥰

Part 2 of A Rocky Start

Part 1  |  Part 3

-☠️-

A forbidden crush, a whole unit of men watching out for any missteps and a job that required you to be on your A game - it all sounded a bit like a bonkers netflix plot, but no this was your life now. You were desperately trying to hide your little (massive) König crush, while trying to get through your days and it was going horribly. The universe was working against you. 

Keep reading

I have a request 🐉

~you can chose the house we are in :3

imagine being betrothed to bran stark (readers father wants her to be queen). after the wedding how would bran act? reader likes him but bran is kinda cold to her but he eventually warms up to reader after he sees all the effort she puts into the marriage. will he fall in love with her?

something like this please and thanks

-lady 🐉

A/N: AHHH this is ADORABLE <33 I decided to write both some headcanons and a fic at the end for this because i liked the plot a bit too much and might have gotten carried away, so apologies for the length! 🥲💞 I hope you enjoy this my dear ^^❤ Also, let's pretend everyone's alive and happy and well, yes? :") another note: originally, i was planning on making the reader either a Reed or a Greyjoy, but since i wasn't so sure which House to choose, i wrote (L/N) so you can refer to your own last name as a House, or, pick whichever house you'd like to be in! Hope this is what you expected dear, i'm getting used to writing for GoT 😂🥲❤

Pairing: Bran Stark x Fem!Reader

Genre: Fluff

Warnings?: Long, very. More than expected.

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• You're (Y/N) of House (L/N). Your father has arranged you to marry Brandon of House Stark – expecting you to become the future Queen, eventually.

• Of course, as expected, the previous days before your wedding you had to meet your now future husband and the castle you were going to live in to, at least, get familiarised with each others presence a bit, and as well to get used to your new home.

• Being fairly honest, it took him a bit to get used to the idea of being betrothed to someone, even if he constantly reminded himself that the idea of being betrothed/married to someone was all merely political, and to show union between the Houses.

• His first impression of you, was that you were a rather sweet and lovely girl, but you were still a stranger for him; and a stranger he soon would have to refer as "Wife". He barely knew you properly, since you had only talked for a small bit, and didn't really feel the type of love he's supposed to feel when getting married to someone. But what can he do about it? He's got no other option.

• You, on the other hand, as cold, unexpressive, and introverted as he seemed when you met him for the first time, you couldn't help but develop and instant crush on him. What you liked about him, was how cute he was (despite his awkwardness around you), and how he kept his gentleman behaviour. You were afraid you'd be stuck in an unwanted, abusive marriage like most girls you'd met, but he was quite the opposite – and that was more than enough for you to fall for the coffee-eyed boy.

• The day of your wedding, you were extremely anxious, yet excited about it. Your parents – and his family as well – reassured you everything was going to be just fine, and complimented you quite often in hopes of calming your nerves.

• Bran, as distant as he seemed towards you, also seemed to calm your nerves with his tranquil, shy personality, and with his compliments: making you feel much better, and even, spend a nice time in your wedding, surrounded by people who loved the two of you.

• Your marriage, even if it was sudden and kind of unwanted (at first!) was better than you expected. You tried to be the most loyal, and faithful wife as a girl could ever be, and you were beside your now husband no matter whatever happened. Always helping him out, sticking by his side, defending him when you heard people saying hurtful comments about him, taking him to the garden – whatever you could do to cheer him and have a nice time, you did it.

• ^ And of course, so did he, being the true gentleman he is, even if he's still not fully used to the idea of being married.

• With the passing of time, he eventually grew very fond of you, and became closer. Bran enjoyed your warm presence, it was very calming and you were a very good and loyal companion to him.

• And, from one day to another, oddly enough, Bran suddenly began noticing you more than he often did, even if he was already warming up to you. A particular new sensation for you sparked inside of him, a feeling he's never felt for anybody else, but for you: desire. There was something about you he loved so much, and he wouldn't stop admiring you from afar, even if you didn't notice.

• He thought of you as incredibly kind, sweet, beautiful, and he adored how despite you being incredibly pure and innocent as a dove, free from the cruel stains of the world, you could easily stand up either for yourself or for anybody else without flinching. The way you always put so much effort into your marriage, and how you always tried to give him the best, was something he admired and appreciated a lot.

• He's began taking a particular liking for you, and there's no turning back from that – he has fallen in absolute love for you.

• For Bran, he's uncertain and absolutely clueless about how to properly express his feelings for you, and confess to you that he's in madly love with you. So, to discreetly tell you he loves you, he'd do small things to do so, such as: pulling you closer to him while sleeping (or him cuddling you), complimenting you more often, gifting you jewellery (if you like wearing it, of course), holding your hands more frequently, giving you small kisses on your cheek/forehead, etc.

• You found it odd that he suddenly began showering you with love in small ways, but deep down inside, you enjoyed the particular attention you've been getting from him.

• Even if you're married already (because you had no choice tbh), he'd spend a long time thinking of ways to tell you how he's recently began feeling about you, in a way that doesn't kill him from the anxiety.

• The best way he thought of confessing that he truly loved and cared for you, was doing it while you were showing him the blooming flowers in the usual garden walk you always gave him in the mornings. It was peaceful, nobody would interrupt you, and it was a perfect moment.

• And my final answer for your question? Is yes. He would most likely fall in love with you when he notices how you always try to stick for him by his side, and always try to make him as comfortable as possible in your marriage.

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The warm rays of sunshine delicately hit your faces, as you strolled your husband's wheelchair through the blooming garden. It was your favourite activity to do in the mornings, and even if he wouldn't admit it, he quite enjoyed it as well; helping him relax, and make him forget about everything, at least, for a short while.

Your father had recently betrothed you to Brandon Stark, just a few full moons ago, and quickly got wed. All of this, was only so you could become the future Queen once Bran was named King. For both of you, the idea of being married to someone you barely knew still felt awkwardly odd, even if you knew it was eventually going to happen. Getting betrothed with someone was all purely political, and only to unite Houses. In this case, unite House Stark and House (L/N).

When you met Bran for the first time, a few days before your wedding, as cold and distant as he seemed to be at first, you thought he was cute: which made you develop an intense crush on him. Why? Because, he acted different from the other Lords and future Kings: in your life, you've met several girls who married Lords and future Kings, and sadly, all of them were stuck in an abusive, unwanted relationship. You were absolutely afraid of ending with that same fate, but lucky for you, Bran proved to be the complete opposite of the other future Kings – he was a gentleman with you, and he was polite as well, even if he was quite unexpressive at the moment, naturally. But his personality was what had charmed you.

You thought, the feelings were only one sided – and even if it hurt a bit, you had to accept it. So, despite him probably not experiencing the same interest you had for him, you decided to still be a good wife to him, and stand by his side at least, as a loyal companion who'd try to help him with whatever thing he could possibly need. And how wrong you were to think he couldn't possibly like you.

Your natural sweet, kind, and helping self was more than enough to make him take a particular liking for you, soon growing to become love. It was hard for him to express his feelings for you, as they made him feel anxious, but he loved it when you helped him lay in bed, defend him, stay by his side whenever he needed it, and, like you are currently doing right now: take him to the gardens in the early mornings.

Snapping out of your thinking trance, you took a look at your surroundings, filled with beautiful colours from the flowers. Stopping, and gently touched a rose that has now fully bloomed. “Look, Bran, the roses and the lillies have bloomed so preciously. Some new flowers have bloomed as well, they're so pretty. Don't you think?” Breaking the strangely awkward silence between the two of you, you looked down at him, who was admiring the recently grown flowers as well. “Yes, they're quite beautiful.” Bran said, a small smile forming on his lips, as a contented sigh escaped from you.

As you tenderly touched the petals of the new grown flowers with the tip of your fingers, he noticed a particular odd flower that stood out from the rest. The flower had a strong crimson yet bright colour with some darker red strings that grew from the center, it's shape was different than the rest of the flower – as if it were more vivid, and so mesmerising as well. Bran carefully took the flower from it's stem, and softly raised it to his nose, feeling the sweet, pure smell of the flower – causing him to smile even wider at all the pleasant sensations. As he admired the flower he was holding, he thought, the moment was perfect to do what he's been wanting to do for a while, now: confess his feelings for you. No one was around to bother, or interrupt you, and your surroundings were so calmingly pleasant – it couldn't possibly get any better than that.

Bran couldn't understand why – or how – could you make him feel so nervous. You were already married, and you were very kind to him, yes, but he was afraid you were doing it out of politeness rather than sharing the feelings he had for you. Taking a deep breath, he turned around to look at you, slightly lifting the flower so you could see it; signaling for you to take it from his hand, in a way. It was nearly impossible for him to hide the growing redness on both his cheeks.

“This flower is for you, my love. I believe, it resembles your beauty.”

Looking down at him with wide eyes in surprise, a faint blushing rose your cheeks as well. Lately, he had been becoming a bit more expressive and less distant with you, leaving his cold, awkward nature around you far away. Bran had complimented you many times before, and he became so sweet with you, but never like this, acting very suddenly.

“Wait, why, wha– Really? Why, thank you, darling.” Stumbling upon your words as you began speaking, you offered him a shy smile, not hiding your blushing. You gently took the flower from his hand, and smelt it. “It smells tremendously sweetly, as well.” As you spoke, your voice tone was low. Crouching a bit to him, you placed a kiss on his cheek, which was warm from blushing. “You deserve it, beautiful. You've always been so kind for me, and I feel as I haven't returned you the favour.” Before you could open your mouth to speak, he signaled for you to sit on front of his lap by gently patting it. “Come, and hand me the flower for a second. I have something important to tell you.” Bran didn't even know where all his current courage was coming from, but that didn't matter anymore.

Doing as told, you first handed him back the flower, and continously, you shyly adjusted yourself on his lap, a bit tense from the sudden physical contact you were both having at the moment. Bran placed an arm around your body to properly hold you, as he tenderly tucked the flower behind your ear. He lovingly admired your flustered face for a brief moment, before he spoke. “I must apologise for being so distant and unexpressive towards you when we first met, my dear.” As he lowly spoke, he lifted the hand that tucked the flower behind your ear, only to softly stroke your cheek with his thumb. “I am sure you'll understand the reason of why I acted that way towards you. The idea of being suddenly betrothed and getting wed in a short span of days was a complicated thought to process, as expected as it was for both of us, knowing it'd eventually happen in our lives.” The only thing you could do, was shyly nod in agreement, as he kept spoking. “The idea of getting married merely for political terms rather than getting married for love was disappointing for me. But, I believe, fate has bought us together. I've realised–” Bran made a short pause before he kept speaking, trying to hold his own nervousness, as your heart pounded faster.

“I realised, I can't see my life without you in it now. It started by noticing how attached I became to your genuine sweetness and effort in making our marriage work, allowing me to warm up to your presence, and now, I desire to stay by your side for the rest of my life. I love you, and I am so happy to have been betrothed with you.” His words seemed so genuine and true, that made your eyes get watery with happiness of receiving the love you had terribly longed for since the first moment you met. “I am proud of calling you my wife, I desire no one else, but you. There aren't enough words to express my true feelings towards you which is beyond any possible barriers, my love, but hopefully, this will prove it.” His body began leaning towards you, and naturally, you did the same, until your faces were inches away. Ever so lovingly, the hand that was previously stroking your cheek now went to the back of your head, and pulled you closer to him – your lips finally meeting, in a pure, genuine kiss.

Of course, you had previously kissed in the lips before the day of your wedding, but it didn't feel genuine; it felt rather cold, and forced as well. It had been utterly bittersweet for you. The rest of the kisses you had given to each other, especially these recent days, were small shy kisses given in either the forehead, the cheek, or hands. This precise kiss, felt warm. Warm with the genuine, unstained love he had recently began developing for you in such intense way, that there was no possible physical way for him to prove it, unless you got inside his mind. Kissing his plushy lips was something you've only dreamed for so long, thinking you would never really get to experience his sweet taste – but here you were.

As you slowly pulled apart from him, you slightly gasped for air as a smile began forming on your lips. “I quiet enjoyed that,” You lowly cooed, as you wrapped both your arms around his neck, and placed a loving kiss on the corner of his lips. “But I think, we should get going. If we go missing for too long, they're going to start looking for us.” You said, as you played with some strands of his hair. “Yes, I think we should.” Bran said, placing one last kiss on your chin, as you tried to untangle yourself from him. Before you could place a foot on the ground to stand and go back inside with him, he tightened his grip on your body, and pulled you closer to him once again.

“Allow me to carry my dear wife back inside.” He said, notoriously teasing you, as the red colour on your cheeks slowly began appearing again. “Alright, only if you say so.” Adjusting yourself back on top of him, your arms went back to being wrapped around his neck, some giggles escaping your lips as he wheeled the two of you back inside the castle. Once you got back inside, you received some funny looks from the people who were walking around the halls, and around the castle in general. Seeing the future Queen on top of the future crippled King as he wheels the two of them throughout the halls was certainly not something you saw everyday. Of course, none of you cared about the way other people looked at you.

The two of you were now happy that each others feelings were fully reciprocated, even if it had taken a while to do so after being betrothed and getting married. You were happy that way, and no one would be able to change it.

────────────────────

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@anemic-royaltyy

SOMETHING SCANDALOUS !!! DANIEL R. X FEM!READER (18+)

summary: she was so drawn on him that she couldn't find herself to care where she was. (pt. 3-ish of something watchful and something jealous).

content warning: smut under the cut (minors dni!), based on a request from my ask, use of explicit language, pwp, what is beta reading, unprotected sex (a no no), semi-public sex + mirror sex hehe, oral sex (m receiving) + deepthroat, p in v, exhibitionism + mentions of voyeurism (!!!!), just straight up nasty tbh, degrading ('filthy baby'), mentions lando watching (something jealous), lewis + max + lando + daniel scene at the end.

song rec: agora hills by doja cat (i've been playing this song endlessly now)

note: i know i'm not taking any requests atm but god did i want some exhibitionist!danny. anon, forgive me if this is way below what you've expected but i've done my best xx

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she hadn’t expected herself to act like this. in a club restroom, of all places. 

but she was so drawn and drunk on him that she couldn’t find herself to give a fuck. her mouth humming around his thick cock as daniel exhaled sharply and muttered beneath his breath. 

“fuck, such a good fuckin’ doll f’me,” he swore, his half-lidded eyes peering down at her with nothing but lust. “suckin’ me off in a club bathroom— y’really wanna get caught, huh?” 

her eyes nearly shed tears as she inhaled the last of the oxygen she could consume, the tip of his cock resting at the back of her throat as her tongue swirled on the underside of his cock.

the echoes of daniel’s groaning remained inside the bathroom. the couple were thankful for the privacy of this place— as if this public place was meant to be shagged on by two desperate people. 

“you should see yourself, princess,” daniel moaned as she began bobbing her head, “sucking me off in a bathroom where some drivers can walk into— like you want them to see you.” 

her legs instinctively shut and rubbed against each other, desperately finding a way to scratch the itch in between her legs as she moaned. the vibration of her mouth made him groan deeply. 

“yeah? you really want that huh? filthy baby,” daniel taunted her. “wan’ them to see you? wanna remind them that you’re my filthy girl?” he grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled her away from his cock, making her cry quietly at the sharp pain of her roots and the lack of cock on her mouth. 

her skin met the cold marble tiles of the sink, feeling his hands bruising her hips as he slid into her. she let out a shrill cry, his cock bottoming out inside her cunt. 

“god, baby you’re so fuckin’ divine,” daniel thrusted his cock inside her, his length reaching and hitting her sensitive spot repeatedly as she cried in pleasure. “yeah- let it all out. you like this, hm? you like this cock inside of your cunt?”

“fuck- daniel, yes!” she exclaimed, holding onto her dear life as he continued to fuck her from behind.

the australian took a hold of both her arms and held them behind her, watching her tits bounce in front of him with grace and filth that he hadn’t expected to act on.

his hand propped her chin up and tapped on it lightly, “look at you,” he demanded quietly, “open your eyes pretty girl.” 

as if she was in a drunken haze, her lust blown eyes opened and trailed down from her bouncing tits to his cock— her mouth drooling at the sight of it sliding out of her. 

“you like that?” daniel chuckled behind her, nipping at her ear as she mewled. “oh you do. you definitely love that, sweetheart— you are such a filthy thing.” 

“and i thought fuckin’ you in front of lando would cut it,” he cooed mockingly, his pace increasing as she babbled about wanting to cum. “turns out you want more to see you, huh?”

“‘m sure they wouldn’t oppose to that,” daniel continued, “could see all of ‘em eye-fucking you when you wear those fuckin’ dresses to the paddock. pierre hadn’t been able to keep his mouth shut about you, either— tellin’ me that you’re hot as fuck. i don’t blame him.”

“and max?” daniel chuckled darkly, “he wants to fuck you too, baby— can you just imagine how it’s gon’ be if he finds out that he can’t have everything he wants just b’cause he’s the champion? i pity the poor man.” 

“maybe lando should warn ‘em,” his cock continued to spear her insides as she screamed silently, her hand holding on to his arm behind her as her cunt throbbed. her walls called for orgasm— yet he continued fucking her like she wasn’t eager to reach her high. “tell ‘em that i’m not the type to share— but to brag, no?” 

“or should we just let them find you here?” he laughed quietly, his mockery turning into a sign of pleasure as he said, “god fuck— baby, cum f’me, yeah? i can feel- god, fuck.”

“fuck danny~” she let out a loud whine, her body reaching her high as she clenched around him. daniel let out a choked moan, his cock twitching and coating her walls white as he reached over to kiss her hard.

the restroom, once filled with filthy words and sounds of desperation and pleasure, fell silent as the music outside continued to be loud enough to cover their heavy breathing. 

but it wasn’t loud enough to not create a scandalous story that was shared amongst the singles of the grid. 

a week after, when daniel arrived before the driver’s pre-race conference began, max and lando gave him a knowing look. the australian returned their expressions with a puzzled one and lewis finally gave up his act and chuckled.

hearing lewis’ laugh, daniel gave them all an annoyed look, “okay, what the fuck is going on?”

max grinned mischievously and leaned against the wall with a smirk. 

“i knew you were into pda,” lando joked, “but i didn’t think you’d go as far as that.” max chuckled at that. 

daniel gave lando a glare. out of all of them, lando shouldn’t be joking about that; not when lando witnessed daniel fuck his girlfriend's brain out before. even the brit knew that but he couldn’t help but laugh.

“we’re just saying,” lewis cleared his throat, “if you wanted us to catch you two so bad, you could’ve just let us join.”

daniel scoffed haughtily, “you fuckin’ wish.” 

♡ moony’s reminder 🅶 (general): @hiraethrhapsody @avaleineandafryingpan @topguncultleader @enhacolor @roseandtulips @woweewoowa

♡   moony’s reminder 🅴 (explicit edition): @glitterf1

no mourners, no funerals. [source]

Soap: 🥺🥺

Ghost: The fuck is 🥺? Use your words, I don't speak bottom

Anything II (König x Reader)

Summary: A lack of information from the chain of command results in König mistaking you for an enemy sniper. The altercation ends in your hospitalisation and when you've finally recovered, Price assigns the same man who destroyed you to teach you how to never let it happen again.

Requested by: Literally fucking everyone.

A/N: I genuinely hope this isn't dog shit and a complete letdown.

Category: Angst || Hurt/Comfort || Forced Proximity || Enemies to ?

Warnings: Graphic language, graphic description of PTSD episode, graphic description of unintentional self-inflicted injury.

Previous Chapter

You had thrown up. Twice.

Pressure snaked its way from your chest to your throat and nausea gripped your stomach. You felt deeply unsettled. Your fingers shook, your face was gaunt- you hadn’t slept properly in days. You were a mess.

All because of him.

You cussed beneath your breath, bouncing on your toes lightly. You were due for another training session and considering you’d bailed on the last one, you couldn’t afford to skip it again. You’d received an earful from Price for walking out after your conversation with König.

That fucker had reported back to the Captain that you’d simply ‘discussed the terms of the agreement.’

You slapped your thighs. Then, you hit them harder. The sharp pain jolted your system, and you used the distraction to force yourself out the door. The more you dwelled on it, the more you needed to vomit again.

This time, König was waiting for you.

He sat on the bench, legs spread and his head down. He was fidgeting with his gloves and, had you not known any better, you’d have thought that maybe you’d snuck up on him. But you did know better. König was aware of your presence the second you entered the hallway.  

You sucked in a breath as he finally looked up, pretending that he’d only just noticed you. His features were obscured by his hood, giving you no indication of his reaction. He felt inhuman, there was no tug of his lips or twitch in his cheek- only an emerald gaze that stripped you of your courage. 

“Birdy,” König tipped his head in greeting, your name soft on his lips. Your chest tightened at the sound of his voice. You hated when he spoke like that, low and from his chest. You wished he would yell, you wished he would be boisterous— anything to drown his promises of death in your ear. 

“Your fight is finished.” 

You didn’t acknowledge him. You didn’t say his name. Instead, you slowly entered the room and moved to the farthest side from him. Your heart beat wildly against your ribs and the nausea you’d felt earlier was back in full swing. 

“The sooner we start, the sooner you can leave,” König reminded you, flicking his gaze across your attire. 

“Then start,” you snapped. The man blinked at your aggression and his fidgeting fingers fell still. For a long moment, neither of you spoke. That emerald gaze was pinned to your figure, steady and inquisitive and terrifying. He straightened up from where he was slouched over, his seated form already taller than you standing. 

“What can I do to make you more comfortable with this arrangement?” König spoke slowly, each word enunciated with careful control over his tone. Your heart dropped to your stomach, he was getting frustrated. 

You wanted to spit at him that the only way you’d ever be comfortable was if he were to leave. You wanted to shout at him to fuck right off back to KorTac and never show his face again; that’s what would ease your mind. 

But, as he held his body deathly still, that stare trained on yours- you reminded yourself of what he was capable of. 

“The mask,” you whispered, cursing yourself for the way your voice shook. 

König finally moved, leaning back into the bench as he took in a long breath. He waited for you to continue, to pitch your proposition, but your mouth had gone dry and your tongue had fallen limp. When he realized that you weren’t going to offer anything more, he nodded his head, clasping his hands together tightly. 

“You want me to…” König bounced his leg, clearing his throat as he sat up straight. “You want me to take it off?” 

You nodded your head. König said nothing. The sinking feeling that he just might reject your request began to worry you. He could say no and there would be nothing you could do to argue that, you were still required by order to do these training sessions regardless of whether he agreed to your requests or not. 

You swallowed thickly, scrubbing your nose to break the eye contact between you both. You couldn't stand it. 

"I can't do this if you're wearing that thing," you waved vaguely at his face, keeping your eyes low. "It- I just-" 

Frustration burned in your chest as you flailed to articulate your feelings. You couldn't tell him outright that his stupid fucking mask plagued your dreams every night. You couldn't tell him about the terror that gripped you by the throat whenever you laid eyes on it. 

König didn't let you finish, anyway. He reached for his hood, swiftly pulling it from his head and, again, you were thrown off kilter by his appearance. 

His brows were furrowed as he observed you from beneath his lashes. "I know." 

He knew what you were trying to say. 

"Shall we start?" He asked, slowly standing to his feet. And, despite it being painfully obvious that he was keeping his body language open, you still took an inadvertent step back. You cursed beneath your breath when he straightened up to his full height, the urge to run from the room was almost overwhelming. König triggered your fight or flight response and your body was a slave to its survival instincts. 

You sucked in a breath, forcing yourself to stay still as he approached. 

"What are we doing?" You forced the question from your throat, trying to distract yourself from the hulking figure moving closer. 

"Ground defence." 

Your heart seized in your chest. 

"I don't want to do this," you said as calmly as you could. Your pulse climbed rapidly as König's gaze softened. 

"I know," he murmured. "But neither of us has a choice." 

You didn't give a fuck about him or his choices. You couldn't care less whether he was here of his own volition or if he'd been ordered to take care of your training; you only cared about the fact that he was twice your size and had nearly murdered you once before. 

You couldn't believe that Price was allowing this. 

Betrayal stung in your chest. 

Actually, what you really couldn't believe was how this cunt was even allowed to be here. 

Clearly, you were dispensable. 

Maybe you had overestimated your importance to the team, maybe you had misunderstood the bond between you all. You'd been replaced by your own aggressor and Price had allowed it. 

Clearly, you hadn't meant as much as you thought to the 141.

“Birdy.” 

You jumped, tripping backward into the bench behind you. You stared wide-eyed at König who was equally as startled by your reaction. 

“What?”You snapped, straightening up as though nothing had happened, as though he hadn’t almost frightened you out of your skin. 

He hesitated before continuing, the side eye he shot you was clearly one of concern. Disgusting. “I need you to lie on your stomach.” 

“No.” The word fell from your mouth before you’d even realized it. 

König raised a single brow. “You want this to happen again?” 

He gestured at your swollen cheeks, the fresh scarring from your stitches that littered your face. The man referenced you like an artist would show off their masterpiece. 

“Only to you,” you said, your voice sickly sweet as you forced a bitter smile to your lips. The fluid in your cheeks felt like liquid fire beneath your skin at the movement, but the way his expression fell made the pain worth it. 

“Then get on the floor so I can teach you how,” König crossed his arms, carefully schooling his features to give away nothing- but it was too late. You saw that you’d hurt him with the comment, or at least affected him enough to feel satisfied. 

Your small victory gave you enough courage to lie down. 

Your logic reminded you to immediately regret it. 

Konig’s knee came into your vision as he knelt by your prone body. You couldn’t see his upper body, you couldn’t see where his hands were. He made no noise to indicate what he was going to do and your spine seized along our back.

You didn’t want to do this. 

Not again. 

“König,” you rasped, pressing your hands into the floor. “König, I don’t want to do this.” 

Your breath was too fast, you felt like you were channelling air in through your mouth just to be sent right back out. It was as though you were rapidly suffocating, not getting any oxygen to fill your lungs, the room spinning from where you lay. 

“Birdy, you need this,” König reminded you from above. The words sounded distant and muffled like someone had placed their hands over your ears and spoken softly.

You gasped loudly as the man behind you straddled your back, the mass of his body resting against the lower half of your extremely fragile spine. You wanted to buck and kick and scream until he was forced off of you but your mouth was dry and words evaded you. 

“I want to teach you how to spin onto your back first,” König said, his hands resting lightly on your shoulders. “You can’t win from your stomach.” 

You couldn’t win on your back either. 

“No,” you said firmly, twisting experimentally from beneath him. “No, get off. I’m not doing this.” 

There was a sharp sigh from behind you and instead of moving from his position, König began applying pressure. Your chest sunk into the ground as he leant just a fraction of his weight onto your body. 

“Then get me off.” 

The floor was hard against your body, it felt like your ribs were collapsing from beneath you. You could barely breathe as it was and now you were gasping like a fish out of water. There were so many things he could do to you from this position, so many ways he could torture you and you wouldn’t be able to defend yourself.

You tried to press upwards with your hands in an attempt to relieve the pressure from your chest. It was fruitless considering the 130 kilograms of muscle pressing your face into the floor, but you tried again. Then again. 

You were beginning to sweat, your palms slipping on the floor. Your arms shook from the exertion and you could feel your resolve slipping, your control spiralling from your grasp. 

“Get the fuck off me,” you wheezed, that same ugly pressure clawing its way up your ribs and into your throat. “König, I’m serious. Get off.” 

“Listen to me and I’ll teach you how to get out of this yourself,” König’s voice was firm. There was no room to argue, the bite in his tone enough to put the fear of God into you.  “Pull your knee up beside you, slide forward to get up onto your knees and roll me off to the side.” 

You followed his instruction, forcing yourself to breathe as evenly as you could. Your skin burned where he touched, your body screaming at his presence atop of you. 

Get him off, off, off. 

The weight of his body eased as he let you perform the maneuver. He was too heavy and you were too tired to pull that move off without his help, but you didn’t care anymore. You’d do anything for him to get the fuck away from you, you’d do anything for him to never touch you again. 

Konig rested his weight back down, straddling your hips as you lay on your back now, facing upward. 

The exact same position of that night. 

Your breathing picked up and your hands began to tremble. The sensation of excess adrenaline flooding your body, a feeling that you were familiar with, rendering you shaking but incapacitated. 

The hood was on his face again and his eyes were wild and manic. You’d never seen that look in a mans eyes before, you knew then that he was going to kill you. The emerald glint of his psychotic glare was all that you could see. It was so dark and he was so fast, you weren’t able to predict his moves because you couldn’t fucking see them. He was a shadow, he was death incarnate. Your body was on fire, your lungs screaming from within your chest. 

The monster’s eyes drifted to your chest and you followed his gaze. The handle of a knife jutted from above your breast bone and you snap your eyes back to his. Blood sprayed in the space between the both of you as he twisted the knife in your chest. You’d forgotten the noise that it had made, your punctured lung sucking air from the bloody wound with a wet gasp. 

König’s eyes were hard as he reached for your face, fingers outstretched and closing in across your vision. 

Not again. 

Not again. 

“Birdy!” 

You bucked, you heaved, you fought off his grip. You knew what was going to happen, you knew what came next. This time, your brain matter would be smeared across the floor, this time he would finish you off. 

You clawed at the fingers wrapped across your face desperately, trying to draw enough blood for him to flinch away. You ripped at his skin as hard as you could manage, screaming against his palm. 

“Birdy, stop!” 

Nothing was working, nothing could stop him. You dragged your nails across his fingers, driving them into the divots of his cuticles in an attempt to deglove his skin from bone. 

“Jesus Christ, get a fucking sedative!” 

When König smashed your head into the concrete, you were grateful for the darkness that ensued. 

You didn’t have that privilege last time. 

____

The first sense you regained was smell. 

And, by God, did you fucking hate that smell. 

The scent of disinfectant flooded your olfactory system so viciously that you were forced up in your seat. You scrubbed at your eyes desperately, praying to whoever the fuck was listening that you weren’t where you thought you were. 

White lights flooded your vision and you cringed back into the cushions, pressing your palms into your eyes. 

“Easy, Birdy. Easy.” 

That familiar cockney accent served as a warning. Gloved hands tugged your fists down from your face and you tried to regain control of your breathing, eyes squeezed shut.

“Ghost?” You rasped. Your voice was barely a squeak, and you realized with a frown that you’d lost it somehow. 

“Thought I’d come pay you a visit.” 

You slowly attempted to regain your sight, blinking away the blurriness and the harshness of the down lights. You gingerly observed your surroundings, heart sinking to your stomach as you recognised the room. 

You’d been on this bed for weeks during your recovery from the incident. 

Same hospital, same room, same bed. 

You felt nauseas. 

Swallowing the bile threatening to make an appearance, you dragged your gaze to the seat by your bed. Ghost sat so still you could have mistaken him for a piece of furniture had you not been actively looking for him. 

The man watched you carefully, his hoodie raised over his head and the balaclava perched firmly over the lower half of his features. 

“When did you get back?” You asked, cringing at the broken sound of your voice. Ghost exhaled through his nose and his eyes softened under your scrutiny, an expression you’d never seen before flickering across his gaze. You were disoriented, still unsure of how he had gotten there or what you were doing there. 

“Yesterday.” 

You froze, eyes widening as Ghost waited for you to come to the realization. 

“How long have I been in here?” You cried, the words gutted by your vocal fatigue. “What the fuck happened?” 

“You need to take a breath,” Ghost leaned forward, his hand pressing lightly against your shoulder, prompting you to lay back into the cushions. 

“No, you need to tell me what happened, Simon,” you reinforced, throwing a hand to your chest. You pressed against the skin, as though you could force your lungs to slow down with just a touch. 

Ghost made a noise from the back of his throat, strangled and uncomfortable. You could tell that he hadn’t expected you to wake up while he was there. 

“You…” And for the first time in nearly a decade, you heard Simon Riley hesitate. 

Your mouth was dry as you realised the severity of what had happened, the anxiety of not knowing what you’d done ripping at your chest. Your eyes were pleading now, begging him to just come out with it, to tell you the truth. 

That stormy gaze was sympathetic. It made you tremble. 

“You had an incident, Birdy.” Ghost said slowly, deliberating over his words carefully. “An episode.” 

“An episode?” You questioned, narrowing your gaze. “The fuck do you mean an episode?” 

Ghost didn’t shift in his seat the way König did when under pressure, he didn’t fidget or bounce his leg. Simon Riley sat still like a cold-blooded creature, watching you from the darkest corner of the room with a cool, steady gaze. 

“PTSD, Birdy.”

You blinked slowly. 

“During your ‘training’ with that cunt,” Ghost spat the words, his eyes shifting to the side as he centred himself. “We heard your screaming as we were on the way back in.” 

“We?’ You rasped, dread settling in your stomach. 

“Me and Johnny,” Ghost clarified. He exhaled softly, shaking his head. “You had to be sedated, kid.” 

The skin on your cheek stung sharply before you could process that bombshell. You frowned, attempting to ignore it in favour of uncovering what had happened. Ghost was never one to beat around the bush, always outright and as ‘blunt as a cunt’, in Soap’s words. 

So, why was he now omitting a key part of the story? 

The skin beneath your eyes stung again, this time demanding your attention. You began to sweat at the sudden severity of the pain, hands flying to your face to diagnose the issue.

Ghost moved before you could blink, striking out like a cobra. His hands gripped your wrists, keeping them from scouring over the skin. Your eyes were wide as you appraised him, bent over your bed, your hands suspended in his grip between the both of you. 

Your eyes narrowed. He mimicked the expression. 

You shoved at his body, ripping your hands from his hold. You needed to get to a mirror. Throwing yourself off the side of the bed, you gasped as your knees buckled from their sudden use. Simon gripped your bicep, pulling you upright with ease, but you tugged against him immediately. 

“Don’t fucking touch me.” 

He retracted his hand as though he’d been burned. 

You stormed into the bathroom, the door smashing against the rubber stop glued to the wall. The lights flickered to life as you bashed the switch with the bottom of your closed fist. 

You could have thrown up. 

Gauze pads covered both your cheeks, stained pink from what you realized was blood. Your face was bleeding. A whimper fell from your lips as you reached for the dressing, peeling it slowly from your skin. Your mouth fell open at the slow reveal of what hid beneath the gauze. 

A strangled cry ripped from your throat. 

Claw marks. 

Jagged, deep wounds, tearing down the length of your face; raw, bleeding and fresh. 

You couldn’t breathe. 

Distantly, you could see Ghost standing behind you in the mirror, his gaze solemn and his hands clenched. You couldn’t ask the question, couldn’t form the words but you didn’t have to. Simon had understood you back when you were eating from a straw, your eyes so puffy you couldn’t open them for days. 

His hand came to rest on your shoulder, the only comfort he could offer as you stared at your mangled reflection, yet again. 

“You were screaming for him to get off,” Ghost began, his fingers tightening against your burning skin. “The fucker was standing next to me.” 

Blood dribbled down the distinct lines engraved into your flesh, tracing the length of your throat and disappearing down your hospital gown. The both of you watched it trail your prickled skin, but you couldn’t move, suspended in time and trapped with the image before you.

Simon’s voice was barely a whisper when he spoke.

“You thought his hands were on your face.”

_____

NEXT CHAPTER

____

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'is it my size?'

'you have to ask?'

sorry i forgot how fucking amazing that scene was.