#( just the uncomfortable pain-- feeling like shit. feeling like more shit 'cos it's a heavy flow thanks to my bloodthinners ) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

zeltqz · 1 year

Note

Hey this is my first time requesting , can you make a angst where hanma treats his girlfriend ( reader ) like shit and cheats on her constantly and the reader loves him so much , but one day reader decides to leave without telling shuji and just leaves a note in their shared apartment and when hanma sees it he realises that he treated reader harshly and tries to find her to apologise but reader doesn't care anymore . Make it angsty pls , sorry if it's too long

a long request calls for a long fic haha

enjoy this 8k long ass fic mwahhhhh

feckless | hanma shuji

/ˈfɛkləs/ lacking initiative or strength of character; irresponsible.

pairing. fwb!hanma x fem!reader

featuring. kazutora hanemiya, hinata tachibana, hanma shuji, takemichi hanagaki

word count. 8.5k

content. hurt/comfort, angst, one sided pining, weed mention, smoking, explicit sexual content, toxic relationship with hanma, he ghosts you alot, and you just take it, low self esteem reader

This particular Thursday afternoon, the sun shines blindingly bright, warming your back as you kick a stone in front of you every step you make. It’s not a far walk to your house from the mall; shopping bags in one hand, phone in the other.

As the sun is setting, the streets are partially empty, minus the few cars driving past, and the silence is deafening.

You stop just at the end of the road, seeing traffic building up across the road towards your house. They must be doing more construction.

With a hefty sigh, you turn the other way, walking down a thick alleyway that runs behind your street. This is only a route you take when you’re in desperate needs. Though it’s much faster than the main street, it’s also smellier and darker.

You stop in your tracks and that’s when you see it.

A few grunts, thuds, and the sound of what is definitely a fist punching someone in the stomach. The poor guy, around seventeen, maybe, if his school uniform was anything to go off of, was now laying on the floor, clutching his stomach, groaning in pain as someone much taller, lankier, makes a show of dropping to sit on his back.

He idly smokes a cigarette like he isn’t currently stopping the flow of oxygen and blood of the poor guy beneath him.

“How boring ,” he sighs, lifting the cigarette from his lips to blow a puff of smoke into the air. “Thought you’d be able to entertain me with all that shit you was talkin’.”

“I—argh—I can’t breathe—”

“Hmmm,” the guy hums and the sound vibrates through the alley, rippling it’s way through your body. “And what do you expect me to do ‘bout that?”

The boy couldn’t verbally respond, nor formulate a perfect sentence, only able to respond in grunts and groans and the sound of his lungs desperately searching for air.

If you don’t step in, you’d have to live with yourself forever, knowing you just witnessed this man commit a murder and nothing was done about it.

It takes a moment to uncurl your fingers from the shopping bag, your body trembling, feet heavy as your lungs match the jagged, unsteady rhythm of your breathing before you’re walking over towards the man.

Stopping right next to him, it feels like forever until he lazily turns his head to look up at you.

His eyebrow arches, face filled with nothing but interest as he lets his eyes rake down your body.

It’s like he knows he’s making you uncomfortable, because the corner of his lips twitch upwards into a smile when you shift uneasily on your feet.

“And you are?” His voice is slack and lazy, dragging his words on sluggishly as he blinks at you.

It feels like minutes, hours, days have passed with how long it takes your brain to co-operate with you. “I—I’m—”

The poor dude on the floor tries to lift the guy off his back, gathering every inch of strength he has left in his weak body to try shrug him off, but the sadist on top of him only raises his hand (and it is huge, what the fuc—), and slams it down on his head, applying pressure until his chin smacks painfully against the floor.

“Can’t you see the young lady is tryna speak?” He asks him before letting go of his head, removing his cigarette from his lips, holds them with two fingers and you watch as he brings the cigarette in front of his eyes. The orange lit bud at the end sends flickers of ash into the air. “Do your eyes me to burn some energy into ‘em? Huh?”

Your stomach churns distressingly at the mental image painted into your brain. Everything moves in slow motion, he’s moving the cigarette downwards to the man’s eyes before you step in. “Leave him alone! Th—this isn’t funny!”

“It’s not?” He shrugs his shoulders. “It seems pretty fun t’me.” His body twists round to face you, still sitting heavily atop of the man, and it’s surprising how he hasn’t lost his breath yet. “You’re not havin’ fun?”

“No.” Your response comes quickly, more stern that you initially planned, and his eyes widen marginally. “This is sick what you’re doing. Just—let him go.”

He raises his brow again, confused at who you think you are to order him around. Then he notices you aren’t as confident as you make yourself out to be; your hands tremble against the bag you were holding.

Sighing heavily, he stands up and the poor boy lets out the biggest exhale of his life. You’re about to rush over to him and ask if he’s okay but your feet remain planted in place as he walks over to you.

He’s so tall, looming above you that the lump in your throat hardens, making it harder to swallow, and even more harder to speak. You would’ve ran away by now if it wasn’t for the pitiful fact that your feet were heavy, sinking deeper into the ground by the second.

“I let him go free. See?” He looks over his shoulder at the boy who’s struggling to run away with the limited oxygen supply in his lungs. Eventually, he manages to scramble his way out from the alley, leaving the two of you alone. “So, what’re you gunna gimme in exchange?”

“I…do you want money? Because I spent all of it.” His eyes drop downwards to your bag, and you only clutch it harder once you see the glimmer of mischief in his eyes.

“Lemme see.”

“No. It’s mine—hey !” He snatches the bag from what you thought was your tight grip with so much ease it makes you question your strength, and begins rummaging through it.

Your cheeks burn hot as he digs through the bag. Of course the day you had decided to go underwear and bra shopping was the day you get potentially robbed by a hoodlum.

“Oooh,” he hums with glee, his voice doing wonders to stress you out even more. Between his fingertips, he pulls out a lacy bra, wiggling it in his grasp. “Someone’s naughty.”

“Give it back!” You try to reach for it, but unfortunately for you, he has quicker reflexes—insanely long arms that stretch over his head, and yours.

It’s almost sickening how amused he is by this situation, watching you jump upwards like a rabbit, desperately trying to get your bra back. Something warm buzzes through his chest, makes him far too interested in seeing how far he can push you before you tip over the edge.

“I like you a lot.” His hand descends and you take this moment to snatch it back quickly, stuffing it inside your bag with a pout.

“Well, I don’t like you,” you spit back, glaring at him as hard as you can because who (???) does he think he is.

“You’re going to.” He leans forward until you’re stepping backwards to avoid him.

His hand darts out, grabs the back of your head and before you know it, his lips are on yours, sucking obscenly at your bottom lip till you feel it swelling. He’s kissing you quick and fast, and you barely have time to react, not when his tongue shoves itself deep into your mouth, swirling around yours. He tastes like cigarettes, and the faint smell of tobacco nudges itself into your mouth as he all but sucks the saliva from your tongue with his needy mouth.

Your hands rise to push him off but he’s pulling away before you can.

He smiles down at you, wolfish, and evil, yet boyishly charming, with spit soaked lips.

Hanma Shuji—he introduces himself as— ends up following you home despite your recurring complaints, telling him to fuck off and die. He only reponds with a giggle that grates your eardrums everytime the high pitched sound leaves his lips. It’s a miracle you live alone, because your parents would most definitely disown you for bringing someone like him into their house.

“What an adorable home,” he says into your apartment as he steps inside the tiny space.

“Yeah…ok.” You tug your shoes off and leave the door open behind you. “Can you go now?”

He shakes his head with a tut, handing rising to point at the bag on your side. “Not till you gimme a lil’ fashion show.”

“I—” You purse your lips and look down at the bag. The lacy lingerie you bought earlier practically taunts you, making you regret ever leaving your house this morning to go buy it. “Absolutely not! I don’t even know you.”

His face goes blank and he stares at you, unbothered, like he didn’t just ask you for such an outrageous request. “And?”

“And?” You scoff in disbelief at the fact you even have to explain such a simple concept to him. “And, I’m not going to show a stranger my—”

He sighs, long and heavy, and you instantly shut up at the sound. There’s a disappointed look on his face. “And here I thought you were interestin’.”

“Wha—” Your complaint dies in your throat, and you blink dumbly up at the man in front of you. “Y—you thought I was interesting?”

No one’s ever called you interesting before.

He shrugs his shoulders, arms folding across his chest. “No one else woulda had the guts to stop me earlier so yeah , thought you was really interestin’ and different.” His low sigh is filled with nothing but disappointment and you can’t help the hollow feeling in your chest as it slowly eats away at you. “Turns out you’re another borin’ prude like everybody else.”

The gravity of his words hit you like a truck, and you frown slightly, knowing this is how he perceives you. A boring prude.

Being someone with not a lot of friends, being called boring isn’t something new to you, having heard it almost all your life, you’re practically immune to being affected by it. But being called boring by someone like him seems to hurt more than any other time. Maybe it’s because for a second, he was the only person you met that actually thought you weren’t boring, that you were different than everybody else, that you had enough guts to stand up to him despite trembling the entire time.

Holding onto that thought, you bite your lip and glance back down to your bag, then sigh. “Follow me.”

You kick the door closed and begin to walk to your bedroom. Though you can’t see the feral smile on his face, you can most definitely feel it, as well as the feeling of his eyes shamelessly raking itself down the length of your body from behind as you lead him further into your apartment.

Pushing him onto the bed, you order him to stay there. “I’m going to change.”

He lays flat on the bed, lounging on it like it’s his own, not even bothering to remove his shoes. You stare at him blankly for a couple seconds when he says, “Go on then.”

Rolling your eyes, you head over to your bathroom and change.

It feels weird, changing for a man you haven’t known for longer than an hour at best, you think as you begin to strip your clothes off. Wearing something this explicit in front of somebody else takes months—maybe even years—of trust and you’re throwing all that away just because he called you interesting. Not even pretty. Interesting.

So far, Hanma’s managed to light a cigarette and is currently smoking it as you step out of the bathroom, standing awkwardly and scratching your arm lightly as you wait for him to say something.

His eyes blink their way down your body, mind and thoughts going wild as his tongue darts out to lick at his lips. “C’mere.”

You take a couple steps forward till you’re beside your bed, toes doing a jittery dance on the soft, fuzzy rug the longer you watch him watch you. His hand moves quickly, tugging you forward onto the bed.

It’s barely enough time to react, but you stop yourself before you face plant onto the bed. Manhandling you on top of him, his big, warm hands grip onto your hips. A thick cloud of smoke blows into your face, and you cough, swatting at the air. He’s shamelessly dragging his eyes down your neck, pressing light touches to the curve of your breast and softly kneads the cup of the bra into his hand.

Unable to hold back (as much as you try fight it), soft moans leave your mouth, and you have no other choice but to bite your lip to conceal it.

“Little Miss Perfect, hm?” He grins from ear to ear as your face flushes from his touches.

“I’m—um. I’m not perfect.”

“Yes you are.” He’s adjusting you on his lap, and you gasp when he grinds your hips down his erection. The feel of it digs into the curve of your thighs. “Hiding all this from me, huh?”

He’s gesturing to your half naked body, and you frown. “I wasn’t hiding anything—” It’s hard to concentrate on your words when he's running his hands along your body, lower back, then grips firmly onto your ass. “It’s called wearing clothes—”

He kisses your smart mouth before you could finish talking, all rough and eager with his tongue sweeping into your mouth with fervour. His hand rests behind your head, steadily holding you there as he invades your mouth. Mindlessly, your hands reach up to hold the sides of his face, moaning ever so quietly into his mouth. He’s grabbing you by the hair and pulls you backwards before forcing your head up to stare at the ceiling so he can bend down to suck down the column of your throat.

It’s a ticklish feeling, his warm lips against your skin, sucking and biting his way down your body.

“Mmm, flip over f’me.” He watches you shuffle off his lap onto his bed, resting your head against your pillows as you lay on your back.

Picking up the cigarette he dropped on your bedside table, he fits it between his lips once more as he shifts his way between your legs. The sight beneath him makes him groan and digs his palms into the fat of your thighs as he spreads your legs.

“Remove your bra.”

More smoke fills the air as you sit up to tug the straps of your bra down and off your body, throwing the lacy fabric onto the end of the bed. Seeing your bare tits makes him groan, instatnly reaching out to grab and squeeze painfully at them.

Your face scrunches up as he fondles them, and takes another drag from his cigarette. “You a virgin?”

“No.”

“Hm.” He blows the smoke out and continues to knead your breast, brushing his thumbs past your nipple. “You single?”

Your lip quivers as the ticklish feeling of his thumb rolling your nipple around fills your veins. “Y—yes.”

He nods, blowing another stream of smoke towards you, flicking his thumb across your hardening nub. He watches you, eyes roaming down the rest of your body, pausing at your panties.

With slow deliberation, he spreads your legs apart, grazing his finger down your slit, barely crossing the barrier of the fabric and your folds. Your breath catches at the touch, letting out a stifled moan as he glides two fingers inside you, slowly stretching you open.

At your quick gasp, his eyes glance back up at yours, studying your expression intently, listening for any sounds that might betray the pleasure he brings you.

You lift yourself off the bed, positioning yourself closer to him and he leans down for a deeper kiss. Your legs wrap around his hips, feeling how large he really is compared to what you’ve been used to.

He lays you back flat on your back, he spreads your legs wider and you press your palm against the mattress to steady yourself. Gripping onto your hip, he grinds his cock into your inner thigh, slick against your own dampness.

“Fuck,” he pants heavily, capturing your mouth again, scraping his teeth agaisnt your lower lip.

Nibbling on his tongue, you reach downwards to his crotch, sticking your hand down his pants and twist your hand against his shaft, twirling the sensitive head around.

His body tenses under your touch. “Are you on birth control?” He asks without looking at you, eyes only on your hands moving inside his pants.

“Yes.”

He clicks his tongue, looking fairly irritated and bored. “Boring.”

A sudden wave of panic flows through you, and you quickly refute your statement. “I mean, yes but I haven’t taken it in a while. Is that…okay?”

He doesn’t seem interested in answering your question. Instead, his breathing grows heavier and heavier as his hips grind into your touch. Grunts occasionally leave his mouth as his muscles tighten as you begin jerking him faster.

Turning your head slightly, you latch onto his collarbone and neck, pressing light kisses into the skin, hot and bothered at the fact he’s this worked up already.

“Just fucking do it,” he whispers harshly, referring to the hickies you so desperately want to leave on his skin. His fingers tese gently at your clit, giving you the thrill you need to suck hard on his neck.

Swallowing dryly, you dig your nails into his shoulder and rub your hand against the thick shaft of his cock faster. Shifting to the side, you bring your forehead to his and run your nose across his sharp jawline. There’s a sharp intake of breath before his grip around your hip relaxes, pulling himself away, he flips positions till you’re straddling him and pulls his cock out to stand tall against your abdomen.

“Holy shit, baby,” he growls as you slip inside and ride him in earnest.

He grips onto your hips and holds onto you roughly as he bounces you along his length, impaling you onto his cock. You feel your body tense up as you reach the edge, pushing against his cock in search of release and squeal into his mouth as your fingers work frantically to stroke your clit.

You scream loudly by his ear, louder than you initially planned to, as you climax. There’s no way you expected someone to make you cum so hard in such a short span of time.

Hanma’s holding onto you so tight you can feel every movement of his hips and cock buried deep inside you, hands gripping your waist firmly to prevent you from sliding off. His tongue latches onto the sensitive underside of your breast, licking hungrily and working up at the intensity of your climax until it takes over completely, overriding all rational thoughts and giving into it’s demanding grasps as his cock continues to thrust inside you.

There’s no real sound left in your lungs as you gulp deeply into his mouth, little gasps of his name escaping your lips as your second orgasm hits its peak.

Hanma’s mouth forms an O against your nipple when you clench around his cock again, running his tongue along your breast and biting at it as you thrash above him, hips stuttering and twitching eractically as your body tries to recover from the overstimulation.

His breathing comes quicker and his heart pounds wilder, filled with nothing but adrenaline, no doubt the cause of the strength of your climax. You tighten your legs around his waist, loving the feeling of hugging his larger body against yours as his cock plunges relentlessly into yours.

When he thrusts deep inside you again, filling your insides with warmth and fullness, you whimper at the wet squelch of his cum splattering against your walls.

You flop forwards onto his chest, a droplet of sweat rolling down the side of your face and panting loudly, wanting nothing more than to curl up in his arms.

“That was good,” he murmurs, and you yelp when he smacks your ass playfully.

The smack vibrates along your flesh, sending goosebumps to cover your entire body.

“Was that ‘boring’ enough for you?” You tease, lifting your face from his neck to stare into his eyes.

He shakes his head, rolling his hips upwards to shut you up once more. His fingers reach downwards, rubbing your slit to coat his fingertips with your juices before bringing it up to his lips, and you watch with wide eyes and parted lips as he sucks the wetness off.

He brushes his lips against yours. “You taste sweet,” he mutters, nipping at your bottom lip.

You shiver, meeting his kisses with your own, pressing into his mouth.

“Mmm,” he sighs into your mouth, flicking your tongue with his before pulling away to grab his half diminished cigarette from your bedside table and takes a drag from it.

He leans backwards and scoops you up, tucking you beneath his arm as you lay on his chest. A bright smile crosses his features as you snuggle into his bigger body, but then disappears, looking troubled. He shakes his head slightly, eyes darting towards the corner where his discarded clothes lay.

The smell of smoke becomes too much for you and you pull yourself from his arms, wandering to your closet to fetch some clothes. You change into your pyjamas then go grab your clothes from earlier from your bathroom floor and hang them back into your closet.

He watches you with amused eyes. “C’mere.”

Bending up to pick up his remaining clothes, you toss them to the end of your bed and flop back into the bed with him. His eyes rake up and down your body appreciatively, intently focused on your nipples through your shirt, as you crawl in front of him.

“Let’s get some food,” he suggests, reaching over to your drawer to grab a takeout pamphlet.

You both decide on Chinese and eat it sitting on the couch, facing the TV. Hanma slides closer to you on the leather after he’s finished his own food, and rests his hands on your thighs, his gaze lingering on your mouth as you’re in the midst of chewing a spring roll.

“I wanna bite those pretty lips again,” he says, pulling the chopsticks away from your hands.

“But I’m hungry,” you frown at the idea of your food getting cold because this motherfucker cannot control his erections.

He leans forward till you’re laying on your back against the couch and grinds his cock against your half spread legs.

“Just a quickie, I promise.” he whispers before letting out a heavy sigh when he rolls his hips just right against your pussy.

You know from the looks of him, and his personality, that he’s not the type of guy to mean his promises, and you tell him so, watching as his grin broadens, stretching wider and wider until it cracks his cheeks, making his handsome features nearly unrecognizable.

He ends up sleeping over that night and you spend the rest of Saturday with Hanma makes it his job to come over to your house every other weekend late at night. He’s finally found someone that entertains him, and you found someone that thinks you’re entertaining. Sure enough, you have more common sense to know the way he treats you is sub par. You know him showing up in the middle of the night to fuck you isn’t fair but you don’t fight back, just allow him to practically use your body as a cum dumpster.

That’s actually his favourite nickname for you, cumdump (you frowned and complained when you saw yourself as that in his contacts). There’s also: babe, baby, princess, but he doesn’t call you that unless he’s trying to kiss and goad his way into sleeping with you when you’re in a bad mood, and it always feels very condescending. Everytime he makes you cry with his words, or actions, he’s wiping your tears then kissing you softly to calm you down. Once you’re back in his arms, he’s fucking you, maybe two , three more times until he’s satisfied with how much cum he’s left inside you.

He’s outside all the time . As much as you hope it’s an exaggeration, it’s not. The only times you see him is when he wants you to see him. He’s gone a whole month without contacting you before, and it left you crying everytime you click back on your messages with him, refreshing every five seconds to see if he’s responded to the many texts you’ve spammed him with.

Just leave him , your brain tells you; Hina tells you. And you’ve tried. Once, you told Shuji if he leaves for a long period of time again, then it’s over.

Of course he didn’t take you seriously, so you blocked him. Then after a few weeks, he started texting you from a burner phone.

I miss u

Can I see u?

Everything inside you crumbled when you saw the messages, and he showed up to your house, high, on a Sunday evening. You can’t remember what he saaid, or what he did, but you found yourself kissing him and pulling him into your house.

The smell of weed was strong as he tore your panties off, devouring your pussy with his lips and fingers before he fucked you, thrusting into you over and over again.

He flips you over onto your stomach, bending you over the armrest, pressing your body down as he fucked his cock into you from behind, grunting and groaning everytime your pussy clenched around his cock.

“Fuck yes, like that!” you yell over and over again, uncaring of the loud volume of your moans and the slap on slap skin ringing through the thin walls of your apartment.

When you came, you hear him holding back noises, eyes shut as he clutches your ass tight, making sure you don’t squirm away as he fills you with as much cum as possible.

That was a week ago, and of course he hasn’t spoken to you since then, nor has he replied to any of your messages.

You wake up to him on a Saturday morning after a drunk night together. His sleeping features are illuminated by the bright sunlight shining through your open windows. Your cheek rests against his shoulder, mouth half-open and his arm is thrown loosely over you.

It feels nice being here, feeling safe and warm in his arms. Even though he left a week ago, he still manages to fill you with joy, arousal and comfort. In fact, it wouldn’t be a lie to say you couldn’t imagine life without him.

You hum absently, yawning as you rub your tired eyes. All those recent incidents have left you feeling all sorts. Everything about him changed, the games he plays and his attitude towards you. How many times have you been used by him and treated like dirt, thrown away like garbage?

You’ll never forget the time he came to your house ready to fuck you with a fresh, red hickey on his neck.

“Who fucking gave you that, Shuji?” You ask suspiciously, removing his wrist to inspect the red mark. “Why do you keep coming here? Are you really interested in me?”

“Does it matter?” He responds with a blank face.

His purple eyes usually sparkled with lust and arrogance, now fuelled with indifference and confusion. For the first time in your life, you felt hollowed out and alone.

“If it didn’t matter, why would I ask?” You retort.

He smiles thinly, tilting his head slightly. His lips part as if to speak, then close again, a slight frown etched onto his brow.

“Are you okay?” You notice and reach up smooth his messy hair back.

“You talk too fuckin’ much,” he answers, ignoring your offended face to lean forward to press his lips against yours.

At first you hesitated, unsure whether or not he was serious, but he pushes harder, moving his hands to cup your cheeks, thumbs rubbing the delicate skin at your temples.

You instinctively wrap your legs around him, opening your mouth to kiss him back. As you lean into him, he groans, slipping his hands down your sides and clutching at your ass. A moan escapes his throat as his tongue darts into your mouth, forcing your body to twist against his, toes curling as he presses into you, grinding his—what seems so—permanement erection into your pelvis.

You try your best to stay awake while staring at the walls of the motel room he paid for to cheer you up. Staring blankly at the small details, the painted lines that slowly become blurred, blending into one another until they all look the same. It almost looks like black smoke unless you blink and make out certain colours.

You close your eyes to fixate on Hanma instead, seeing his tattoos, hearing his soothing voice as he whispers naughty things to you, half asleep.

You sigh deeply, scratching your cheek lightly. “Where the hell is my phone?” You say aloud, wincing at the sudden pain in your thighs from being fucked so hard.

Fumbling around the drawer, you grab the first phone and clutch it close to your chest, inhaling sharply when you unlock it. The lockscreen is different and you instantly realise it’s Hanma’s. The phone has no password because it’s his burner, but something tells you to check his messages and see tons of texts and nude pictures sent from a girl to that number.

Swinging your legs off the bed, you scoot backwards and put on your shoes.

A wave of nausea crashes into your stomach, heart lurching painfully in your chest as you feel a cold sweat begin to form along your forehead. Your limbs shake as you cross the room, grab your stuff and clutch the doorknob of the motel. Your steps falter for a moment, but you steady yourself and push through the doors, onto the pavement.

Once you hit the late night streets, you feel your breathing start to return to normal, stomach relaxing, shaky legs returning back to normal.

You hurry past the car park, crowded with cars all over and walk quickly to the corner. You see a bus stop sign inddicating you should walk the opposite direction. Instead of walking south, you turn north, going whichever direction feels right because you honestly have no clue how to get home. There aren’t many people this late at night, only a few people strolling around and there are none on the buses at this hour.

Scanning the buildings along the streets, you keep your gaze alert, looking for any signs that say Harajuku Station.

Eventually, you give up, and pull out your phone, swiping away from Hanma’s messages and clicking on Hina’s contact.

Hey can we meet? I just really need a friend right now. Can you come get me?

Hina responds almost instantly: :) okay! Send me your location!

Hina will understand why you need help, won’t judge you or question your motivations. She knows it’s personal, and she’s probably been thinking of ways to let you out of your predicament for weeks now.

What’s most important to you is the people you surround yourself with. Hina is your only friend, and you love her, but Shuji managed to come in and steal all common sense from you. It feels empty knowing that the only person you have a connection with is Shuji, that you don’t have anyone to fall back on for support, no one to depend on. Just a couple months ago, you were ecstatic to find someone who wasn’t a bad influence in your life, who actually cared about you. But now? Your life is shattered into pieces, the foundations crumbled, broken and buried underneath piles of rubble.

When you get to Hina’s place, Takemichi is there also, but seeing a crying girl makes him panic and he leaves to give you both space. Not soon after he leaves the house, you burst into tears and tell Hina everything; from how Shuji’s mentally ruined you, his cheating, how you can’t help but go back to him each time because you’re addicted to the way he makes you feel. Hina coos softly, nodding and comforts you with hugs and words of assurance.

She suggests that you leave him, citing what happens to the ones who continue staying with him and ends the conversation with an earnest ‘please’.

“I have someone for you that can treat you better,” she suggests once you’ve calmed down a bit.

“Who?”

“His name is Kazutora. He’s one of Michi’s friends. If you want, I can introduce you to him if you want?”

Afterwards, you tell her you’ll think about it and she gets her boyfriend to drive you back home. You spend the night on the couch, too busy to go to your room and Hina makes you some hot tea to soothe your sore throat.

Everytime you attempt to think of this Kazutora guy, but you find yourself reliving those moments with Hanma again and again. It’s a vicious cycle, one that’s becoming unbearable. Your brain remembers all of them, even those bits where you thought you might die and got laid afterwards. Your hormones churn, taking complete control of your body, heart rate soaring, blood pressure rising and no amount of alcohol or drugs could help alleviate the physical sensations caused by your years.

You spend the next week laying on the couch, curled into a fuzzy blanket, body soaked in fatigue, guilt and sorrow before Hina helps you get your shit together. Introducing yourself to Kazutora was awkward, but eventually you two got closer as the weeks pass by.

Still no contact from Shuji.

After a nice date with Kazutora, he takes you home and plants a kiss on your cheek before heading on his merry way. It’s not until you’re removing your makeup in your bathroom when you hear a knock on the door, drawing your attention.

You shuffle towards the door, peeking through the peephole before freezing, nerves running wild.

What does he want? Did he change his mind? You hope that maybe he’s coming back to apolgoise for being gone for almost a month, hoping to gain your forgiveness even though you should be keeping that door locked.

Your vision narrows to an area directly in front of you, like it’s telescoping inward, slowly reducing your sight until only Hanma is visible.

Heart pounding heavily, pushing blood through your veins faster than you’d like, your body fills with thick tension and anxiety.

There’s another knock on the door when you take too long to open, this time harder and louder.

“Coming,” you call, voice wavering slightly, trying your hardest to sound confident, like all the progress you’ve spent healing weren’t about to crumble the second he steps inside your place.

Shuji enters, carrying himself with ease and confidence. He stands in the doorway, surverying the room. The air in the room instantly changes, the stale air swirling around and leaving behind it a thick cloud of moisture. Hanma’s features soften, taking on a pensive expression as he begins to enter the apartment.

He notices a pair of male sneakers resting in the hallway and his jaw tightens, brow furrowing, and arms folding across his chest as he scans the interor of your room. Your clothes law strewn across the floor, tossed haphazardly around the living room, abandonded before you had a chance to pick them up from your previous night with Kazutora

Tension builds in your stomach once you realise what he’s seen, fear welling up inside you, making it difficult to swallow.

Slowly, he turns around to take in your position, glaring daggers at you through narrowed eyes.

His eyes bore holes through you, and there’s an intense fire burning hot and deep within them. If you squinted, you’d swear that the red flames emanating from them are mocking you.

“Get on the bed.” He commands quietly, and his not-so-harsh tone does nothing but scare you even more.

You mindlessly obey, treading carefully, like the calm before the storm. He snatches your chin and tips your head up to examine your features closely. “Spread your legs.”

You lift your skirt up and pull your panties down, spreading your legs as instructed. Taking a step forward, he stares at you with anger and disdain. “How long has this been goin’ on?” His eyebrows draw together when he sees you fumble with words. “Have you been sleeping with him since the beginning?”

Tears sting at your eyes, lips trembling as you hesitate, strugglign to form a reply.

“Answer me,” he demands loudly, tightening his gips on your chin.

“Just—just the last couple days—” you whisper nervously, biting your bottom lip, taking a quick glance at the bed. “I’m sorry—”

He shoves you down onto the mattress, standing over you with menacing slowness.

“Shut up.” He grows lowly, tanking down your shirt and shoving it roughly to your neck, ignoring the way it rips beneath your skin and throws your bra to the floor.

Your nipples ache painfully from the aggression, yearning to be touched and caressed. All thoughts of apologising forgotten as his grip clenches and pulls, eliciting a sharp gasp from your lungs.

Your squirm under his hold, eyes darting to his face and pleading for him to remove his hands. It seems as if he senses your desperate plea, unclenching his hold just enough for you to breathe. His dark, brooding gaze drops to your naked body and lingers, analyzing you intently.

“Did he ever tell you how much he loves you?” he asks quietly, licking his lips, eyes following the movement of your breasts, rising and falling with each uneven breath you take. “Did he make you feel good?”

Nerves pulse through your body, goosebumps breaking out along your skin. You know what’s happening is wrong, this isn’t supposed to happen, yet somehow you still enjoy the feeling.

Tilting your head, you attempt to ignore his questions and press your lips against his nose, kissing it once.

“ Don’t .” He snarls, tightening his hold and pulls you closer to him. “Don’t answer me. Because if I find out he did, I wouldn’t be able to control myself.”

Eyes squeeze shut, mouth pulled into a firm line, you bite your tongue hard and clamp your teeth down on it to keep silent. Your hands fly to cover your face as he slams his cock into you, kissing you hard and forceful. This is the moment you’re not sure you’ll be able to comeback from, if you let him fuck you, you’re unsure you’ll be able to face Kazutora anymore. But the way his tongue pushes its way between your lips, touching the tip to your own and sliding it along the roof of your mouth have your thoughts going hazy and you give in.

His movements are fast, controlled, seductive, and deadly. He knows what he’s doing, and uses the knowledge of your body to his full advantage, never allowing you to relax or remove his stranglehold on your neck.

And then you feel him, everywhere at once. It’s so overwhelming feeling his cock split you open with each painful thrust, sending an electric current surging through your body. The bed shakes with every thrust and he pulls out to flip you over. Your hips writhe rhythmatically, anticipating the moment he slams back into you before you have a better idea.

You change the positions, pushing him down to the bed and straddle him. He looks at you, chest heaving and eyes glazed with lust.

“Touch me,” he whispers huskily, lacing his fingers through yours and gently guiding your hands upwards, pressing them against his torso. “Feel how hard you make me, baby.”

You slide your palms over his smooth, warm skin, muscles twitching with each stroke as you travel downwards. You slip your fingers underneath the hem of his sweatshirt and trail them upwards, carressing and massaging the ridges of his abs. Goosebumps break out on his flesh, skin rippling with every touch you give, becoming slick with perspiration.

“If you see him again,” he pants when you begin to jerk his cock, looking down at him with those eyes that drive him crazy. “I’ll fuckin’ kill him and make you watch.”

You freeze and tears stream down your cheeks, soaking your jawling and dripping off your chin when you realise he’s being serious.

“What do you mean?” you ask weakly, shaking your head, trying to clear it. You wipe the tears away quickly, and hold his stare. “A—are you threatening me?”

You start moving your hands away, and immediately he grabs them again and places them back on his cock, watching in rapt attention as he guides your hands to continue stroking him.

“You fuckin’ heard me,” he says lowly, growing agitated. “Don’t you fuckin’ dare see him.”

His grip on your hand grows tighter and more painful.

“Shu—” you whimper, tugging on his hands to get him to release you. “Let go—”

With a swift push, he flips you over onto your back, catching you effortlessly as you collapse backwards, stunned by his sudden aggressive attitude. Before you have time to react, he’s positioned above you, bent over at the waist, hands digging into your shoulders, exerting downward force.

“Hanma!” you cry out, gripping his shoulders writhing underneath him as he thrusts his cock back inside you. He lifts your hips up and holds you there, arching your back off the bed as you scrabble at the sheets, too overwhelmed with each powerful thrust.

“I hate you,” he growls, smacking his hips against your ass with brute force. “This’ll teach you not to fuck around. You’re—fuck— mine .”

It hurts. So fucking badly. But even after everything, you still love him. It’s painful, and torture, but you find yourself moaning loud and repetitively as he pushes his cock deeper and deeper into you. Every motion sends a new wave of pleasure coursing through your entire body, building up and up until you cannot take it anymore.

In the end, your knees buckle, and he supports your weight, slowing down and withdrawing his erection to cum on your stomach. For the first time since you’ve met him, he didn’t cum inside you. It’s a shock to you as you feel his warm cum on your stomach.

A groan escapes his throat, one that sounds entirely different from the angry groan from earlier. It’s quiet, hesitant, and filled with regret.

You roll onto your side, gaze seeping across his distorted face. For a brief second, he seems to be looking at you, not seeing anything else but you. Then his eyes dart downwards, following the path of your body to your cum stained stomach.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” he mutters, kissing the corner of your eye and crawling off the bed, disappearing into the bathroom.

As soon as you hear the water running, you begin making your way into the bathroom with him.

Naked and covered in sweat, you want nothing more than to wash away your stress. It seems as if it was just yesterday that he stormed his way into your life, determined to let you know how little you mattered to him. And now?

Well, you don’t know how to feel anymore. It’s all confusing and disoreientating.

You step into the shower with Hanma and stand behind him.

Out of nowhere, he asks, “Do you love me?”

You hesitate for a moment and look down at your feet on the shower floor. “I do…but I don’t want to.”

The harsh words cut him, but his back straightens slightly. His voice turns firm, decisive. “Tell me the truth.”

Closing your eyes tightly, you sigh, opening them again to stare at him. He stares back, almost earnestly, daring you to admit the truth.

Considering the question carefully, you exhale. “Yes. Of course I do.”

His expression shifts instantly, eyes narrowing as his hand drops to his side with the shower head. A slow nod comes forth, as if convincing himself of something important. The shower suddenly falls silent as the water hits the side of the tub instead, and the both of you share the tense silence. It’s uncomfortable, the sound of the water echoing in the empty space.

“But…” You’re the first to break the silence. “I think we should stop seeing each other, Shu. It’s not healthy, what we have.” He stays silent as you continue to speak. “I feel like you’re using me…to satisfy your needs.”

You look at his back as you wipe a tear from your cheek. “And I stupidly enough grew attached to you. But I want to end it. I—I can’t keep doing this.” Your voice goes quiet at the end and the room is filled with silence again.

The light overhead crackles and fizzles, adding to the already tense environment as the brightness dims. You glance towards the flickering bulb, resting crookedly on the ceiling.

“Okay.” He sighs, turning away. His hand brushes the edge of the shower head as he pinches the bridge of his nose. “Fuck, I shouldn’t have come here today.”

It’s scary to lose him and you can’t breathe properly. And it’s even more scary to admit that maybe he was right, that it wasn’t fair to come here today. A reminder to you how weak and pathetic you really were.

Hanma stands there, turning to face you, leaning against the wall.

Silent.

Judging.

He waits. Until he feels ready to say what’s bothering him. It’s hard for him to get the words out, but he no longer feels fearful, or ashamed. “I’m sorry.”

His simple words send you flying back into his arms, tears flowing freely as you sob uncontrollably against his neck. He lets you cling to him, bury your face into the space between his shoulder and neck. His arms tighten around you, fingers tracing and scratching lightly along your spine.

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” he admits softly, lifting his hand to tilt your head back to look at you closer. “I’ve been thinking about things lately, and I realised I need to change my attitude towards you.” He rocks you back and forth in his arms, soothingly. “Even if it means ending our relationship. You deserve better.”

“Hanma,” you cry out softly, swallowing down the lump in your throat. You bury your nose back in his shoulder, inhaling deeply.

Fuck, he smells wonderful, like sweat and musky cologne, always so overpowering and strong.

And you realise he still hasn’t told you goodbye.

A part of you wishes you could go on together, sleeping together. It’s not hard to deny you’ve fallen in love with him, not just physically, but mentally and emotionally, to the point where you feel hollow without him. When you’ve lost someone that close to you, it leaves you feeling isolated and lonely.

You’ve never felt more alone. Like everything you had build is collapsing beneath you.

But another aprt of you yearns for companionship. A partner that reciprocates the same love you give back. Maturing realises that you’ll never get that with Shuji, and as much as you love him, you know it won’t last forveer.

It would end with you getting hurt. Or worse.

All these thoughts swirl around your mind, clouding your judgement.

“I…can understand why you’d be frustrated with me,” he lets out a dry chuckle, completely humourless. “We’ve grown close in such a short amount of time. It’s fair to cut it off now.” His breath tickles your ear as he presses a kiss to your temple. “It’s obvious we’re not right for each other. We both know it, so why are we still trying?”

Such a good question that you can’t find the answer for. You try to remain calm and collected, fighting the emotions inside you. The light buzz above your head again, casting a strange shadow of your figures over the wall. The water trickles slowly down your skin, creating more goosebumps on your exposed arms and legs.

You wish you could just drown yourself in the vast ocean surrounding you.

Instead, you stay there, in his arms, enjoying the warmth feel of his chest against you, the water stinging your face as the glassy reflection in the shower door remind you of your situation.

Then he says the words you’ve been dreading to hear.

“I’m leaving.”

He speaks it directly into your ear, with a slight edge of nervousness creeping into his voice.

You stay still, body rooted in place, holding onto him for support as he continues, “I’ll make sure you’re okay. I’m not gonna abandon you, so don’t fall off the deep end, alright?”

His hand cups your chin, tilting your head back up to stare into your eyes. A soft smile plays on his lips, water drops falling off the tip of his nose as he looks down at you with a slight light in his eyes.

And in that moment, you decide.

“Hanma,”

He blinks at you and you notice the dark circles under his eyes, due to the lack of sleep and exhaustion.

You lean forward and kiss him passionately, wrapped tight in his arms, heart thumping widely in your chest.

“Say goodbye to me, Shuu,” you whisper, biting your bottom lip as his lips graze your forehead, planting soft kisses across your eyelids and cheeks.

He finally gives in, parting his lips and speaking softly into your ear.

“Goodbye, baby.”

For a split second, you kind of expected him to say ‘I love you’ or perhaps some sort of heartfelt goodbye that’ll make you break down in tears. Instead, he presses a final kiss to your jawline, whispering, “Have fun,” before slipping out of the shower.

You stay in the bathroom as you hear him pack up his stuff and get dressed.

Silence reigns supreme once he’s gone, a weight hanging over your shoulders. The tears fall freely, silently, as your mind races. Should you stay with Shuji and let Kazutora go? Would Kazu forgive you? Could he forgive you?

You blink the tears away and step out of the shower, drying yourself up before dressing up. You attempt to go to the living room to Hanma off when you hear your doorbell ring.

Hanma is finishing dressing up as you walk over to the door, towel in arms to dry your hair.

You open the door and see Kazutora waiting, flowers in hand, staring down at you.

“Hey,” you answer sheepishly, forgetting he told you he’s coming to get you tonight.

Kazutora purses his lips. “Are you ready to go out now? You’re not dressed yet.”

Before you can respond, Hanma slips past the door, clutching his phone in hand. He glances between you and Kazutora and frowns, tempted to say something but stops himself, because he knows you deserve better.

“Yeah, sorry I took so long. Hanma wanted to give me something before I left.”

Kazutora knows you’re both lying, but nods and smiles faintly. The redness in your eyes is telling enough.

Your relationship/friendship with Hanma isn’t just shallow, it’s unhealthy. But then again, Kazutora did tell you that if you plan on becoming something, you shouldn’t be fucking Hanma, nor letting him in your life.

“Alright, then.” Kazutora nods and takes a step backwards to let Shuji pass.

Hanma makes it halfway down the steps of your apartment before Kazutora calls his name. “Thanks, Shuji.”

Hanma shares one more look at you, biting your lip to stop it trembling, and fights the urge to scoop you up from the floor and take you home with him. But he stops himself. “Yeah, whatever.”

#—tr </3 #hanma x reader #hanma shuuji x reader #hanma smut #shuji hanma x reader #hanma shuji x you #tokrev hanma #tr smut #tr x reader #tokyo revengers smut #tokrev x reader #tokrev smut

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wardenparker · 2 years

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Sassenach and the Spaniard - ch 1

Pero Tovar x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

Delirious with sickness and near to death, Pero Tovar finds himself on the doorstep of a village outsider who nurses him back to health just before the winter snows descend. With a black cat for company, a mask on her face, and a biting wit that intrigues him, Pero comes to find out that his new companion is more than what she seems. ✨ Inspired and influenced by Diana Gabaldon’s Outlander series. ✨ Reader is described as disabled and having hair long enough to cover part of her face.

Rating: Mature Word Count: 9.2k Warnings: Graphic depictions of illness. Summary: Near death, Pero ends up in the care of a strange woman who insists on wearing a mask over her face. Notes: This fic deals with comparisons between modern medicine and folk healing methods. References to vaccinations and modern medical procedures will be littered throughout the text as well as some herbal/folk remedies when appropriate. There will be criticism of medieval medical procedures (leeches, bloodletting, humours, etc), but *not* of cultural or spiritual belief. We came here to have fun and be respectful, and that’s what we’re gonna do. Great Big Beautiful Shout Out to @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa and her Outlander-inspired series The Sunshine Undertow. It is brilliant reading and a compelling characterization of Oberyn 💖

Leaning over his saddle, practically flattening his body against the horse’s neck, Pero Tovar coughs so hard that his eyes water, black spots dancing in his vision and he feels lightheaded. Spittle and blood flying into the dirty rag he has pressed against his mouth. The bitter winds howl around him, slicing through the openings in the armor and cutting him to the bone. He needs shelter, he needs warmth, but honestly at this point – he’s praying for death.

The cottage in the distance is barely a dot on the horizon, stone walls and thatched roof blending into the gray skyline. There is barely a trail for his horse to follow, but the squawk of a chicken catches the beast's attention and that becomes the direction to move in. The cold is moving in and the rains have been heavy, making his horse's hooves squelch in the mud with each step, but the noise barely reaches him. If he could focus his sight, Pero would see the figure of a woman in the distance carrying a basket of vegetables from somewhere just out of sight.

The grip on his reins loosens, weak and shivering. He had thought the desert was cold, but this is frigid. The sodden under layers under his leathers are keeping him soaked. “Shit.” He hisses, right before another cough wracks his body. Claiming his breath and making his eyes close from the force. In the middle of a particularly harsh and painful cough – he slides off the side of his horse to land into the wet mud less than one yard from shelter.

If you were to curse the universe for dropping an ill man on your doorstep, it would be disingenuous. There is nothing to be gained from cursing something that is an inconvenience for you but a mercy for this sick man. There may be no better place on Earth in this particular time for this man to be deposited, given the fact that doctors in the year 1005 tend to lean toward treatments like leaching and bleeding and consulting astrological charts to determine which humours are responsible for the patient’s afflictions.

Quickly setting your basket out of reach of the chicken, you reach up to stroke the horse's matted mane. Animals don’t seem to be any different here and now than the ones you grew up with, so at least this horse is something of a known quantity. "Go to the river." Pointing in the direction of the forest line, you pat the horse again and nudge it onward, knowing the creature understands you better than it could hope to understand any master, but still it hesitates and knickers uncomfortably. "I will look after him," you promise softly. "Go and drink." To the man in the mud before you, however, you click your tongue and shake your head. He looks awful. Gaunt and exhausted and probably as contagious as anyone you’ve ever dealt with before. Thank goodness for vaccinations. "You are lucky to be alive, I think."

Consciousness comes in waves for Pero. Flashes of incoherent scenes. Eyes, or a lone startling eye, focuses on him while the rain beats down on his face. Then the sensation of being dragged across the wet ground. I’m dying. He thinks. Not even cold and they are stripping my body for anything of value.

"Do you always complain like this?" The man – knight, warrior, sellsword, whatever he is – has been moaning and groaning since the second you touched him, only stopping to cough or call out curses in an accent so thick that you’re not quite sure if it’s his speech or just the dialect that you don’t understand. The blood speckling the corners of his mouth made you pause, but after rearranging the scarf on your head to cover your mouth and nose, you simply carried on. Strains of disease are different here, you’re not ignorant to that, but you’re continuously aware of cleanliness in a way that the people around you are not. The threadbare blanket you can spare to lay him on in front of the fire inside your cottage will be useless now that it has been touched by sickness, but he needs it more than you do. "If you make nothing but noise, I will simply bleed you into sleep." The threat is empty, mostly because you doubt he hears you and you would never bleed anyone in the first place, but also because you do not know if he would understand you even if he could.

Pero shudders, caught in memories of the monsters at the Wall. The horrific bloodshed and carnage of the monsters that had come from the canyons to devour entire legions of men and women. Watching over and over as William and Lin Mae are caught and torn to shreds by the hungry, ravaging beasts while he is helpless to stop them. “Stop!” He cries, reaching for his sword only to find it not at his side. “Stop!”

"I won’t hurt you, traveler." His distress is obvious, but the way you keep your own mild temper in the face of all of the hardships in your life is to simply continue about your business, and you do so with a little chatter for yourself to keep things interesting. After all, being away from the life you built has definitely given you something of a hermit-like existence except for the occasional animal that finds itself by your side. "I have no interest in hurting you. In truth I have little interest in you at all but fate has deemed that we should cross paths." Though you may cross paths, you do not wish for your own to end, so you’re going to unbuckle the multiple blades he is wearing and put them far out of his reach. The last thing you need is for him to act on some random, violent hallucination he might have while you’re trying to take care of him.

Settling down, Pero’s eyes still don’t open. Dry and cracked lips part and another painful cough consumes him. Making his entire body shake and his lungs feel as if they are coming up through his mouth. Still, he doesn’t wake up, burning with fever.

Tuberculosis is not so unfamiliar to you, that you cannot identify a man suffering with it. White plague is what they call it here, or consumption, or even wasting sickness. You had watched an entire family perish in its all-consuming grasp when they were too far gone for even your particular brand of half-futuristic medicine and half-natural treatments to save them, and this man has nearly that same look about him. “Another day or two and I would be burying you, I think,” you tell him aloud, knowing that he is too far in his feverish throws to understand you. But that does not stop you from tearing a corner off the blanket where he now lies to dip into a small bowl of precious, clean water to wipe the blood and dirt from his face. “Let me see you.” Not because you expect him to be anything to look at, but because if the disease has clouded his eyes then it is too late. What you find there, however, is far more than you bargained for. There is no sickness in the traveler’s eyes, no milky film or terrible look of bloodshot fear, but a long scar cutting his left eyelid down to the cheek.

The force of your gasp nearly knocks you clean off your feet – your own hand drifting up to trace the same scar in your own flesh. Air leaves your body all at once, leaving you to stare at the stranger in front of your cooking fire in unabashed confusion. Your hands seek out the other marks, pulling at his clothing to reveal the silver whisper of a gash on his left shoulder. The deep puncture in his right arm. If he is who he appears to be, he will have countless marks on his back from a beating you received in the stocks a few years ago. He will have the marks of a thousand battles marring his flesh. You dive for the cabinet across the room – the place where you store some tools of your trade as a healer in this time. Personal protective equipment in this time is very different, but you still have a mask and gloves to wear with contagious patients. Apparently you’ll need that mask for more than one reason this time. If he survives the peak of the infection, you don’t want him seeing your face. Your scars. Knowing what you are to him. How the fuck would you explain your story to him if he did? Would you even bother? You had really never thought about it. It had never been a possibility that you considered before right this second.

“So that’s how it’s going to be, huh?” You huff quietly, returning to his side when you feel like you can breathe again and shaking your head at the traveler's mysterious appearance. The mysterious world at large has seen fit to lead him to your doorstep when he is most in need, and you will not fail him. Maybe he is the reason you ended up here in the first place, and isn’t that a terrifying idea for you to ponder. Reaching for your cauldron, precious stream water is poured inside along with precisely chosen herbs and roots from your stored collection. However it is in your power to help him, you will. You just have to hope that it’s enough.

Pero is a boy again, hanging on the edges of his mother’s tatty skirts as she goes about her chores. A time where he was happy, his life relatively simple. “Un día encontrarás a la mujer que lleva tus marcas, Pero. Entonces ella será con quien pases tus días.” One day you will find the woman who wears your marks, Pero. Then she will be the one you spend your days with.

Pero’s scowl is instantaneous. “No, mamá. Pasaré mis días contigo. Me haré rico y te compraré hermosos vestidos.” No, mama. I will spend my days with you. I will become rich and buy you beautiful dresses. He insists, although he has no theory of how that would happen. The wooden coin used to buy a loaf of bread was precious to him. Still, he clings to his mother and listens to her tell him grand stories about the universe's plan to bring a woman into his life, one that he was destined to love and make a family with. “Mamá.” Pero mutters, shaking under the thin blanket, his teeth chattering.

“There are no mamás here, traveler.” It is interesting to hear what he calls out from inside his sickness – no longer wanting something or someone to stop and now yearning for his mother as so many men and children do when they fear their end. “But think of her if she gives you comfort. I will not stop you.” Thyme, mallow root, mint, and a small knob of ginger from the crop you’ve been cultivating for over two years now will not taste of anything kingly or delicious when it has seeped into the water in the cauldron over the fire, but it will begin to ease him slowly. Likewise, the large stone mortar under the window of your cottage will be an essential tool to help him, once you have collected the ingredients for the anti-inflammatory paste you’ll rub on his forehead and into his joints to relieve their pains. That will have to wait until his fever passes. Until you’re sure he’ll survive.

Groaning, Pero continues to have flashes of different periods of his life. Burying his mamá and leaving home, unable to bear the heartache he saw in his papa’s eyes. The old man just seemed to give up his will to live when his soulmate had passed. He promised to send coins home, but his father hadn’t lasted a year. Alone in the world, he had drifted and sold his sword, fighting had always been something he was good at. Without his dear mamá’s gentle voice, he had become harder, more ruthless and it improved his skills. Meeting up with William Garin, begrudgingly forming an alliance and eventually a friendship with the man. Only to end up turning around and going back to the wall with him and witnessing his marriage to Lin Mae. Setting off once more, alone again.

******

The traveler's fits last a week. Tonics, ointments, healing pastes, and potions depleting your stores and sending you out to forage again and again to make sure he has enough. Leaving him alone doesn’t sit well with you, but in order to push him past the worst of his infection and to attend to his horse – as well as look after your own animals – you must leave him under the watchful eye of the cat that has lived by your side and done your hunting since almost the day you arrived in this time. Seven long years and she has been your constant companion. Binx will come and fetch you in the woods if the traveler takes a turn – she has done it for other ill men before.

His eyes open, slowly, and he feels that he has been in a fog. Bleary eyed and seeing a black blob in front of him. Blinking and reaching for his waist, only to find that he is naked and his dagger is missing. Slowly his vision comes into focus as he tries to move back. Yellow eyes watch him. A cat, nearly as still as a statue is perched on a stool, hovering over him. “Where–” His eyes feel heavy again and he’s helpless to stop them from closing again.

The cat tilts its head, meowing loudly before leaping off of its perch and barreling out the cracked-open front door of the cottage to retrieve you. She leaves behind a cup of steeped herbs that is still barely warm and a small cup of barley porridge that you made sure to leave out in case he woke while you were out. After no less than a week without food, he will surely be starving.

This time when he sleeps, his body isn’t wracked with tremors, and he actually doesn’t dream. His body lays still and his breaths are slow and even. For the most part, he’s just in darkness.

Out by the stream, with two full buckets of water and that basket that never seems to leave your side, you're cleaning the dirt from another batch of mallow root in the clear water when your sleek, black companion cries out from a few feet away. She trots up to your side and bumps your elbow with her head, telling you to come home in that way that only she can. "Alright, Binxy. Okay." The nickname is used in times of affection and exasperation, and right now you wish she could carry one of your buckets home for you. The cottage seems a much longer walk than it is when you have so much to tote. But if the traveler is awake – or worse, on his last breath – there is no time to waste.

The door creaks open, making him stir, sensing the light coming through the doorway and the fresh air breezing over his skin. Still he doesn’t wake up again, sighing softly and settling back down.

“He lives.” There is only the barest trace of surprise in your voice, and you pick up the molded leather mask from the work table by the door to protect yourself after setting down your load. Not having the same prudish attitude toward nudity that most others in the middle ages seemed to, you had stripped him of his filthy clothes and left him in one of your own clean tunics – washing his things in the river and setting them aside for when he stopped sweating through his layers every night. Which he finally has. He seems distressed at not being in his own clothes, but at least he is no longer caked in mud, blood, bile, and everything else. “Can you hear me, traveler?” After listening to enough of his cries and mumbling, you decided that his accent sounds Spanish, but Medieval Spanish isn’t exactly the same dialect that your neighbors spoke back in St. Augustine, so you’re not even going to attempt to use the small amount you know.

A voice pricks at his consciousness, stirring him again. A woman’s voice, clear and strong. Pero turns his head to the sound and grunts, his tongue heavy and his mouth dry. Eyes still refusing to open as sleep wants to continue to claim him.

“Hear, yes. But maybe not understand.” Kneeling on the floor beside him, you pick up the cup of water that had been steeped with herbs and gently touch his shoulder. You don’t want to cause him any pain, but he needs to focus if he can. “Drink this.” A calm and direct order, but it is certainly an order. He will never get his strength back if he doesn’t eat and drink what little you have to share with him.

When the water touches his lips, Pero starts to greedily gulp it down, thankful for the relief it would provide. Until the bitterness hits his tongue. “Bleagh.” He pushes it away. “The water is rotten.”

"He speaks." The sarcasm and amusement lacing your voice is clear as day behind your mask. "It is not rotten, traveler. It is for healing. Drink.”

He huffs when the water is shoved back in his face and his lashes flutter, finally opening when he reluctantly starts to drink again.

“Good.” Only when he has drunk the entire cup do you rock back on your heels, studying him intently for a moment. Through his scraggly beard and long hair, it has been hard to see the man underneath. Except, of course, for his scars. Not that you even want to know what he really looks like under months of facial hair and an unintentional mullet. You can’t tell if it would be better or worse to be attracted to his face – seeing him naked wreaked enough havoc on your celibacy streak. “Can you tell me your name, traveler?”

Pero looks up at this figure over him in confusion for a moment before he realizes that there is a mask over the stranger’s face, hair covering one of the eyes. The lone eye that stares at him is sharp, intelligent. For some odd reason he doesn’t feel in danger, although that could be due to the fact that this person, this woman, obviously cared for him. “Pero.” He croaks out. “Pero Tovar.”

"Pero Tovar." Repeating the name is heavy on your tongue, but something about it is almost lyrical and pleasant. Definitely Spanish. You knew you could place the accent. "You are lucky, Pero Tovar." You tell him, picking up the bowl of porridge from nearby to spoon some up for him. "It appears you will survive."

“Is there a choice?” He grumbles before opening his mouth in mostly self-defense before you shoved the spoon into his lips.

You raise an eyebrow at him, knowing he can’t see the smirk on your face under the mask. “I could have left you in the muck and shit outside my door to let you die.” You tell him honestly.

Pero huffs and swallows the porridge. “I suppose I should thank you, señora.” He nods. “Gracias.” His throat is raw from the coughing, but it starts to ease up slightly from water and whatever you have mixed into the porridge.

"What is gracias?" Is it the most basic Spanish in the world that even people who don’t know more absolutely understand? Yes. But the average villager in this part of Europe in this age of no education and minimal travel wouldn’t speak this language. It would raise more questions than are worth answering for you to not pretend you don’t understand him. Instead you focus on trying to feed him. Finding his lips is slightly harder as he moves about and speaks, but concentration is the key. Losing the use of your left eye had taken your depth perception along with it and though it had been some time since the attack, your ability to judge distances still isn’t fantastic. Spending all of your time with a fast-moving cat does help, but this Pero Tovar moves differently from your small companion.

“Thank you.” He amends in the common English you are speaking. Apparently you don’t know his native tongue, but that is fine with him. “It is Spanish. It means thank you.”

"Pero Tovar is a Spaniard?" Deciding that conversation takes precedence over food at this moment, you set the spoon back in the small bowl holding his porridge and look down at him. "Then I was right to call you traveler." There is an unshakable urge to learn about him. Anything about him. You’ll take whatever morsels he offers up. After all – you never, ever, considered the possibility that you would meet your other half out here. You would be stupid to let it just pass by.

“Where am I?” He groans as he shuffles to his elbow, his weak body protesting the small movement. He’s not felt this weak in…well, ever. It was irritating, he never likes to show weakness, even when he was dead tired and ready to collapse.

"Dol-de-Bretagnac is half a day's ride south." As his voice gets more use, it loses a bit of its rasp and his accent is beginning to become clearer – it’s similar to some you have heard before but not quite the same, making you wonder where else he has traveled. "We are in Brittany, Pero Tovar. A small village that does not see many travelers, so it is curious that two of us found our way here." France in the year 1005 is nothing like the cottagecore aesthetic you used to dream about. At least northern France isn’t. Maybe if you had made it down to Provence you would feel differently about the whole thing, but as it is, life is hard and the beauty of the forest doesn’t quite seem to make up for it ever.

“I was visiting someone.” His brow furrows. “Letting them know their son was not returning.” He had visited William’s mother, bringing her news of his marriage and a few keepsakes that William had wanted to give her. Refusing her offer to stay and ventured out once more to figure out where he was going next.

“I am sorry to hear that.” Presuming, from the state of the world, that whomever he was delivering news of is dead, you simply shake your head. “I hope you were not unjustly blamed for his loss.”

It’s surprising and a little amusing that this stranger would think him innocent. Not many people would have done the same. He shakes his head slightly. “Bastard isn’t dead, though not from lack of trying.” He grumbles, thinking about the stupid shit William had done. “He married at the Wall and chose to stay.”

"A friend, then?" To carry news of a marriage for who knows how long only to call the man a bastard? They must have been close. Best friends. Brothers, even. "It must have been a mighty wall to entice him to stay." The way he says the Wall makes you think he means the Great Wall of China, but surely he hasn’t traveled that far.

“It’s larger than you can imagine.” He tells you. “But the woman was his reason for staying. She is— fearsome there.” He chooses his words wisely, even though you can’t possibly know of her. “Fool.” He scoffs, even though he had been jealous when William had looked at Lin Mae with love and commitment. They weren’t soulmates – that he knew of – but the man had left his entire life behind to be the general’s husband.

"Many men are fools for love." You observe, finding yourself surprised at the dull ache in your chest that his words produce. From the derision he clearly holds for love or for marriage, it is maybe better that he has not seen your face. Doesn’t know that it is his soulmate who nursed him back to health over these last agonizing days. He would probably resent you, or dislike you on principle. And that isn’t something you care to face. Not in this time or the one you came from. "Your friend is not alone in his folly."

“No.” He agrees on that, certain that he would never meet his own soulmate. The only reason he knows he has one is because of the mark that everyone in the world thought was his. His eyes scan the cabin and then back to you. “Your husband is very generous to allow you to care for me.”

"Pfft." Waving one hand derisively, you shift in place beside him and reach to pet your cat. "It is only Binx and me here. Unless you count the hen outside. But it has always been Binx and me." The clever cat's loyal nature made her your constant friend, which you suppose might be a very good thing now that you know what your soulmate thinks of love. At least you will always have some companionship.

His brow rising in surprise, his eyes roam over the space again. There is a shelf along the back wall, filled with bottles and jars of every shape and size. Herbs hanging from the rafters and filling the cabin with an earthy scent. Now that he is looking, there is not any evidence of a man present. “Then you are a very brave woman.” He hums, spotting his sword and leathers piled in a corner. He’s as weak as a newborn babe, but it was still dangerous for an unwed woman to have a man in her house. Especially for so long.

"Or foolish, depending on what opinion you take." It would be more accurate to say despised, but you doubt he has any interest in your story. For now you shift backward, studying him for a long moment before you speak again. "How do you feel?"

“Like shit.” Pero grunts, sitting up a bit more and groaning. “But I am not coughing so hard I thought I would faint like a maid.” He moves slowly and his entire body feels as though he has been beaten. The sickness must have gotten worse than he realized.

"That would be the rotten water." The comment had amused you then and now it downright makes you laugh. "Your clothes are clean, Pero Tovar, but you will not be strong enough to wear your armor for some time. I'm afraid you may be stranded in Brittany for the winter."

He frowns at that announcement, thinking about the precious few coins he has. It is a rare soul that will bed down a mercenary for the winter and often the price is exorbitant unless it is a lord he will be fighting for come spring. “Damnit.”

"Have somewhere to be, do you?" Men are men. That is a universal fact of life. They are the very same here in Medieval Brittany that they were back in the States in the twenty-first century. And he may have some typically manly thing like a whore in some far off village that he was hoping to make it to before the chill set in. Certainly not a wife, considering his remark about his foolish friend.

Tovar grunts and gives a shrug, nowhere in particular to be or go if the truth were told. He had no plan beyond William’s parents. His concern was finding shelter for the winter, perhaps something to do while his sword stayed idle. “My horse?” He asks suddenly, wondering about the fate of the animal.

"In much better shape than you," you tell him honestly, though the animal had badly needed attention as well. "Sheltered." The beast had taken well to the not-quite-barn where you had previously kept a goat before the magistrate claimed it as taxes. "There has been grass enough, but I'll have to go to the village to get a load of hay before the first frost."

He frowns in confusion, not quite comprehending your meaning. After all, kindness was something rarely found in his life. “I will be out of your hair before then.” He promises, motioning to his clothes. “Take what coins you believe are fair for caring for me.”

"If I did that, you would have no coin left for the tavern in the village." While you have no intention of forcing him to stay under your roof, you do know full well that the tavern keeper will take him for everything he’s worth well before the thaw. He will be lucky not to be kicked out into the street or have his horse taken as forfeit. A sick man deserved to be treated and helped. Your sick soulmate deserved not to be deprived of all he had by the person who was meant to care for him. You rock back on your heels, moving away from him to stoke the fire. "Stay or do not stay. But I will not take your coin."

His frown deepens, not understanding. “You mean for me to stay? Here?” He asks, nodding again. “Ah, the hay.” He decides. “You have a barn for me to bunk down in.” It would be cold, but as long as his horse was cared for, he could lay beside the beast to keep warm. “I will help with chores in return for a pile of hay to sleep in.” His word isn’t worth much, but he would keep it in this case. You had saved him, after all.

“I mean I will not force a man to catch his death of cold after saving him from white plague.” Honestly, there is a hollowness left behind in your chest at the idea that the world gave you a soulmate who thinks so little of love, so you’re glad to have kept your mask on. He doesn’t know who you are to him. And he never needs to. He does, however, deserve one warning. “Only know that if you choose to remain here, the village may not welcome you.”

“They don’t accept outsiders?” He huffs, wondering why you are being cagey. He glances around again, as if there is a piece of the puzzle missing.

“No.” You push to your feet, scooping Binx up from her perch on the edge of your nearby work table and scratching the base of her head while she purrs happily. “They do not accept me.”

He wonders if you are a whore. While every man in the village would go to one, they are shunned by those same folks in daylight. He shrugs, caring little what others think of him. “No matter.” He decides. “I will kill anyone who takes issue with me.”

"Not without your strength. You'll be lucky to pick up your sword." Motioning to the bowl of porridge you left beside him, you move across the single open room of the cottage you have lived in for three years now and set Binx down in the windowsill in favor of picking up a bit of darning that needs doing. Stockings with holes will only invite more sickness come the winter time. "Start with your spoon, Pero Tovar. That is where strength begins."

Pero snorts, huffing slightly at the mothering tone that you have taken with him and glances over at you. He will refuse to admit that it makes warmth flare in his chest, reminding him of his own sweet mamá when he was ill as a boy. “That thing is staying on your face then?” He asks as he picks up the spoon, hating how right you are. He is weak.

It doesn’t have to. You know that. The tuberculosis vaccination you had the year before everything went to hell should protect you for at least another two years. But if you remove it, he will see your eye. The scar that adorns both of your skin from a viscous attack that destroyed half your sight as well as deforming you. “Yes,” you decide, swallowing the bitterness in the thing. No matter that it will hamper your already limited sight. “It stays on.”

He nods, thinking that it’s odd, but not the oddest thing he has dealt with over the past year. He swallows another bite of the porridge. “What is your name?” He asks.

Debating lying to him for a moment, you end up telling him your real name. Not what the villagers holler at you. Not what your old mistress had called you. But the name you actually consider your own. Perhaps if nothing else, you can hold on to the sound of it in your soulmate’s thick, melodious accent. “But most call me Sassenach.” It had been downright amusing, the first time it happened. The name coming with your sudden appearance in this time – albeit in a different place. Your complete and utter hyperfixation on the Outlander tv show and book series leading you on that whole debacle of a vacation and the terrifying reality that the Callanish Standing Stones at Craigh na Dun actually are a portal through time. It had made you laugh with so much disbelief the first time one of the highlanders actually used that name for you – now it was basically a nickname.

He repeats your name and nods to you once more in greeting. “Gracias for saving my life.” He huffs, a small cough coming out, but nothing like it had been.

It should not warm you through to hear that from him. Healing is what you do – at least is has been since you got here. Your basic twenty-first century anatomical, biological, and medical knowledge combining with the basic herbal healing that the ladies in your coven had shared with you and turning you into some kind of medieval white woman. Yet to have saved him is an entirely different thing. At least, your heart thinks so. Which is fairly fucking annoying, if you say so yourself. “How do you answer ‘gracias’?” You ask softly, continuing to pretend you don’t understand him. “Say that you are welcome?”

“De nada.” He answers softly, wondering why you wish to learn the language he has spoken since birth. Although he had learned some Chinese when he was at the Wall.

You nod, looking down at your darning with far more concentration than it merits. You have never had any talent with a needle, and even the simplest tasks require double the concentration that it would cost anyone else. It is surprising, the way your chest aches, and you hate it. “De nada, Pero Tovar.”

A silence falls between you, Tovar taking slow spoonfuls of the hearty porridge and looking around the cabin. It was larger for just a woman. He wonders if your father had died recently or if this was a cottage you had moved into. The thick stone and wattle kept the wind out, although he could see some light up in the thatching overhead. You would need some roof work to be done before the snows come in. He hates working on roofs, falling is never his favorite thing to do, but it’s the least he could do to repay your surprising kindness.

"Your horse," you ask after the pause, as Binx settles comfortably in your lap. "Does he have a name?"

Pero looks up from the bowl, frowning slightly. “Horse.” He tells you, wondering why the hell he would name his horse.

“Right. Of course.” It nearly makes you laugh, the way he looks completely confused by the question, and you scratch your cat’s little head affectionately. “This is Binx. She will come when she is called. And fetches well. And also hunts small game occasionally.” The clever feline has graduated from chipmunks and field mice to squirrels and rabbits, and while the notion of skinning and dressing your own animals made you a little sick at first after a lifetime of supermarkets, you have had to adjust. Meat is expensive here, unless you procure it yourself, and you’re not exactly going around with a shotgun looking for big game.

He sends you another confused look and glances at the cat. “Gato.” He mutters to himself, never really paying much attention to the creatures. Why would he ever call one? Calling his horse, yes. But calling a cat?

“No.” Thank fuck you’re wearing a mask, it muffles the sound of your amused snort perfectly. He seems mildly offended that you would impose a name on the sweet, fluffy girl and it’s the first good laugh you’ve had in ages. “Binx.”

“Gato.” He mutters again, pointing at the feline. “Cat.” He explains, remembering that you don’t speak his tongue.

“You are Pero. I am Sassenach. She is Binx.” It’s probably much funnier to you than it should be, but she’s sitting so proudly and purring so happily in your lap that it just makes you that much more amused.

He’s never heard of a name like that before. He’s heard a lot of names, but it’s making him search for meaning. Instead of asking, he just grunts and shakes his head. A second later, curiosity gets the best of him. “Sassenach?”

“It means ‘outlander’.” You explain, feeling an odd kind of nostalgia pang for the old way of explaining the word. ”It’s from that new show Outlander!” You used to exclaim to anyone fool hearty enough to ask about the thing that would make you light up from the inside out. You would launch headlong into an explanation of Claire’s time travel from the 1940s into the 1740s via a Stonehenge-like installation of stones near Inverness in the Scottish Highlands. The very place that you and your best friend had gone on vacation now seven full years ago. Excited and giggling, the two of you had reached out and touched the center standing stone at Craigh na dun, and moments later you had found yourself feeling that same sensation of sickening falling that Claire describes as reminding her of a car wreck. Though your arrival was not as traumatic as hers in other ways, the revelation that the magic of the Stones was real had been…troubling. No matter how many times you touched, poked, punched, or slammed the flat of your hand into the rock? Nothing happened. You were stuck. With your best friend nowhere to be found. A group of travelers passing by had granted you passage in their party, and thus began your life of wandering travel and passing off your twenty-first century knowledge as healing, the same way Claire does in the story. Though, at least she was a war nurse. You didn’t have that kind of credential going for you. “When I arrived in this part of the world, it was the way the villagers referred to me.” The highlanders had been kind in many ways and not at all in others, but when you left them you had taken the name with you as a shield against the unknown. Of course you did not know the customs or the language. You were just a Sassenach. An outsider. No matter where you went.

He mulls that over in his mind and looks around the cottage again with a more critical eye. "Bruja." He decides, figuring that you spooked the religious and simple people in this village. He had learned from his travels that people feared what they did not understand, and they did not understand the things they feared.

Thank god for the mask hiding your face from his discerning eyes. You know that word as a practicing Wiccan woman in a predominantly Hispanic city, and even though your neighbors never say it with the same kind of derision he just did, it’s very obvious that he now understands exactly what the people in this time think of you.

You don't answer him and again he is reminded that you don't speak his tongue like William did. "They think you are a witch." He shovels another spoon of the food into his mouth, a little bit of strength returning and his hunger overpowering any lingering fatigue. He needs to eat to heal, he knows that and while the food is bland, it's filling.

The hope that not answering him would entice him to drop it is clearly in vain, and you carefully look between Binx in your lap and the Spaniard in front of your fire. “Yes,” you murmur finally. “That is what the people here call me.” For years now. And for reasons that have very little to do with the ointments and poultices you dole out to paying customers.

"Idiots." He huffs and rolls his eyes. "If the cock crows and shit falls from the sky it is an omen and not someone emptying the chamber pot." He doesn't care what people call you, they've called him plenty of things over the years. Most of them true, but he only took offense to the one who asked if he fucked his mother. That man died and the question was put to bed.

Exhaling a breath you didn't realize that you had been holding, you nod once in agreement. "It is not their fault that so many of them lack education," you reason. He speaks multiple language and has traveled greatly, so you are inclined to think that he is at least minimally literate which is much more than the majority of people in this time and place.

"Education is for rich lords and ladies to sit on their asses and get fat while their people starve." Another spoonful of porridge shovels its way into his mouth, swallowed before it hits his tongue and he snorts. "They like them ignorant and superstitious. The men to break their back or give their lives and the women to cook their meals or lift their skirts like a whore."

"Some would call you educated." The fact that he doesn't seem voraciously excited about the existence of prostitutes like most men you've met in this time surprises you, but it's rather a good surprise. "You speak more than one tongue. Have travelled the world. That is more knowledge than most have."

He shrugs, not denying it but his travel was for necessity. For survival. The wooden spoons scrapes the bottom of the bowl as he gets every drop of the porridge.

"Give those to me. You'll have more to eat later." You instruct, putting your stocking aside to reach for the bowl and spoon. You'll wash them thoroughly and boil them to sanitize them because being safe is far better than being sorry when your houseguest has tuberculosis. "Try to rest, Pero Tovar, your body needs it."

Pero grunts, huffing at being ordered to rest like a child, even though he’s already starting to lay back down. “Don’t turn me into a toad while I sleep, Sassenach.” He warns you. “Or I will believe you to be a bruja.”

“I shall try to restrain myself.” The joke is full of as much sarcasm as teasing, and you get up from your chair to pour water into your cauldron to sterilize his things, grabbing the cup he drank from along the way. Cauldron. The one you had at home was plastic and decorative, filled up with an LED light that turned the smoke from the miniature smoke machine to a sickly neon green. It was silly, and sat in your window every September and October for the entire month along with other choice Halloween decorations. But here? Here it is a tool. A stereotypical one, but useful nonetheless.

******

He sleeps for hours; the deep, heavy sleep of a man who has been sick. Moving little and not dreaming. Instead he lays like a stone in your floor, snoring softly as the fire crackles away in the hearth.

Barley porridge for dinner includes some mushrooms, wild leeks, and some dandelion greens pulled up from the forest bed, along with some chunks of rehydrated rabbit meat from what’s left of the catch that Binx brought in a week ago. You had cured half the animal with salt in the sun to preserve it, knowing that when the traveler came to, he would need the protein for strength. It’s past dark when he wakes and you are sitting with a lit candle at your work table with dried herbs on a wooden trencher and a mortar beside it. In this instance, what the villagers called witchcraft, you called a spice mix. Just because food is basic is no excuse for it to be bland.

Pero wakes up with his mouth watering. He had learned to love fragrant foods in the East, the flavors of the food that he had were like none he had ever had before. Whatever you have cooking smells different but equally delicious.

“Returned to the world, I see.” For reasons you can’t quite comprehend, teasing him feels good. Natural. A bit comforting, if you’re honest. And probably it has more to do with being soulmates than anything else, but you’re still going to enjoy it. It seems like the last time you teased anyone besides Binx was years ago. Before things changed.

Pero coughs and sits up slowly, growling as he does. He is still not completely himself, but he does feel better. Able to respond naturally to the teasing, although if it had been William, he would have tossed a dagger towards him. Bastard always caught it though, so it was more of a game.

"No witty reply?" You raise an eyebrow at him, forgetting that he can't see you behind the mask that covers most of your face.

He snorts. "Hard to be witty when I am gathering my strength to take a piss." He needs to get on his feet and shuffle outside, believing that you would be none too happy if he just pissed on your floor - earthen or not.

"Here." The clay bowl by the door is your attempt at a chamber pot, and you bring it over to him easily. "Let's save standing and walking until tomorrow, eh?" You don't want him getting to his feet only to lose his balance from dehydration and malnourishment. "Piss and then eat, if you can stomach it."

"I— I'd kill for some water." He admits, throat and mouth dry. He's slightly relieved that you have the bowl handy, although he hesitates to make sure your back is turned. He might have no manners around men, but you are a woman and obviously a good one.

"I made you some more tea." He may have termed it rotten water earlier, but it will help him heal a little faster. And this time you were slightly kinder about the flavour. "It has honey this time. So it will taste better."

His brow lifts, knowing very well how precious honey is. Often times it is hard to find and even harder to get without injury. He had a childhood friend die when they had tried to harvest some honeycomb for their mothers when they were about six. He had spent hours in agony before passing. “You would waste honey on a stranger?”

"Your throat is raw from weeks of coughing." When he pushes the bowl away you just let it sit in front of the fire, assuming that he will need it again well before you do. The cup of tea and bowl of enhanced porridge are set down beside him for when he is ready to take them, but you are careful to go back to your stool this time. Sitting beside him, treating him too sweetly, anything along those lines could be misconstrued as an advance – and while he was sleeping you had resolved not to make it seem like you were too interested in him. At least not sexually. The fact that he is staggeringly attractive does not enter into anything. "It will soothe you and help you heal."

“Thank you.” He knows that you don’t have to do anything, you could have let him die, but you didn’t. He picks up the tea and sniffs it, wrinkling his nose slightly but his thirst outweighs his distaste for the drink and he takes a large sip.

"I'll go to the village tomorrow to fetch hay." Having already eaten your supper and given Binx a few scraps of this and that, you settle back again to stare into the fire. "Cold was hanging in the air today."

“If you aren’t well liked in the village, won’t they cheat you?” He asks, draining the rest of the tea and reaching for the bowl after setting down the cup.

“They may not like me, but they are also mostly afraid of me.” You admit with a shrug. “I just mumble a few words to myself that they do not understand and suddenly everything becomes a very sensible deal.” Typically what you mutter under your breath are the names of ethnic take out dishes that you used to eat with relative frequency. Things like ekmek kadayifi and tom kha gai and pasta e fagioli typically had villagers quaking in their slippers.

He chuckles, admiring your stiff spine. “I will give you coin for the hay.” He tells you. “You wouldn’t have to buy it otherwise.”

“That is far.” It’s a reasonable thing to agree to, knowing that if you are to provide for him through the winter it will deplete your stores and cost coin down the line.

Grunting when the porridge touches his lips, he stares down at it in delight for a moment before he starts to shovel it in his mouth. It's hot this time and the savory taste and the small shreds of meat in it are just what he needs. Quickly inhaling the entire bowl and sighing softly when the spoon hits the bottom.

“Careful.” Despite the warning, there is an audible smile in your voice. It’s good to see a voracious appetite in him, and there is no small amount of satisfaction that settles in your chest at being able to take care of your soulmate. Even if he has no idea. “Not too fast. You’ll make yourself sick.”

Pero huffs, sure that he wouldn't let this meal leave his belly. Not even if he had to clamp his hand over his mouth. "The honey helped that drink but your well is gone." He tells you. "Or you have a dead animal floating in it."

“It’s from the stream in the woods.” Death is such a pervasive part of life here that sometimes you truly do forget about it. Or else maybe you try to forget.

He grunts again and scraps the bowl clean and shoves the last spoonful in his mouth. He will check upstream later on to make sure that nothing is in the water. There is no way that your little weeds in that cup made it taste like that.

Collecting his empty dishes, you drop them in the cauldron to clean and boil again, wishing you could actually give him antibiotics for real instead of having to relying on the small amount of good that things like honey, garlic, and thyme will do for him. “If you keep eating well and drinking, you should be up and about again soon.”

He knows that he will have to rest some more, he feels it, but it also chaffs. He's used to doing what he wants and nothing less. His things are in a neat pile near him and he lifts the blanket over him, curious to find out if you had completely stripped him down or if you had left him in the threadbare drawers he wore.

“You needed washing,” you tell him flatly, wondering if he’s one of those people who considers cleanliness a temptation or an indulgence. That outlook never quite made sense to you, and he doesn’t seem uptight or prudish, but you never know.

He grumbles in agreement, knowing that he hadn't wanted to strip down and wash in the cold stream when he was coughing so badly. "As soon as I can stumble to the stream, I will wash."

“Look more closely, Tovar.” Shaking your head slightly, the trace of an amused smirk graces your lips. “I washed you. White plague would have run off with you in your sleep with all that muck and blood on you.” At the very least, he definitely would have ended up with a secondary infection.

At first he doesn't remember the muck, doesn't remember falling off his horse. "Mierda." He hisses, scowling at his weakness and his cheeks burn at the idea that this woman cleaned him. "Thank you." He huffs gruffly, knowing he must have been far gone without waking and threatening you.

“I have seen far worse.” And if you never have to dress another broken bone for the rest of your life, you will be very grateful. At least Pero Tovar had been in entirely one piece when he fell – literally – into your life. “If you wish to cut your hair or clean your face, we will go to the stream when you are stronger.”

Right now, it's the last thing on his mind and he wonders what you mean by 'far worse' when you washed him. "I can deal with it." He assures you, feeling like a burden right now and it's not a feeling that he enjoys.

“Good.” Leaning back, your shoulders touch the stone wall behind you and you let out a small sigh. “It has been a long day,” you hum, mostly to yourself, but look over at him in front of the fire. Binx is curled up mere inches from the hearth to enjoy the heat, and you cannot blame her. In time, she will climb up onto your small bed with you to spend the night at your side like she always does. “Sleep if you can. I should do the same.”

His eyes follow you as you move around the cottage, another log on the fire and banked so it would burn all night long. A thick, sturdy piece of wood slides into place over the door, barring it from the inside. He doesn’t have the heart to tell you now that one good shove against the door would snap the braces on the logs keeping the wood in place. Whoever had installed it had never had their door broken down obviously.

It is easy to feel his eyes on you even if you aren’t looking, but soon enough you’re tucked into your small bed and turned to face the wall, only removing the molded leather mask from your face once you’re sure he can’t see what it was hiding. Pero Tovar never needs to know. In fact, you don’t even know what good it is for you to know. You don’t belong here. You never have. Always an outlander wherever you go.

______

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @katheriner1999 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @hardc0rehaylz @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri

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My Masterlist!

#Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal character fanfiction #Pedro Pascal fanfic #Pero Tovar #Pero Tovar x reader #Pero Tovar x you #Pero Tovar x female reader #The Great Wall #soulmate au #disabled reader #descriptions of illness

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alpacinosgf · 2 years

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MILK AND ROSES CH.3

ALSO ON AO3

Rated: Explicit (Dirty Talk, Girl on Top, Choking)

Word Count: 4.5k

There’s really no sleep quite like the one after a good lay. And a full night’s sleep in a bed bigger than your own bedroom is something you never thought you’d experience. Your bliss is short lived however, you jump awake at the sound of your phone buzzing violently. You groan quietly into the cool material of the pillow, and pull yourself up to find the source of your annoyance. You point blank refuse to leave the comfort of the wide bed and do your best to stretch your arm as far as possible to reach your small bag. On the third attempt and third almost tumble off the mattress, you get it and quickly unlock it to see your phone flooded with notifications from your friends.

Shit, you’ve slept in till noon, you go to wake Oz before realising you’re alone.

Shit again. Why does that kind of sting?

You lie back in the bed with a heavy sigh before scrolling through all the messages. Some are concerned and serious ones but a couple are just eye emojis. Well, you did promise details. You begin to type when you hear some shuffling in the bathroom. You place your phone on your chest and listen before Oz comes back to the bedroom. He rubs at his jaw and down to his neck to disperse his aftershave and when he sees you watching he visibly lights up. That sting from thinking he'd left the apartment replaced with a giddiness you’re not used to. He approaches the bed and kneels on the soft mattress with his good leg to give a soft kiss to your temple. You smile up at him, bringing your hand up to play with his gold chain in your fingers.

“How’d you sleep, doll?” He asks between pecks to your head, his voice is a little rougher to your ears but it’s got a nice almost tangible feel. His eyes move over you below him, wrapped up in his sheets. He could get used to seeing you there.

“I slept great, I only woke up ‘cos my friends are texting me non-stop” you tell him, stretching your legs out.

“Oh” he says with realisation, he gives a sly smile before he plants a kiss to your lips. “Be sure to tell ‘em I fucked your brains out, sweetheart” he laughs as he moves back from the bed.

“I’m under strict instruction to give gory details!” you laugh as you pick up your phone again.

“I’m gonna make us some food, alright? Eggs an’ bacon good for you?” He calls over his shoulder as he leaves the room. He’s still in his vest and boxers. You noticed as he left, he has a thick scar going around the ankle of his bad leg. It doesn’t look like the joint bends as naturally as the other and you internally cringe at the sight. It doesn’t bother you he has a limp; you haven’t thought about it much. Knowing he’s more than likely in chronic pain with it is what bothers you. It’s no wonder he always has that uncomfortable look on his face when he moves.

“Yes, please!” You shout out to him just as you begin to hear music in the foyer. You finally begin typing.

“Alright I’m alive, everyone” You send and immediately see several ellipses bubbles pop up. You decide to get it out there before they even ask.

“Best dick of my life btw”

Some of the bubbles stop. Then the messages flood in.

“WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN”

“FOR REAL???”

“I was told there would be details in this chat”

You grin at the phone, typing quickly a recap of the night before.

“No joke. Guy ate me out like it was his job. I came twice from that then we had sex and I finished again. I’m talking massive dick btw. OH LMAO. He fucking owns the club so his place is huge. He’s making me breakfast”

“ARE YOU SERIOUS. I GOT A FUCKING DUD WHO FELL ASLEEP AS SOON AS WE GOT BACK TO MINE.”

You send back the smiling devil emoji.

“HE OWNS THE PLACE, WHAT??????”

“ok i severely underestimated the old guy, kinda jealous now”

You start to crawl out of the bed as the chat continues to recover from the news, and find Oz’s white shirt on the floor. It’s better than walking out to breakfast naked which you’re sure he wouldn’t oppose to, but put it on regardless. You’ve never really had a hook ups clothes be so oversized on you before you realise. It’s a welcome change to see the soft, wrinkled material fall to just before your knees. You begin to walk out to him and leave your phone on the bed, let them stew for more details for a while.

You half expected the music to come from a little record player or retro stereo but once again he surprises you, a small speaker in the corner of the kitchen worktop brings life to the apartment. Oz has his wide back to you as your hip leans against the dark marble island, he mumbles along to the song as he moves the scrambled egg in the pan and you recognise some old Springsteen is what he’s decided on. Typical Jersey boy.

You watch him a little longer and indulge in the domesticity of it all. You shuffle towards him at the stove and wrap your arms around his middle and give him a squeeze. He jerks in surprise and let’s out a nervous laugh as he turns his head back to you.

“Jesus christ, sweetheart! You tryin’ to give me a heart attack?” he flashes those gold teeth again and you smile against his shoulder. There’s freckles dotted along the skin that disappear under his vest.

“No, not like this anyway” you mumble as you lie your cheek flat against his back. You feel his laugh before you hear it, his stomach muscles fluttering under your spread hands. He shakes his head to himself like he doesn’t believe you’re still here in his apartment as he begins to plate your meal. A generous portion of eggs and bacon from a local butcher with toast and a cool glass of juice. It’s basic but a nice touch, you can’t remember the last time anybody cooked for you.

You release his middle as you graciously accept the plate, noticing he looks visibly more comfortable. Was he holding in his stomach before? You take the knife and fork he offers you and place them on your nearly overloaded plate as you move to the ostentatious dining table overlooking the city. You pull out a chair, eyes not leaving the skyline. It looked beautiful last night but the early afternoon light is perfect. It’s a decent day by Gotham standards. Oz meets you at the table and sees you marvelling at it all. It makes his chest fill with pride to see you appreciate his space.

He settles into the seat and reminds you to eat before it goes cold. You’re snapped out of the trance that the Gotham City tourism board wish they could bottle. You dig into the food, feeling your stomach grumble as you eat. You hadn’t eaten much before you had left for the club, you’d been too nervous but now you’re taking big bites out of your toast. You load the egg onto the buttered bread and use your hand to hold the bacon for your next bite. Oz raises a greying eyebrow at you but doesn’t say anything. He's glad to see someone else appreciate good food as much as him. You chat a little between bites, he asks what your plans are for the rest of the day. You shrug as you take a drink, it’s a free Saturday for you.

“I’ll drop you home whenever you want, I have to head to the Lounge soon anyways” he says as he lines the last bit of food onto his fork.

“Really? So early?” you ask though to be fair you don’t know the first thing about what running a nightclub must involve. He rolls his eyes and grunts. He obviously doesn’t want to get into it, fair. You don’t get to live in a place like this by having decent hours.

You go to pick up his plate and cutlery and put it on top of your own before he raises his hand in question. The skin where his watch sat looks slightly paler without it.

“What are you doin’? Leave that. I'll do it, babe” he explains, but you’re already over to the sink before he can get up.

“Least I can do! You’re not a bad cook y’know, Oz” you say as you wash the plates and begin to soak the frying pan. He doesn’t respond so you glance at him at the table, he’s rubbing at the back of his neck. God he hates compliments you realise. You pad over to him again, his chair is half moved from the table from when he tried to take the plates from you. You swiftly seat yourself on his lap.

“Is it okay if I have a shower?” you ask innocently, watching him swallow his nerves before placing his left arm on your hip, right rubbing the soft flesh of your thigh.

“Yeah, of course. You don’t gotta ask me, doll. I’ll try find some clothes. Don’t think you want to go home in that dress of yours” he smiles at you.

You move your ass against his lap and watch his surprise, he squirms a little under the contact.

“I meant that as an invite, Oz” you whisper before bending your head to kiss him. He kisses back a little harder, hand digging into your thigh. You moan into his mouth, tongue running against the scar at his lip before he pulls away. His large nose is pressed against yours as he speaks.

“Would that I could, doll. I can’t really fuck standing up too well” he explains with a certain level of disappointment in his dark eyes. You reply by way of a comedic pout. He lets out a sharp laugh at the sight, putting his hand over his eyes.

“Don’t make that fucking face!” he whines but you just pull at his much larger hand to wind him up further.

“I’ll end up killing you and me if we try fuck in the shower, I’m serious, babe” he brings his hand up to your face to enunciate his point. You let out a dramatic sigh and raise your eyes.

“FINE!”

You pretend to check your nails and ignore him, feeling him get a little harder under you as you do so. You try your level best not to crack as he calls your name softly to look at him. You know you’re already driving him crazy.

“Will you at least let me fuck you again?” you sniff as you look at him from the corner of your eye. His face is incredulous, not believing your words.

“Let you fuck me? Doll, you could do whatever you wanted to me and I’d let you. Its not a question of letting you fuck me” He points his hands towards himself to drive the message home.

Bingo. That’s what you’d been angling for.

“So you'll let me ride you?” you whisper with a dark smile. He doesn’t respond. You start to panic, thinking you’ve said something wrong before he plants his lips on yours. He holds you tight against him when he grinds you down onto his clothed dick. He releases your bruised lips and motions for you to stand. You jump at the first chance, the noticeable tent I his boxers enough to reassure you he’s more than just a little into the idea.

You pull the dress shirt over your head and throw it at him before you dash back to the bedroom giggling. You feel like a different person than yesterday, you never would have done any of this before you don’t think. You settle onto the bed and are surprised to see Oz isn’t far behind. He’s by no means graceful about it, but knowing he’s pushing past pain in an effort to fuck you is a turn on. When he reaches the bed he takes your face in both his hands, admiring before he kisses and joins you on the sheets. He grinds his hips in a small circle against your bare cunt, you can feel the wetness of the soft material but can’t tell if its from you or him. The friction is good and you’re enjoying the weight of him on top of you but you already said you’d treat him so you push up against him and he gets the hint.

The bravado he showed you last night is completely gone when you settle on top of him, it’s not exactly a flattering angle for anyone but you know there’s a tint of embarrassment to the flush of his skin. You resolve to make him feel as good as he did for you, and rub your hands up the swell of his stomach to his chest as you grind down against him. Your breath hitches at the angle, and the curve of his gut against you makes you smile in a daze. His own hands roam your body, groping at the flesh of your waist and moving up to rest his hand against your sternum. His hand takes up easily half your chest and knowing that you have a guy so domineering under you only makes you wetter.

You bring one hand to rest on top of his, it’s an incredibly intimate scene considering you hadn’t met this time yesterday. You bend down all the while gyrating your hips against him when you resume making out. He groans and starts to buck against your hips. You remove your hand and start to move it under his vest before he slows down.

“Can I take this off, babe?” you ask sweetly against his lips which have formed a hard line. He glances away from you and it nearly breaks your heart. Before he denies you, you kiss him again long and deep. You feel him relax against you once more and ask again.

“Please, Ozzie? I want to feel you” you pout again, not enough to make him laugh this time but enough to tug at his heartstrings.

His soft jaw clenches under you before he mumbles a curse and you move to accommodate him. He sits up slightly and pulls off the vest in one swift motion before he settles back on the bed. He gazes up at you as if expecting you to laugh or cringe but you just beam at him instead. His barrel chest is on full display, dark curls are spattered along his full pecs and wide stomach. You run your hands against his chest again, seeing how he responds to your touch with huffs and you could swear a whine comes from his throat as you continue to rub and coax against his reddening flesh.

“Thank you, Ozzie” you whisper in a sing song and you see again the effect the nickname has. Feeling emboldened, Oz grasps your hips with both hands and grinds you roughly along his length once more. You smile down at him and put your hands at either side of his head and sit up off his lap to let him discard the wet underwear quickly. You make sure to hold his stare when you lean back against his slick cock and let it run between your still swollen folds. The head bumps against your clit and you let out a deep sigh, you lean forward again and Oz intuitively takes himself in hand and lines up at your wet folds. You’re still tender from the night before, but he manages to push inside relatively painlessly. You do your best not to audibly cringe at the pressure, closing your eyes tightly and flexing your hands on his warm chest to ground yourself. You breathe through it and take a steadying breath as you begin to rock your hips atop Oz.

When you open your eyes, you see he’s not faring too well. Having someone else do all the work and take away the distraction of chronic pain has his brain focusing entirely on the way you move and how tight you feel around his aching cock. His brows are creased in deep concentration in an effort not to finish early and completely embarrass himself. He can’t remember the last time anybody rode him.

In his defence he’d be having trouble remembering his own name if it weren’t for your voice calling him back to reality. You swallow hard as you feel yourself drag him in further, letting your nails dig into the heavy flesh of his chest. His face grimaces a bit at the pain, but his hands just dig harder into your skin to spur you on. You both moan harder at that and revel in the feeling. He starts to lift his own legs, pushing you higher on his lap and your back rests against his thighs. The now improved angle of him inside you combined with the rigid pressure of his stomach lets you ride him harder as you begin to bounce against him. You finally get to try that trick you heard about spelling your name in cursive and it nearly kills him. He throws his head back against the sheets, his thinning hair sticking against the cold material and his teeth clench with the pressure building in his core.

He composes himself and takes a hand to your neck, bending you down closer to his face. Oz is big into eye contact you can tell, but this is almost an attempt at gaining back control of the situation. But it’s so much more fun this way you think. His eyes keep moving from your eyes to your mouth like he can’t decide which he favours. You clench down on him just as you give another sweet smile, and he actually lets out a little whine and shuts his eyes first. Not that he’d ever admit to it.

You move away from his hand and throw your head back, starting to grind harder when you land against his lap. You need to hear that noise again. Oz reaches out to you again, this time taking your hand back to his chest. Aw. Instead of leaving it there though, he brings it up against his wide neck. You can feel the rough bumps of old scars and blemishes under your clammy fingertips. He wraps your far too small hand against his throat and makes you squeeze; you almost stop moving entirely with surprise. This just got so much more fun.

He removes his meaty hand from on top of yours and you give another experimental squeeze of the sides, never the front. You physically feel his breath hitch and stop under your control, his forehead creases and his mouth starts to fall open when you start to pick up the pace. Your mind starts to unravel the harder you go, the tighter you press against his windpipe and the wetter you feel yourself get. He starts to buck up against you, but it’s not the timed and rhythmic thrusts of someone in control. It’s clumsy and desperate and it’s so fucking pathetically hot you can feel how close you are. You lean forward again, going as hard as you possibly can without running the risk of breaking something.

“Open your eyes, Ozzie” you manage to say through gritted teeth. He complies and you can tell by the way his cock twitches when his eyes focus on you that he’s got about 30 seconds left in him. Better make this good.

“Give me all you got, old man” you purr with another dazzling smile and one final simultaneous clench of your fingers around his throat and the muscle in your cunt. The pent-up pressure in your lower stomach comes to ahead at long last, as Oz gasps for much needed air. He practically came on command when you released his neck, the oxygen hitting his lungs just as his cock surged with hot cum inside you. The red marks along his throat show just how hard you gripped him during all that. You fall gracelessly onto his chest, cheek against his collarbone though it remains somewhat hidden under his plush skin. Neither one of you says anything, just recovering in silence broken by pants and swallows. Your mind is completely blank, but when he raises a heavy arm along your back you feel yourself smile dumbly against his chest. You lift your head up and catch him looking a little too fond of you. You lean forward to kiss him, it’s relatively chaste compared to the last few minutes but it doesn’t take away from the sweetness there.

You don’t realistically want to move off him, but the knowledge that there’s more cum in you from the last 12 hours than there has in years weighs on your mind. You wince a little when you get up, and he hisses a little too as he slips out. He sits up on his elbows to watch you move to the bathroom and you feel his eyes on you with every step.

“I guess that makes up for no shower sex” you shrug with faux indifference, as if you didn’t just come as hard as you ever did before.

“You’re gonna fuckin’ kill me, doll!” He shouts out to you, not having the strength to move just yet.

You smile to yourself and you step into the walk-in shower. It matches with the rest of the place, black marble and ridiculously huge for just one person but you feel grateful when you see several jets on each corner. You scrub yourself clean and enjoy the pressure of the water on your sore joints.

Once you’re sufficiently clean and relaxed, you step back out to the bedroom to find some clothes left for you. Thankfully nothing outrageous, just a large black t-shirt and some sweatpants that come up comically high on your frame you almost look like a geriatric. There’s also a pair of too big sliders for your feet. You feel like a child wearing some clothes from the lost and found of a theme park. Still, it’s a sweet gesture.

He’s waiting on the arm of the large couch in the foyer for you, he’s tapping something into his phone and you silently admire him. He’s dressed somewhat casually for daytime, in a navy suit and another crisp white shirt. He rubs the back of his fingers against his scarred cheek absentmindedly before he notices you. His eyes crease at the corners in genuine happiness to see you. He moves off the couch and puts his phone away, offering his hand out to you. You gladly take it, you obviously already knew his hands were bigger than yours but feeling them wrapped around your own makes you feel butterflies. Do people still feel them?

The drive back to your place is quiet. Not awkward but it’s comfortable. He apologises when he realises he never asked what you did for work. You snort and tell him 20 questions isn’t a very sexy game to play anyways. You tell him as you pull up to a red light, and he turns to listen to every word. It’s nowhere near as exciting as his job, but you don’t feel like he’s play listening to you to try seem like an alright guy. It feels genuine. You direct him to your place once he makes it into the city. The violet sports car garners some attention, and you’re kind of glad the windows are tinted. You don’t look any kind of presentable, but it doesn’t stop Oz from keeping his hand on your thigh like last night. Just swap your best outfit for a pair of sweatpants you question are almost older than you.

When he finally pulls into a space just before your building, he turns down the radio. Oh God this is the awkward bit you think. He puts his arm on the back of your headrest and turns his body to you, as much as the interior will allow anyways.

“I’ve had a really good time, babe. Best in years without a doubt” he says and you hide your face in your hands a little before he finishes the sentence.

“Nah I’m serious!” he tells you, bringing his hand to the back of your neck. The wet strands clinging to his fingers like you were a couple hours ago. You remove your hands and lean your head back against his hand.

“I’ve had a great time too, Oz” you agree.

There’s a brief pause while he continues to eye you.

“I’d love to see you again sometime. Would that be alright?”

You feel yourself grin, the knot in your stomach disappearing.

“Definitely. I’d love that too”

He beams at your words, and bends over the empty space to kiss you again. He leaves a few pecks before he pulls back. There’s the tiniest hint of a blush on the tips of his ears.

“So can I get your number?”

You nod eagerly and he laughs a little through his nose again as he reaches into his inside pocket for his phone. You type your number in, and save it with your name a little heart beside it. His smile a little wider when he sees it.

“Thank you, honey. I’m gonna be busy with the club for the next few days but I’ll book a place for dinner, just let me know when you’re free”

You’re barely listening to him at this point, feeling giddy again at the idea of meeting up. The decent Gotham weather finally gives up the ghost, however. Spits of rain beginning to clash against the windscreen.

“Shit, I better head in. Thanks again for bringing me home again, Oz” you say as you move this time to kiss him goodbye. He reciprocates tenfold before you pull away, and open the door with your right hand. You give him one last smile before you dash to the front door, rooting for your keys under the awning. He waits until you finally step inside before he pulls out of his parking spot. The familiar if not somewhat alarming smell of your apartment building greets you as you plod over to the elevator. As much fun as you’ve had, you can’t wait to get into your own bed.

Your apartment is a far cry from where you spent your morning, it’s at the very least a fifth of Oz’s apartment but you’re glad to see it nonetheless. You drop your keys on the counter and leave your dress and shoes on the pathetic kitchen table, remembering to take out your phone from your bag before you drop it too. You run a hand across your face as you shuffle to your bed, climbing in with a yawn as you look at your phone. More messages in your group chat that make you smile, before you see a private one from one of your friends. You click into it, curious why she wouldn’t just sent it for the others to see. No shame in your friend group.

"Hey, is this the guy you were talking about?"

There’s a link to an article attached and you click into it.

FALCONE ON THE MOVE reads the headline, you scroll down and see the main photo. It’s unmistakably Oz, outside the Iceberg with a man you’ve never seen before. He’s tall, with greying hair and dark glasses to obscure his face. You scroll again and read the caption.

“Maroni Crime Boss spotted with alleged drugs runner Oz “The Penguin” Cobblepot”

What the fuck?

#oz cobblepot x reader #oswald cobblepot x reader #oz cobblepot #treat me like a slut.mp3 plays in the background #milk and roses

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yelena-bellova · 3 years

Text

Safe Haven: tfatws!Bucky Barnes x fem!reader - Chapter Three

chapter two - Chapter Three: Ceasefire - chapter four

Series Masterlist

Plot: Bucky, Sam and Y/n visit Baltimore and unearth a long kept, heartbreaking secret. Bucky and Y/n’s tension comes to a head when they meet with Dr. Raynor.

Word Count: 7.3k

Warnings: spoilers for episode. 2, angst, language, racial undertones, racial profiling, PTSD, mention of torture, mention of suicide, fluffy angst, Walker is an asshole and Y/n is a bad bitch, the start of the slow burn 🔥

A/N: This shit was heavy to write because of the subject matter so hopefully the fluff towards the end makes up for all the angst I’m about to put you through lol. Honestly, it’s so hard to write this series not having the ending of the show yet 😂 Like I’m trying to build this and I know where I need it to go but it all depends on the show. This week’s episode was 👀 and I’m already drafting in my head. Anyways, enjoy!

----

Military craft bathrooms, I had found out, were not an ideal place to apply makeup.

I had woken up in the early morning hours stiff, achy and with a deep purple bruise on my cheek. I’d done my best to conceal it as to not attract attention wherever Bucky was taking us, but I wasn’t a magician.

Sam and I had yet to speak about me going home, but the tense exchange we’d shared before I passed out still hung over us. It wasn’t like we’d never fought, but the reasoning had never been over one of our lives being endangered. I didn’t want to leave him, but it was futile to argue the point.

The neighborhood that we were passing through didn’t look all that different from New Orleans. Bucky still had yet to tell us who we were here to see, only that it was important that Sam met him. I was done asking questions and trailed behind them on the sidewalk, my hands shoved in my jacket pockets and my head hung in defeat. I’d tried to do the superhero thing and failed miserably.

“Hey, it’s Black Falcon! What’s up?” “It’s just Falcon, kid,” Sam replied to the boy sat in front of a chain-linked fence with his friend.

“No, no, my daddy told me it’s Black Falcon,” the kid insisted.

Sam stopped in front of them, “Is it because I’m black and I’m the Falcon?” “Well, technically, I mean, yes,” he shrugged. “So are you, like, Black Kid?” The kid’s friend burst into laughter and Sam did the same, “I got him, right?”

“Whatever, man…” the kid sat down, I was just about to pass him when he stopped me, “Are you a superhero too?” Sam stopped and looked back at me, his lips pressed in a thin frown. His eyes were sympathetic but I wasn’t in any mood to discuss my unsuccessful attempt to enter his world. I gave a sad smile to the kid, “No, I’m not.” I patted his shoulder and left, Sam chose to walk with me instead of ahead of me.

Bucky was already on the house’s front porch when we climbed the stairs, he banged on the door marked with a ‘No Trespassing’ sign. We waited a few seconds before it opened to reveal a boy, 16 or 17 maybe.

“We’re here to see Isaiah,” Bucky said. “Nobody named Isaiah live here,” the teen replied.

“Look, we just want to talk to him,” Bucky gently pushed.

“You must not hear what I just said, you ain’t getting in this house. Ya’ll can leave now.” Bucky dropped his head and shut his eyes, looking as if what he was about to say pained him. “Tell him the guy from the bar in Goyang is here,” his voice dropped, “He’s gonna know what that means.”

The boy’s eyes bounced between the three of us before backing away from the door, “All right, wait here.” “Nice kid,” Sam commented once he was gone, “How do you know this guy?” “I used to, we had a skirmish during the Korean War,” Bucky explained. The screened door opened once again to reveal the teen, “Today’s your lucky day. He said he wanna see for himself.”

Bucky led the way inside followed by Sam and I. Where the living room met the dining room was where a tall, grey haired black man stood. “Isaiah,” Bucky greeted him as we stepped inside. “Look at you,” Isaiah said, taking cautious steps toward Bucky. “This is, uh, Sam. Sam, this is Isaiah,” Bucky raised his hand toward the man, “He was a hero. One of the ones that HYDRA feared the most, like Steve. We met in ’51.”

“If by met, you mean I whupped your ass, then, yeah,” Isaiah interrupted to correct Bucky’s inaccurate storytelling. “We heard whispers he was on the peninsula, but everyone they sent after him, never came back. So the U.S. military dropped me behind the line to go deal with him,” he spat the last part of the sentence. “I took half that metal arm in that fight in Goyang, but I see he’s managed to grow it back. I just wanted to see if he got the arm back or if he’d come to kill me.” I watched over Sam’s shoulder as Bucky shook his head. “I’m not a killer anymore,” his voice hitched slightly.

“You think you can wake up one day and decide who you wanna be? It doesn’t work like that,” Isaiah’s voice hardened, “Well, maybe it does for folks like you.” There was a pause as Bucky collected himself before we got to the heart of the matter, “Isaiah, the reason we’re here is because there’s more of you and me out there.”

“You and me…” Isaiah seethed, his eyes boring into Bucky.

“And we need to know how…” “I’m not gonna talk about it anymore,” Isaiah growled before picking up a metal tin and flinging it across the room. Sam threw an arm out to shield me but the tin lodged itself in the wooden paneling of the walls. With that power at his age, Isaiah was undoubtably a Super Soldier.

He took deliberate steps toward us till he stood only a foot away from Bucky. “You know what they did to me for being a hero? They put my ass in jail,” Isaiah’s voice broke, the traumatic memories were hitting him as he spoke, “For thirty years. People running tests, taking my blood, coming into my cell. Even your people weren’t done with me.” “Isaiah…” Sam said carefully.

“Get out of my house!” Sam and I startled at the sudden noise, but I didn’t fault Isaiah for his reaction. My heart broke for him in fact. Tears had welled in my eyes as he told us fragments of his life, my hand slipped to my mouth to prevent my sobs from escaping. Bucky turned away first, leading me out as Isaiah’s presumed grandson did the same to Sam. He pushed ahead of us both, every emotion possible playing out on his face.

“Sam…” Bucky began as we descended the front steps of the house.

“Why didn’t you tell me about Isaiah? How could nobody bring him up?” Sam angrily pointed a finger towards Bucky, who remained quiet as the three of us walked down the middle of the road. “I asked you a question, Bucky.” “I know…” “Steve didn’t know about him?” Sam asked.

“He didn’t, I didn’t tell him,” Bucky answered, his eyes never leaving the ground.

“How could you not tell him?” I exclaimed, my tears still tracing abstract patterns down my cheeks, “If there were anybody to tell, it would have been him!” “So you’re telling me,” Sam stopped walking and pointed back to Isaiah’s house, “That there was a black Super Soldier decades ago and nobody knew about it?”

Before Bucky got the chance to answer, the siren on a nearby police car sounded off. Two officers pulled up and exited the vehicle, “Hey.” “What’s up, man?” Sam said.

“Is there a problem here?” one asked, focusing on Sam.

“No, we’re just talking,” he answered, gesturing between the three of us. “We’re fine,” Bucky answered, visibly put out by the interruption.

“Really, we’re fine,” I shakily spoke up, wiping my palms under my wet eyes.

The officers didn’t accept our answers, instead coming closer towards Sam. “Can I see your ID?”

“I don’t have ID, why?”

“Okay, sir,” the officer held up his hands, “Just calm down.” “I am calm,” Sam responded, I could see the anger bubbling below his surface, “What do you want? We’re just standing here talking.” Bucky gestured towards the policemen, “Just give him your ID so we can leave.” The tears I was fighting so hard to control couldn’t be stopped as I watched the scene play out. “No,” Sam protested, “I’m not giving him shit, we’re just talking.” “Officers, there’s nothing going on,” I insisted, sniffling as I tried to speak. “Ma’am,” one of the men approached me, holding his hands out carefully as if to shield me from Sam, “If this man is making you uncomfortable in any way-“ “He’s my brother,” I sidestepped away from the cop, “You’re the only ones making us feel uncomfortable.” “He’s not bothering either of us, do you know who this is?” Bucky gestured towards Sam, I came to stand between both of them and placed a protective hand on Sam’s shoulder. If anything was going down, I was going down with him.

The cop that had briefly stepped away to his car came back and whispered something into his co-worker’s ear. His jaw dropped as he looked Sam over again, this time with a much less aggressive stare. “I am so sorry, Mr Wilson,” the bastard had the audacity to chuckle, “I didn’t recognize you without the goggles. I’m really, really sorry about this.” A second police car came down the street and stopped in front of us. The officers told us to wait as they hurried to try and clean up their mistake. It didn’t matter, the damage had already been done. Neighbors and people passing by were stood outside houses and on the sidewalk watching the scene unfold. And there stood Sam, the leading role of a story these men had written and forced him into. I’d never felt more helpless in that moment when I realized that had he not been recognized, there wouldn’t have been anything I could’ve done to save him.

“I didn’t…I didn’t tell anybody because he had already been through enough,” Bucky said quietly, reeling us back to our original point of conversation.

“Mr. Barnes,” the officer who had tried to cage me from Sam approached Bucky, “There’s a warrant out for your arrest.” “Look, the president pardoned him for all that,” Sam said. “Not for that. You missed your court-mandated therapy. It’s like missing a check-in with your PO. I’m sorry, Mr. Barnes, you’re under arrest.” Resigned was the only word I could think of to describe Bucky’s expression. He willingly followed and allowed them to handcuff him, quickly shaking his head at us as if to apologize for the ridiculousness as he got into the car. The worst part was I knew that if Sam or I were stupid enough to speak up, the consequences would be far worse than our reluctant cooperation. The car drove off, carrying Bucky and all his demons he hadn’t told his therapist about this week.

Sam and I remained frozen in the street, playing the last five minutes back in our heads. In a little house in a corner of Baltimore sat a war torn, wrongfully imprisoned, black Super Soldier who hadn’t had the suddenly privileged lifestyle Steve Rogers had. Isaiah had been beaten down, experimented on and abused for almost half of his life. The samples that had been taken from his body against his will had been used to create the Super Soldiers we’d met, ones that were out for blood. “Let’s get out of here,” Sam muttered, putting a hand on my back and pulling me into his side protectively. I snuck one last glance at Isaiah’s home, praying that whatever time he had left on earth was spent in the peace he deserved.

——

We hitched a cab ride to the downtown police station and were informed at the front desk that Bucky was being released. His therapist was flying in from New York to come and meet with him.

Sam and I sat in the uncomfortable chairs of the waiting area, him on his phone and me zoning out on the wall. The ‘what ifs’ of our confrontation with the police were still swirling around in my head, each one more brutal than the last.

“I’m not leaving,” I blurted out, “After this, I’m not leaving you guys.” Sam sighed and switched off his phone, “I’m not gonna argue this again with you. I’m keeping you safe, I don’t care whether you like it or not.” “Yeah, that’s exactly what I’m feeling,” I turned to him, my eyes watery and my fidgeting fists clenched in my lap. “I’m not going home just so I can sit from a safe distance and worry whether or not you’re gonna die at the hands of some cop who feels brave. Or a bunch of Super Soldiers with a grudge against the world,” I forced the lump building in my throat down, “I’m not going to leave and wait for your body to come back in a casket. The only way I’m going home is if you’re with me.” His lips parted like he was about to say something before deciding against it. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking, but I could see that my speech had affected him. He pulled me into him, my head laying on his shoulder and his arm around my neck. I had worried for my brother’s life when he was first in the service, even more when he first became an Avenger. But that fear couldn’t compare to the kind I felt when the cops disregard each of his truths. I sniffled as I rested against him, trying hard not to imagine a world where Sam Wilson wasn’t by my side.

“Sam,” a women approached us, “I’ve heard a lot about you. I’m Dr. Raynor, James’ therapist.” We rose and Sam shook her hand, “So nice to meet you.” “Y/n Y/l/n,” I introduced myself as she extended the same greeting, “Thank you for getting Bucky out.”

“That was not me,” she smiled politely.

“Christina!” a nearby voice shouted, “It’s great to see you again.”

When bulls see the color red, it angers them to the point that they’ll charge toward it in a fit of rage. My reaction to seeing John Walker in the red white and blue suit was one of a similar caliber.

“You gotta be kidding me,” I grumbled, covering my face with my palm.

“You know him?” Sam asked in disbelief. “Yeah, we did some field ops back in the day,” Dr. Raynor answered.

Walker strutted towards us, “I heard you were working with Bucky so I thought I’d step in. Bucky’s not gonna be following a strict schedule any longer.”

“We haven’t finished our work,” she asserted, “Who authorized this?” Walker held up two hands and aimed them at his arrogant self. “He’s too valuable of an asset to have tied up. Just do whatever you got to do with him, then send him off to me. Got some unfinished business, him and I,” he pointed to me and Sam, “You guys too. I’ll be outside.”

He marched back out through the door he’d come through and if we hadn’t been in a police station, I might have reeled him back in with my energy to inform him of just how low of a chance there was that we’d ever take an order from him. But if we had to go through him to spring Bucky, I’d bite my tongue for his sake.

“James,” Dr. Raynor turned, addressing Bucky who was now leaned up against the nearby counter, “Condition of your release, session now,” she looked over her shoulder towards us, “You too, Sam, Y/n.” Sam was quick to decline for us both, “That’s okay, we’ll be out here-“ “That wasn’t a request.”

Judging by the unenthusiastic glare we were getting from Bucky, he wasn’t any more excited than we were. “The sooner we get this over with, the sooner we can leave,” I said to Sam, taking the initiative and following Dr. Raynor, once again with the men in my tow.

“What exactly is your relationship with James, Miss Y/l/n?” Dr. Raynor asked as she slowed her pace to match mine. “I don’t have a relationship with him,” I answered plainly, “I only met him yesterday. We got our asses kicked in Munich together.”

We were led into an interrogation room, just as cold and bleak as the ones I’d seen on tv. There were two chairs on each side of the table awaiting us. “Since I’m here primarily to speak with James and Sam, Y/n,” Dr. Raynor removed her coat and placed it on the back of her seat, “You can observe alongside me. You two on that end.” A simple thing as even sitting next to one another seemed like too big an ask for Sam and Bucky. The two of them looked like kids sent to the principal’s office as they begrudgingly sat down. I for one was looking forward to watching them sort out whatever beef they had that I had gotten tangled up in.

“So,” Dr. Raynor set her notebook down on the table, “Who would like to start?” “All right, look, Dr. Raynor?” Sam began, “I get it, why you want me to talk to Freaky Magoo over here. But I’m 100% fine.” Sam’s fatal mistake was darting his eyes over to me before looking back at her. I already knew he was lying, but his tell confirmed it.

“It is my job to make sure that you’re okay,” Dr. Raynor addressed Bucky, “And so, yeah, this may be slightly unprofessional but it’s the only way that I can see if you’re getting over whatever’s eating at you.”

“This is ridiculous,” Sam rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I agree,” Bucky shook his head.

“This is the first time they’ve agreed on anything for the past twenty four hours,” I spoke up, leaning back in my seat to watch the show unfold.

“See? We’re making progress already,” Dr. Raynor said, “So, who wants to go first?”

Silence.

“No volunteers? Wow, how surprising…” she remarked, “Okay, we’re going to do an exercise. It’s something I use with couples when they are trying to figure out what kind of life they wanna build together. Are you familiar with the miracle question?”

“Absolutely not,” Bucky answered.

“Of course not,” Sam’s voice overlapped with Bucky’s.

“Okay, it goes like this. Suppose that while you’re sleeping, a miracle occurs. When you wake up, what is something that you would like to see that would make your life better?’

Bucky suddenly became chatty, “In my miracle, um, he would…he would talk less.”

“Exactly what I was gonna say,” Sam replied, “Isn’t that ironic?”

“You guys are leaving me with no choice,” Dr. Raynor shrugged, “It’s time for the soul-gazing exercise.” “I like this better,” Bucky perkily pointed a finger towards his shrink.

Sam chuckled quietly to himself, “He’s gonna love this.” “Yeah, I’m ready.” “This is right up your alley…” Dr. Raynor motioned for them to rotate, ”Turn around, face each other.” “You should really enjoy this,” Sam said acidly.

“I’m going to,” Bucky said with a sarcastic smile, the only one I’d seen him wear. “Let’s do it,” he said happily as Sam moved to face him, “Let’s stare. This is a good exercise, thanks Doc.” “Alright, get close,” Dr. Raynor instructed, they scooted slightly towards one another, “Come on, get closer.” With their knees touching, any further would put them much closer than either of them would ever want. “Which way do you want to go?” Bucky asked, “Right or left?” “Why are your legs open?” Sam asked impatiently, “You know what? Fine, here, you happy now?” He used Bucky’s chair to pull him forward so they legs were locked together.

“That’s a little close,” Bucky said loudly, adjusting in his seat. Sam nodded in agreement, “It’s very close, that’s what you wanted, right?”

I couldn’t hold in my laughter anymore, causing both of them to shoot daggers at me. “Is this fun for you?” Sam snapped, gesturing towards their touching thighs. “Very,” I grinned unapologetically.

“Guys,” Dr. Raynor held up a hand to silence us all, “Now, look at each other. You need to look at each other in the eyes,” they obeyed and lifted their eyes to meet, “There, you see? That wasn’t so hard.” The stares they wore intensified, “Wait, what are you doing?” Dr. Raynor asked, “Are you having a staring contest?” Sam adjusting his eyebrows was her answer, she leaned over the table and snapped her fingers. “Just blink! All right, James, why does Sam aggravate you?” Bucky turned to his therapist with as close to a real smile as I’d seen on him when she cut him off, “And don’t say something childish.” His head lolled to the side in defeat, his pink tongue came out to wet his lips as he thought over his answer. “Why did you give up that shield?” “Why are you making such a big deal over something that has nothing to do with you?” Sam shot back.

“Steve believed in you, he trusted you. He gave you that shield for a reason,” Bucky’s emotions were starting to seep out, “That shield, that is- that is everything he stood for. That is his legacy. He gave you that shield and you threw it away like it was nothing.” “Shut up…” Sam muttered.

“So maybe he was wrong about you. And if he was wrong about you, then he was wrong about me.”

The way that Bucky’s voice had quivered at the end was telling of just how deep the wound ran. But Sam’s forgoing of the shield was backed by reasons that Bucky could never wrap his mind around.

“You finished?” Sam spoke up, when Bucky said yes, he continued, “All right, good. Maybe this is something you or Steve will never understand. But can you accept that I did what I thought was right?”

This was the issue that made the heavy silence we were sitting in all the more complicated. Both men were valid in their feelings, but there would be no resolve for either of them. Steve was gone, Walker carried the shield and Bucky and Sam were trying their best to navigate a new world.

Sam scoffed, burying the emotions that I knew he was trying to hide from. “You know what, Doc? I don’t have time for this. We have some real serious shit going on. So how about this? I will squash it right now. We go deal with that, and when we’re done, we both can go on separate long vacations and never see each other again.” My eyes widened at how quickly the conversation had escalated. “I like that,” Bucky agreed.

“Great. Well, let’s get to work,” Sam turned to Dr. Raynor, “Thanks, Doc, for making it weird. I feel much better,” he turned to Bucky, “I’ll see you outside.” With a slap to his shoulder, he rose from his seat and was out the door in seconds. There was so much left unresolved that didn’t sit well with me. As Bucky went to stand up, I did too. “Actually, Doctor,” I walked around to table to take Sam’s empty seat, “I’d like to say a few things.” Bucky annoyedly fell back down into his chair and shook his head in irritation. I didn’t particularly care that he didn’t want to speak with me, all he had to do was listen. “I know you and Steve were best friends and I know how much he means to you. But I can’t sit here and watch you berate my brother relentlessly over the fact that he didn’t take up that mantle. It’s easy for someone like Steve to be Captain America without any pushback, but Sam?” I pointed to the closed door, “It’s a whole ‘other ballgame. And while Steve would never have fully understood it, he would have made an effort to. And he wouldn’t be pressuring Sam like you are. You need to drop this and you need to drop it now.” “Let’s get one thing straight,” his razor sharp jaw ticked in anger, “You don’t get to talk about Steve like you knew him or like you understand anything about our friendship. You never met him, you don’t get to speak for him.” He could have never known what button he had just pressed, but my reaction wouldn’t have changed even if he had. I sat up straighter in my chair, my steely eyes boring into him. “I didn’t know Steve? Well, then I guess it was a different Steve Rogers that Sam introduced me to when I came to visit him in D.C. And it must have been a different Steve Rogers that I visited at the Avengers compound when I helped Sam move in,” I leaned forward, the dam in my eyes threatening to break, “It must have been a different Steve Rogers that I ran to when people all around me started turning to dust.”

————

It was pouring rain outside the Avengers compound, the piles of dust that had rested on the ground having long since been washed away. Y/n stormed across the front lawn of the compound to the entrance, she had driven straight through for 20 hours from Delacroix to upstate New York. Getting past security hadn’t been hard once she had said who she needed to speak to and who it regarded.

Her boots squeaked across the floor as she marched through the compound, she’d only been once but she still remembered her way around. She navigated through hallways until she’d found the main room, she only recognized one of the figures that stood hunched over a table in deep discussion. At the sound of her entrance, each one of them turned around. “Y/n…” Steve said in shock, a relieved sigh spilling from his lips, “You’re okay.” “He’s here, right?” she trembled, “He’s in his room or the kitchen? Steve, tell me he’s here.” When Steve didn’t answer and ducked his head, Y/n pushed harder. “Tell me he’s here, Steve.” He looked back up, finally meeting her eyes. “I can’t do that.”

Y/n let the last bit of strength she had slip through her fingers as her soaked form dropped to the floor. Steve was quick to hold her, offering what little comfort he could, knowing that he wasn’t the person she wanted to see most in the world. She sobbed in his arms, the first step in the long process of mourning her brother.

Steve made a true effort to keep in contact with Y/n over the next five years. He flew down to New Orleans to visit every couple months or he offered to fly Y/n up to New York. About two years post Blip were when financial struggles really started to hit Sarah and Y/n’s business and Y/n had to decline each kind offer to meet him on his turf. When she explained why, Steve showed up on her doorstep two days later, ready to stay for the week and help out however he could. It wasn’t hard to see why Sam had bonded so deeply with Steve, he had just as big a heart as her brother.

The day that Sarah and Y/n received the joyous call from Sam that he was back from the dead was the best day of their lives. Y/n called Steve immediately after to tell him the news and thank him for whatever part she had guessed he’d played in reuniting their family. Her calls kept going to voicemail. After Sam’s reunion with his sisters and nephews, he took Y/n aside and handed her an envelope. Inside it was a letter from Steve explaining that he wouldn’t be returning after the restoration of the population. He wished her a good life with her family and that he had valued her friendship and kindness towards him. As brokenhearted as Y/n had been over the loss of her friend, when Sam told her the true reason behind Steve’s sudden disappearance, she was overjoyed that Steve had gotten somebody he loved back too.

Steve Rogers was there for Y/n in some of her darkest hours. They had bonded deeply, their friendship a single ray of light in their then darkened world. To see his shield paraded around by someone who didn’t embody the same qualities and values that he did hurt more than she let on. The world may have accepted John Walker, but he’d never be Captain America in Y/n’s eyes.

————

I had somehow made it through my retelling of my time with Steve without completely breaking down. A river of silent tears streamed down my cheeks but my voice held firm.

Bucky’s harsh stare had diminished significantly the longer I spoke. His plush lips were parted in surprise, words I didn’t care to hear hanging off of them.

“I don’t ever want to hear that I didn’t know Steve Rogers,” my voice threatened to break finally, “You’re not the only one who wants to protect his legacy.” Dr. Raynor had remained so silent while I talked, I’d forgotten she was there until she offered me a tissue. I hastily wiped my cheeks, ducking away from Bucky’s gaze. “Thank you, Doctor,” I said softly as I stood up, “This has been really helpful.” I wrapped my arms tight around my torso and exited the room as quick as I could, making a beeline for the lobby to find Sam. When he spotted me, he stood to attention. “What’s wrong? What happened?” “Nothing,” I shook my head, “I just want to get out of here.” He placed a protective hand on my shoulder as he watched me sniffle the last of my tears away. Bucky joined us seconds later, I couldn’t look directly at him after bearing so much of myself to him. The three of us left the police station in a now familiar silence, each deep in thought about what we’d revealed.

“Well, I feel better,” Sam said as we stepped out into the cool evening air. “I feel awful,” Bucky grumbled.

A siren whooping caught our attention, I wished it hadn’t. There stood Lemar Hoskins and John Walker, waving at us and calling us over. The three of us reluctantly made our way towards them. “Look, if we divide ourselves, we don’t stand a chance, you guys know that.”

Sam rolled his eyes and humored him, “So what do you got?”

“Well, the leader’s name’s Karli Morgenthau,” Walker explained, “We’ve been targeting civilians who’ve been helping Karli move from place to place.” “They geotagged a location, then scrambled the signal,” Hoskins interjected, “But our satellites have found their symbol popping up in various displaced communities all across Central and Eastern Europe.”

“We think she’s taking the medicine she just stole to one of these camps,” Walker finished.

“Well, there are hundreds of those all over the planet since The Blip,” Bucky spoke up across from me, “So I guess you’ll have to look real hard.” Walker smiled, “Good thing I have 20/20 vision, huh?” “Where is she now, Walker? Do you know?” Bucky asked. “No, we don’t know, Bucky,” his voiced raised, highlighting his frustrations, “It’s only a matter of time before we find out.” If I knew anything about Bucky by now, it was that he had no issue with provoking people. “Things are really intense for you, aren’t they, Walker?” I clapped my hands together once, “Okay, if this keeps going, someone’s probably gonna end up back in there behind bars so let’s just settle down.” “Look, Walker’s right,” Sam stepped forward, “It is imperative that we find them and stop them. But you guys have rules of engagement and all kind of authorizations you have to get. We’re free agents. We’re more flexible. So it wouldn’t make sense for us to work with you.”

We didn’t make it further than a three steps when Walker spoke up again. “Miss Y/l/n,” I stopped walking at his call, “You’re an enhanced individual, right?” “I’m what they call a mutant,” I spun on my heels to face him, “But to simplify it, sure, I’m enhanced.” Walker raised a condescending eyebrow, “Are you familiar with the Sokovian Accords?”

My spine stiffened, he was trying to blackmail me without actually saying the words. I was far too familiar with the accords and the ramifications they’d had on the Avengers. They’d sent Steve and Sam on the run for two years. “I think I’ve heard of them, yeah,” I smiled humorlessly. “It clearly states that any enhanced individuals who haven’t signed are not authorized to participate in any national or international conflicts or any missions run by private organizations such as the Avengers,” he gestured towards Sam, “You’re running with an Avenger, aren’t you?” A mirthless chuckle fell from my mouth as I watched him try and intimidate me. “Look, Craptain America,” I took slow and calculated steps towards him, “You can order your partner around or the soldiers that look up to you, but don’t think for one second that you can threaten me and try to pull the same shit the government did with Wanda Maximoff. I’m not going to be told who I can and cannot help.” Walker looked down at me menacingly, resembling a little boy who hadn’t gotten his way. “A word of advice then,” he said, eyes flicking between Sam, Bucky and I, “Stay the hell out of my way.” The juxtaposition between him and Steve had never been more apparent. Here he was daring to threaten me with incarceration followed by an ominous warning when it hadn’t worked. Bucky, Sam and I waited until him and Hoskins had left before heading our own way. “‘Craptain America?’” Sam echoed, slinging an arm around my neck, “I don’t think I’ve ever been prouder of you.” “It was a low blow,” I admitted with a contradictory smirk.

“Someone needed to say it,” Bucky chimed in, hesitantly looking over to me before quickly averting his gaze back to the sidewalk.

“Do I need to be worried that he threatened me with the accords? Are Sarah and I going to have S.H.I.E.L.D showing up on our door or something?” I asked.

“I think he’s just trying to intimidate you, but…” Sam inhaled wearily, “But I’d rather keep you here with us, just to be safe. If anybody were to come, we could protect you.” My smile grew as I looked up at Sam, the parameters of how to keep me safe had changed in my favor. I was almost grateful Walker had threatened me. “I can stay?” “Stop looking so happy about it,” Sam dropped his arm from around me, “This isn’t going to be easy,” he looked to our left to Bucky, “So what are you thinking?”

“Well, I know what we have to do,” he answered, if he had reservations about me sticking around, he was kind enough not to mention them. “When Isaiah said “my people…””

“Oh, don’t take that to heart. That’s not what he meant.”

“No, he meant HYDRA, HYDRA used to be my people.”

Sam thought the answer over for a second, decoding it. “Not a chance,” he scoffed.

“Walker doesn’t have any leads,” Bucky shrugged.

“I know where you’re going with this, no.” “He knows all of HYDRA’s secrets. Don’t you remember Siberia?” “Wait, you’re not talking about…” I sought out Bucky’s eyes that were still dodging mine. I didn’t need a history lesson on who he was referring to. “No. Not him. He’s crazy.” “We don’t exactly have a lot of other options,” Bucky said as if that was justification for what he wanted to do. “So you’re just gonna go sit in a room with this guy?” Sam asked. Bucky hesitated, searching for a more sophisticated answer. “Y-yes.” I may have been allowed to stay, but I knew that I wasn’t experienced enough yet to argue on their level. They knew when and how to make the difficult calls, they could operate in a grey area with little to no issues. All I could do was sit back, be taken along for the ride and tolerate any passengers who got in along the way.

“Okay, then,” Sam finally concurred, “We’re gonna go see Zemo.”

————

I couldn’t sleep.

We were back on the jet speeding back to Germany, this time with an even more sinister problem at hand. I had wanted to come along, I just hadn’t guessed that the reason I’d be allowed to stay would be because of a threat to my safety. All because of my powers. This was the reason why my father had been hellbent on keeping them a secret. I felt in a way that I��d failed him, that somewhere in the afterlife he was disappointed in me for telling the truth, even if I’d done it for the right reasons. Sam was conked out next to me, I envied his military training to get quick sleep wherever he could. I personally felt like I’d injected caffeine into my veins back in Maryland and hadn’t been able to come down since.

“Can’t sleep?” Bucky asked from where he laid on the floor, I thought he’d been unconscious the whole time.

“Can’t imagine why,” I dryly chuckled, “We’re only flying cross country to sit down and meet with one of the world’s most dangerous criminals. Why the floor?” “Oh,” he’d sat up and was looking back down at his lousy makeshift bed, his jacket balled up as a pillow and an itchy blanket, “It’s, uh, hard to explain.”

After a few seconds of near uncomfortable silence, he pushed himself up and made his way to where I sat. I tucked my legs under me to make room for his burly body. He was big enough that with all the space I’d tried to give him, my knees still brushed against his thick thigh. He sighed loudly, giving voice to the divide that if we’d have gone our separate ways, as planned, wouldn’t have mattered. Now that we were going to be working together, we couldn’t ignore what had been said in that interrogation room.

“Listen, about what…happened,” his face contorted in a mild cringe as he played the scene back in his head, “I’m sorry, for what I said.” “You didn’t know,” I offered, picking at a loose thread on my jacket, “I don’t talk about Steve a whole lot except with Sam.” “Still, I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that,” Bucky continued, folding his hands in his lap. “I’ve been rude since we met and that’s not okay. Especially when all you’ve done is try and help.”

“Don’t beat yourself up about it,” I leaned my head against the back of my seat, “No permanent damage done.” His thumbs danced together, his brows were knitted in concentration as he prepared to speak. “Can I, uh, ask you about your powers?”

I twisted so that I could properly face him, “Ask away.” “How did they happen?” “I was born with them, actually. I’ve got this thing called the X-gene, it’s supposed to manifest at puberty but for me it activated when I was really young,” I ran a hand through my hair, “Imagine being five years old and having blue come out of your fingers when you were reaching for a juice box.” A miracle occurred and Bucky’s lips actually quirked up in a half smile. It encouraged me to keep talking. “My mom wanted to take me to this school for kids like me but my dad forbade it. He kept saying that it was too dangerous and that somebody could find me. It was like he didn’t realize that it was a refuge for people with powers, not a hunting ground,” I paused, flashing back to arguments between my parents of which one of them actually knew what was best for me. “So instead, I just taught myself how to control them. There were a couple incidents but other than that, I’ve kept them under lock and key for a long time.”

Bucky had remained still and fascinated as I spoke, switching between watching my eyes and my lips. Suddenly it felt like nothing had ever gone on between us. We were just fellow soldiers or co-workers having a conversation outside of work.

“What do they think now? Your parents?” he asked, the ease of the moment slipping away with a simple question. He couldn’t have known the minefield he was stepping into.

“My mom doesn’t know yet that I told Sam,” I sighed deeply, inhaling strength and exhaling bad memories, “And my dad killed himself when I was a kid.” “Oh,” Bucky’s eyebrows lifted, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pried into-“

“No, no, it’s fine…” I waved him off, “Whether I want it to be or not, it’s a part of me. He was in the service and when he returned, he was diagnosed with severe PTSD. I was so young when he came home that I don’t really have any memories of him before it happened. He had all the classic symptoms; flashbacks, nightmares, paranoia, fits of anger, at some point he even stopped believing that he was a good father and husband,” I tear slipped down my cheek, “That was around the time it happened. We tried for so long to help him but the trauma consumed him. Every day he was just doing his best to survive himself.” I glanced up at Bucky to find that his eyes were just as watery as mine. It hadn’t dawned on me that I was telling him everything that he already knew about what happened when someone returned from war. He was living it out right now.

“I’m not trying to strike any nerves but…in that session tonight, I saw how much you were holding in. With Sam, with me…” I started, praying I wasn’t going to end up pushing him further away, “I’ve seen what bottling things up and isolating yourself can do to a person and it’s a hell I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. I know you don’t trust me yet but…if you ever do need somebody to talk to…I can’t understand your experiences, but I can recognize some of it.” Bucky truly looked lost, like he’d never been in the position of receiving such an offer. His face, usually so hardened, had softened so much he was almost unrecognizable. And yet there was still some barrier, some pain weaved between the hope and vulnerability that kept him from receiving my kindness with open arms. In the session, the pain I had seen in his eyes reminded me so desperately of that in my father’s eyes. If I didn’t try to help him, that look would haunt me for a long time.

“Thank you,” he finally said, his voice raspy enough to make me shiver. We sat there in the dark, both our walls we’d built around ourselves starting to crumble as we chipped away at one another. There was some feeling I couldn’t put a name to that had settled over us. The eyes that I’d avoided all day were now all I could focus on, digging into the deep blue pools and feeling like I could lay down my sword there. If we were going to get through this mission, we needed to be friends at least and I felt confidant we were on the path.

Bucky eventually cleared his throat, shaking me from my thoughts that he was at the center of. “We’re gonna be to Berlin soon, you should get some sleep.”

Internally, I smiled at the familiarity, it was almost word for word what he’d told me the other night. Only now the hostility had been dropped.

“You need it too,” I replied as he rose and made his way across the plane, “Goodnight, Barnes.” I curled up in a ball near Sam’s feet, praying he didn’t kick me in his sleep. I had just shut my eyes to try when a voice spoke up, “Bucky.”

“Hmm?” I opened one eye to see him lay back down on the floor, attempting to get comfortable.

“Call me Bucky.”

I pursed my lips slightly to decrease the size of my smile, I wasn’t the only one laying down their weapons. “Alright. Goodnight, Bucky.”

----

A/N: There’s something so powerful about name dropping Wanda Maximoff and Y/n having been besties with Steve Rogers lol. Hope you all enjoy, let me know what you thought or if you’d like to be tagged!

Safe Haven taglist: @tanyaherondale @wanniiieeee @asoftie4bucky @edencherries @i-reblog-fics-i-like @ttalisa @gcfty @withyoutilltheendofthismess @rinaispunk @weirdowithnobeardo @felicityofbakerstreet @godlypotterwhodiaries @eternalharry @voguesir @mizz-kraziii @okayline @smellmymisunderstoodfluff @wanderin-stories @nicklet94 @intricate-melody @aesthethickks @stumbleonmywords @simplybarnes @21bruhs @lostinwonderland314 @superbookishhufflepuff

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x fem!reader #bucky barnes imagine #sam wilson x reader #sam wilson x platonic!reader #marvel imagine

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httpdabi · 3 years

Text

His property

Word count: 6.0k

Genre: SMUT, maybe angst, romantic ? Lots of Dabi lol not sure if it’s yandere... yeah

Warnings: 18+, kidnapping I guess, fire play. Not sure how old Melissa actually is, so if she’s underage in anime, here she’s at least 21 y/I and allowed to drink

Qurikless OC being "saved" from not so hero person. :)

Being quirkless didn’t bother me that much. Sure, i was jealous when my friends started developing their own quirks, showing of. When they used to make a little show, competition which quirk is better, all I could do is sit in the side and adore them.

My parent were telling me almost every day to try to stay out of trouble. If there is a hero fighting a villain, I should just walk away. Because even their power can harm me. I learnt that I can just be at the wrong place In the wrong time and I could be in trouble. They always taught me to be extra careful.

When I was a kid, I used to depend on my parents too much. Today it was kinda different, I was giving my best to be independent as much as I can. Working at a small coffee shop, living in my small apartment. Trying to live as quiet as possible.

,,One caramel macchiato and one chocolate cappuchino” my co-worker said loudly for me to hear. Even tho it could be stressing, I loved my job. I loved making different drinks and talk with people.

I made a little ok sign and started making the ordered drinks.

The shift was passing real fast since there was a lot of work, there wasn’t even time for break. Of course, I could catch a minute and smoke one real fast. Being honest, I was fine with that.

After long ass night I changed into my dress and finally went home. Home wasn’t far from my working place, so if the weather is nice, I would take a walk instead of going home with bus.

,, Great” I hissed after trying to lit my cigarette. Perfect timing for my lighter to die. Little piece of shit gave up on me after such a hard time at work.

I sat down on the end of the bench, trying to find another one while the cigarette was still between my lips. There was nothing worse then forgetting your lighter or when it stops working.

,, Need a little help?” a man asked. I knew that few of them were sitting on the bench, but I didn’t pay attention that much. Before I could turn my head around to face him and take his lighter, his hand was in front of me, and he was lightning my cigarette up with his finger. Small blue fire coming from his finger, looking hella familiar. The purple skin with silver patches didn’t make a klick in my head either.

,,Thanks” I said fast, curious who it is, since my brain was telling me that I know this person. But once I looked at him, his head was already turned to another direction. Not wanting to bothering him or his friends, I just left believing it was someone I saw on my work. After all, we have a lot of costumers.

Time after work was my favorite, especially if I didn’t have to wake up early next day. A glass of wine, face mask, and phone in my hand. I couldn’t force myself to spend rest of the night locked up watching TV, so I enjoyed the beautiful weather on my balcony. I could see the little group of friends from my balcony. So I was lowkey stalking them a little, sad I couldn’t hear shit they were talking about. My little stalking was interrupted by a small vibration coming from my phone.

Of course it was Melissa. My one and only friend, quirkless bitch just like me. Usually I am not a person to use apps for meeting new people, but when I saw that there is an app for us quirkless sad motherfuckers, I had to instal it. And that’s how I met my soulmate Melissa.

Melissa: ,, What are you doing? I am on my way to your place´´

To Melissa: Chilling on the balcony and sipping on my wine. I´ll be on my way to buy us another bottle and strawberries.

I couldn’t even place my phone on the table and another message was already there.

Melissa: AMAZING!!! Can´t wait to get wasted with you. See ya in a bit loveeee u

Since The shop is near café and my home, there was no need for me to change. I was already in my pajama shorts and shirt, so all I did was wear my baggy hoodie over it. Taking my wallet, I sprinted fast to the shop.

The very next day, I had to work with a worst hangover ever. Melissa left my place around 10AM, groaning in frustration she had to wake up so early. But at least she didn’t have to work.

My shift began at 13PM, so I had some time to rest and let the painkillers work their wonder on me. Sadly the time before my shift started passed faster then I could imagine, and once again I found myself at my work.

From 13 to 16PM there isn´t much work. There are some people passing by after the end of their shifts, our usual costumers coming at the same time. But the exactly at 17PM is where the hell starts.

That was the very reason I liked morning shifts more, even tho I had to wake up so early. It was still less work then in late shift.

More and more orders were coming. Usually I would somehow manage to keep my shit together somehow, but this time I was real mad my boss didn’t get more workers. It could be much easier if there was 3 of us in the shift, instead of two of us.

Like we didn’t have enough stress already, there was a huge explosion near the café. Not paying much attention to it I continued making the drinks.

,, Get down!´´ my co-worker screamed and pulled me under the desk with her. I tried to peek and see what´s happening but in the very moment I did it there was another explosion, blowing me almost away.

In that moment I didn’t know if the explosion was beside our café again, or in it. But I could hear people screaming.

My co-worker started crying, telling me how my face is all bloody. Which was pretty weird, since I felt good. She was pulling me to the back side of the café telling me to use the back door and wait for her.

I did as she told me, seeing the mix of the red and blue flames freaked me out. It was the first time in my life to end up in situation like this, so a wave of panic took over me. Sobbing loudly, I sat down, hugging my knees. I was waiting for my co-worker, too scared to try and get help on my own, since I could still hear screams and people fighting.

Another explosion, probably in the café, since once again I was blown away. I could hear Ryuku and Kamui Woods asking if someone is here. But I couldn’t say a word, as much as I wanted to. I wanted to scream, but even a whisper was heavy at that moment.

Their voices were like echo, and the buildings around me started to get blurry.

I could feel my forehead being touched. My hair being placed behind my ear and someone telling me to wake up. Once I opened my eyes, I saw arm resting beside my head on the street. The same purple skin I saw last night.

I forced myself to look up, and the moment I saw that face, I felt embarrassed I didn’t recognize it before. Of course it was Leauge´s villain Dabi. Maybe the fact that I was trying to ignore the news around as much as possible, thinking if I stay in my safe zone I´ll protect myself. But of course I knew the League of Villains. Of course I knew Himiko Toga, Kurogiri, Shigaraki, Dabi and the rest of them. As much as I wanted to ignore everything happening in the city, I simply knew about them. Everyone does.

,, No´´ I whispered, not being able to feel pain or fear. My eyes looking beside him hoping hero or my co-worker will come and save me.

Dabi lowered himself trying to get my focus on him.

,, They are all gone. ´´ He said looking me directly in the eyes. Whit those words all the hope I had died. I closed my eyes while tears started to roll down my cheeks. This was it, I thought. Either way I´ll die from bleeding out or he´ll kill me.

,, Don´t worry babe, I won´t hurt you´´ He whispered, still playing with my hair. I had no power to say anything, all I could do is wait to fall into unconsciousness again.

His hands tried to pull me up, but somehow in that very moment everything started to feel heavy and I felt like I was about to vomit.

,,Fine, if you want to die, then die´´ He said, and once again everything else was black.

I woke up with sudden urge to vomit again. Being in dark unfamiliar room didn´t help either. The only thing that helped was the fact that I was alive. Before I could stand up and find bathroom, I vomited all over the floor. Maybe it´s weird, but I started crying, not only because I had no idea where I was, but also because I vomited. It´s a nightmare for me.

The door suddenly opened and at my surprise Dabi got inside. Which followed with me vomiting once more and crying again. Didn´t he let me die ?

,,Goddammit, I even prepared a bucket for you, can´t you use it ?´´ He said calmly. Grabbing my arm harshly, he pulled me up and forced me to walk out of the room.

,, I´m sorry´´ I sobbed, not wanting to make any problems. I didn´t want to do anything to provoke the villain.

,, Wait here´´ he said, forcing me to sit in the kitchen. Then he went back in the room I slept in.

The kitchen wasn’t big, but it wasn´t small either. There was a counter with drinks, and two tall uncomfortable chairs. On the other side were cabinets, sink, dishwasher, stove and freezer. Everything was in light and dark shade of gray.

,, Well, you can vomit like world champion´´ Dabi´s voice echoed thru the room. I could hear the toilet flush and his steps coming closer. It took him a second and there he was, standing in front of me. He went to the other side of the counter, took one glass and filled it with cold water.

,, So babe, what happened back there?´´ he asked, placing the glass in front of me. I was scared and confused, and I didn’t have any courage to look the man in the eyes or say anything.

,, I don´t know´´ I said quietly. He sighed and took a small box of cigarettes out of his pocket. Lighting his cigarette up with his quirk, just like he did yesterday.

,, You are lucky I noticed you trying to hide back there, since your little friend left without thinking twice´´ he said, as he puffed on his cigarette.

I wasn´t sure if I should feel sad, betrayed or mad. From all of the people back there, a villain saved my life. But I did feel thankful to him.

,,Thank you´´ I said, looking at him. His cigarette between his lips, eyes half closed.

,, What should I do with you´´ he said, finishing the cigarette and taking another one from the box. He placed the box in front of me.

When he realized that I won´t take one, he stood up and made his way toward me. Standing behind me, he placed his hands on my shoulders, slowly massaging them. His one hand pulled my hair back lightly, and other one placed his already lit cigarette in front of my lips.

,, Come on love, I know you smoke´´ he said, placing the cigarette between my lips with a little force. In a moment, his face was inches away from mine. I could feel his breath on my neck, making me freeze in the place.

,, Maybe I should keep you for myself here´´ he whispered, breathing deeply on my ear. ,,After all, I can protect your quirkless little body´´ he addes slowly.

There were many things going thru my mind at that moment. What did he mean ? How did he know I don´t have a quirk?

Days and weeks passed and there I was still at Dabi´s place. First few days I was left alone, either way he was really busy or just wanted to give me some time. Dabi let me sleep in his room, since I couldn´t force myself to sleep in the one I vomited. Maybe it was my imagination, but I could still smell the vomit.

His room was decorated in dark shades. One black king sized bed in the middle, dark green walls and black furniture. On the right side were huge windows and balcony. Since I was alone, I gave myself a little bit of freedom. After all, he didn´t seem that dangerous as everyone said.

At the beginning he didn´t let me cook or do anything that could be dangerous in his opinion. He didn´t trust me at all, being sceptic that I might poison him. He did try to keep me entertained, giving me Nintendo Switch with some games like Pokemon, Super Mario, etc. He also didn´t have any problem with Netflix or whatever I wanted. I know those are small things, but being with him, I expected less.

After some weeks passed, I was seeing him more often. He would casually get inside his room, since there was the balcony. Without knocking or any sign. Well, it was his room after all. Sometimes he would just bring us some fast food, ice cream and force me to eat with him. At least he thought so. I didn´t have any problem with it.

After 3 weeks passed, I started to realize that I was pretty much attracted to this man. I wasn´t someone who falls easily for a man, but his attitude, his cold personality, the way he moves, the way he talks, the way I could catch him look at me, it was all extremely attractive to me. It probably all started the day I caught him sitting beside me, thinking I was asleep. It was around 3AM when I heard him coming inside his room. He sat beside me, and started caressing my cheek softly.

In that moment all I could do was just pretend that I was still asleep.

After that night, he would come at night and just sit there with me, thinking I was asleep.

I opened the window and sat on the balcony, admiring the sight of the buildings and colorful lights coming form the streets, and cars.

,, I don´t remember allowing you to go outside.´´

He was standing to my left side, looking at the street.

,, Planning how to run away?´´ He added, not paying attention to me. He was wearing black pants, with dark grey oversized sweater. His presence was too much for me, it wasn’t that I was scared of him, but I was too shy, I couldn´t look him in the eye without thinking about him sitting next to my ´´sleeping´´ form and looking at me, playing with my hair.

,, You know what will happen if you even try´´ he said getting closer to me. I could feel his hands on my hips, holding them firmly. I could smell his strong cologne mixed with smoke. He told me if I even think about running away, he would burn me down even my ashes will disappear. Somehow he knew who my parents are, who my friends are and he said he would kill every single one of them.

At first I didn’t believe him, somehow I thought he isn´t capable of something like that. But I changed my mind once I saw him on the news, where it was talk about his victims.

His thumb was going in circles, making a small pressure on my hip. I didn´t think of running away. First of all I wasn´t brave enough, second of all, I was so unimportant to this world that I didn´t hear shit about me on the news.

,, Can I have my phone ?´´ I asked him, not thinking about his reaction or anything. I just wanted to contact my parents and Melissa.

,,Wha..?´´ he laughed out. His hold getting stronger, keeping me in my place.

,, Babe, do you think I´m that stupid ?´´ he laughed, turning me around to face him. If I wasn´t in a situation like this, I would probably feel the urge to touch his scars, being so close to me.

,, I just want to contact my family and my friend. I won´t do anything that might harm you´´ I said, not breaking the eye contact.

,, Harm me ? ´´ he laughed, his face inches from mine. This man was indeed driving me crazy.

,, Please, you can control me if you want. I won´t delete any message, I´ll do whatever´´ I managed to say somehow. His lips being so close, it was a wonder I could speak at all.

The moment his lips brushed against mine, I felt all possible feeling I could in my stomach. ,, You´ll do whatever?´´ he said, his head still tilled to the side, and lips brushing over mine. I could feel a small smirk forming on his lips.

,,I´ll think about it´´

After that day, he didn´t hold himself at all. Doesn´t matter what I was doing, if he felt like being close to me, he would just do it. If I was cleaning, making myself a snack, playing some games, he would just casually slip his hands around my waist.

Laying down on the couch, legs up on the wall, while playing Super Mario. There was one level I couldn´t pass as hard as I tried to. It was just too troublesome. Dabi was sitting in the kitchen, smoking and watching the gameplay. I could hear him mumbling something to himself, before he made his way and sat beside me, taking the controllers out of my hand.

I was surprised when he started passing the level without any trouble, defeating Iggy Koopa so easily.

,, YAAASSS´´ I screamed grabbing the sleeve of his hoodie and shaking it happily. I was dealing with that level probably two days in a row.

In the moment when I was about to ask him how did he do it so easily, he threw the controllers to the side, grabbing my right leg with his left hand, and my hip with his right hand. Pulling my body to his direction. I couldn´t even understand what was exactly happening in that moment, since it happened so fast. He placed my legs around him, and hovered over me.

,, Don´t I need a little present for this win?´´ he said looking at me, placing small kisses over my face. This time, I couldn´t suppress the need to touch his scars. The curiosity took over me, and suddenly I found myself, placing my index finger beside his lip. Moving my finger lightly to the left side of his face. The moment I did that he froze in the place, not kissing me, or doing anything. His body twitched once my finger was under his eye, touching the scars and the small patches.

He grabbed my jaw, and kissed me forcefully, forcing his tongue inside, not giving me a chance to breath. His other hand was under focused on pulling my shirt up, just enough for my bra to be visible.

,, You are driving me crazy´´ he said, his lips now on my neck, one hand still on my jaw and other grabbing my left breast making me moan suddenly. I could feel him smirk while leaving wet love marks over my neck.

Having Dabi around was something I hoped for now. I was hoping for those unexpected touches and waiting for him to come at night like he always did.

What surprised me was the fact that he actually gave me my phone. Telling me that he will control my messages and that if he notices I´m deleting them, things won´t be smooth as they are now.

Somehow, I didn´t even feel the urge to write something bad, to ask for help or anything ? I found myself wanting to be in his presence, I wanted him to be close to me.

He already contacted my parents and Melissa before, telling them that I´m alright. He ignored the rest of the messages they sent me. They wanted to see me, they were worried. Melissa thought she did something wrong, since I was ignoring her.

The moment I contacted her, my phone started buzzing with all the messages she started sending me. Where am I? Why did I ignore her ? What happened ? Am I ok ? What happened to my work?

To my parents I simply wrote that I’m fine and safe.

At my surprise, they told me they know where I am, and that we can work it out. They told me that he waited for them home one night. Telling them he felt they need to know where you are, and telling them if they try contacting a hero or police what will happen to me.

I told them that there is no need for me to go anywhere and that I feel safer then I ever was.

After I found out that my parents know, I felt the need to tell everything to Melissa too. She was my best friend after all and I knew she would understand me.

I explained everything what happened that night. Explained how he saved me, how he’s taking care of me and trying to give me everything I need. At first she was really surprised once I mentioned his name. I mean, who wouldn’t be surprised ? But if I’m happy, then she’s happy too. She never judged me even once.

Dabi wasn’t home, so out of boredom I decided to make some food. Maybe he’ll eat it too once he comes home. I decided to make Spaghetti with Quattro formaggi sauce. I noticed that he really likes cheese, so maybe he will give it a try.

After having dinner on my own, I decided to watch some movie on Netfix before I go to bed and once again wait for him. The movie wasn’t anything special, but I still forced myself to finish it. My mind was away all the time, not being focused on the movie at all. All I could think of was Dabi. If someone told me that I would be so desperate for LOV’s villain Dabi, I wouldn’t believe them. But there I was, waiting for him like a lost puppy.

Placing my phone on the Kitchen counter, I made my way to his bedroom. For some reason he was still sleeping in the other room. Making me wonder how does it feel to sleep next to him, and why he let me sleep in his room for such a long time.

I slowly lain down on the right side of the bed, focusing on the lights coming from the outside. Covering my lower part with the blanket. The soft lace pajama that was hugging my body, gave me some comfort in some weird way. I lain on my stomach and placed my left arm under my pillow. Closing my eyes, I inhaled a deep breath trying to keep myself awake.

It was around 2AM when I heard the door slowly open. I could hear his steps, I could hear how he’s in the kitchen, taking my phone, and shortly after placing it back again. I could hear the shower and his soft humming.

Not shortly after that, I could hear him coming. Slowly opening the door and making his way toward me. Sitting to my left side, he took a deep breath, placed his long lags next to mine, and slowly caressing my head. His fingers slowly found their way to my neck, moving left and right.

,,I know you’re awake’’ he said, as his finger slowly brushed the lace on my right shoulder down. In one moment, he was pacing a kiss on my shoulder, and in the next one he was hovering over me. I could feel him on my back. His face inches from mine. When our eyes met, I wasn’t sure if I felt embarrassed or glad.

He took a deep breath once more, and started placing kisses down my back, while his fingers were on my hips. With every kiss, I was going more and more insane.

Dabi got off me, and pulled me to lie to the side, once again facing my back.

,, Such a good girl for me’’ he said pushing my pajama slowly up, and touching my right breast slowly, while biting my neck. All I could do was move my head in the right direction, giving him more access to my neck.

,, Move your legs a bit for me babe’’ he said, placing his hand under my shorts. He didn’t give me a chance to do it on my own tho, forcefully moving my tights and slipping his hand under my panties. My head fall back onto his chest, moan slipping out of my mouth once I felt his touch.

,, Are you my good girl?’’ he asked, stopping his fingers form any movement. Feeling his hot breath on my neck, I forgot how to speak properly.

,, Y-yes’’ I managed to say somehow. Every kiss, breath, word, move from him, made me crazy wanting for more. I could lie to myself and say it’s only because it’s such a long time since I went in bed with someone. But I there’s no need for lies, I’m attracted to this man.

His fingers started moving in circles, massaging my clit just as I wanted. Placing his knee between my legs, giving himself more space for movements. I closed my eyes and moaned, once his finger enter me. Without any word his fingers started to move in and out, so slowly that it was painful. Loving every second of it.

Once again, he pulled me over, making me lie on my back, placing himself between my legs, pinning my hands over my head. No words could describe how I felt in that moment. This time I moved my head foreword and kissed him. I wanted more. He returned the kiss, and started grinding his lower part of body against me, making me feel his erection.

Whit every move he made, I wanted more and more.

When he let go of my hands, I immediately started touching his body, I wanted to feel his skin, his scars. The moan escaped his lips once I started kissing his neck. Not wasting any time, he pulled his whit shirt over his head and threw it across the room, giving me access to his well build chest. Without thinking twice, I started kissing his chest, the purple scars he had. His head was hanging low, breathing deeply.

His hand found it’s way to my throat, grabbing it harshly and pulling me up a little. ,, Time to undress you love’’ he said, his hand like a neckless around my throat.

Moving my ass up a bit, Dabi pulled my shorts and panties down, throwing them on the floor. When I was about to take my top off, he pushed me down smirking a little. Slowly playing with the lace on my right shoulder, he did something I didn’t expect. The blue flame appeared on his fingers, destroying the lace. First the right one, then the left one. His lit index finger went down over the material of my top, from my chest to my stomach, flaming it up just enough to destroy the material.

Once it was destroyed, Dabi pulled the rest of my top that was under me and also threw it across the room. Taking a good look of my naked body, he slowly went down, placing soft kisses over my stomach. The fact that I could feel his burnt skin too was taking me over the edge.

,,What if’’ he breathed out, still leaving wet kisses over my stomach and chest. ,, What if everyone knows to who you belong’’ he said, eyes looking up on me, trailing his finger around my stomach. His left hand holding my hip, making sure no movements were possible.

,,What do you mean?’’ I asked confused, not able to understand anything clearly anymore. There was no need for me to even think about it, because Dabi already made his decision to mark me as his. A loud scream escaped my mouth the moment I felt my skin getting burned.

His hand was still holding me firmly, but he immediately stopped what he was doing, and placed his hand over my mouth.

,,Relax, it will be over just in a minute’’ he said, kissing me deeply. He took the destroyed top and placed it between my lips. Making sure I was biting the destroyed piece of cloth, he slowly went down to finish what he started.

Making sure I won’t interrupt his work, he held my hands together firmly, while holding my legs with his weight down. Every move of his finger, burning my skin, was sending a wave of pain through my body. Closing my eyes, tears rolled down my cheek. Back aching up, screaming into the cloth in my mouth, nothing of it helped me calm down. But he was correct, it took him around minute to finish. Pulling the cloth out of my mouth, he kissed me.

,, Such a good girl’’ he said in between the kisses. Pulling my head up, I saw his name on my stomach. ,,Now everyone knows who you belong to’’ he added, leaving wet love bites all over my neck. From all the pain I felt when he was burning my skin down, everything after that felt like aftercare.

Dabi stood up, taking off his shorts and boxers before he climbed on top of me again. He kissed me once mere before he started rubbing his hard dick over my clit. He knew that I wanted more, but the he liked the fact that I was so desperate for him.

,, Dabi please’’ I moaned out, wanting him inside me already. Without any word or sign, he entered me roughly, not giving me any time do adjust to his size.

,,Of course I’ll give my good girl what she needs. You are too good tonight’’ He said kissing my nose, while my hands were grabbing the covers of his sheets to find my comfort in them.

He didn’t move for some minutes, leaving wet love marks over my chest. But once he was done, he slowly pulled his dick out so only his tip was inside of me. Then again, slammed it back inside. The harsh move, made me place my hands over his back, finding comfort there instead of the cold sheets.

He moved few times with the same method. Every time he would slam his dick back inside I wanted to dig my fingers inside his skin. But I was too afraid I would hurt his already burnt skin. I didn’t want to hurt him.

After he slammed too hard inside me, I accidentally dug my nails into his skin. It was probably not to hard, but still I caressed the place I thought I hurt and apologized to him.

,,You don’t have to worry about it love’’ he said stopping his movements. ,, My skin is already bruised, few new scars won’t hurt me’’ he added, giving me the permission to do what I want. Whit those words his movements started to speed up, making me throw my head back into the pillow and wrap my legs around him.

Dabi bit my shoulder, groaning into it, while he was getting faster and deeper with every move he made. Even tho I was still worried about his skin, I couldn’t help it, my nails were scratching it and digging into it enough to keep up with his moves.

,,I’m close’’ I moaned, while every thrust was bringing me closer to my orgasm. I didn’t have to repeat myself or wait, his hand found it’s way to my clit, rubbing it fast into circles. Which was enough for me to cum all over his dick while moaning his name out.

Without any word, Dabi turned me around on my stomach and entered me form behind once again. Holding my hips strongly while thrusting deep in and out of me. Being sensitive form my orgasm, with every thrust he did, my moans were louder.

,, Ass up’’ he said suddenly stopping his moves. Once I did what he told me, he grabbed my head and pushed it deep into the soft pillow and started to fuck me like there was no tomorrow. The sound of his skin slapping my own, the image of what was happening almost drove me close to my second orgasm.

My moans were huffed by the pillow, while Dabi was fucking me into the mattress.

,, Yess babe, cum for me again’’ He groaned into my ear, fucking me even harder.

,,So close’’ he moaned, touching my clit again and moving even faster and deeper if it was even possible. He didn’t have to touch me much, another orgasm was already hitting me hard.

,, Yess baby, so good’’ he moaned, while his dick started twitching inside of me. I felt his hot cum inside, closing my eyes, trying to catch my breath. Dabi didn’t stop, he tried to fuck his seed deep into me, until he thought it was enough.

Falling beside me, his arm over my back, breathing deeply into my neck. I wanted this moment to last forever.

His fingers trailing up and down my back slowly, while smoking a cigarette. The cold air coming form the opened balcony was a contrast to his hot fingers going up and down.

Once I noticed the cum that started to leak out, I stood up covering my body with the blanket, making my way to the bathroom to clean myself and wear another pajama.

When I finished, and changed. I found Dabi standing in the kitchen, already in his white shirt and his shorts for sleeping. Half of his cigarette was finished.

,, You coming back?’’ I asked.

,, Don’t you want to sleep alone ?’’ he asked turning taking one last smoke before placing the end of the cigarette under the water and throwing it away. I shook my head slowly, and made my way toward his room, hoping it’s enough for him to come back.

Once I buried my head into his pillow, I waited for him to follow me. But the steps were going to another direction, making me sigh deeply.

Shortly after that, at my surprise, Dabi appeared again. Holding some lotion in his hands. He sat beside me pulling the sheet down and my pajama dress up. Small smirk appearing over his lips at the sight of his name on my stomach.

Banding down, he kissed it few times before he applied the cold lotion all over it. Laying down beside me, he placed his arms around me and pulled me closer to him and hiding his face into my neck breathing my scent in.

With his presence and arms around me, it was the first night I could fall asleep peacefully not feeling scared of anything in this world.

Hope you liked it, too lazy to correct all the mistakes.

Also credit to the owner of the photo :)

Much loveeee

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babymetaldoll · 4 years

Text

The morning after (Spilling drinks on my settee part 2) Spencer Reid/Reader

Requested: Yes! it’s my first request! thank you, anon!!

Prompt: Hungover Spencer has to face Reader after she caught him drunk, puking outside her house. He also has to face Morgan’s teasing after he confessed he was in love with Reader.

Pairing: Spencer/Reader

Warnings: none

Category: Fluff

Word count: 1,9K

Part one here

Masterlist

If it had been up to Spencer, he would have never left his bed that day. As soon as he opened his eyes, the headache that hit him made him realize that was going to be a long day. A long and shitty day.

He sat on his bed slowly ‘cos the whole room was spinning. He was still fully dressed, why? There was puke on his shoes and pants… and a Gatorade on his nightstand? He was confused, he didn’t leave that there, right? no… maybe? he didn’t really remember. Why was he still dressed? he didn’t remember. How did he get home? he didn’t remember

- “Shit!”

Until he did.

There was a flash of embarrassment, guilt, and nausea on his face, suddenly it was all coming back.

- “Shit!”

That was the only word Spencer could use. He had gotten drunk, confessed to Morgan he was in love with (Y/N), he had actually tried to…

- “Shit!”

Maybe alcohol had managed to unplug a part of Reid’s brain, ‘cos apparently, “shit” was the only thing he was able to pronounce, at least for a few minutes.

All the embarrassing memories of the night before kept coming back to his mind, they were fragments of someone else’s life he was watching from outside. It was all too humiliating. (Y/N) saw him puking outside her house. He was outside her house ‘cos he wanted to know why she had been out on a date with a guy from a dating website. He had told Morgan he loved her, and nearly cried.

Spencer Walter Reid was doomed, and he knew it. It was going to take a lot of courage, patience, and Gatorade to go through that day.

His cellphone kept buzzing, but once he realized it wasn’t a case, but (Y/N) and Morgan trying to reach him, he ignored it the whole subway ride to work. He couldn’t even read, his brain wasn’t working, he couldn’t concentrate at all. He just wanted to disappear forever. What had he done? how could he ever face (Y/N) after what happened? And what if Morgan had already told everyone what happened? of course he had, Reid thought, and his red cheeks were now purple.

Humiliation was written across his face and his stomach tightened as he set foot into the bullpen. He took a quick look around and sighed relieved. Apparently, there was no one else there yet, the whole place seemed empty, although there was a fresh cup of coffee with extra sugar on his desk, a grilled cheese sandwich, and a chocolate frosted donut with sprinkles.

That could only mean one thing.

- “Hey, how are you feeling this morning?”- Spencer froze in panic and turned around very, very slowly. His heart was beating so fast, he was sure (Y/N) could listen to it. She was waving at him with a shy smile on her face. She didn’t look mad, or uncomfortable. She looked… worried.

- “H… he… hey, (Y/N)-” he stuttered and waved. He knew he had to say something- anything- but nothing seemed to come to mind. He was literally speechless.

- “How are you feeling?”

- “G… g… good, I’m good, I’m ok”- Spencer wanted to slap himself. He was humiliated already, but his behavior wasn’t making it any better. He had to put his shit together somehow.

- “I’m glad”- she sighed relieved, rubbing his arm sweetly, and her touch made him shiver right away. He tried to smile at her, but he was left speechless again. It was a painful scene to see.

- “I was worried sick, you didn’t pick up your phone earlier”- Reid just nodded and looked down.

- “I got you the best recipe to cure your hangover, coffee of course, and I filled half the cup with sugar, just the way you like it”- the way (Y/N) stuck out her tongue and giggled, hypnotized him.

- “I made you a grilled cheese sandwich, I don't know how many times you've woken up feeling like shit after a party, but I'm pretty sure I’ve got a lot more experience than you, and greasy food always helps me coming back to life.”

Spencer nodded, trying to follow the conversation, but his brain was still malfunctioning and his head was pounding sharp and heavy.

- “And your favorite donut 'cos you need extra sugar”

- “Thanks”- his voice was a sweet whisper. (Y/N) looked at him worried and rubbed a hand on his arm gently again.

- “Are you gonna tell me what the fuck happened last night?”- the painful grimace on Spencer's face was enough.

- “I'm just worried something bad happened to you “

- “No, no, no”- he shook his head frenetically and regretted the movement immediately. His head was killing him- “I just couldn't handle my drinks, that's all.”

- “Are you sure?”- lying to profilers could be the hardest thing on earth.

- “Yeah, yeah”

- “Good, I was worried you were going to call in sick…”- there was a short silence between them, they just stared at each other and sighed.

(Y/N) couldn’t stop thinking he had called her “Buttercup” and didn’t know how to ask him to do it again, and again, every day. And Reid had no idea what to do next. So he just said the first thing that came to mind.

- “Did you know hangovers are estimated to cost $148 billion each year due to hangover individuals calling in sick to work or performing poorly on the job.”

- “Pretty boy!!”

Derek’s voice walking over them made Spencer’s heart stop in fear, he just waved at his friend with his less expressive smile - the one (Y/N) called “frog face”- and just prayed to whatever god that might exist, that Morgan wouldn’t embarrass him more than he was already.

- “How are you feeling today, kid?”

- “I’m ok, thanks”

- “You are lucky there’s no case, yet”- Dr. Reid nodded and looked around, trying to find a way to run away from Morgan and (Y/N).

- “Nice breakfast”

- “I thought he was going to need extra energy today”- the young woman smiled proudly- “And when are you going to explain to me what happened last night? why did you let him get that drunk?”

Morgan knew (Y/N) was going to be mad at him, so he just looked at Spencer and waited to see if he had made up any lie already

- “I… I told you, I just couldn’t keep up with Derek”

- “Yeah”- his friend immediately supported his lie. Which wasn’t a complete lie- “I pushed Reid to drink at my pace, and I guess pretty boy ain’t ready to drink like a man.”

On a regular day, Spencer would have hated that last comment, ‘cos he was sick and tired of his friend treating him like a toddler. But under those circumstances, he just nodded and tried to stay calm.

- “And why were you outside my house?”

- “We were looking for a cab, started walking… and Reid remembered you live close to the bar”- Spencer’s eyes opened wide at those words- “And he wanted to stop by.”

- “No I didn’t”- Reid knew he would lose in a fight with Derek, but he was willing to give it a try and punch him if that successfully stopped him from talking.

- “Kid, you were drunk, you don’t remember, but you wanted to stop by and see (Y/N)”- the girl looked at Reid and bit her lips

- “Is that so? you got drunk and started thinking of me?”

Spencer couldn’t speak. He felt his hands shaking, so he hid them in his pockets and tried to come up with anything, literally anything to say. But he had nothing.

- “Yes, pretty boy wanted to see you…”- Morgan just smiled, tapped on Spencer’s back, and walked away chuckling. He knew Reid needed a push to open up to (Y/N). Maybe this was what he needed.

- “Why did you think of me?”- (Y/N) was now intrigued and excited. Drunk Reid was a whole new side of her friend, and the fact he had dragged Derek to her house when he was intoxicated gave her a little hope. Maybe he liked her too, the way she was head over feet for him.

- “I…”- Spencer was chocking with words, he turned around, grabbed the coffee, and took a sip of it.

- “You?”

- “I don’t remember”- disappointment was written all over (Y/N)’s face. They just stared. Spencer drank his coffee and the girl simply sighed.

- “I see”- he could read there was something there, but he didn’t want to get his hopes high. He was sure (Y/N) could never feel the same way he did. Right?

- “Can I ask you something?”- he whispered- “Why didn’t you tell me about the dating website?”

Now (Y/N) was embarrassed. She couldn’t take her eyes from her friend’s as she kept thinking about what to say. How to lie?

- “It wasn’t important, Prentiss forced me, I didn’t want to do it”- she simply confessed and smiled- “Why?”

- “I don’t know, it was weird, I thought… well…”

- “You know I tell you everything important”- (Y/N) wanted to make sure Spencer understood that the date had meant nothing.

- “And… are you planning to do it again?”

- “Never”- the smile on her lips was so honest, Spencer’s heart was relieved- “So, tomorrow’s Saturday, got any plan?”- those words, they were music for his ears.

- “Actually, there is a Russian horror movie festival tomorrow night, they’ll be showing Solaris, Viy, and Lyumi”

- “Original Russian, I presume”

- “But this time I’m pretty sure there will be subtitles”- (Y/N) pouted disappointed.

- “Bummer, I like when you have to translate the whole movie for me”- and she meant it, having Reid whispering every word in her ear for two hours was the closest she had been to heaven in her entire life. The young doctor chuckled with a huge grin and turned to his desk again.

- “Usually, translation doesn’t represent the intention behind the dialog…”- Reid was full of it and he knew it, but he had nothing to lose and lot to win- “So if you want, I can still whisper the English version for you”.

Those last words left his lips as quickly as possible, ‘cos he was embarrassed.

- “Then it’s a date”- her smile was bigger than imagined when she turned around and started walking to her desk.

Was it a date? why did she say that? Reid tried to stay cool and not overthink everything, but it was Reid, which meant it was hard, nearly impossible. Overthinking was his thing.

He wanted to go out on a date with (Y/N), but… was that actually a date? what if he brought flowers for her and she didn’t mean “date” as a date but just as two friends going out together? that would be mortifying.

(Y/N) didn’t know if Spencer had thought she wanted it to be a real date. She did, she just didn’t know if she was asking or if he had or…

Yes, they were both excellent overthinkers.

- “Hey, honey”- if she was already embarrassed and anxious about using the word “date”, she could always make it worst.

Spencer turned to look at her he took a bite of his sandwich.

- “It was really sweet last night when you called me Buttercup”- Reid nearly choked. He had completely forgotten about it, and suddenly he felt the urge to run and hide. But he couldn’t even move. He couldn’t even swallow the food he was chewing

- “You had never called me by a nickname before…”- she bit her lips and took a deep breath- “I loved it… in case you want to use it again.”

Spencer nodded and watched his best friend walk away to get herself a coffee. He could feel someone else’s eyes on him from across the office. Morgan winked at him and nodded.

- “Nice, kid”

#spencer reid #criminal minds #matthew gray gubler #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #fluff #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds x reader #dr. spencer reid #requested #fanfiction #babymetaldoll writes

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brokenbeskar · 3 years

Text

Repairs

Chapter Five of Memories Reforged (Din Djarin x F!Reader)

Word Count: 11.7k

Summary: You and the Mandalorian make an emergency landing on Utrost and need to find a way to pay for repairs

A/N: This one ended up a bit longer than I had originally intended, but I had a ton of fun writing it! Hopefully you all enjoy! <3

You and the Mandalorian hadn’t spoken another word to each other while in the confines of space. You’ve simmered down quite a bit since the other day. You’re still mad--of course you are! you had every reason to be. Only instead of a burning rage, it's subsided into a simple distaste for the man you have to share the confines of this ship with. You get the feeling he probably feels the same way.

The two of you weren’t avoiding each other by any means, neither of you were that petty, but the both of you definitely made a point not to linger around the other for too long. If he was in the cockpit, you would spend your time in the hull, and vice versa. You were purely co-existing with each other, silently passing by each other without a word. There was no direct malice by it, but there wasn’t any friendliness either. You were simply co-workers. Co-workers who didn’t like each other, but needed one another to get the job done.

You’ll admit, you’re a little embarrassed by how you acted the other day. Not that it was unjustified-- oh no, without a doubt, it was definitely justified.

Even still, you usually have a pretty good handle on your emotions. To completely blow up on him like that wasn’t something you would have expected from yourself. It's not what you're used to.

None of this was what you were used to, if you’re being honest.

Working a job with someone else--someone other than your husband. It feels strange. Everything has felt strange since he died. Nothing feels quite right anymore, and the shit show that took place on Coruscant? Just feels like another log thrown into the burning pile of things that have gone wrong for you.

You miss him.

Everyday you do, but especially when things go wrong--when things get hard. Especially now that you're stuck in the confines of this ship while you limp your way to Utrost. There's nothing to do other than wait.

You have the kid to keep you busy sometimes, but when he’s sleeping, or spending time with his metal clad guardian, you’re left with nothing but your wandering mind. Left with nothing to do but think of him. Letting your thoughts transport you to a simpler and happier time. When nothing else in the galaxy mattered so long as you had each other.

You fully immerse yourself in reliving the little things. The sound of his voice--both how it sounded running through the filter of his helmet, but how smooth and utterly rich it sounded without it. The way he sounded calling out for you, adoration lining every inch of his voice, like he was falling in love with your name for the first time everytime he said it. The way it would sound when he would first wake up, gravelly and warm. The way he would let out a soft hum as he pulled you tight against him--the warmth of his strong arms wrapping around you.

Maker, what you would give to be in his arms again. To be comfortably wrapped up in his embrace after all of this...he would make it feel like nothing bad had ever happened to begin with. What you would give to have him comfort you, tell you everything was going to work out, and tell you everything would be okay, just like he used to.

***

You’re still shaking as you run a sterilizing agent over his wounds. Your heart is still beating just as fast as it was, despite you being back in the safe confines of your ship. He’s watching over you silently as you slowly and tenderly clean the blood, dirt, and grime from his damaged skin. He winces slightly when you apply pressure, and you immediately halt your actions and shoot him a worried look, your heart pounding against your chest. The last thing you want to do is hurt him. You’ve done enough of that today…

“It’s okay,” He reassures you, bringing his free hand up to lightly cup your cheek, gently running his thumb along the high of your cheekbone, “I’m okay.” He offers you a warm smile, but it just makes your gut wrench.

“No thanks to me…,” You murmur, dropping your gaze back down to his injury, as you resume your work.

“You’re not the one who came at me with a vibroblade.” He lets out a chuckle, “Not that I would be opposed if you did, could be sexy.” He shrugs lightly. More jokes. It’s always jokes with him, but you don’t find it funny. No, this was serious to you.

When you don’t give any sort of response in return like usual, he knows something's off. Of course he had noticed you were shaken up, but he wrongly assumed it was lingering adrenaline from the incident. He reaches out and lightly catches the wrist of your working hand, halting you from continuing to work on his wounds.

“What’s wrong, Sen’ika?” He gives your wrist a gentle squeeze.

You tighten your grip on the sanitizing wipe in your hand, “This isn’t the time for jokes.” You spit out seriously, “You’re injured. You’re lucky it wasn’t worse!” You can’t even look at his face, you just glance over all his injuries. With each one you see, guilt pools in your chest, the sharp pain of it weighing heavy as you breathe. “This is my fault...you got hurt because of me…” You trail off as you bring your free hand up to lightly trail your fingers over the skin next to the sizable gash across his upper arm.

“Yeah, I got hurt, but it's not that bad...and it’s definitely not your fault, sweetheart.” He tugs at your wrist, bringing up to his face so he can trail tiny kisses along the side of it.

“But it is!” You yank your wrist back from his gentle grasp, “I messed up! I made a mistake! You had to come and save me, because I fucked it all up! Again! And this time--this time you got hurt! Maybe---maybe I’m just not cut out for this…” You trail off at the end defeatedly.

“Ner laar sennar…,” He breathes out sweetly as he reaches out for you, placing his hands firmly on the sides of your shoulders, “We all make mistakes. I knew the risk I was taking when I rushed in like that. You’re too hard on yourself. You’ve only just started this job a few months ago, and yet you’re already better than most in the guild. You’re a very impressive and capable bounty hunter.” He rubs his thumb on your shoulder softly while he speaks, and it immediately puts you at ease. He had a point, he only taught you to fire a blaster and wield a vibroblade not even a year ago. Skills you never would have even imagined yourself capable of doing before you met him.

“...Thanks,” You finally look back up to him and give him a weak smile after a beat of silence, “A Mandalorian taught me.”

“That’s my girl!” He beams at you brightly, then suddenly he's hauling you up from the ground where you're kneeling, and pulling you down against him from where he’s sitting in the pilot’s seat. The positioning is awkward and uncomfortable, so you shuffle your knees up onto the seat and around his hips the best you can. He loosens his grip on you only enough so you can wiggle into a more comfortable position in his grasp, wrapping your arms around him, before he's squeezing you again.

You let out a contentful sigh as you nuzzle into the side of his neck, his hand coming up to tangle in your hair while his other slowly runs along your back. He presses a kiss to your temple.

“Bounty hunting is not an easy or glamorous job. Sometimes things go wrong, sometimes mistakes happen, and sometimes we get hurt. It’s part of it.” He buries his face into your hair, and takes a deep breath before planting another kiss to your temple, “But there’s always going to be another job, another bounty, and our wounds will heal with time. All we can do is move forward and press on...but, mesh’la?” The hand he’s been gentling running down your back back stills for a moment, pressing flat against the middle of it, “As long as you’re here, by my side, in my arms…,” He gives you a firm squeeze, “ just know that it’s all going to be okay.”

And he was right. You know the risk that comes with the job. You still feel bad about what happened, but he was okay. You were okay. All you can do is move forward and press on. And with the way he was holding you against him so tight, his face pressed into your hair, yours in the side of his neck, the way his heart beat felt against your own, you had no doubt in your mind that everything was going to be just fine.

***

But instead you were alone. Sitting on the cold ground in the hull of a ship that wasn’t yours. The metal beneath you, a glaring reminder of the harsh reality you were living in instead of the fantasy you could lose yourself in forever. You hold your helmet--his helmet--tight to your chest, and you curl around it, wishing it could bring even a fraction of the same comfort that he always gave you.

You miss him.

--------------------------

Landing on Utrost couldn’t have come any quicker. The second you felt the ship make its clumsy landing in it’s assigned hangar, you practically jumped to your feet, rushing to find your go-bag. The thought of finally being off this ship--finally getting some fresh air--and maker, some real food. Ration packs were fine most of the time, but after only being able to eat them for weeks? You’re ready for something else.

You hear the Mandalorian descend the ladder as you click your helmet on and hit a button on the hull wall to lower the ramp. You look over in his direction, and see he has the baby tucked away in a bag on the side of his hip. You can’t help but smile to yourself with the way The child’s big eyes barely peek over the top and his big green ears stick out the sides. You almost want to ask if you can take him with you, treat him to some local street food you’re positive he would love. But with the way things have been between you and the powerful man carrying him, you don’t bother.

When the ramp finally lowers, you immediately make your stride down, trying to contain your excitement of finally being off the ship. When your feet hit the solid ground of the hangar beneath you, you can’t help but raise your arms above you and let out a much needed stretch. You already feel lightyears better than you did before, and you haven’t even stepped into the sun yet.

The hangar bay you got assigned to was way bigger than it needed to be considering your ship's size. It could have easily fit three more of them and still have some room to easily move about the round space. It was half enclosed, a large rounded metal covering half of the hanger and engulfing it in shade, the other half open to allow for landing. There were parts scattered about in what you assume to be an unorganized fashion. Platform lifts and transport carts are abandoned throughout the area. It looked like this place hadn’t been used in ages.

You barely notice when an exhausted looking mechanic slowly makes his way across the hangar as the Mandalorian descends the ramp behind you. He’s punching something into the holopad in his arm as he strolls over, his goggles pushed up onto his head, pulling his hair up into a wiry mess behind them. He feels so out of place. With a bay this size you would be expecting more mechanics, droids, anything. Instead it’s just one. Dragging his feet as he makes his way over to you. It’s only when he gets closer you realize how young he looks.

He looks up from his holopad with a heavy sigh when he sees the state of the ship. You turn to take a look yourself and---stars, that’s bad. This is the first time you’ve been able to actually see the damage. Large scorch marks plastered heavily across the entire length of it, along with huge tears in the metal. It was a disaster.

“Looks like you two got yourselves in quite the mess.” He drawls out as he steps closer to further inspect the ship. “Whatever you hit, it did some pretty serious damage. Surprised you made it here in one piece.” He continues absently as he punches some notes into his holopad.

“How soon can you have it repaired by?” The Mandalorian next to you questions, and the mechanic scoffs in response.

“If my droids were still up and running? I could have had her ready for you by tomorrow night. But since it's just me now, It’ll take me a few days.”

“How long is a few days?” The mechanic turns to stare him down, glaring into his visor. “A few days. And it will be a few days more if you decide to be a pain in the ass.” He quickly turns back to continue assessing the damage. You notice something, just barely--out of the corner of your eye, you have to turn slightly to get a better look, but you notice the Mandalorian’s fists tighten at his sides. His shoulders may even tense slightly, but you aren’t sure. It might just be your mind playing tricks on you.

Up until this point you truly thought he was unbothered by this whole thing. Like his ship getting damaged and the bounty getting away was no big deal, just another day. He’s always so stoic, so composed--like all of the time. And he almost never talks, so it’s not like he could give it away verbally. It’s only now you’re realizing, from just the slightest flex of his fists, that the illusion of his helmet--having never seen his face--almost had you believe he was completely imperturbable. Like...you knew he was irritated the day you left Coruscant, but on the days that followed it never actually occurred to you that he might be just as angry and pissed off as you were about the whole thing.

He was.

He was just much better at hiding it than you were.

“Alright. Looks like repairs are gonna cost ya forty thousand.” He doesn’t even flinch when he tells you the amount, like it's no big deal, tapping loudly once on the holopad to finalize the estimate.

You choke.

The Mandalorian whips around so fast you’re worried he’s going to give the baby whiplash.

“Forty thousand?!” You shout it louder than you mean to. You’re just in utter disbelief at the amount. He must have made a mistake--there's no way. That was way too much. That can’t be right at all.

“That's what I said.” The mechanic taps the side of his holopad impatiently.

“Repairs are cheaper on Coruscant.” The Mandalorian snaps out.

“Then feel free to fly back to Coruscant.”

“But I don’t understand, what exactly is costing that much?” You question anxiously. You clearly needed these repairs if you were to ever end up off this planet and back on the hunt, but where in the galaxy were you supposed to find that many credits?

“Lets see…” he starts scrolling through his holopad, listing off the repairs he’s taken note of for your estimate, “You’ve got a fuel leak, hyperdrive’s got some serious damage, gonna have to be replaced all together, right thruster damage, I assume your not running any higher than 40% efficiency, Got some busted power lines, and you’re gonna need a ton of rewiring, not to mention your reflector shields are damaged. Then we’ve got all the body damage to worry about.” He shakes his head to himself, “S’gonna be a lot of work and like I said, someone went and damaged all my droids so it’s just me now. Damn thugs…” He murmurs the last bit to himself quietly, but it piques your interest.

“Thugs?” He just looks at you with pure hesitation in his eyes, like he so desperately wants to tell you everything but there's something holding him back.

“Forty thousand for the repairs. Pay up or find someone else to repair your ship.” He repeats shortly. He goes to turn away, tucking his holopad into a holder on his side.

“These thugs the reason your prices are so high?”

He scoffs, “You really think I would be chasing away what little business I get with prices this high by choice?” He shakes his head with a sigh, “A group of spice runners moved in a couple months ago, been terrorizing the whole town since they got here. At first they were just using it as a way to transfer product, but then they got violent. They run the whole town now. You pay their prices, and do as they say, or you end up dead.”

You settle back on your heels. Straighten out your shoulders and stand tall, resting your hands on your belt and tilt your helmet in his direction, a clever, perfect little plan forming in your brain.

“How much would repairs be if--let's say...those spice runners weren’t a problem anymore?” You shrug your shoulders nonchalantly and you notice the Mandalorian turn his helmet in your direction. He clearly knows what you're getting at. At the same time the mechanic bursts into laughter, as if that's the funniest joke he's heard since the solstice.

“If you could find a way to take care of Rrollesh and his gang? On maker, I'll give you your repairs for free!” He laughs his whole way through it, clearly not taking your proposition seriously.

You on the other hand? Looks like you just landed yourself a job.

“Where can I find them?”

The mechanic’s laughter fades and he locks eyes with your visor in a questioning manner, only just now realizing you’re being serious. “I mean, you take a quick walk around town you’re sure to run into them at some point. They don’t like strangers. Most days they play sabacc at the cantina towards the end of town.”

“Of course they do.” You give the mechanic a firm grip on the shoulder, “You get started on those repairs, I’ll take care of the rest.” You give his shoulder a couple pats before turning towards the silent armored man next to you.

“I’m going to go check things out. You should take the kid to get some real food. He’s probably more sick of ration packs than I am.” You can’t help but let out a small sigh at the realization that getting yourself some good food might have to wait. Just your luck.

“Going alone?”

“I think I can handle it. Besides, I’m the one who took the job.” You shrug, already turning to make your leave.

“Let me know if you need backup”

“Sure thing tin can” you call back to him with a dismissive wave of your hand as you continue your way out of the hangar.

--------------

Every step to the cantina was torture. By the time you finally got there and settled into a booth you almost completely forgot why you were there. All you could think about was food.

Street vendors were tempting you at every corner, their sizzling goods reminding you exactly what you were missing.

Every wiff you would catch through your helmet made your headspin. Sweet freshly baked pastries, smoky grilled meats, not to mention all kinds of exotic fruits--half of which you’ve never seen before, but looked delicious all the same. It all just made your stomach cry out and your need for real--fresh--delicious food only grow exponentially with every step.

You settle further into your seat, propping a knee up on the edge of the table. Tapping a finger a couple of times on the top of it where your hand rests. You let out a light huff of air. Hopefully the kid was having a good time right now. You can imagine his little cheeks stuffed to the brim with whatever his metal clad guardian would give him. The way his little hands would probably be already reaching for more before he even finished chewing, that greedy little bug.

You’re beyond lost in your thoughts you don’t even notice the sudden shadow looming over you. It’s not until the violent BANG of a vibroblade being stabbed threateningly into the top of your table catches your attention and you realize you’re being crowded around. You look at the blade blankly, and slowly follow it up the strong arm of the stranger holding it.

You lock your visor to the face of one very sizable Trandoshan. A large and gnarly looking scar splitting across his entire sandy scaled face, clouding one of his eyes in its path.

“Mandalorian…” He hisses out, deep and guttural, as a sly smirk breaks out revealing large sharp teeth, “What brings you to my bar?”

You lean back in the booth, this must be that Rrollesh the mechanic was talking about. And if he wasn't, well you get the feeling he could definitely take you to him. You look slightly to your left, to take note of the various others crowding around you. Five of them, all boxing you into your booth, leaving you no escape. It's an interesting mix of smugglers to say the least. None look nearly as impressive as the clear leader in front of you, but you don’t doubt they would put up a good fight.

The scarred Trandoshan pulls his blade out from the table, pulling your attention back to him.

“I like your armor...Beskar goes for a lot these days.” He growls out lowly, pointing his blade in your direction.

“Always does.” You reply coolly, “Mandalorian steel is one of the most durable materials, and very rare. Nearly impossible to get your hands on.”

“Then you know why I want yours.” He inches his blade towards one of your pauldrons, close enough so he can press the tip of it against your metal, and it takes every fiber of your very being not to rip his damn arm off right then and there. His smirk grows wider and there's a dark chuckling from his goons next to you, that you choose to ignore. Keeping your visor locked to his eyes, trying to keep your relaxed composure, despite the obvious tension that's building.

“Mine’s in bad shape.” You shrug finally after a moment of silence, “But if you’re interested in Beskar I have a proposition that might interest you.”

“Do you seem like you’re in a position to be making deals right now?”

“You seem like a smart guy,” you lie, “And I happen to know someone with a full set of Beskar probably worth twice what mine is.” The offer comes out of your mouth before you even realize what you're doing, but you're hoping he takes the bait.

The Trandoshan hums dark and grovely in his throat before silently taking a seat in the booth opposite to you. “Keep going” He encourages. Bingo.

“I’m here on a job, I’m hunting a Mandalorian. He escaped from me on Coruscant, but had to make an emergency landing here after the damage I did to his ship. He’s dangerous. Heavily armed, and in a full suit of freshly forged Beskar. One of the most skilled fighters I’ve ever gone against.” You move to rest your arms on the back of the booth, trying your best to seem as relaxed as possible while you lie straight out of your ass. You’re not even sure what you’re doing yet, just kind of making shit up as you go.

“What exactly are you asking of me?” He leans forward in his seat squinting at you, still holding his blade.

“If you and your men help me catch my quarry, you can take his armor.”

“I thought beskar belonged to the Mandalorians? Wouldn’t that be going against your own kind?”

You shake your head dismissively, “I’m not a Mandalorian. I don’t care what happens to it so long as I get paid for my work.”

He gives you a disbelieving look with a tilt of his head.

“Stole it off a dead guy.” you say nonchalantly as you notion to your armor with both hands, without moving your arms from their place on the back of the booth.

He lets out a hearty laugh, “I like you” he says waving his blade back in your direction, “I’ll help you catch your Mandalorian.” he nods with a smile, “what's your plan?”

---------------------------

“Mandalorian, you there?”

“Need backup?” His voice crackles through the static of the comm

“Not exactly.”

“What does that mean?” He asks, suspicious of your ambiguous answer.

“I found Rrollesh. Well, he found me I guess, we struck a deal.”

“A deal?” “I told him if he helped me kill you he could have your armor” You confess bluntly.

There's a beat of silence, and you’re almost worried he’s going to hang up on you.

“You what?” He finally asks

“It’s not like it sounds.” You reassure him, but after you’re met with nothing but silence in return you continue, “We made a plan to ambush you tonight--”

“You’re not helping your case.” He cuts you off abruptly.

“Just listen! We made a plan to ambush you tonight, but what's going to happen instead is we’re going to ambush them. I’m going to turn against them and you’re going to help me take them out.” you sound more confident than you feel explaining your half-baked whim of a plan, but you’re hoping he’ll go along with it. Your only other real option if he decides not to go along with it is to show up guns blazing and hope for the best, which didn’t seem ideal.

“Don’t you think they’re planning the same thing?” He sounds dubious at best, but the fact he’s not outwardly declining gives you a spark of confidence.

“Oh, I know they are, the difference is they need me to help take you out. They probably plan to kill me after I help kill you. So if we beat them to it, we have nothing to worry about.” You shrug despite him not being able to see it.

“How many are there?”

“No clue. There were six at the cantina including Rrollesh himself, but he said he’s bringing more.”

“Where are you planning this ambush?”

“I told them I would lure you to the middle of town, they're going to hide and try to surround you once you get there. Box you in. The second they make the jump for you, that's when I’ll turn on them.”

“Should be easy enough.” His words are like honey in your ears, instant relief fills your entire body.

“My thoughts exactly. Start heading down in three hours, I’ll have to meet back up with Rrollesh and his men and I don’t want to be seen with you until then.” “Copy that.”

You’re about to turn off the comm and get ready to meet back with Rrollesh, but you hesitate. “Oh, before I forget!” You call out quickly before either of you can disconnect.

“What is it?”

“Try not to shoot me this time, tin can.” You joke, your smirk almost audible in your voice.

“Try to communicate with me before you jump out from some crates and then maybe we have a deal. No promises though.” You hear his commlink click off the line. You know he was joking back, but something about his wording makes you freeze up. You sit there, alone with the static of your open comm ringing in your ear with the sudden realization. You keep replaying what he just said over and over in your head…

“Try to communicate with me before you jump out from some crates and then maybe we have a deal.”

“Try to communicate with me…”

“Try to communicate…”

Somehow, it’s only now that it hits you. This whole time you were blaming everything about what happened on Coruscant on the Mandalorian. This whole time, everything went wrong because of the things he did. Because he was an idiot, because he didn’t know any better. He kept getting in your way because he just couldn’t help but be obnoxious.

But that wasn’t the case at all.

You kept getting in each other’s way because neither of you had bothered to communicate. You mistakenly assumed he was the one to speak to the jeweler because you never bothered to ask him. Your bounty escaped through the window because you didn’t tell him what was going on until she already started to escape. You got shot because you didn’t bother to tell him your plan to flank her, and just jumped out in front of his shot.

What happened on Coruscant was just as much your fault as it was his. And not because you weren’t good enough, or because he was stupid and didn’t know what he was doing, but because the two of you were bad at communicating with each other. You were too busy working against him instead of with him.

Maker, you were a fool.

All those insults you slung at him should have also been said to yourself. Now you’re really embarrassed. The realization of this should have come to you way sooner. Were you really so prideful you hadn’t noticed? So cocky in your own abilities, you were blind to your faults?

No, that's not it at all. In fact, you realize, it’s probably the exact opposite. You struggled immensely every step of the way on that job. You felt so inadequate, so mediocre, so second-rate. In the height of your self consciousness you lashed out at him. You were blinded not by your pride, but by your shame. Your fear that you weren’t good enough, and he would be able to see that, that anyone would be able to see that.

You feel incredibly guilty now. Down right bad. A sinking in the pit of your belly that almost makes you nauseous. You definitely owe him an apology. Whether or not he wants one, you owe it to him, even if only to clear your own conscience.

For now though, you’ve got a job to finish. And you’re going to make sure you do a damn good job finishing it.

-------------------------------------

“Ah! You made it!” Rrollesh calls out to you as you stroll out into the open area of the town where you agreed to meet, “I was starting to suspect you wouldn’t show.” His deep and guttural voice rumbles out in a dark tone as you approach him.

You glance around him. Only three others are standing about. You tilt your visor at the large scaled man in front of you questioningly, “These are the only men you brought with you? I might as well be taking the Mandalorian on myself.” You scoff

“Oh no, not at all. The others are already stationed and waiting. Don’t you worry.” The threatening tone of his reassurance, followed by the sickly, toothy smile he shoots you, definitely confirms the fact that he is planning on killing you. You pretend not to notice.

“Good. Since these are your fighters, and this is your town, where do you want me?” You hope by giving him the illusion of control he’s less likely to suspect anything coming from you.

Besides,

You know damn well no matter where he puts you, you’ll end up on top either way.

“You and Tarsi are going to hole up there and wait for my signal.” He points up to the roof of a building to your right, “I’ll take the other two towards the front so we can close him off.” He points behind you where he intends on hiding out with the other two smugglers.

You nod in confirmation, and go to make your way to your assigned spot, one of the smugglers trailing close behind you. This Tarsi, you assume, is...unimpressive--to say the least. He’s small, too eager as he jogs next to you to keep up with your pace, and seems far too excited about the prospect of taking down a mandalorian.

And he won’t stop talking to you.

You don’t even know about what, you tuned him out almost immediately after he opened his mouth for the first time. You just know he wouldn’t stop making noise. The whole way to your assigned spot, he was blabbing away. The whole time he set up his long range rifle, and adjusted his scope, he was. Still. Talking.

At one point you notice while you’re settled down and looking out waiting for a signal--or any sign of the Mandalorian, that he’s been continuously scooting himself closer to you until there’s barely a gap between the two of you at all.

“I just really like that in a woman…,” Were the only words you suddenly catch from him, as you feel his hand on your thigh.

You shoot a threatening stare right into his eyes through your visor, which were already locked onto you. Only, he doesn’t get the hint.

“I’m sure you’re just as beautiful under all that armor as you are with it on…” He continues, and his thumb gently runs a small circle on your thigh where his hand rests.

How long exactly had he been hitting on you before you noticed? And how did he take your complete utter silence as interest?

“It’s okay, you don’t have to say anything, I’ll take good care of you.” The way his voice drops into a sultry tone, and he starts to slide his hand up higher on your thigh, it's too much. You immediately grab his wrist and forcefully rip it from your leg, nearly crushing it in your grip as you continue to stare daggers at him.

He winces at the force of it, but somehow, someway, he still doesn’t understand, “You like things rough I see, no problem. I’ll do whatever you want once this is all over. Does the helmet stay on or is there a chance I get to see your beautiful eyes?”

You practically throw his wrist away from you. The audacity of him, to think you would actually be interested in sleeping with him. You can’t take it anymore, slowly you reach your hands out and gingerly place them on either side of his face. “You want a kiss sweetheart? No problem, I’ll give you a taste of--” You cut him off with a rough twist, and the awfully delightful sound of his neck snapping, causing him to immediately go limp in your arms. You roughly toss his body away from you in disgust. Thank the maker that was finally over.

You shake your head lightly to yourself to regain your composure, and turn back just in time to see the familiar shine of the Mandalorian as he walks through the seemingly abandoned street. He pauses right in the middle of the road, in the middle of where everyone is hiding out.

There's a moment, a moment of absolute silence, as the armored man stands in the middle of the road unmoving.

You can practically taste the tension in the air. It’s like time stops. Every moment suspended in mid-air waiting for the drop.

You start to question whether or not you missed the signal, were they all waiting on you? You didn’t see or hear anything....kriff, what if it happened while you were snapping that guy's neck?

Clink. Clink. Clinkclinkclink clink

A metal canister bounces out across the street and rolls to a stop, drawing both the attention of you and the Mandalorian.

The can starts to hiss lightly, before the hiss erupts suddenly into a plume of fog that quickly begins to fill the street.

That's the signal.

Just as quickly as fog fills the street, consuming the Mandalorian in it’s haze, smugglers emerge and drop down from their various hiding spots, and with it their shouts and yells as they make a charge for their target.

Blaster fire lights up the fog filled street in smears of color, and you can hear how it ricochets off your accomplice’s beskar.

You quickly scramble to grab the long range rifle next to you, and switch the setting on your helmet’s hud so you can easily see the heat signatures through the fog. Quickly searching around with your scope you lock on one of the poor souls still emerging from their hiding place. You squeeze the trigger, and fire.

Your blaster bolt whistles through, lighting up the fog around it as it makes perfect contact with your target, sending them dropping limply to the floor.

You’re immediately locking onto another target, you fire, direct hit.

You can hear the clashing below you as the Mandalorian fights on the ground, and you take aim on another target. There's too much going on down there, you don’t feel like you can get a clear shot. Heat signatures are overlapping, and people are moving too quickly. You attempt to take a shot when you think you have an opening, but a blaster bolt gets ricocheted in your direction, causing you to jerk away just as you squeeze the trigger, and you miss.

You let out a frustrated growl and readjust your hold on the rifle, rolling your shoulder back to loosen up before you take aim. You scan through the fog, through the heat signatures, it’s easy to spot the Mandalorian like this. His beskar makes his heat signature entirely unique. He’s being surrounded by five or six men, all haphazardly lunging at him, trying to overwhelm him with their number alone.

Quickly you flick on your comm as you aim at one of the men circling behind him.

“Careful on your left.” You warn, just as you pull the trigger, sending your bolt whizzing right over his shoulder and making direct contact with the man behind him, sending him collapsing to the floor. You see the Mandalorian quickly look behind him as the body collapses, then shoots his glace directly to where your shot came from, directly at you.

He doesn’t have the chance to even think about flicking his comm on before another is making a charge at him. As much as you have a vantage point where you are, you have a need to be there on the floor with him. You’re not a bad shot, but it’s not your strongest skill, and you know you would be much more effective in close combat.

“I’m coming down, hang tight!” You flick your commlink back off and hop down to the ground beneath you. You keep low, sneaking the best you can through the fog. You’re not sure if anyone has noticed yet, that you’ve turned on them. Best to keep it that way as long as you can. Surely Rrollesh has noticed your absence, but then again, you haven't seen him either.

You draw your blade, and grip it tight in front of you as you make your way through the fog. You slow your pace and quiet your steps as you begin to come up behind someone, firing their blaster in the Mandalorian’s direction. It doesn’t matter how many times you’ve done this, adrenaline rushes through you everytime, your heart pounding as you slowly and carefully sneak up right behind them. It squeezes in your chest when you finally make the lunge for them, clamping a hand over their mouth as you drive your blade deep into them. You let out a deep breath as you rip your blade back out and let their body drop to the floor.

But there's no time for relief, you hear someone behind you and immediately whip around to see another one of Rrollesh’s men staring you down with their comrades body by your feet. You waste no time gauging their reaction, and quickly rush towards him. He readies up both of his vibroblades and lunges right back at you with pure ferociousness.

Your blades clash together violently, grinding against each other as sparks fly from the impact. You’re unrelenting in your offense, one powerful jab after another, as you continue to push him back, crowding him with your attacks. He struggles to block each one, not even getting a chance to make an attack on you. The pure force from each hit, forcing him to take several steps back.

He steps sideways when you make another lunge for him, causing you to swipe nothing but air. You whip around just in time to barely block his oncoming attack. Your blades lock together and you shove him back with as much force as you can muster, sending him stumbling backwards. You waste no time barreling forward, knocking him to the ground, and rushing to pin him down, plunging your blade deep in his chest.

“I should have known…,” You shoot your gaze up at the unmistakable sound of Rrollesh’s deep and guttural voice. He takes a heavy step towards you, his figure transforming from a blurry shadow to a clear image of the hulking Trandoshan before you. “Do you intend to make a fool of me?” He growls out threateningly.

You rip your blade out from the body beneath you without a word, keeping the gaze of your visor fixed on his. You’re trying to mask how heavy your breathing from the earlier fight, keeping yourself as still as possible as he towers over you.

“I want both those Mandalorians dead! Kill them both!” He roars through the fog, taking a step back, “I want both their helmets on my wall!” He lets out a dark and throaty laugh, watching you jump to your feet as two of his goons rush for you.

You clash blades with the first one, spinning around to elbow the second right in the face as he tries to grab you from behind. You’re barely able to bring up your vambrance in time to block the first one coming right back at you again full force. His blade runs hot grinding against your beskar, the sparks lighting up your visor in a brilliant display of color. You kick him as hard as you possibly can in the gut, sending him barreling to the ground, only for you to be grabbed roughly from behind, a blade to your throat.

You struggle to hold the blade back, and try to shake him loose. Roughly jostling left and right to no avail, before finally mustering the strength to haul him over your shoulder. You succeed, but it’s sloppy, the force of it throwing you to the ground next to him. Pure adrenaline pumps through your veins as you swipe at him with a shout of fury from where you are on the floor. He’s frantically crawling backwards away from you, as you continue to furiously swipe at him.

His partner suddenly lunges on top of you, and makes a jab at you at the same time you quickly roll over in his grasp. His blade plunges into your side, causing you to scream out in pain as you feel the blade shred through your flesh in the exposed portion just beneath where your chest plate ends. You still feel the burning heat of pain radiating from your gushing wound as he rips the blade back out of you.

You struggle in his grasp as he makes another jab for your neck. You’re barely able to roll just enough sideways that he hits the ground next to you. You violently thrash as he slams your pauldron back down into the duracrete beneath you, as you’re straining to reach for your blaster with your non-dominant hand, trying to ignore the searing pain from your fresh wound.

He lifts up, readying his blade to make the final blow, just as you manage to get a grip on your weapon.

Hastily you squeeze the trigger just as he comes down full force.

BAM

He falls limp on top of you, His blade still thrumming wildly as it falls from his grip. You don’t even take a second to breathe as you hear quickening footsteps from above you.

You swiftly wrestle your arm from underneath the dead body on top of you and tilt your helmet against the floor, just enough to aim at his partner barreling towards you, and fire.

His body skids to a halt next to you as it falls, and you’re finally able to take a breath. You rest your head back against the ground with a metallic thud as you try to steady your breathing, before hauling the body off of you and straining to get back to your feet with your hand clamped to your injured side, still clutching your blade.

How many more were there? You alone had already taken out eight men, who knows how many the Mandalorian had taken out. This was way more than you were expecting, and you haven’t even gotten to Rrollesh yet. You quickly look down at your hand holding your wound to assess the damage. There's blood, but not too much. Could be worse, you can still fight.

With your blaster drawn and ready, still in your non-dominant hand, you quickly make your way to the middle of the road where you can hear the clash of the Mandalorian fighting off another enemy.

You make it just in time to see the body drop to the floor, and join the various others scattered around the armored man’s feet. He’s been busy too apparently.

“Good to see you still standing, shiny.” You quip as you circle around to be back to back with him, scanning the fog for more enemies.

“Looks like you’re barely able to.” He teases back as the two of you stand ready for any further oncoming attacks.

“I’ve seen worse.” You shrug, “There can’t be much more of them left.”

You hear Rrollesh’s voice break through the fog, but you don’t see him.

“I’m sick of playing games.” He bellows out, “This ends now!” You hear the unmistakable clinking of another metal canister bounce onto the road, only this time, as soon as the hissing erupts into another cloud of fog, you’re blinded.

Your entire vision through the visor is filled with a bright blaring white. You quickly shield your eyes, but find the light isn’t letting up. It takes you a second to feel the hot air as it surrounds you. It wasn’t a flash bomb, no this was definitely a fog--a mist of some kind, but the heat of it was fucking up your visor.

“What the hell is that?!” You shout quickly struggling to swap the setting on your helmet as you try to recover from the blinding light of it.

“Some kind of thermal screen.” The Mandalorian grunts out, clearly struggling as much as you with the sudden blindness.

It’s abruptly clear to you now that the two of you were now at a disadvantage. Your thermal scanners now rendered absolutely useless. You were completely blind.

You and the Mandalorian continue your guard, back to back as you slowly circle around just waiting for the attack.

You hear him before you see him, one of Rrollesh’s goons shouting as he rushes the both of you. Your armored partner clashes with him first, cutting in front of you to block the man’s blade with his vambrace. At the same time, a blaster shot zips through the air and collides with your chest plate, forcing you to take a step back.

You fire back in the same direction it came blindly, simply hoping for the best. There was no way you could aim properly while blinded like this. You’re barely able to see a foot in front of you. Another slurry of blaster shots get sent your way, knocking against your chest plate and pauldron as the Mandalorian continues to push back against the blade wielder. You take another shot, focusing directly where the last one came from, and praying for a hit.

There's no way to know for sure until this is all over, but with the grunt you hear, and the clatter of something falling, you're almost positive it hits. While you’re focusing on that, another smuggler jumps out from the fog and onto the back of the Mandalorian, trying to hold him steady so the other can get a clear shot. You hear the struggle behind you and swiftly turn around to help.

The Mandalorian gives a couple quick elbow jabs to the man holding him in a lock, loosening his grip just enough he can rip him off. At the same time, you ready your blade and make a fierceful jab right into the side of the other man, causing him to double over and clutch his side in pain. Which leaves him wide open for you to deliver the finishing blow. His body hits the ground at the same time you hear the Mandalorian fire off two blaster shots, followed by the thud of another body. The deadly combination of you both made you feel unstoppable. Even with your injury, there was no doubt in your mind the two of you were walking away from this.

You resume your defensive position, back to back, standing ready for any further attacks.

But no one comes.

Silence fills the street again, revealing just how heavy your breathing is after all of this fighting and your injury. You feel sweaty under your helmet, your hair sticking to your face, while you focus on the empty fog in front of you.

A sudden bone chilling, angered roar rips through the fog.

“I’ll kill you!” Rrollesh roars out in pure fury, “I’ll kill you myself! Tear you limb from limb! Make you suffer! Beg for me to end it!” You can almost feel the vibration from his powerful growl as it echoes through the street surrounding you. It feels like it’s coming from all around you all at once, leaving you unable to pin his exact direction.

He continues to growl out angrily, animalistic huffs of pure, raw rage. You think he's circling the both of you. Like a predator stalking its prey. Waiting for his moment to strike. Or maybe, he was building himself up, letting the rage boil up inside of him, working himself up to the point of no return.

You notice something out of your peripheral, and you instinctively quickly move to dodge out of the way. Just in time for a hulking, mass of metal to come slicing through the fog and collide with the ground with an ear splitting clang.

Rrollesh roars out as he lifts the weapon again, swinging back at you full force. You’re just able to move back enough for it to just barely miss your chest plate by a hair's width. Too close for comfort. The weapon was brutal, the biggest vibroaxe you had ever seen. The sheer mass of it alone was enough to spark fear in the hearts of many, combined with its gnarled edges, it felt like a weapon of nightmares. The brute strength alone needed to wield it seemed only appropriate for the towering reptilian before you.

You keep moving back with every one of his powerful swings, dodging becomes more and more difficult with your wound seering in pain with every movement. The Mandalorian fires his blaster at Rrollesh, but despite his size, and the insanity of the weapon he's holding, Rrollesh spins, bringing the flat of the axe up to block the oncoming bolt. How was he so quick? It seems impossible.

With his attention now turned toward your partner, the hulking Trandoshan makes a charge towards the Mandalorian, seeming to block his oncoming blaster fire with ease. He makes several wide swings, the Mandalorian barely able to dodge himself despite the lack of injury on his part. With every swing Rrollesh lets out a bone chilling growl while he advances on the Mandalorian.

You attempt to intervene, rushing the absolute mammoth before you, and driving your blade deep in his vulnerable side, left exposed from his wide swings. He barely reacts, and you panic when you attempt to drive it out, only to find your blade is stuck within his tough flesh.

You quickly abandon your blade, and lurch back creating as much space between the two of you as you can. He slowly turns towards you, his scarred eye burning a hole through you, as he snarls, baring his incredible sharp teeth. You think he’s going to make another swing at you, try to bring you to the ground, but he surprises both you and the Mandalorian when he suddenly swings back around bringing his blade down full force on the chrome beskar.

There’s a terrifying display of color as sparks nearly blind you when the axe makes contact with the beskar. The pure force from the blow sends the Mandalorian flying backwards with a wrecked grunt. You know the power from it had to have hurt, and bad. Probably knocked all of the air from his lungs, and made his head spin. Perhaps he was even knocked unconscious.

And when he doesn’t get up from the ground, you know you’re right.

Rrollesh wastes no time advancing on him, his intention to finish the job is clear as he stomps over to the weak body of the armored man on the floor. You quickly move to stop him, firing your blaster as rapidly as you can haphazardly, even if only to serve as a distraction long enough for your partner to recover--and move. Quickly.

Rrollesh turns back to face you, and lets his nightmare of a weapon rest on the ground, dragging it behind him as he rapidly advances towards you. You’ve seen a lot in your time travelling through the galaxy, you’ve experienced the worst of the worst. Hardly anything phases you anymore.

But this?

Rrollesh, and his imposing figure barrelling towards you with such determination--such speed--pure rage apparent in his eyes--as you hauls that massive, hulking, terror of an axe behind him?

You feel fear.

Not adrenaline, not the rush of battle--

But for the first time in a long time, you feel pure, bone chilling terror pouring through your veins.

You don’t even have time to process the ice you feel creeping down your spine as you attempt to fire more rounds at him. Which of course, he manages to block with ease. Just when he gets within distance of you, he swings at you. You manage to dodge, but not quick enough, his swing clips your hand, sending your blaster skittering across the street, and a searing pain shooting through the entirety of your arm, sending you to your knees, clutching your hand in absolute agony.

You quickly shoot a glance behind the man towering over you. The Mandalorian was still on the floor, but he’s moving. Groaning as he tries to shakily pick himself up from the floor.

But you shouldn’t have done that.

Because it draws the attention of Rrollesh, who quickly abandons you when he’s reminded of his task to finish him off. Before you can even shout to warn your partner of the impending attack, Rrollesh is already hauling his massive axe into the air.

Without thinking--without even realizing it, you jump to your feet and activate your whipcord thrower, sending a line of fibercord wrapping around the powerful weapon in Rrollesh’s grasp. You struggle to keep your hold on it, the brute strength from it’s wielder causing your heels to drag lightly beneath you.

He glances at you over his shoulder with an irritated growl and yanks his axe to the side with such a force, it sends you flying forward, and skidding across the duracrete road beneath you. He swings in the opposite direction, dragging you with it as you try your best to keep your hold. You struggle to hold your vambrace steady long enough that you can hit the button.

But as soon as you do, an electric current is suddenly ripping down the length of your fibercord, lighting up around both you and Rrollesh as the bolts of electricity consume his hulking metal axe. He lets out a deafening roar of pain as he releases the weapon, sending it clattering to the ground. You quickly yank it away from him, pulling it far out of his reach.

In a blind fit of rage, Rrollesh goes to grab at the Mandalorian despite not having a weapon, needing some release for his boiling anger. But instead, he’s met with a burst of red hot flame from the mandalorians built in flame thrower.

Rrollesh stumbles back from the heat, bringing his arms up to shield his face. Leaving him completely distracted and totally exposed. This is your chance. Despite your throbbing pain, you muster up every ounce of your strength to shakily get to your feet, grab your blaster, and quickly come right up behind him. Readying your blaster to fire, once, twice, three times in the back of his scaled head.

He collapses to the floor with a powerful thud.

You still have your blaster up as you stand there, trying to steady your breathing. You let your arm drop limply to your side with a deep exhale. It was finally over. You look over to the Mandalorian still on the ground in front of you, his visor fixed to Rrollesh’s dead body as his chest heaves, breathing just as heavy as you.

You walk over to him, holstering your blaster and clutching your injured side. You hold your free arm out to him, which he takes, and you help haul him up from the floor.

“See? I told you it would be easy.” You give his shoulder a playful whack as you let out a light chuckle.

He just locks his visor to yours for a second, before dejectedly shaking his head at your antics.

-------------------------------------------

“Well would you look at that? You actually made it out alive.” Is how the mechanic decides to welcome you back as you and the Mandalorian enter the hangar.

“How are the repairs coming?” You ask as you approach him.

“They’re done already. Got it done a bit quicker than I thought.” He nods, before looking you up and down, clearly noticing the way you're gripping your side, “You take care of Rrollesh?”

You fish out the credits you pocketed from Rrollesh’s body earlier, and toss them at the mechanic. He catches the hefty bag in pure disbelief.

“Think those belong to you.” You nod your helmet towards him. He pauses, staring at you for a moment, before quickly opening up the bag and nearly gasping at the amount of credits inside.

“Thank you.” He says finally, hooking the bag onto his belt. “I owe you--this whole town owes you. You’ve done us a huge favor.” You can feel the sincerity in his voice.

“That enough to cover our repairs?” You tease, tilting your helmet to the side.

“And then some.” He laughs nodding, “You’re lucky I didn’t charge you extra for having to watch that little womp rat.” He notions in the direction of the ship with a tilt of his head.

You let out a laugh despite the pain from your injury, “Thank you, I know first hand what a pain he can be.”

“He was good actually. Let him run around the hangar for a bit and he’s been sleeping peacefully ever since.” The mechanic crosses his arms in front of his chest, “Next time you find yourself in this sector, stop by. I’ll give you a tune up on me.”

The Mandalorian speaks up this time as he passes you to board the ship, “I’ll hold you to that.” And then he’s already up the ramp and you and the mechanic watch as he disappears into the hull.

“Until next time.” You give the mechanic a final nod before you head up the ramp yourself, “And hey, get yourself some new droids, you deserve it!” You exchange a wave before closing the ramp to the ship.

It doesn’t take long before you feel the ship rumble to life beneath you as you grab yourself a medkit. You situate yourself on a crate, and begin working at removing your armor as the ship takes off into the familiar confines of space.

By the time you finish applying a healthy dose of bacta, and are working to wrap a thick bandage around your middle, the Mandalorian has already made the jump into hyperspace, and is descending the ladder of the cockpit to join you in the hull.

He doesn’t acknowledge you at all as he makes his way to the alcove and opens the compartment to check on the kid. You barely make a glance at him, too busy tending to your own wounds as he scoops the sleeping child up into his arms.

“Shouldn’t wake him” You warn, not lifting your gaze from your work as you fasten your bandages. He practically ignores you, not saying anything as he gives Grogu a light stroke to his forehead, drawing out the smallest of coos from the sleepy bundle. The Mandalorian is careful as he moves to take a seat on a crate opposite from you, cradling the child in his arms.

It was amazing to you, the striking contrast of the powerful bounty hunter, and how soft he was for this child. He clearly cared deeply for the little thing, a vulnerability you never would have expected.

“How are your wounds?” The Mandalorian asks quietly, lifting his gaze from the child to address you.

“Nothing some bacta can’t fix. Like I said, I’ve seen worse.” You shrug as you readjust your undershirt.

“Good.” Is all he says in return, and fixes his gaze back on the child.

You watch the two of them, unabashedly. Nearly enjoying the silence after today. But then you remember the realization you had earlier before the fight.

“Thanks for helping me with the job.” You finally speak out, rolling your head back to release some of the tension in your neck, “couldn’t have done it without you.” You admit quietly.

“And uh…” You start, and he lifts his helmet again, tilting his visor slightly as he waits for you to finish, “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” His voice is quiet, clearly trying not to wake the child.

“For how I acted back on Coruscant.”

“It’s fine.” He dismisses you, before you even get the chance to elaborate. This clearly wasn’t bothering him as much as it was bothering you.

“It’s not fine.” You give him a stern look, “We accepted the job together, I should have been working with you not against you. And I definitely shouldn’t have put it all on you when things went south.” He looks back up to you, but doesn’t say anything. What could he even really say?

“That was a tough job for me...,” You continue after a long silence between the two of you , “And I let my own insecurities get the best of me. So I’m sorry. I-I havent…,” You hesitate, taking a moment to figure out how you want to word this, “...It’s been awhile since I’ve worked with anyone else so try to bear with me while I get back into the swing of things.”

The Mandalorian doesn’t say anything at first. He stands and gently puts the child back into his hammock in the alcove and shuts the door. You honestly don’t think he’s going to say anything, just leave your sincerity hanging in the air.

“I’m surprised by your insecurity.” He surprises you when he does speak. Not only because he spoke, but because that's definitely not at all the response you were expecting.

“What do you mean?” You ask, tilting your head at him confused by his odd response.

“You said you let your insecurities get the best of you, I'm surprised. What are you insecure about?” He settles back down in his previous spot on the crate opposite to you, his visor settling right on your gaze.

You hesitate, you're not sure you're ready to divulge such sensitive information to a man who, before today, you couldn’t stand to be around. Something in you decides you owe it to him, an explanation for your behavior, it's part of your apology.

“About being a good hunter.” You finally admit after far too long. And he just tilts his helmet at you, an unspoken urge for you to explain further.

“I only got into the business a few years ago.” You confess, “I’m constantly worried I’m not good enough for the job.”

“You had a commission price double what mine was for the same quarry, and you worry you’re not good enough?” He sounds genuinely curious, not like he’s judging at all, and honestly you're thankful for it.

“That's just it. I…” You trail off again and scan the floor as you search for your words. How much do you want to divulge here exactly? You take a deep breath before starting again, “My husband, he's the one who taught me everything I know. He’s the reason I got into the guild. I had never even been off the surface of my home planet before him.” You explain, avoiding eye contact with his visor, which is still locked on you intently as you speak, “And he-- now he was a good hunter. He already had a reputation, I was just sort of...in the shadow of it. I get the good commissions because of his reputation, because of his skill.” You sigh, and finally work up the courage to look back at his visor, “I guess I’m just worried I’m just simply riding his success instead of living up to it.”

You feel so awkward, talking about this. It feels strange, unnatural. Especially with not being able to see the face of the Mandalorian in front of you. You can’t gauge his reactions at all, and it only works to make you more nervous as you spill your feelings out to him.

“With how you fought today I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”

It’s such a small thing, his response. Just one sentence, one short simple sentence. But somehow, it struck you. It catches you off guard how much that one, simple sentence actually means to you. How could he have possibly known the perfect thing to say to you, when you didn’t even know it yourself? It was somehow perfectly reassuring without being belittling. There's so much to unpack, not only is he saying he thinks you fought well today, but that you fought well enough you were deserving of your status within the guild, even without your husband's presence.

And maybe--maybe it’s not actually that deep. Maybe you’re simply putting your own meaning into his words where there isn’t any meaning at all, but stars, regardless if that's the case or not, that sentence means everything to you right now.

You suddenly realize you’ve been staring at him dumbly in silence this whole time. You quickly try to compose yourself, clearing your throat and averting your gaze.

“Thank you.” You finally muster out, trying to play it cool. He just nods.

“Oh, before I forget.” He gets up to grab his go-bag, the one he was carrying the child in earlier, “Here, this is for you.” He rummages in the bag for a moment and pulls out some kind of wrapped paper bundle, handing it to you.

You take it from him hesitantly and utterly confused. You carefully begin to unwrap the paper, and gasp at the sight you reveal.

It’s food, real--honest to maker food.

Some kind of fried pastries, it definitely wasn’t fresh anymore, but stars, did it look delicious regardless.

“The kid liked those best” He says casually, like he didn’t just give you the most perfect gift you could have ever asked for.

But that's just it, you didn’t ask for this. How did he know how badly you had been craving this all kriffing day? This is the one thing you’ve been wanting more than anything else since you landed on Utrost, and he just handed it to you, wrapped up, as a gift. Because the kid liked it best?

Maybe he really had no idea, just bought it on a whim and it just happened to be the perfect gift. Just like he just happened to know the perfect thing to say to you about feeling insecure. You feel like you’re about to lose your mind. Who the hell was this guy?

“Thank you.” Is all you can manage once again. You feel like a fool struggling this much over some street food.

He simply nods at you before he’s taking his leave to the cockpit, leaving you alone once again in the hull of the ship to indulge in your food in peace.

The second you take a bite, pure bliss radiates to every inch of your body. You nearly groan at how absolutely fantastic it tastes, and it's no surprise to you that this was the kids favorite. Maker, you can only imagine how much better it would have tasted fresh. Maybe it’s because this was the first bite of something other than a ration pack you’ve had in weeks, but you swear, this was the best thing you had ever tasted in the galaxy.

Maybe partnering up with this Mandalorian wasn’t such a bad idea after all. **** Previous - MASTER - Next

#The mandalorian #din djarin #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin x reader #din x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #mando x reader #mando x you #reader insert #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian fanfic #fanfic

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ljstlr · 3 years

Text

LIFETIME.

genre: angst, heavy angst

words: 1911

choi minho x reader

———————————————————————————————————————

“Will you marry me?” Minho watched from the corner of the garden your soon-to-be-fiancé rented out just for this event – to propose to you. And as you answered yes, the atmosphere was filled with cheers, clapping, and even crying. Minho was about to let out a cheer when he felt an itching sensation on his throat, so he stepped out of the garden to the parking space to soothe his throat.

After what felt like an unending amount of coughing, he stood frozen in his spot. He couldn’t keep his eye off his hand. A daffodil laid gently on his hand and he would usually call the flower beautiful if it just didn’t come from his throat and had droplets of his blood on it. Minho silently cursed.

A single daffodil symbolizes an unrequited love. Minho read silently on his phone as he took his seat next to your other set of friends. As he read through the website, he couldn’t help but feel the uneasiness in his lungs and he knows exactly what was going on in his organ.

Is he scared? Fuck yes. He was just about to enter his 30s and he suddenly developed a disease that has no cure. Well, actually, it does. But he didn’t have the cure.

“Hey! Hyunjae told me you were a part of this, why didn’t you tell me?” He was disrupted from his thoughts when he heard your voice lingering on his right shoulder. He quickly shut off his phone as he flashed you a smile.

“That would ruin the surprise, wouldn’t it now?” Minho chuckled as he watched you pout and playfully slap him on the arm. The two of you shared a conversation up until you had to leave because your family wanted a portrait to be taken with your fiancé.

And he just had to be the one to take the photo. He bitterly counted down as he watched the genuine smile on your face through the phone screen – why couldn’t he make you smile like that?

He bowed down to your mother as he gave her back the phone. He quickly excused himself because he felt the itching feeling again and he didn’t want to cause a scene. Minho watched the sink fill with daffodil and his blood. He sighed as he used his arms to support himself on the sink.

This wasn’t the way he imagined his death to be.

As days gone by, Minho was definitely not getting any better. His apartment was starting to fill with flowers and the floors were smeared with blood. It looked pretty much like a crime scene but he didn’t care anymore. He was bound to die anyways.

But he was taken back when he heard knocks on his apartment door. He knew it was you – you were the only one who always came unannounced. He mentally cursed as he tried to get rid of the daffodils on the floor but being the impatient person you were, you opened the door yourself with the keys he lent you.

“Minho...?” He knows you were holding back yours tears and that caused Minho to immediately soften up. He walked towards you and wrapped you in a hug which caused your tears to overflow.

You stayed like that for a while until you pulled away and looked at Minho straight in his face. He gulped and felt a sting on his throat with the action he has just done.

“Why did you keep this from me?” You asked.

“I didn’t want you to stress about me, (y/n). You’re getting married.” Minho responded with a fake smile and but he knows you didn’t know that.

“Minho, are you dying?”

“No, I’m not. I’ll get better.” A lie. A bittersweet lie just to keep you from feeling pain. He was dying, but even so, all he wanted was for you to be safe and happy.

He watched as your face slowly lit up and your frown become a smile and it was like a medicine for him. Watching that unfold right in front of his eyes made him feel better – despite the rough and uncomfortable feeling of the flowers invading his lungs and throat.

“You better not die,” Minho was about to answer but you cut him off.

“Cause my baby better meet his Uncle.” And once again, Minho felt a crack on his heart. He was feeling other things as well, but he pushed those down because he didn’t want you to worry.

“Y-you’re pregnant?” Minho forcefully spoke and you nodded with a smile.

The feeling he was trying to push down got the best of him and he started coughing violently in front of you. You panicked as you see Minho struggle to cough and wheeze as a yellow flower came out of his mouth.

A yellow carnation symbolizes disdain, rejection, or disappointment. This lingered on and on in your head as you slowly pick up the flowers on the floor and throw them in the garbage bin. You look down on your hands to see scatters of blood everywhere. You let out a sad sigh before washing it away.

You opened the door to Minho’s door to see him coughing out even more carnations into his bed.

“You told me you weren’t dying.” She spoke coldly which made Minho pause from his fits of coughing. He didn’t know which one hurted more – the expression on your face or the feeling of suffocation from all the growing flowers.

“I won’t die.” Lie.

“Let me help you, Minho. I don’t want to lose you.” He smiled through the pain.

He wiped off the tears flowing down from your eyes as you beg him to not die. He hated seeing you like this. He didn’t want to leave you in a state like this when he dies.

“Hey. Calm down, (y/n). Stress is bad for your baby.” He felt a thorn stab through his lung as he spoke, but he hid away the pain from you.

She eventually calmed down and begged Minho to talk it out with the whoever it is that’s making him go through all the pain of the disease. He listened to her go on and on about getting well even though he knows there is no longer any more hope to hold on to.

And as she bid her goodbye and walked out the apartment door, Minho prayed. He has forgotten his religion long before, but he begged God to keep him alive just for you. Just so he can take away the pain that his giving you, he’d rather see you happy.

But he knows God once again failed to listen to his prayers as he felt another thorn stab him.

Anemone. He slowly read the word that matches the new flower that came out of his mouth today.

It indicates fading hope and a feeling of having been forsaken. He wanted to let out a bitter laugh, but the flowers and thorns constrained him from doing so.

He brushed off the yellow and purple flowers off his sofa to get a hold of the invitation you just sent him. A wedding invitation.

Minho hasn’t seen you ever since the carnation flowers, but he appreciated the hourly texts he got from you asking how he’s been. He’s glad that your communication only relied through technology, because he looked like shit. He would hate it if anyone saw him like this.

He couldn’t speak. It’s been a day or two since his vocal cord got fucked up from the thorns. He couldn’t sleep. I mean, how could he? Every damn minute is like an hour episode of coughing out flowers. He’s pale and skinny. Of course, he would be, considering the amount of blood he loss and not being able to digest any sort of food for the past weeks.

It was a miracle that he made it this far.

But he knows it’s over. As another fit of coughing attacked him, he felt a stabbing pain in his trachea. He started to lose the ability to breath, but he was able to reach the letter on his coffee table and held it close to his chest. It’s a letter he has been saving solely for this day.

He took one last deep breath before he laid lifeless on his sofa floor.

Be happy for me, (y/n).

You were in disbelief. You can’t believe your standing right in front of your Minho’s grave. Tears fell from your right eye as you gripped harshly on the letter his mom gave you before they all left the cemetery. You were the only one left and you refused to leave.

You sat down beside his grave and gathered the strength you have left to unfold the letter he left you.

“Hey,

If you’re reading this, firstly, I would like to give you my sincerest apologies, (y/n). I know I told you I would survive, but I didn’t have a cure. God knows how desperate I was with all my prayers to Him on how much I wanted to stay alive for you, but even He can’t find a way for me to live anymore.

I wish you a happy life. I have known you since the day you decided to hang out with the loner in high school – which was me of course. You deserve the galaxy and all of its stars for making my short stay in this life wonderful and memorable. Anyone would agree that I short-lived this lifetime, but maybe that’s the way it was meant to be.

Cause I couldn’t bear watching the love of my life be happy with someone else. Fuck, I can’t believe that I’m that much of a coward to only confess my undying affection for you now that I’m dead. But I was never the selfish type. I didn’t want you to suffer just because you couldn’t love me back.

You were and are happy, (y/n). I couldn’t take that away from you, so I kept all the pain to myself. And I would do it again and again if it’s for you. You wanted me to find a cure, but now we both know why that’s impossible. Because the cure for me is to be loved back by you, and that will never be a case now, wouldn’t be?

Maybe, just maybe, in another lifetime, I would be the one you spend your entire life with. Get married, have kids, buy a house, a car, all of that rom-com shit. But this lifetime isn’t ours, (y/n).

In this lifetime, I’m Minho. Your high school best friend, your college roommate, your co-worker, your ‘best man’, and now your guardian angel from above.

I couldn’t be the one you love, so let me just be your angel for now.

Until the next time we meet,

Love, Minho.”

Your heart broke as you finished reading Minho’s letter. You couldn’t breathe from all of the sobs you let out as you run your fingers through the ballpen ink and scatters of blood.

You gripped the letter and held it close to your chest. As you cried, you felt an itch on your throat. You thought it was just a cough that you needed to let out from all the sobbing, but you were wrong. And so was Minho.

Cause he could’ve survived, and this lifetime could’ve been theirs.

Because you just coughed out an Anemone flower.

#shinee fic #choi minho fic #minho fic #choi minho angst #choi minho #choi minho x reader #minho x reader #shinee x reader

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crystxlclear · 3 years

Text

sudden desire

chapter fourteen: i should’ve stayed in bed

part fifteen of sudden desire

masterlist

synopsis: moving on.

warnings: angst, mentions of pregnancy & loss

word count: 2k

Marcus is smiling, warm and sweet as always, as he leans against the doorway of her bedroom.

She’s yet to notice he’s there. He’d let himself in a couple of minutes earlier, like he always does, expecting to see her on the couch or in the kitchen, like he always does, but she hadn’t been there. He’d almost thought she wasn’t home, until she’d heard the quiet humming coming from down the hallway.

The sweet sounds lead him to Coraline’s bedroom.

She sits at her dresser, makeup half-finished, a pale silk dress hanging from her wardrobe, ready to be slipped into. Her eyes are wide as she swipes mascara over her lashes, lost in heady concentration and Radiohead playing over the room’s speakers. She hums along, listening idly to the lyrics as she takes her time getting ready. Coraline sets down her mascara, slips her glasses onto her nose and picks up her tube of lipstick; just as she’s about to press the colour against her lips, puckering them almost comically into the mirror, Marcus knocks his foot against the doorframe, once, twice, three times, and laughs at the utterly ridiculous (and adorable, completely and undeniably adorable) faces she makes as she stares at her reflection in the mirror.

The tube of lipstick clatters against the vanity table and she whirls on him, brandishing her mascara in his direction like some kind of makeshift makeup sword. She yelps as she spins on her heels. She gasps once she sees it’s only him, relieved that she’s not about to be murdered in the comfort of her own home. “Marcus.” Her chest heaves as she catches her breath, her hand pressed firm over her heart. She slumps back down into the chair she’d leapt from.

He’s frustratingly handsome like this - in his work suit, dishevelled in the best possible way, his jacket tapered perfectly against the lines of his torso. Long legs stretch out before him, one leg tucked over the other. Marcus crosses his arms and leans back against the doorframe, raising an eyebrow in amusement as she glares at him over the wire rim of her glasses.

“Boo.” He hums.

He’s tired. She can tell in the thickness of his voice, the heavy lethargy of his limbs. Work and loss is taking its toll on him - just as it is on her - and, though it’s getting better now, it still weighs upon his shoulders when he wakes every morning.

“Huh, no shit, Marcus,” Coraline groans, pushing her glasses further up the bridge of her nose and turning back to the mirror with a scoff. She drops the makeshift mascara sword and picks back up her lipstick. “How long have you been standing there?” She smiles at him over her shoulder, warm and gentle, inviting him in.

He gives a coy shrug. “Long enough,” he poses, “I was just admiring the view.”.

Coraline’s lips quirk into a smirk as she scoffs and rolls her eyes. What a line. Marcus’ fond smile grows, affection radiating from the FBI Agent like he’s the sun. “I hope you saw something you liked,” she counters.

Marcus narrows his eyes a little. He scrubs a hand over the stubble on his jaw. “Hmm, well-”

“Asshole,” she gasps. She can’t help but mirror his amused grin, though, when he steps further into her bedroom, into the lamplight that bathes his golden skin in warmth. “What are you doing here?” Her words come tipped with a chuckle when he’s behind her - lingering, half-desperate and completely fucking exhausted - pushes her hair away from her shoulder and drops a kiss to the exposed part of her shoulder. “I thought you were working late?”

The intimacy of it all has become so familiar now that, despite their agreement coming to an end, the kisses seem part of their relationship, now. It’s comfortable. Coraline craves the warmth of his lips against her skin; she has a feeling he feels the same way, too.

“Rough day,” he murmurs against her skin, lips brushing softly over her. His hands grip at her hips, fingers dipping slightly beneath the thin material of her shirt. “Wanted to see you.” He pulls back to meet her gaze in the mirror. “Selfish, I know. You’re getting ready.”

“I don’t mind.” She hums. Coraline drops her head back against his shoulder, turning so her nose brushes the sharp line of his stubble-covered jaw. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Marcus huffs out a sigh. He buries his face into her warmth. “Not really.” He just can’t let her go. “Just-” he sighs. “-just wanted to hold you.”

“Oh.”

It’s all familiar intimacy now. Teetering on the precipice, somewhere between unsure and knowing. Somewhere between friends and, maybe, more. Truthfully, they’d passed that line of friendship months ago - but they both knew that when they started whatever… this was - yet they’re stuck, suspended, in some kind of godforsaken limbo. It’s like they’re floating in space, trying to reach for each other, trying to ground themselves to anything to stop themselves from drifting further and further and further away.

She thinks they might already be half-gone, already.

But, for now, she’s content just to stay there, wrapped in his arms, feeling the rhythmic beat of his heart steady inside his chest. They won’t have children together. They won’t be together. They’ll move on, find someone new. And they’ll look back on those days when this felt like the centre of their universe fondly, as best friends do.

“I’m sorry, you’re getting ready.” His low voice is muffled by her shoulder.

“I still have time,” she insists. Coraline reaches back to card a hand through Marcus’ curls, the brush of her nails over his scalp drawing out some of the tension that knots every inch of his body.

He exhales a long breath and drops another kiss to her shoulder, as he pushes down the material of her Springsteen shirt just a little further. It’s far too big for her - about four sizes so - and rests just above her knees. It almost drowns her; he’s pretty sure it used to be her father’s, but he isn’t sure. It smells like her perfume and he’s far too intoxicated by the bright scent to care.

“Where are you going, that’s got you looking so beautiful?”

Charmer.

“Hmm-” Coraline seems to hesitate for a moment, rolling her tube of lipstick through her fingers. “I have a date.”

Fuck.

He should have told her when he had the chance.

But, damn, if she’s happy, then he’s happy.

Because it’s true what they say: if you love someone, you should set them free.

“Who’s the lucky guy?” He enquires, hoping that the stiffness in his voice doesn’t show. He doesn’t have any right to be jealous. They were never together.

She was never his.

Coraline shrugs. Her fingers carry on their ministrations across her scalp. “Just someone from work.” His eyes draw to hers in the mirror; his eyebrows raise in questioning - she’d practically sworn off dating co-workers after Scott and the problems that seemed to drag up for a long while afterwards - and she slumps back against him, her back curling into his chest. “I know, I know.” She rolls her eyes at herself. “But- but he’s sweet,” she insists.

Not as sweet as you, she thinks. He could never be you.

She finally drops her fingers from his curls and sweeps the lipstick over her lips; bright red and perfect on her. She puckers her lips again — the ridiculous gesture only serving to make him chuckle as he drops to sit on her bed — and her eyes draw to him as he groans, his shoulders slumping forward a little, before he straightens his back rigid again, as if nothing was wrong. Coraline narrows her eyes at him in the mirror.

“Marcus-” The call of his name draws his gaze to hers. “Are you okay?” She scowls at him in concern, green eyes alive with worry as his shoulders sag.

He smiles; it’s half-hearted and nowhere near as bright as his smile usually is, the smile that she welcomes every morning and craves every bad day. “I’m fine.” Marcus’ limbs are heavy. Like someone had tied weights to his wrists and his ankles, and he’s stuck lugging the burdens for the rest of his days. He’s completely exhausted, bled dry of energy, a heavy workload and the brutal sting of all their loss hitting him like a ten-ton truck, without warning.

Coraline narrows her eyes at him as he rubs at his jaw. He’d kept his facial hair at her request, so long ago that he thinks he’d miss the itchy thing if it were gone, now, but lately it’s been growing a little too unruly. “I can stay. I can reschedule-” She insists, but he’s shaking his head adamantly before she’s even finished her sentence.

Tell me not to go, she thinks.

Give me a reason to stay.

He won’t. He doesn’t feel the same way.

Coraline spins in her seat and tilts her head, worry tugging at her eyebrows. He catches her gaze as it lingers on his face, the face that gives away so much. “I’ll stay, Marcus.”

He knows she will. He’d do the same for her.

Don’t go, he thinks.

Let me give you a reason to stay.

She won’t. She doesn’t feel the same way.

“Don’t. Not for me.” He brushes her concern off.

“Marcus, I’ll stay, if you want me to.”

He almost asks her to, but that would be selfish.

“You have a date, sunshine.”

Coraline chuckles. “A date I’ve been holding off for months. He won’t mind if I tell him my best friend needs me.”

“Months, huh?” He smiles as much as he can bear to. “He must really like you.”

“Well-” Coraline’s teeth worry at her bottom lip and she reaches to scratch awkwardly at the back of her neck. “-his daughter likes me.” She smiles to herself; it’s bright, just for a moment, but she reins it in, as if she can’t be happy. “I think that helps,” she tells him.

A daughter.

Who is he to deny her that?

“Don’t let me keep you.” Marcus reaches across the small space between them and reaches for her hand; he dots a kiss to each of her knuckles, his thumb brushing once over the inside of her wrist, before he stands to leave. His knees protest as he stands, an uncomfortable ache spiking up his legs, but he ignores it, despite the pang of pain that flashes across his face.

If she stayed, he wouldn’t be good company. He’s sure he’ll fall asleep the moment his head hits the pillow.

Coraline stands along with him. She catches his wrist in hers. White-hot adoration shoots through him and it’s almost undeniable how much he loves her, right now. He’d scream it for all to hear if he could. “I’ll stay,” she insists again. She’s serious. All he has to do is ask. “Do you want me to stay?”

Yes.

“No.”

It hits them both like a punch in the gut. It’s far too abrupt, far too coarse. He clears his throat.

“I want you to go out and enjoy yourself.” Marcus kisses her forehead. Coraline chases his lips; she almost kisses him. Almost. She just lingers close to him for a moment, before drawing back, before remembering where the hell she is and that she can’t just lean up and kiss him whenever she wants because he’s not hers and it’s not fair and she can’t keep pretending that he’s in love with her when she’s sure that he isn’t. And when she herself isn’t even damn sure what the hell it is that cuts through the thick tension lingering in the space between them.

And Marcus can’t keep this façade going in his mind that they’re anything more than friends.

“And I want you to be happy.”

“You make me happy.”

Marcus sighs. He has to bite back his smile. He wishes that were true. That she means it the way he wants her to mean it. But she can’t.

Surely, she can’t.

“I mean, really happy.” The back of his fingers brush her cheeks. “Now, enjoy your date, sunshine.” He dips and kisses her nose. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

taglist: @wheresthewater @its--fandom--darling @alberta-sunrise @sara-alonso @madslorian @freeshavocadoooo @giselatropicana @thorins-queen-of-erebor

#marcus pike x oc #marcus pike x coraline meyer #marcus pike x female character #marcus pike x original character #marcus pike x fem!oc #marcus pike x original female character #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x female reader

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1a-imagines · 4 years

Note

Can I request a one shot for Bakugou when he's a Pro Hero and opens up his own agency, since heroes have to be out and about all day and night they're exhausted, so the agency has a personal shopper system and that's how he meets the reader. The reader is back and forth a lot, they never know who specifically they shop for, they just gets lists and also acts as asistant to anyone. Jealous coworkers see them getting along with Bakugou and they start overworking them?

A/n: This was so much fun! And what better time to post it than the lil shits brithday? Nah. I love him really

Quick little side note sort of ended being more of a personal assistant than a shopper but i hope you enjoy anyway.

----

"Ground zero, sir? Here are those files you wanted. O-oh! And since it's lunch I thought you might appreciate some food so I went out and ordered some curry for you." You sent him a smile as you watched his eyes widen at the food placed on his desk.

"Why?"

"H-huh?"

He let out a sigh. "You didn't need to do that.." he muttered softly. He could never understand why you always felt the need to go out of your way to do nice things for him. Sure you were technically the office assistant, it was your job to help him, but you weren’t required to buy him lunch!

He reached over and gratefully took the food. The smell alone was making his stomach growl. "Oh it's no problem! You always forget to eat when you're busy! And you’re busy a lot these days, since your rank is rising so quickly. I figured, as your assistant, I should make sure you're eating properly too."

He looked down at the food, you really were too nice for your own good. Looking out and caring for people who you owed nothing to. It annoyed him to no end! If you kept being so nice to everyone then people were going to take advantage of you! He had to keep a careful watch on you at all times to make sure you weren’t getting into trouble!

Granted, he didn’t really have to look out for you but who else would do it if he didn’t!?

He had been skeptical when his colleagues had suggested hiring someone like you for the company.

‘Oh great! Another headache to deal with!’ had been his first thoughts.

But he had to admit that it was one of the best decisions his company had made, and he didn't just think that because he actually liked having you around compared to some of the other idiots around here. You were helpful, and you took a load off his work pile every now and then, you brought him drinks and made sure no one bothered him when he was busy working. It made his work life all the more easier.

"Thanks." He hesitantly grumbled before taking a bite, you couldn’t help but notice how his eyes lit up for a slight second. "This is really good! How the hell do you know what I like?"

You let out a giggle. "You're a popular hero with a big following, all I had to do was search up 'Ground Zeroes favourite foods' and I learned that you like spicy food pretty quickly!" You really went to all that trouble just to get him lunch? He huffed through his nose. "Stalker."

"EH!?" he chuckled at your reaction before continuing. "Next time you can just ask me what I like. You don't have to go browsing the internet like some stalker fangirl." His smirk widened as he watched your face turn red.

"O-oh- right! Yes.. Of course!" Teasing you was way too easy and way too fun.

“You said it was lunch right? Have you had your lunch break?” he asked after taking another bite of the food. You shook your head and he rolled his eyes. Just like you always had to make sure he was eating well and taking breaks he had to do exactly the same for you. He didn’t need his assistant collapsing on him.

“Take it now then, here-” he reached over and pulled another chair closer to his desk. “You can eat with me since you got way too much food for me.” It wasn’t that much, he just wanted a reason for you to stay around for a while longer. He didn’t know why, he usually preferred spending breaks alone, it was practically the only time he got a break from everything and everyone. But, there was just something about you that made him feel at ease. He actually enjoyed talking to you, and this was a rare thing for him.

He loved watching you tense up at such a simple request. It was almost like you were surprised he wanted to eat with you. Then again, he didn’t do this with any other of his employees.

“Are you sure it’s ok sir?” You asked unsurely.

He sighed at your never ending courtesy. “I wouldn’t say it otherwise, just sit down.” You compiled and sat next to him.

He gave you half his food and you eagerly dug in, running around after people all day was a good way to work up an appetite, but as soon as the spiciness of the curry hit your palate your face turned red and you began to cough as the heat scorched your throat.

Bakugo burst out laughing at your reaction, your face had twisted into pain as you began gulping down water, it didn’t really help much. Your lips and tongue still felt like they were on fire. How can he stomach this stuff!?

You had never heard Bakugo laugh so hard before- or at all for that matter.

Once you cooled off you couldn’t help but laugh with him. It was nice to see him smiling for once, even if it was at your own expense.

Your combined laughter carried out of his office and down to where the rest of your coworkers were working. They could hear the pure joy you two were sharing from all the way down the hall and a few of them began to pry. They had never before heard their usually grumpy boss laugh like that.

Three of them walked up and peaked through the window to his office. You two hunched over laughing with tears in your eyes, you looked awfully close, a little too close for some of their likings.

“Hmph! What a suck up she is!” Setsuko muttered bitterly as her eye’s narrowed at the sight.

“I know.. We’ve worked here for years!! And yet Y/n who's been here what? Three months? gets all the special treatment?” Kimiko agreed.

“I-I don’t know.. She’s just doing her job..” Mariko chimed in as they watched the two of you wipe the tears from your eyes. She had never seen their boss so happy before, usually he was in a bad mood over something or other. However, when you were around, he seemed to soften up, it was kind of sweet in a way. She enjoyed seeing this new side you brought out of him, but she knew that a few of your fellow co-workers didn’t enjoy this “special treatment” you got.

“Don’t be stupid Mariko! You don’t see her getting the rest of us lunch do you? She’s supposed to help everyone around the office! She’s just trying to get a promotion!” Setsuko countered as they turned away from the window.

“That’s a good point though!” Kimiko grinned, a glint of mischief in her eyes. “She’s our assistant too. Maybe we should start taking more advantage of that?”

Mariko shifted uncomfortably at the suggestion, “I-I’m not so sure-”

“Good idea Kimiko! She needs to learn her place!” They completely ignored the shy, petite girl next to them. Mariko couldn’t stand listening to their childish plans and walked away from the scene.

As soon as you left Ground zeroes office after your lunch break the two girls approached you with friendly smiles on their faces. “Y/n! Glad we found you! We have some boxes over there that need to be put in the basement? Think you could do it for us?”

You sent them a curt nod, “Of course!” Thought you regretted not looking over at the box pile before answering. The pile of boxes just about reached the ceiling! There were so many! Your jaw dropped as Setsuko patted your shoulder. “Thanks a bunch!” Was the last thing they said before leaving you to it.

“Ok, I can do this! They might not even be that heavy! Maybe I can carry a few at a time and be done quickly!”

They’re so fucking heavy!

One box in and your arms were already aching, what was in these things!? Bricks?! That was the only thing you could assume from the weight of them. You weren’t sure what kind of bad luck you had been cursed with today but suddenly it seemed like your shift was going to become a lot more grueling.

Three hours later and you were practically crawling along the floor, the pile still only half finished. You had the great idea of using an old desk chair with wheels so you could push a few boxes along at a time but it was still really heavy and taking forever! Not that you could exactly do anything about it, this was your job. At least you didn’t deal with this everyday.

You wiped the sweat from your forehead and shook your arms to relieve the pain. “Just a few more left!” You tried to encourage yourself.

Little did you know about Marikos guilty, green eyes staring at you from across the office.

The week didn’t get any better for you. You were constantly running around having to do these ridiculously hard tasks all alone. They’ve had you fixing all the broken office chairs, scanning about 500 pages of forms only to say they didn't need them anymore, they’ve had you going all over town to buy supplies or lunches for them, as well as running up and down all 50 floors of the office building doing a bunch of other ridiculous tasks for them. It felt unfair but it’s not like they were making you do things that were outside of your job description? So how could you complain about them when they weren’t really doing anything wrong?

You felt so exhausted. You couldn’t even enjoy your breaks without them coming to ask favours of you. You felt even worse that you had barely any time to help Bakugo with his tasks. You were sure he didn’t need help- he always stressed he could do everything alone but you hoped he was at least remembering to eat. He was always too focused on becoming the number one that he often forgot to take care of himself unless you were there to remind him.

“Y/n! Would you mind going to grab us some coffee?” Kamiko asked you as you handed them the prints they wanted you to fetch,

Ok, that was a pretty simple task! That’s not unreasonable at all! You sent them a smile, a smile that was slightly strained due to your fatigue, “Of course!” You stepped around them to head towards the break room where the coffee machine was, but before you could go far they stopped you again. “Oh! No! The coffee in the break room is kind of gross, it’s never strong enough ethier, especially when you have a mountain of paperwork.” Setsuko giggled. “Would you mind going to ‘The steamed bean’? Here are the directions if you need them!” She handed you a note and you gawked at the address, It was all the way over the other side of town! “Y-you realise I don’t have a car to travel this far right?”

“Ah, we know, but we figured you wouldn’t mind since it’s a nice day and all! Besides, Exercise could do you some good!”

‘What's that supposed to mean…’

“Ok.. I guess I could but-!”

“Thanks so much! You’re a doll! We owe ya!” Kamiko waved as they walked off. “-won't it be cold by the time I get back…” You trailed off, speaking to the empty space they once stood in. You sighed. It was your job to assist them, but sending you all the way across town for coffee? It was a bit unreasonable. You just couldn’t seem to find it in yourself to argue about it.

You set off on your journey through the city, You had to admit that it was a nice day but the walk was too long for your liking. You could’ve gotten the train or a bus but you didn’t tend to bring change with you to work, You had a weird feeling Setsuko and Kamiko might have known about that. So it left you with walking.

The walk gave you a lot of time to think over the past week and all the jobs they’ve had you do. There was just no doubt about it.

‘They’re taking advantage of me.’

You sighed. Maybe Bakugo was right about you being too nice, a pushover even.. He had warned you about it time and time again but you didn’t listen. Being kind was just in your nature. You had every right to file a complaint against them for overworking you, the bags under your eyes were evidence enough, so why didn’t you? Because it was your job? Because you didn’t want to be causing trouble in the first few months of being there?

You huffed. You were angry with yourself for letting it get this far!

Though, you were too far into the walk to turn back now, the coffee shop wasn’t much father but you made a note to yourself to let this be the last unreasonable task you did for them!

The walk was almost an hour a half. You’ve never felt so relieved to see a coffee shop sign in your life! You couldn’t have felt more happy for your aching feet but when you made it to the door you noticed the sign had been turned to-

“Closed!?” you squeaked in defeat. All this walking for… this!? You sighed, Taking a moment to lean your body against the brick wall of the building.

Soon, you began trudging back to the office. You couldn’t exactly return to them with nothing, You didn’t want to get in trouble for not doing your job properly, and something told you that they wouldn’t hesitate to put in a complaint about you given the opportunity. So you bought them coffee from a different place before you got back.

You were dragging your feet at this point, your legs numb, you weren’t entirely sure what time it was; but the sun was begging to set over the city, leaving an orange glow in its wake. Once you arrived back at the office you found your two coworkers talking to Bakugo as they packed away their stuff. “We got everything finished on time thanks to your help sir!”

“Yeah, whatever..” He dismissed them and turned around to see you standing there, you looked overheated and sweaty from the 3 hour walk in the sun you had just taken, the bags under your eyes were prominent on your face, right next to how flushed your cheeks were. He blinked.

“The hell happened to you? You look like a mess.” He commented and you shot him a soft glare for the jab. “I was just out getting coffee for-” you looked behind him to see they had both left. You deflated, you eye twitched in annoyance. They really just-

Bakugo followed your gaze, catching on. “Why the hell would you go into the city to get coffee for them? We have coffee here.” He crossed his arms. You shrugged and placed the two coffee cups down on a nearby empty desk. “They asked and it’s sort of my job to assist them.”

“And now their shifts are over and you went to all the trouble for nothing.” He pointed out and you internally groaned. “Yeah.. pretty much.”

The office was practically empty now apart from the odd few night staff that were coming in for their shifts. You knew you had been set up, this wasn’t just bad luck like you had first thought. But why would your coworkers do this to you?

“Well better not let them go to waste.” Bakugo sat down and took one of the coffee cups. You smiled a little. It felt like he was looking out for you in a way, It was sweet. You sat down opposite him and let out a big sigh of relief at weight off your feet. You tried to relax your tired body as much as you could. It felt like the first time you had relaxed in a week. Your behaviour made Bakugo raise an eyebrow. “How fucking far did you go for coffee?” he asked you before taking a sip out of his cup. “The steamed bean.” you heard him choke on his drink and you jumped up. “Are you ok!?”

“Are you!?” He backfired, staring up at you in disbelief. “Why the hell would you go there!? Not only is it miles away but you know it’s always shut on wednesdays, right?” you suddenly felt the need to collapse and sink into the floor.

It’s always closed on wednesdays!?

They really did set you up then!

You sat back down and Bakugos eyes followed you. “Oh.. don't tell me that's why you’re in pain.. You didn’t walk did you?” he narrowed his eyes, you could tell he was judging you and it made you too shy to give a reply. The look on your face must have said enough because he shook his head at you. “Idiot.”

“They asked and-”

“Just because it’s “your job” doesn’t mean you have to take that shit from them! Don’t let people use you and overwork you!” he scolded. You couldn’t help but smile despite being lectured and he noticed. “What? Why do you have that stupid look on your face?”

“I just- didn’t realise you cared so much about me.” He saw his shoulders tense which only made you smile more. This was priceless.

“I don’t- I just don’t want my employees being overworked!” He defended himself but you couldn’t fully believe his words. “You can’t fool me that easily, I’ve already heard plenty from the other workers around here that you’re a pretty stern boss. You’re serious about work and get annoyed when it’s not done on time.”

“Who the fuck said that!?”

“Point is! I’ve never actually seen that side of you. So either everyone else is lying or..” You shyly looked away “you have a soft spot for me~”

You heard him tut, his head also turned away from you as he crossed his arms. “That’s the conclusion you’ve come to? You’re dumber than I thought.”

“Well, you do invite me to eat lunch with you a lot, even making dumb excuses like “theres just too much food to eat it alone”, and you stay back after your shift ends just to talk and drink coffee with me.” You gestured to the scene around you, feeling pride when you saw his cheeks turn red. You knew that you had busted him. You let out a laugh at his reaction and he muttered for you to shut up.

Something about you laughing at him really pushed his buttons. He didn’t like that the tables had turned on him. Usually it was him teasing you, you were the one supposed to be blushing! Now he was the one with red cheeks and he couldn’t stand for this! “So what if I am a little soft for you?”

“h-huh!?”

“If I happen to like you a little more than everyone else around here? What are you going to do about it?”

“I- you-”

He smirked, just like that he had turned it back around. So easy. This was how it should be. With you getting all embarrassed and shy, not him. You hunched over in defeat, you were too tired to play this game with him right now. Especially when you knew you wouldn't win.

Though, you couldn’t help but wonder if he meant it? Did he really like you more than everyone else?

You took a nice long gulp of the warm coffee, you couldn’t wait for the energy boost, you really needed it after the week you had just had.

“You don’t have to worry about those two anymore.” He suddenly spoke up.

“What? Why?” You asked as you watched Bakugo absentmindedly fiddle with the cup. “Cause they’re getting fired tomorrow.” He smirked and you froze up. Were they getting fired because of you!? You knew they deserved it but you couldn’t help but feel guilty. Jobs are how people make a living, their source of income and if they don't have that then-

“Quit your worrying would you?” His voice cut through your thoughts, you blushed at how easy he could see through you.

“Listen, it’s not just because of you, though you are a big part of it.” He muttered the last part so you couldn’t hear and before you could ask him to repeat himself he carried on. “When I was helping them with work today the files they’ve been writing up on their computers were complete shit. I can’t have people like that in my agency.” You sighed in relief. Bakugo leaned forward to lock eyes with you. He glared. “Also, Mariko told me everything they’ve been making you do the past week.”

Your lips parted in shock. “Mariko?”

“Yes, I’m terribly sorry I didn’t help sooner.” You turned in your chair to see the shy girl approaching. “I-I knew what they were doing and I thought they’d stop but they didn’t- I’m not really good at confrontation you see so I-” she inhaled through her nose. Stopping herself from making excuses. “I’m very sorry I let it go on. I told our boss when I found out they sent you all the way across town on foot to a closed coffee shop. I wish I had said something sooner. I’m sorry.” She bowed deeply and you tensed up at the confession. You had never expected this from her. You could see how genuine she was being, how sorry she felt. You placed a hand on her shoulder and pushed her up. “It’s ok.” You smiled. “Thank you for helping me in the end! I really appreciate it.” You told her, Mariko seemed unsure, but curtly nodded anyway, “If you’re sure.”

She glanced over to her boss who’s eyes had never left you, despite you turning away. It reminded her of the look on his face when she told him about what had been happening. She wished you could have seen it, how worried he was. Maybe then you would understand just how much he cared for you. This wasn’ just a simple workplace relationship anymore.

She giggled quietly, a knowing twinkle in her eyes. “Well I should be off! Have fun you two!” She waved. You waved back, though you were unsure what that look she had given you was about.

“Never ever let anyone take advantage of you again you hear me?” Ah, back to the lecture now. You sent him a smile and nodded. “I’ll try my best”

He groaned at your answer. Trying isn't good enough! He needed to know you wouldn’t get put in a situation like this again. He threw his head back, “You’re lucky I’m around to keep you out of trouble.”

There was a small silence as you stared down at your lap, “I am.” You agreed, his cheeks tinted red at your response.

“Ok! Enough of that mushy shit! You look starving, come on let's go get some food. My treat.” He jumped up and you followed a frantic look in your eyes as you were about to argue that he didn’t need to do that but he stopped you before you could by placing a hand over your mouth. He expected you would have this reaction.

“No, shut up, just let me do this for you. I still owe you for when you bought me lunch last week!"

You bit your lip as you took his hand into yours and lowered it from your face, neither one of you pulled away. "That just sounds like an excuse to take me out."

To your surprise he leaned down to be level with your face. He smirked as his eyes burned into yours. "Maybe you're not such a dumbass after all. It is an excuse, I'm taking you on a date."

You gulped. You were thankful you were holding onto his hand because your knees suddenly felt weak as his breath hit your cheek. "Then I guess I can't turn it down." You smiled and he squeezed your hand. "Let's go.”

Bonus:

You sat in his car, driving around the city as you tried to find a good place to have dinner.

“So what are you thinking?” He looked over to you with a playful glint in his eyes. “How about The Steamed Bean?”

You let out a loud groan and sunk into the seat at the jab to your pride. “You’re the worst date ever!"

He chuckled at your reaction, "We'll see if you still feel that way when the nights over~"

380 notes · View notes

witcherslittledove · 3 years

Text

All Tied Up

Joey Batey/Henry Cavill RPF - Also on AO3

Rating: E

Summary: All of the things Joey had expected from his first day back on set, he hadn't expected to spend the morning in a harness and chained up. And he really hadn't expected Henry to be staring at him like that. It was going to be a hard day.

CW: Light spoilers for Blood of Elves, bondage, references to torture (for Jaskier not Joey), exhibitionism, masturbation, hand jobs, frottage, multiple orgasms

Thanks to @jaskiertheflowertwink for being my beta!

__________

Joey tugged at the cuffs of Jaskier’s doublet, it felt strange to be back on set after so many months away, trapped in his flat with Madeleine. Luckily, Jaskier was an easy character to settle into, almost like a second skin. The bard was eager to come out and play, taking the edge off of Joey’s anxiety. With Jaskier, he almost forgot how much he fucking hated other people. Still, not even Jaskier could save him from first day nerves, and Lauren hadn’t started his shoot off easy. Joey was diving straight into a torture scene, and he would be spending the majority of the day hung up from the ceiling in ropes and shackles, waiting for darling Anya to come and save him. It wouldn’t be real of course, there would be harnesses and all sorts of wires to make sure he wasn’t injured, but it wouldn’t be comfortable. The harness was already bulking out his costume, and chafing the insides of his thighs.

And after the mess of the pandemic, Joey wasn’t sure how he felt about losing control and being trapped for the afternoon. It unnerved him. He wanted to be free, and thought of the shackles around his wrists just… nope.

“Hey?” Henry came up from behind him, a hand squeezing his shoulder. “Are you okay?”

“What? Oh, yeah. Yeah. I’m fine,” Joey mumbled, staring up at the set. “First day back and all. It’s like being back at school.”

“You’ll be fine, Joey. You’re an incredible actor and I couldn’t ask for a better bard,” Henry reassured him, his voice low and gravelly in Joey’s ear. It was unreasonably hot. Honestly, Joey knew that Henry was fucking Superman but did he really have to be so godlike, and on top of that he was a complete dork.

Perhaps Joey could invite him to a D&D game once they were done shooting season two. Would that be too weird? It was probably too weird. They were just colleagues. Christ, Joey hadn’t even seen Henry since they’d finished promoting the show the year before. He really needed to get a grip, and ignore Jaskier’s voice in the back of his head. They were not best friends, and Henry would not want to play a shitty Dungeons and Dragons game with him.

Okay. Not shitty. His games were pretty fucking brilliant, but Henry would be too busy with his PC games, and his War Hammer and whatever cooler nerd stuff that he got up to in between his work outs and eating far too many chicken breasts and smoothies.

Jesus Christ, he missed Madeleine.

He didn’t say any of that aloud, no, that was for the safety of his own thoughts, racing at a million miles per hour. Instead, he channeled Jaskier and laughed, hiding his anxiety behind the more confident mask that had fooled millions of people into loving him. “Now, now, witcher,” he teased. “We both know you don’t mean that, what was it you said? If life could give me one blessing.”

“Oh fuck that, we’ve both read the books,” Henry groused, rolling his eyes.

His very, very blue eyes. He was in full make-up except for the yellow contacts and it was just weird to see Henry’s eyes looking back at him from Geralt’s face. It was confusing. Were they Henry and Joey right now? Or Geralt and Jaskier?

Perhaps a weird blend of the two.

And it was only the first fucking day.

Joey chuckled, “Yeah, talking of which, why are you here, Henry? I don’t recall Geralt being Jaskier’s Prince Charming in this scene.”

Henry shrugged. “It’s your first day, I wanted to see how you are.”

Joey swallowed, his mouth suddenly feeling dry, and he flicked his fringe from his eyes, bouncing on the balls of his feet. He wanted to run his hands through his hair but the poor hair and make-up team would have his balls in a vice if he tried. It was bad enough that he kept pulling at his costume, but luckily he seemed to have made fidgeting into a characteristic for Jaskier. He grinned, settling back into the character more than ever. “So, you came to see me all tied up?”

Henry, the bastard, winked. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Joey squeaked, feeling his cheeks heat up beneath the make-up. He tried to laugh it off but holy fucking cock balls… was Henry actually flirting with him? And about bondage of all things. Fuck. He was not going to survive the day, not if Henry was watching him.

No. It was going to be fine. He was an actor, a professional. He wasn’t going to get hard on set just because his unfairly attractive co-star was watching him. The harness was uncomfortable. He’d probably be in pain and there would be an entire crew watching him. There was absolutely no reason to get hard.

So… naturally… he got hard.

Getting into the rigging was awkward and possibly the least sexy thing he had ever done in his entire life, which was really saying something. The shackles around his wrist didn’t hurt at first but his arms became tired quickly. He opted to stay in the rigging as much as he could between takes though. It was better for continuity and, well, if he was being truly honest with himself, he was enjoying the way Henry looked at him. It was intense, not dissimilar to how Geralt looked at Yennefer whenever she entered the room, but this time that burning desire wasn’t directed at Anya, it was directed at him… and Henry wasn’t acting.

It was all incredibly distracting, but having Henry there made him completely forget about his previous anxiety of being tied up for the morning. Something about the other actor’s presence was grounding and Joey trusted Henry not to let him get hurt, more than he trusted the crew, which was completely stupid and probably the result from some teenage crush. He was lucky that he only flubbed his lines a couple of times, and by the time Yennefer flew into the room, he was aching and desperate to return to his trailer.

He’d never been so grateful for Jaskier’s baggy clothes.

“Ah, umm, Lauren?” he stammered, rubbing his wrists. They were sore, and he really needed to stretch out his arms, maybe have a nap too. Fuck, he was really out of shape. Lockdown had really been a curse. “Can we take a breather?” he asked, scratching the back of his neck and giving the showrunner a sheepish smile. “I umm.. I need a break.”

“Oh yeah, sure. You’ve done brilliant work today, Joey. Let’s take a half hour everyone!”

Joey all but ran back to his trailer, shuffling awkwardly as he tried to hide his erection as best he could. Occasionally he stretched his arms, rolling his shoulders back so that if anyone saw him then they would think he just needed to recover from the physical exertion of being strung up like a puppet for most of the morning. He was sure that he looked like a state, his doublet was torn and bloody and his shirt barely covering his torso. The makeup team had had far too much fun spraying him with fake blood and dirt. He hadn’t been allowed to shave for a couple of days and heavy film makeup was caked on his face, making him seem bloodied and bruised. His lips itched from where they had been made to look split…

And everyone was staring at him.

Fuck.

He supposed he was usually the one that wasn’t covered in shit. The worst he’d had was the djinn wound from season one, but normally he was all bright doublets and smiles. Sometimes a little bit mucky, but nothing like this.

And Jesus Christ, he really needed a wank.

Why on god’s earth had Henry been staring at him like that? Did the bastard know how it affected him? He probably knew. Fuck, cocking shit balls! He was in trouble. Joey was still trying to break into the industry, if fucking Superman lodged a sexual harassment complaint against him then he was done for. He’d never work again…

But then again, Henry hadn’t been looking at him like he was angry. No, he’d been looking at him like he wanted to eat Joey alive, get down on his knees and get his mouth around Joey’s cock whilst he’d still been suspended in the rigging, the shackles caught around his wrists, unable to move…

“Fucking cock!” Joey slammed through the door to his trailer, fiddling with the fastenings of Jaskier’s trousers as soon as he was inside. His cock was already leaking in his boxers, throbbing and desperate for relief. He bit back a moan as he thumbed the slit, collecting the precum on his fingers and sliding it down the length of his cock. Waves of pleasure washed over him, and he closed his eyes, picturing Henry’s blue eyes, dark and wanting, his pretty pink lips stretched around Joey’s cock.

He barely managed to stumble to the bed, his legs shaking, head already spinning. It wasn’t going to take him long, he’d been far too keyed up all morning, and with Henry at the forefront of his mind, he was tumbling towards his orgasm faster than he would have liked. Joey moaned, biting his lip as he stroked his cock, the memories of the day fuelling his fantasies. It felt so fucking good and soon he felt a familiar tug at his core.

“Joey, are you alright?”

“Shit!” Joey gasped as he came all over his hand, but the pleasure seeped from his body, leaving him feeling hollow and dissatisfied, “For fuck’s sake, Henry! Fucking knock!”

Henry was staring back at him, blue eyes, silver hair, sleeves rolled up to his elbows and looking like a fucking god. The bastard smirked and crossed his arms in front of his chest, raising an eyebrow. Joey had a sinking feeling in his chest.

“You- you did knock?”

Henry chuckled, his low gravelly laugh that sent shivers down Joey’s spine. There was a reason he spent much of their time on set trying to make Henry laugh. It was a gorgeous and beautiful sound, and Joey was completely addicted. He would quite happily spend the rest of his life trying to make Henry laugh… although that made him sound a lot more infatuated than he actually was, right?

They were just friends.

And Henry was a very attractive friend, friend? Co-star? Fuck!

“I am so sorry, Henry,” Joey whined, pulling a pillow in front of his face to try and hide his embarrassment but Henry wasn’t having any of it. He sat down next to Joey on the bed, gently pulling the pillow from his hands.

“Don’t apologise,” he said hoarsely, “I shouldn’t have walked in. I heard you moaning. It wasn’t exactly a hard jump to make… pun intended.”

Despite himself, Joey snorted and whacked Henry on the arm with his clean hand. “You arse!”

“What?”

“I’m actually dying of embarrassment and you’re making dick jokes!”

Henry smirked. “Sorry, I thought you’d be up to it.”

“Fuck off!”

“Oh come now, Joey.. it’s just a joke.”

Joey whined. “I hate you.”

And then Henry was suddenly in his space, so close that he could feel the warm tingle of the other actor’s breath on his cheeks. Lips brushed against his ear, and despite already cumming, he felt heat prickle over his skin and he mouth was dry. “I don’t think you do,” Henry whispered, his voice dropping to a low base, not dissimilar to the accent he used for Geralt.

Joey took a shaky breath, very aware that his cock was still on display, covered in his spend, already twitching, trying to get hard again. “What- What are you doing, Henry?”

“Tell me to stop, Joey, I’ll leave and we never have to talk about it,” Henry breathed, pressing a kiss to Joey’s neck, nosing along his jaw.

“I-I… no. Don’t stop…”

“Seeing you today, chained up, Christ, Joey. It was so fucking hot, and then you were hard. I bet you could hardly resist cumming in your pants like a fucking teenager, and with everyone watching you,” Henry growled in his ear, the actors fingers now stroking along Joey’s thighs, higher, creeping closer to his slowly hardening cock. Joey whined, pressing his head into Henry’s shoulder, “but I think you like that, don’t you Joey?”

His cheeks flushed red, burning hot right up to his ears. “Fuck off.”

“Or was it just me watching you?”

“Hnnng.”

“Can I touch you?” Henry asked, his voice sounding almost as wrecked as Joey felt, “We don’t have long but, god, I’ve been wanting to touch you since you walked into the reading room that first day all those years ago.”

“Wh-what?”

“You seemed so shy, then you started reading and you just melted into Jaskier’s character. It was fucking amazing. You’re amazing.”

Joey whimpered. “Henry, please.”

And then Henry’s hand finally wrapped around his cock. The effect was instantaneous. Joey keened, bucking into Henry’s hand as his second orgasm began to build, his poor cock already sensitive but he was craving more, he wanted to feel that overwhelming pleasure that had been so cruelly stolen from him. Henry covered Joey’s hand with his own, gathering a mess of sticky white fluid and then continued to stroke down the length of Joey’s cock.

“Can I kiss you?”

“Hmm.. uh huh.. Yup,” Joey stammered, lost to his pleasure, his head feeling hazy, almost floaty, but he didn’t need anymore words as Henry’s lips crashed against his. Moans and grunts and gasps were muffled by the kiss, and Henry shifted on the bed so he was sitting over Joey, one of Joey’s legs pressed against his clothed cock.

If Joey had any more sense left in him, he might have offered to get Henry off at the same time, but he was too far gone, babbling nonsense in between kisses, curses, moans, wordless cries. Henry seemed more than happy to thrust against his leg, grunting as he moved to suck kisses onto Joey’s neck.

“Henry, god! Oh fuck!” Joey keened, his back arching off the bed. “I-I… fuck!”

His eyes squeezed shut as he came, sparks flying across his vision and his head rolled back onto the pillow. His energy seemed to drain as the waves of pleasure took over his body, Henry’s hand stroking him through his orgasm, still rutting against his leg until he came with a strangled moan. Henry collapsed on top of Joey, breathing heavily, silver strands of hair getting in Joey’s mouth and eyes.

“Urgh, get off me,” he groaned. “Heavy and you have so much fucking hair!”

“Blame Sapkowski,” Henry grumbled but rolled over, lying next to him on the bed.

They both stared up at the ceiling, panting as they tried to catch their breaths. It should have felt weird, fucking his apparently not straight co-star in the middle of takes… but, well, it sort of just felt right?

Joey laughed, turning to face Henry. “Make-up are gonna kill us.”

“Costume too,” the other actor groaned.

“And Lauren if we don’t get back…”

“Yeah.”

Their eyes met and it was no use. They both reached for each other, their lips meeting once more in a feverish kiss. It wouldn’t hurt if they were a little late… right?

#joey batey/henry cavill #joey/henry #the witcher rpf #rpf

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wolveria · 4 years

Text

Buttons - Ch. 3

Pairing: Therapist!Connor x f!Reader

Summary: Connor knew he shouldn’t be so attracted to his patient. It wasn’t right, especially when she had been nothing but sweet to him.

But when the opportunity presented itself to finally get a taste of her, he couldn’t help himself.

Chapter Warnings: Explicit dubcon

Word Count: 3.4k

Co-authors: @uh-kitty-got-wet, @groovylabrat, @technohumanlation

AO3

(Moodboard created by @uh-kitty-got-wet)

“I would tell you if something was wrong, of course,” you said, trying not to shiver as the hand remained where it was, heavy and hot on your shoulder.

“Not having nightmares again, are you?”

The question was perfectly reasonable, so there was no reason for your cheeks to be on fire or for you to clutch the couch cushions as tightly as you did.

“N-no. No nightmares.” Oh, definitely no nightmares.

He hummed thoughtfully, and then he slightly squeezed your shoulder, making you jump.

“You’re incredibly tense,” he said, repeating the motion. “You shouldn’t hold so much tension in your muscles, especially here. It increases the chance of cluster headaches and neck injury.”

You couldn’t breathe, or think, or function at all as he moved his hand closer to your neck and pressed the pad of his thumb against the top of your spine.

“You’ve got a knot. Right… here.” He rubbed the spot harder, digging into the sore muscle.

You moaned, and immediately slapped your hand over your mouth.

He stopped moving his thumb.

Fuck, you thought, panicking. Fuck, fuck.

“Sorry,” he said with a little laugh, as if you hadn’t done the most embarrassing thing in the world. “Forgot to warn you this might hurt a little. If it gets to be too much, please tell me.”

Oh. He thought you’d moaned in pain.

You lowered your hand from your mouth, nodded and gave a strangled, “Okay.”

Connor placed his hand on your other shoulder, effectively doubling your heart rate as you pressed your thighs together. You felt like you were going to explode or catch fire on the spot.

He began to rub both of your shoulders, long and deft fingers working through your muscles. Goosebumps erupted over your skin, your nipples were painfully hard, and you ached between your legs.

All from a simple massage that probably meant nothing to him. It wasn’t fair.

“Is this all right?” His voice had dropped to a low murmur that was sinful enough to short-circuit your brain. “If you’re uncomfortable, just tell me to stop.”

“No,” you rushed out, immediately flushing. “It’s-it’s fine. Great, really. I… think I needed this.”

He gave a low chuckle. You were pretty sure you could come from his voice alone.

“Really? I couldn’t tell at all,” he teased, fingers pressing into an especially stubborn muscle. “But honestly, someone as young as you shouldn’t be so tense. It’s unhealthy. Are you practicing any muscle-relaxing techniques at home?”

“I don’t think so. Unless drinking counts,” you sheepishly added.

“No, drinking does not count,” he reprimanded you, even as you could hear the smile in his voice. “I have a few suggestions, if that’s all right?”

“Sure,” you said, head hanging forward as you continued to relax. He could do anything to you right now and you wouldn’t care. It felt so insanely good, better than any massage you’d ever had, and those fingers and his voice were better than any porn.

You really needed to stop lusting over your therapist. It was wrong, pathetic, and clearly pointless. This wasn’t going anywhere except to give you another broken heart.

“Well…” He moved his hands back up to your neck, the tips of his fingers gently cradling the columns of your throat as his thumb worked against your spine. You thought you had died and gone to heaven. “Lying down and reading is a good one. Stretching your muscles everyday also helps. Relaxing in a hot bath.

“And, of course, there’s masturbation.”

You stopped breathing. Went stock-still like a frightened rabbit before a hunter.

“Really?” you asked faintly, on autopilot as your brain tried to catch up. Did he know what you had done just before your session? Was he just teasing you some more?

“Yes, absolutely,” he said, still massaging your muscles as he had a whole bunch of tensed up ones to work through. “It even helps bolster the immune system. I recommend it to all my patients.”

“Oh.”

All his patients. It didn’t mean anything. He was just being a good therapist. Of course he was. He was a professional and you were a pathetic lowlife who let your innocent crush run wild until it had become totally perverted and—

Connor’s hands went still as he leaned down, put his mouth close to your ear and murmured, “I can show you the best technique, if you like.”

This couldn’t be happening. Surely, you were still dreaming. There was no way—

“Okay.”

He seemed surprised, going by the short breath he sucked it, but it was nothing compared to your own shock. Had you just really agreed to let Connor show you how to masturbate “properly”?

He removed his hands from your shoulders, and for a moment you thought he was going to laugh at you, tell you it was a joke and you really were pathetic to fall for it.

Instead, he stood before you, peering down so intently that you felt he could see right through you. Hear each beat of your heart and listen to each shallow, pulled breath.

Normally, the glasses perched on his nose gave Connor a soft, endearing look. Now he looked almost predatory as his analytical gaze roved over every inch of you. And then he reached up, pulled at the knot of his tie, and tugged it off in one swift motion.

You gripped the edge of the couch. Holy shit.

Connor sat down next to you on the couch, and the parts of you that felt they were on fire burned even brighter.

“Are you sure?” he asked, voice raspy and low as he looked you in the eye. “If we have to stop later, you’ll be even tenser than before, which will make this entire exercise ineffective. So once I start… I plan to not stop until it’s finished.”

This was really happening. You nodded, licking your dry lips and swallowing the lump in your throat, voice shaky but the words clear.

“Yes. I’m sure.”

He gave a little smile, so faint you almost didn’t catch it, and then he took your hand, holding the back of it against his palm.

“Good. Then let us begin.”

Connor sounded so formal it was almost funny, as if this really was some kind of legitimate therapist practice, but there was nothing professional about the way he gripped your hand, placed it on your thigh, and pushed it up your skirt.

“I’m glad you wore this today,” he said, almost conversational except for the hoarse quality of his voice. “Makes it easier for the both of us.”

A small whimper escaped before you could tamp it down, the tips of your fingers against your inner thigh combined with Connor’s low praise already too much. How were you going to do this and survive with your mind intact?

“It’s all right,” he breathed against your cheek. “Don’t hold anything back. This is all about making you feel good.”

You couldn’t hold back, even if you’d wanted to. Connor pressing your own fingers against your clothed sex was enough to pull another noise from you, a stifled, strained whine.

“That’s it,” he instructed sweetly, guiding your fingers into a slow, circling motion over your clit. “Just like that.”

You shut your eyes tight, trying to be quiet despite what he’d said, and Connor gave a sigh.

“You’re not relaxing.”

He didn’t give you an opportunity to respond; Connor pushed your hand harder against the fabric barrier over your clit just as he gently wrapped his fingers in your hair, tilting your head to the side so he could press his nose against the side of your neck.

“Relax.”

He said the word against your skin, moving lips forcing a shudder out of you, and just as if he had you under a spell, you began to relax, muscles becoming loose and pliant under his control.

“That’s my girl.”

Between the guide of his skillful fingers, his lips teasing your neck, and his low, murmured praises, you were already well on your way to reaching that peak. He felt so warm, his voice more raspy than usual, and that hint of cologne you’d always thought smelled nice was now intoxicating.

But just as you started to feel your walls tightened, Connor pulled your hands away, and you gave a pitiful moan.

“Impatient, aren’t you,” he teased, drawing your hand up your mound and to the waistband of your panties. “Insatiable little thing.”

You were beyond speaking at this point; all that was left to you were needy whines and breathy, strangled groans.

Connor, meanwhile, seemed as composed as ever, even with his tie removed and the top button of his collar undone, leaving a delicious swath of pale, smooth skin. You wanted to reach out and suck on it, leave a hickey he would have to hide from his next patients, and the thought made you wild with need but your hands remained next to your legs, clutching the cushions for dear life. You didn’t know if he would let you touch him, but you wanted to, desperately.

Still leading your hand, he dipped your fingers under your waistband, moved them down, and guided them over your folds. Your face was on fire, made worse when you both felt how drenched you were.

“It seems to me you really needed this.” Was it your imagination, or did Connor’s breath hitch and nearly stutter? “How long have you been… wound so tight?”

As he said the words, he pressed your fingers inward, teasing and prodding your entrance. You rolled your hips and arched against the back of the couch, unable to keep still or quiet as you released a muffled cry.

“You’re holding back again.” You felt something warm and wet against your skin, and belatedly realized he was dragging his tongue along your neck. You whimpered and tried to squeeze your thighs together over his hand. The stimulation was too much and not enough.

With his free hand, he grabbed your knee and forced your legs apart.

“What did I say about relaxing?” he nearly growled, sending a shiver up your spine. “Even now, you’re still fighting it. You have to trust me.”

You nodded, eyes still shut down, because you couldn’t look at him without dying on the spot. It was purely self-preservation at this point. “I trust you,” you managed to breathe out.

“Good. I’m glad to hear it.” Connor nibbled at your earlobe, gentle but the scrape of his teeth still forced out your moan. “Now for this part… you have to make sure you’re properly lubricated.”

As if to make his point, he swirled your fingers between your folds, coating them with your slick. “If you do this technique dry, it’ll be uncomfortable. Painful, even. We don’t want that.”

You were barely able to follow his words, enjoying the lull of his voice more than anything. It was better than in all your fantasies combined.

He moved your fingers upward, placed them directly on your clit, and began to move them. A counterclockwise motion that was slow and methodical but already threatened to break you to pieces.

“The key is to set a steady, rhythmic pace,” he said, his tone ridiculously formal again except for the hoarseness. “Another tactic that people overlook is to keep your body relaxed, but to keep this area taut.”

Connor slid your fingers down again to your entrance, teasing against it before returning to your clit. He continued to speak, ignoring your choked cry as if he hadn’t heard it.

“Tensing and flexing your pelvic muscles is key to achieving a satisfying orgasm. So in this case, I do want you to tense up here. Can you do that?”

Oh, fuck, was about the most coherent response you could come up with, but you managed to choke out a, “Yes.”

You really did try to follow Connor’s instructions. Relax your muscles except for between your legs. Easy. Except you were a giant stress-ball of horny and you wanted to jump into Connor’s lap, unzip his pants, and sit on his dick.

The thought made you moan and arch your back again, desperate to move your fingers faster, but Connor wouldn’t let you, forcing your fingers to remain at the slow, torturous pace.

It was good, so good, but it wasn’t enough, and Connor was keeping you just short of reaching your peak. He might actually succeed in driving you crazy.

Fuck it. If he was going to keep torturing you, you were going to enjoy it was much as possible. With your free hand, you slipped it under your shirt, pulled your bra down, and rubbed your thumb harshly over the nipple. The additional stimulation made you almost sob with relief, unable to be still as you squirmed and pushed up against his hand.

You heard Connor suck in a breath, his hand suddenly still, and without thinking you grabbed his lax fingers and forced them back onto your clit. Directly. His hand remained frozen, even when you tried to move it. Despite his lanky limbs and slim body, he was very strong.

You finally opened your eyes, met his warm brown ones, and desperately begged.

“Please…”

He chewed the corner of his lip as if conflicted, even with his hand down your panties.

“Please, Connor.” Your words were a choked moan, his name a sinful plea on your lips, and you saw the moment his resolve break.

Swallowing hard enough for his Adam’s apple to bob, he removed his hand entirely from your panties. For a moment, you thought you’d misinterpreted, but then he lifted his fingers to his lips, glistening with your slick, and cleaned them off with his tongue before popping them into his mouth.

You just stared at him, sure your mind had just broken, especially when he pulled his fingers from his mouth with an indecent pop.

And then… he removed his glasses.

You’d never seen Connor without his glasses before. He looked… barely restrained. His eyes, normally so warm and soft, were sharp and edged like the blade of a knife. Like he wanted to take you apart and make you all his.

Apparently, that’s what he intended to do.

Connor rose to his feet and stood between your knees after kicking them apart, barely giving you any time to adjust before he knelt on the cushion between your legs. He grabbed your thighs and lifted you up, settling you into his lap and trapping you between him and the back of the couch.

You watched, mouth dry and chest heaving as he unbuckled his belt and harshly pulled it from its loop, tossing it aside. His eyes never left yours even as he unbuttoned and unzipped his slacks and pulled his cock out of his boxer-briefs.

You’d never thought it was possible for a cock to look so delicious, and his was mouth-wateringly gorgeous. A nice size and girth, flushed and already leaking precum at the tip.

He didn’t give you enough time to admire it; Connor looped one arm around the small of your back, lifted your hips, tugged aside the crotch of your panties, and pulled you up onto his lap. The tip of his cock pushed past your slick entrance, and he slid the rest of the way inside without much difficulty from how wet you were, but you were suddenly so full you could barely breathe.

“Fuck,” he gasped against your ear. It was the first time you’d ever heard him curse. “You’re so… tight.”

You held onto his broad shoulders like a lifeline, fingers digging into his dress shirt and whimpering as you wrapped your legs around his narrow waist.

“Connor,” you nearly sobbed from relief and the almost-painful fullness. You didn’t care if it would hurt, you needed this. Needed him. “Please… fuck me.”

With a low growl, he thrust forward, crushing you between the couch and his chest, half-holding you up as he thrust into you again. Each drag of his cock inside you made you moan, or cry, and you buried your face into his neck as your walls already started to tighten around him.

He felt better than a dream, hitting the spots you could never reach yourself, the sound of his hips slamming into yours wet and obscene in his small office. You could feel yourself dripping, making a mess of both of you, but neither of you cared.

“Connor.” You repeated his name, over and over, voice rising in pitch the tighter you became. “Connor.”

“I know,” he gasped out, fingers digging into your hips as he increased the brutal, merciless pace. “You’re doing… so well, baby girl. You’re… almost there.”

You half-sobbed at the praise, wanting to come so badly, but at the same time, conflicted. Never wanting it to stop. Not wanting this fantasy to be over.

Maybe Connor sensed it, because he latched onto your throat with his mouth, nipping and sucking and kissing your skin as if he could live on that alone.

“Come for me,” he growled, and you did, unable to do anything but obey.

You gripped him so tightly you must have left bruises, arched your back, and cried out sharply, your whole body shuddering as you pulsed and throbbed around him. Stars exploded behind your eyes as pleasure sparked through every nerve and inch of your skin, and all you could do was cling to him tightly so you wouldn’t drown beneath the waves.

Connor gave a choked curse, his pace staggering into shallow, uneven thrusts, before he pushed all the way inside and shivered hard. He held you tightly against his chest as he groaned into your hair, panting and holding you on his lap as his cock twitched and throbbed inside you.

Only when you felt his cum start to leak out of you did you remember you hadn’t used a condom.

Shit.

You expected him to pull out of you, to tell you to get out now that he was done with you. Instead, Connor kept his arms around you as he shifted over, sitting back and pulling you onto his lap, still embedded deep inside you.

And then he did something you never would have expected; he took your head between his hands and drew you forward, pressing his soft lips against yours. Tender, warm, and inviting, the tip of his tongue licked against your lips. You gasped and shivered and he pulled back, a small, satisfied smile pulling at his lips.

“So…” His smile fell and he looked almost nervous. You almost missed it because he had lowered his hands to your hips and begun tracing distracting circles on them with his thumbs. Even through the cloth of your skirt his touch was warm and electric. “I don’t know if you would be interested… but…”

He faltered again and you weren’t imagining the shyness there, which was crazy because he’d just given you the best orgasm of your life. What could he possibly have to be bashful about?

“Yes?” you asked, surprised at how raw you sounded. You curled your finger into his hair, liking the softness of it, and needed to do something with your hands before you decided to start riding him again. His cock, even though it had softened, was still very distracting inside you.

Connor’s cheeks a pretty pink, so endearing and awkward as he leaned into your touch. “I was wondering if you’d… maybe want to come over to my house tonight?”

You blinked at him. Probably the fifth time he’d broken your brain in so many minutes.

“I mean,” he flushed a deeper pink, “I feel like I at least owe you dinner. I’ve been told I’m a decent cook, and… that is, if you don’t want to sue me for… for malpractice—“

You surged forward and pressed your lips against his, forcing him to stop talking.

Connor gave a startled gasp, giving you the opportunity to lick into his mouth. You could feel his dick give an interested twitch inside you. You groaned, shifting your hips a little. You knew your time was almost up, so there was no possible way for a round two, but…

Going to Connor’s house? Having him cook you dinner? Maybe even stay the night in his bed?

You broke the kiss, took a steadying breath of air, and smiled down at him.

“Yes,” you said. “I’d love to.”

#dbh #detroit: become human #detroit become human #connor #rk800 #connor x reader #rk800 x reader #connor fanfiction #my fanfiction #my writing #co-authors #fic rec

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phoenixhalliwell · 4 years

Text

Waking Up In Vegas

Pairings: Benny Miller X Gender Neutral Reader (I have given them a call sign ‘Tink’ cos I love that nickname lol)

Word count: 2490

Author’s Note: Tumblr is being a wee weirdo and I cant find the link for this fic and my other frankie one for my masterlist so I have to report again *cries*

Archnemesis Benny and reader wake up the morning after a wild night in Vegas with the boys to a surprise revelation.

BANG. BANG. BANG. BANG

It takes a second to realise that the noise isn’t just your head pounding but in fact someone knocking rapidly at the door. A whimper leaves you as you try not to throw up. You wiggle around the bed, trying to get loose from the heavy blankets but fail miserably.

“Please, stop….too loud. Dying” is all you’re able to croak out. Your mouth is drier than the desert and a one man band is marching in your head. Looking down you realise that it is not a blanket weighing you down but an arm. An arm that is now pulling you backwards to firmly press you against their warm chest. A groan comes from behind you and a face nuzzles into your throat. You can feel the panic starting to build in your chest.

'Oh god, oh god. What the fuck!’ You are brought out of your freak out by a familiar voice.

“Are you going to open the door willingly Tink? Or am I going to have to come in there myself!”

Frankie! Relief rushes through you at your saviour. Frankie is a good guy, he won’t give you shit for this like the other boys. It’ll be swept under the rug and no one else has to know. That’s why Frankie is your favourite. The person behind you suddenly makes their displeasure at being rudely woken known.

“Will you shut the fuck up Fish, some of us are trying to sleep”

A coldness rushes through you. NO. FUCKING. WAY. Not him. Please not him. Slowly turning in the arms that have you in a death grip, you let out a low moan. Benny Miller is lying there in all his glory. He looks almost angelic with the way the morning sunlight hits him just right, making him glow. But you know the truth.

That man is the fucking DEVIL.

To say you and Benny dislike one another was an understatement. There is a long standing feud between you and the younger Miller that goes so far back you can’t quite remember how it started. You were originally a medic under the command of his brother Will, but over time (with Will vouching for your skills) you’d been pulled into other little jobs that involved his old army buddies and his dipshit little brother. You were welcomed into this little make shift family with open arms (well by most people anyways).Will, Santiago and Frankie - you thought the world of. Benny…. let’s just say you wouldn’t piss on if he was on fire. There was just something about Benny that just irks you. The way he calls you names and winds you up until you explode and end up being separated by Will who is sick of both of your shit. That god damn cocky grin rubs you up the wrong way. The way he thinks he’s god’s gift to mankind and struts about. Sure, he is a handsome man and is talented at his profession.He can be kind when he wants to be. He’s loyal and he’ll have your back if the situation calls for it, but it doesn’t mean he has to show off all the fucking time! He’s a god damn pain in your ass!

So to wake up this morning and find out you two have evidently slept together causes a small part of you to die inside. This bastard is never going to let you hear the end of it. You try to cast your mind back on what actually led you to your current predicament.

You and the boys were spending the weekend in Vegas for Santiago’s bachelor party. The wild stallion had finally been tamed and he wanted one last hoorah with his family before the new chapter of his life. The original plan was to have a nice dinner at the Bellagio before hitting up the tables in hopes of winning some cash. That part you could remember, it is the rest that comes in drips and drabs.

The chant of “Shots! Shots! Shots!” echoes in your mind and there is still a faint taste of tequila in your mouth. 'That explains why I can’t remember jack shit. Did we do Karaoke?’ You can see Frankie and Benny screeching “I want to know what love is ” with Will swaying along and Santi throwing money at the them from the front of the stage. 'Why can I hear bells ringing?’ There is also a familiar body ache you know the exact cause of. More flashes come to mind that make your heart race : Stumbling into walls, the desperation of trying to undress quickly, a hot breath on your neck, hands gripping your waist, filthy words being whispered into your ear….

'I’m never drinking again’

The banging at the door starts again, Frankie is clearly pissed at being kept waiting.

“I’m sorry to interrupt your marital bliss but check out is at 11 and I know for a fact neither of you fuck heads have packed”

Marital bliss? Who the hell is married?

You eyes drift down to your left hand and its suddenly hard to breathe. There is a nice new addition to your ring finger. A gold band that sure as shit was not there yesterday. This seems like the perfect moment to start screaming. Benny is up in an instant, scanning the room for the unknown threat. Once he realises it’s just the two of you, his body relaxes and he scrubs his hand over his face. It takes him a moment to notice the feeling of cold metal on his skin and he stares down at his hand, an unreadable look on his face. You are just able to hear him whisper

“Fuck, its real”

This whole situation is suddenly too much and everything becomes blurry as tears fall from your eyes. You can feel yourself start to hyperventilate and Benny is at your side in an instant trying to console you.

“Come on sweetheart you need to calm down. Feel my chest and breathe with me yeah? In… and out…. It’s ok I’ve got you.”

He repeats his reassurances over and over again. You try to focus on the sound of his deep voice, try to follow his instructions to help regulate your breathing. Gradually it returns to normal and you slump forward into Benny’s arms suddenly exhausted. He rubs his hand up and down your back, somewhat soothing you. You feel him sigh before he turns his face into your hair and presses a gentle kiss to your head. It suddenly occurs to you that Benny has never been this gentle with you and your heart clenches a little. You feel him pull away from you and have to stop yourself from squeezing him tight. You stand there for a few seconds in silence before you hear the door opening behind you. Frankie must have found the spare key to your room.

“Are you guys still alive in here?” he asks timidly, glancing between you and Benny, eyes zoning in on how close the both of you were.

“Yeah man, we’re good.” Benny replies, moving to stand on the other side of the room.

“Look I am really sorry to rush you’s but Will’s anxious to get on the road and he might end up murdering Santi before the wedding if we all don’t hustle” Frankie says apologetically.

“I’ll catch you guys downstairs. I won’t be long” Benny grabs his things off the floor before making a break for the door, leaving you and Frankie to stare at each other awkwardly.

“Not a word Morales” you threaten.

“Wouldn’t dream of it Tink. Let’s pack your stuff and get the fuck out of dodge yeah?”

Like you said. Frankie was always your favourite.

Awkward doesn’t even begin to cover breakfast. Those little shits planned it so you and Benny are forced to sit side by side in the booth. Frankie is looking somewhat sympathetic when Santi slides a piece of paper over to you with a shit eating grin. It’s photographic evidence of the worst decision of your life. You still weren’t sure how you guys ended up in the little white chapel saying the big 'I Do’. None of the boys seem to remember either or were just refusing to give up any information about it in case they incriminated one of their brothers.

'Bet you it was all that bastard Santi’s fault’

Sighing, you finally look down at the photo in front of you. It was the 5 of you all lined up. You and Benny stand in the middle of the photo, clinging to each other. You were snuggled into his chest as he gazes down at you in awe. You swallow sharply and tear your eyes over to Will who is off to Benny’s left and appears to be crying? (I was just so happy someone took the little shit off my hands) Obviously Will stood in as Benny’s best man, that was a given. On the far end of the photo on your side stood Santi who looked dishevelled and pissed off. Was that blood on his shirt? Between him and you stood Frankie who (unusual for him) was sporting a Cheshire grin. Confused, you looked up at the two men in front of you and suddenly noticed real life Santi had a black eye.

“What the fuck happened to you?”

The two men glanced at each other in embarrassment before Santi quietly admitted that he and Frankie had got into a fist fight over who was going to be your right hand man. Will snorts into his hand in the corner.

'God give me strength not to kill these stupid bastards’ Sighing and rubbing your temples you shot them a glare which has the 3 men across from you cowering in their seats.

“So at no point did any of you guys think to put a stop to this madness?” You growl.

“Is the idea of being married to me really the worst thing in the world?” You hear Benny asks quietly, still not looking at you.

The boys have the good grace to look a little ashamed before Santi decides to pipe up and make his defence.

“Well how could we? Benny spent the best part of the night proclaiming his undying love you. Fuck he even serenaded you at the Karaoke bar.” There is a loud thud and Santi’s face twists into a grimace. Apparently someone had kicked him under the table.

“Yeah right as if Benny would ever say anything like that! He hates my fucking guts. Right Benny?” You scoff and nudge him with your elbow. An uncomfortable silence washes over the table and Benny refuses to look at you. It’s good old Will who breaks the silence, abruptly standing up.

“Why don’t we go sort out the bill yeah?” looking to his brothers.

Santi squawks in outrage and throws up his hands “But it was just getting to the good part!!!” Will grabs him by the collar of his shirt and drags him out of the booth, muttering furiously into his ear before marching him off to god knows where. Frankie reaches over and gently squeezes your hand before sliding out and giving Benny a pat on the shoulder on the way by.

“Good luck hermano” he calls over his shoulder. You wait for a beat before turning to Benny gearing yourself up for a fight.

“Are you fucking serious right now. Or is this all an elaborate game that you and the boys have cooked up Huh?” you hiss.

“You really think I’m that cruel?” he fires back.

“I don’t know! Ever since I met you, you’ve made my life a living hell Benny! So why wouldn’t this not be the next step in the ’ terrorise Tink’ grande scheme?” The remark clearly hits him hard as he whirls round to finally face you.

“You really have no clue do you.”

“What the hell are you talking about Miller?”

Benny scoffs bitterly and takes a deep breath.

“I don’t hate you Tink! I never have. I’m so far gone on you that Will threatens daily to kill me if I don’t shut up about you. Ask him or any of the guys for that matter”. There’s a look of pleading on his face as though begging you to believe what he is saying that leaves you completely floored. Without waiting for a response he barrels on, the dam broken, clearly needing to get everything off his chest at last.

“Do you realise how intimidating it is to talk to you?. You’re amazing and so fucking beautiful Tink that I feel like I can’t breathe every time i look at you. You are hella smart and watching you work on the job blows my mind every time. And that mouth you have on you, no one else ever calls me out on my shit like you. I know I have a sense of humour that people don’t always get. I know I can be a complete asshole and I don’t really have much going in my favour but I’m not a bad man Tink I swear. I’ve been sweet on you since the day I met you. For some reason though you just seemed to dislike me from the start so it was easier to play up on being an asshole. It hurt less that way.” He trails off.

What. The. Fuck.

You stare at him. Dumbfounded. You’d been wrong the whole time?

“I remember most of last night Tink. We had been drinking and betting at one of the craps tables. You were on a winning streak and kept saying if you rolled a hard 8 you would do this and that. You were having the time of your life Tink. I’ve never seen you look so free. So Happy. Any time you’re around me, you’re always so closed off. And it kills me. But you were looking at me different last night. And i was so caught up in the game I bet if you rolled a hard 8 one more time that we should get married. And you took me up on that offer. I’ve never felt so fucking happy in my life. I know it was a stupid idea and that we were drunk, but you finally chose me and if anything happened to me after that I could die a happy man.”

He gently brings both his hands up to cup your face and leans in close, not enough for your lips to touch but close enough for him to whisper to you.

“I know this whole Vegas thing has been crazy and I’m not asking you to stay married to me. That would be unreasonable. All I’m asking is that you choose me again. That you give me a chance to show you how much I care about you. Please”

You stare into his eyes for a second, looking for a hint of deception. Finding none, you make your decision. You close the gap between you and feel Benny sigh in relief into the kiss.

I guess there’s a fine line between love and hate.

#Benny Miller #benny miller x reader #Triple Frontier #Santiago Garcia #santiago pope garcia #Will Miller #will ironhead miller #william ironhead miller #Frankie Morales #frankie 'catfish' morales #francisco morales #waking up in vegas

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tempesrature · 4 years

Text

IDOL | Chapter 5 [Unfinished]

Platinum x Ride or Die (AU) Crossover

Pairings: (Major) Ride or Die | Logan x Ellie (Minor) Platinum | M!Raleigh x Cadence Warnings: PG13+ Word Count: 11k+ A/N: I can’t even begin to apologize that I’m leaving this story unfinished. I tried to finish it, I really did but school is just so heavy right now that I barely have time to do anything else. And as I’ve said, the passion isn’t there anymore. I’ll post up to whatever I’ve written and if given the time, I’ll definitely come back to finish it. If you decide to drop this story, I completely understand. I’m sorry that I let you down :( @troublemakerinspace @raleiighcarrera @harrys-wheezys @raleeeighcarreras

“Wow, when you said you’d pick me up I thought you meant your manager was going to drive us.”

“The option was definitely there,” Logan grins as he pushes himself off of the yellow and black-striped 2005 Devore GT to stand in front of her. “But I thought it would be nice if I drive.”

Ellie chuckles as she makes her way to the passenger’s door and takes her seat just as Logan slides into the driver’s seat.

“Are you a good driver?” Ellie asks teasingly as she buckles her seatbelt. “If I get into a car accident and Mona finds out, she’ll call the ambulance and tell it to turn around.”

“I’m a great driver,” Logan chuckles as he revs the engine and he pulls out into the road. “Do you trust me?”

Ellie blinks at him for a moment before a smile tugs on her lips. “Weirdly enough, yes.”

The smile on Logan’s face strums the little tiny strings of her heart. It’s absurd how good he looks behind the wheel. If he was handsome during the any normal setting, it’s magnified by tenfold at how easy and comfortable he is as he drives. She tries not to stare at him, telling herself that she has set ground rules for how she’ll interact with Logan, but she seems to be breaking them every minute she’s in his presence.

“As an honored guest of the Devore, you have the privilege of picking the song.”

Ellie chuckles as she pulls out her phone and scrolls through her playlist. “Do you treat every passenger like this?”

“Only the pretty ones,” He glances at her with a devilish smile and a small wink.

She ducks her head to hide away the blush before her eyes light up at the instrumental track of Candy. She had asked Micah to send it to her so she could practice a little on her own before promotions truly start and they’ll have to start appearing on TV to sing it. She clicks on the song and the intro of the synth fills the car and a smile pulls on Logan’s lips.

“Logan, let’s do it live.”

“Huh?”

Logan barely has time to register her words when she starts to sing the intro of the song as she dances and does small body rolls in time with the beat. Logan lets out a laugh and he glances at her in amusement as he listens to her and waits for his cue.

Their voices fill the inside of the car—teasing, playful, flirty—and Ellie feels light and free. She’s never had this before, someone she can sing along with without the pressure of hitting the right note or conveying the right emotions. Even when she’s singing with Raleigh or Cadence, there’s always a certain standard she has to hold herself around them. After all, her voice croaking in front of those two would send her into a spiral of embarrassment.

But she doesn’t have the same worry with Logan.

Cadence had told her of this feeling—the feeling of being able to sing with someone that you’re so in tune with that it feels natural when there’s only you, the other person and the music. Cadence said that she has that with Raleigh.

And now…Ellie can admit a little that she just might have it with Logan.

The fourth verse comes in and he glances at her briefly, their gaze locking, and she grins as they sing out the next lines together in a perfect blend of light and husky.

I say, I want to be clear and simple I want to adjust just for you, oh yeah I'll give you something original I know how complicated you are

Logan attempts the sustained high note in the bridge and Ellie rolls her eyes because of course he still has excellent breathing control and can let out a perfect G#4 note even while seating down. At this point, Ellie feels like there’s nothing this guy can’t do.

The song finally finishes the last of its note and the playlist jumps to the next song on her list, a slow and soothing song from Cadence’s new album. A comfortable silence settles between them and Ellie is once again amazed that even in the silence, it doesn’t feel awkward or stifled.

“I’m probably the luckiest fan in the world,” Logan says as he turns into an intersection. “I get to hear you sing live with only me as the audience.”

Ellie smiles. “Don’t sell yourself short. I’m pretty lucky to hear you sing live as well. You have a great voice.”

“Thanks,” He chuckles a little as he stops at a red light. “I’m really glad that I got to do this collab with you Ellie.”

“Me too,” She leans back and lays her head on the window. “Which reminds me. I never got to ask. Why the sudden genre shift? The song’s great but it’s not your usual release.”

Logan nods with a small smile, a look of apprehension crossing his face in a blink of a second.

“I really don’t like my songs. I just got roped into singing it because it sells,” He takes one hand off of wheel and gestures to himself. “Along with the whole heartbroken bad boy image.”

Ellie nods and looks at him sadly. It’s not that uncommon for companies to completely have control over an artists sound and image. It’s usually for younger and newer artists where they have no power to truly choose what they want to do with their music. She was lucky than when she started out, she had Raleigh and Cadence backing her so whatever musical direction she was going to venture into was going to be supported by two music industry giants. But for artists like Logan? They’re perpetually bound to whatever their producers want for them until they can somehow break out of the image without alienating their current fans. Fortunately for Logan, their collab single ‘Candy’ is a big hit. Maybe this will even open up the path for him to finally sing songs he actually likes.

“Are you saying that you’ve never had your heart broken then?” She teases. “Is that why you can’t fully commit to the heartbroken bad boy image?”

“Maybe I’m the one that breaks hearts,” Logan says, his voice almost pained, before the light turns green and he drives. “Or maybe I just don’t like the bad boy title.”

Ellie chuckles a little. “Yeah it’s pretty outdated. Plus, if you can’t hold yourself to the same standard as Raleigh Carrera then why even try?”

“What? Property damage and grand theft auto?” He smirks. “I could totally do that.”

“Hey! The courts cleared that up, the car was legit,” She laughs and leans back on the seat. “It created a shitstorm in the company though and any car he wants to buy has to go through the suits now. Cadence was not happy.”

“I’ll bet,” Logan snickers as he pulls up to the restaurant he had recommended to Ellie the night before. “Cadence seems like she doesn’t take any of Raleigh’s shit.”

“You have no idea,” Ellie chuckles as she unbuckles her seatbelt and gets out of the car. “But I guess that’s what makes them work.”

“Yeah?” Logan grins as he opens the glass door for her.

“Yeah,” She looks around the restaurant and sees that it’s practically empty except for them. “Uh…you sure this place is open?”

“Yeah it’s owned by—Vaughn!” Logan turns to walk to Vaughn coming out of the kitchen and gives him a hug.

“Logan!” Vaughn exclaims as he returns Logan’s hug and looks over to where Ellie is standing. “Woah, you brought your girlfriend? I thought you were bringing Ellie over.”

Ellie tries to rein in the blush on her cheeks but fails miserably as Logan stands next to her.

“This is Ellie,” He turns to look at her with an apologetic smile. “Sorry about him, he’s clueless when it comes to anything other than cooking.”

Ellie smiles as she steps forward and offers her hand. “Nice to meet you Vaughn. Are you Logan’s friend?”

“Cousin more like it,” Logan corrects with a fond smile.

“We ain’t actually related. But we’re family. Known each other for a long time,” Vaughn replies as he motions to the empty restaurant. “Pick a seat! I’ll have the specials right out.”

Logan turns to look at Ellie expectantly as he points to the table hidden away from the glass windows. They take their seats across each other and Ellie is only now realizing how much all of this feels like a date. She banishes those thoughts as quickly as they came, this is just a casual hanging out with a potential friend and co-worker. That’s all there is.

“So, do you always clear out restaurants when you bring girls out for lunch?”

Ellie cringes at herself and groans internally. She was thinking it of course but she didn’t expect herself to outright say it.

“Not often,” Logan replies with a smile. “This place is pretty popular. I had to ask some serious favors from Vaughn so we could have it for ourselves today.”

Ellie smiles a little. “You didn’t have to, you know. I would’ve been fine either way.”

“I was thinking that a thousand pair of eyes constantly glancing at you while you eat would be uncomfortable.”

Ellie chuckles as she tucks her hair behind her ear. “You overestimate how much I get recognized in public. People rarely ever notice.”

“Liar,” Logan grins. “I would’ve noticed you from a thousand miles away.”

Ellie grimaces a little as she looks at him teasingly. “Not to be rude but are you always this…flirty?”

Logan laughs as he looks at her face earnestly. “Can’t help myself I guess.”

Ellie rolls her eyes a little. Perhaps that’s why it’s so difficult for her to stick to the rules and guidelines she’s set up for Logan when he seems to be so adept at making her break them.

The ping of Logan’s phone cuts through the silence and he grabs it from the table, astonishment and awe taking hold of his face.

“Woah,” Logan says as he turns his phone to her. “Looks like Candy has 80 million views on PlayMe now.”

“Seriously?!” Ellie exclaims as she takes his phone and stares at the number below the video. “This is insane.”

“Yeah I didn’t think it would be this popular…” Logan says in awe before his face softens.

“I did,” Ellie grins as she hands him his phone back. “And not just because of me by the way. The song is really great Logan. You should write your own stuff more often.”

“After this, maybe I’ll finally be able to,” Logan looks at her gratefully. “Thanks Ellie. You have no idea how much I’ve wanted this.”

“No problem. I really meant what I said back then. About how I can help you out and be your friend. If you ever need help just hit me up and—” Ellie’s eyes flick to the ringing of her phone and her eyebrows shoot up in surprise when she sees Mona’s name flashing on the screen. She had already informed Mona that she’ll be taking the day off so this call must be important. “Sorry it’s my manager. I’ll be quick.”

Logan nods. “Take your time.”

Ellie nods as she grabs her phone and moves a little ways away from their table before she takes the call.

“Mona hi, what’s up?”

“Are you with Logan?”

Ellie’s eyebrows furrow in confusion and absolute fear. She hadn’t said anything about why she wanted a day off. Was Mona just this good? Was someone tailing her?

“Uh…yes,” She replies as she looks around the restaurant in apprehension in case she’ll see Mona suddenly pop out of nowhere. “But its just lunch I swear! And we’re both sober and we’ll stay sober. I’m not up to trouble—”

“I don’t care about that, put me on loud speaker. I need to talk to you both and make sure you’re alone.”

“To us…both?” Ellie asks as she confusingly makes her way back to the table. Logan looks at her with a question in his eyes just as she takes her seat again. Ellie shrugs before she pulls the phone away from her ear, puts in on loud speaker and places it in the middle of the table. “You’re on loud speaker Mona.”

“Good. Logan, can you hear me?”

“Uh yeah I can,” Logan looks to Ellie for answers but Ellie merely shakes her head signaling that she doesn’t know either. “What can I do for you?”

“I’ll cut right to the chase. With how popular Candy’s release is, the company has approved the music video. We’ll start production in two weeks.”

“Seriously?!” Ellie exclaims as she shares an excited and happy look with Logan. “That’s great news Mona!”

“Yeah and one more thing. We need you both in a fake relationship to drum up the release of the music video. I already went through this with your manager Logan. He should be calling you about this soon.”

“Woah wait,” Logan looks at Ellie’s phone apprehensively before he glances at Ellie. “Fake relationship? This isn’t. I mean I wasn’t—”

“Mona you know how I feel about fake relationships,” Ellie cuts in, annoyance lacing her voice. “Why can’t we just promote the song the normal way?”

“This isn’t just about the song Ellie, it’s to clean up your image as well. Everyone loves you with Logan, he’ll basically become your Cadence.”

Ellie frowns.

“If Ellie isn’t comfortable with this then I won’t do it,” Logan replies sternly.

“Fine then, you both have until the end of the day to give me your final decision,” Mona pauses for a moment before her voice drops down to something soft and caring. “This is good for you Ellie. I wouldn’t have suggested this unless I knew it was going to work. Have I ever led you wrong?”

Mona doesn’t afford Ellie the time to reply as she drops the call. Ellie lets out a heavy sigh and takes the phone and shoves it into her pocket, hoping that she won’t have any more calls to ruin her day.

“Shit. This is fucked up,” Logan says as anger and annoyance takes hold of his voice.

“Yeah but not uncommon,” She sighs and leans back on her seat as she thinks about it.

When Cadence revealed to her that the first time Raleigh and her started to date was actually just a fake relationship, she had vowed herself to never take that route. Mainly because she wanted to spare herself from the drama of being in a fake relationship with someone she had no feelings for. Pretending to kiss and fawn over a guy she’ll barely talk to outside of a few convincing texts to screenshot and post on Twitter to parade their relationship around like a prized horse.

She wants to be authentically herself because she owes it to the fans that love and support her.

“What do you think Logan?”

“I mean what I said Ellie,” Logan says as he leans forward a little and gazes into her eyes. “If you don’t want this then I don’t want this.”

A small smile tugs on her lips. “So if I was okay with this…you’d do it?”

Logan chuckles a little. “I mean…would any fan pass up the opportunity to fake date their idol?”

Ellie laughs a little as she takes the table napkin in her hands and twists it around nervously. She weighs her options. Mona wasn’t lying about the image clean up. It’s no doubt that once her new album drops in the coming months, it’ll be used to comb through all of her relationships in the past. So much of the songs she plans to record in the album revolves around heartbreak and recovering from that heartbreak that she knows full well that her critics will unfairly attach a guy to every track in that album. If she gets into a fake relationship with Logan and they “break up” amicably, then all of it will just bounce back to Logan alone. Maybe they could even spin the story so that she’s the dumpee which would then earn her sympathy and support for getting dumped by a truly great guy.

Plus, if she’s being honest with herself, it’ll give her a test run on the tiny crush she has on him without all the pesky strings of getting attached in a real relationship.

It’s all just positives at this point so how could she say no?

“Okay, I’ve made up my mind,” She glances up at Logan shyly before she steels her confidence and clears her throat. “So uh Logan, will you be my very first fake boyfriend?”

The way his eyes sparkle and the way the smile stretches on his lips makes Ellie momentarily forget how to breathe.

“I’ll make you so happy Ellie,” He promises, more truthfully than he had initially intended before he reaches forward and offers his hand. “It’ll be an honor to have you as my first fake girlfriend.”

Ellie laughs a little as she takes his hand, his palms warm against hers, and shakes on the deal just as Vaughn comes arrives with his specialties and sets it the down on the table with a big grin before he goes back into the kitchen.

“Okay, so how did it happen?”

Logan looks at her curiously just as he’s about to take a bite from his burger. “How did what happen?”

“I mean how did we start dating? Why did we start dating?”

He blinks at her, confusion clear on his face. “Because you like me and I like you back?”

“Not good enough,” Ellie says as she takes a bite from chicken sandwich. “It has to be authentic and it has to be meaningful.”

Logan chuckles a little nervously, not really expecting her to be this thorough about the whole thing. After all, he was just planning to post a Pictagram post about it and leave it at that.

“Love at first sight then?”

Ellie coughs and thumps her chest as she looks at him in disbelief. “Seriously? That’s so cliché!”

“It’s plausible,” He smiles and looks at her pointedly as Ellie rolls her eyes.

“How about this. We hung out a lot after the recording, we talked and realized that we had a lot in common and we ended up liking each other.”

“Why is this so important?” Logan frowns as he throws a French fry into his mouth. “Why is it anyone’s business how we got together? Isn’t it enough that we’re dating?”

Ellie scoffs as she takes a sip of her glass of water. “You’ve clearly never been in a fake relationship before.”

“Neither have you,” Logan replies as he playfully bumps her knee under the table.

“Yeah but I got references,” She grins as she raises her phone and waves it a little. “People always love the backstory and we’ll probably get asked about it a lot so it’s better to get our stories straight to really sell it.”

“Right…speaking of selling it, is kissing allowed?” Logan asks cheekily. “What are my boundaries? What are the things I can and can’t do?”

Ellie chuckles a little. “Kissing should be allowed in public. I mean, how else would we make it convincing? Hugging and touching is fine too—as long as it’s in public.”

“Got it,” Logan smiles.

“How about you? What are my boundaries?”

Logan tilts his head to the side with a playful smile. “No food in the Devore?”

Ellie laughs. “Is that all? You’re easy to please.”

“I’m a simple guy I guess,” Logan hands her some tissues when some of the sauce clings to the side of her lips. “We should probably also lay out all of our bad habits while we’re at it. Get it all out in the air so we don’t annoy each other.”

Ellie nods. “You’re right. I’ll go first. I’m cranky during mornings and I hate food that feels mushy no matter how good it tastes.”

“Hmm…” Logan perches his elbow on the table and leans his cheek on his closed hand. “No one drives the Devore but me and I’m really particular about my hair products.”

“You should tell me what you use in your hair. I don’t know how you got it to be so soft,” An embarrassed flush takes hold of her cheeks when she realizes that she just brought up the night she had undoubtedly buried her fingers in his hair.

“I could take you out shopping,” Logan offers with a knowing smile. “Part of the fake boyfriend experience.”

“And I’ll make sure to drag you around multiple stores,” Ellie smiles teasingly. “Part of the fake girlfriend experience.”

Logan pretends to groan as he tilts his head back. “I feel like I’m getting the short end of this deal.”

“Hey!” She bumps her knee against his underneath the table. “You get to fake date the Ellie Wheeler, not many can say they had the privilege.”

“You’re right,” Logan answers honestly, his eyes gazing into hers. “I’m really lucky.”

Ellie smiles softly as a bubble of worry start to form itself in her stomach. “Do you think…we’ll be fine? I mean, nothing bad is gonna happen right?”

“What’s the worse that could happen?” Logan asks with a shrug as he leans back on his chair. “We get along and we make great music together. Everything’s going to be fine.”

Ellie nods a little, her fears disappearing with his words. With how crazy her life has been in the past few months, this could very well be the first break she’ll get since the Colt scandal. In theory, nothing bad should happen if she just keeps her crush as just a crush and cruise through the next few months until their eventual breakup.

Everything is going to be great.

~*~

“I’m calling Mona right now.”

“Babe, come on. This is Ellie’s decision—”

“Shut up Raleigh,” Cadence leaves it at that as she moves to the kitchen of their penthouse and starts a heated discussion with Mona.

Ellie looks towards Cadence direction a little guiltily. After she had lunch with Logan and after ironing out the last of the details for their fake relationship, she decided to drop by Cadence and Raleigh’s penthouse so she could give them the news herself rather than the subtle and suggestive Pictagram posts they’ll both be dropping within the week.

Raleigh sighs and runs his hand through his brown and messy hair before he looks at Ellie sitting on their plush couch. “So how long is this going to go on?”

“About three months or so,” Ellie says as she takes some of the candy they usually leave out on their coffee table. “Until I’m almost finished with my album I think. Mona still hasn’t told me the specifics.”

“Hmm…” Raleigh acknowledges as he observes her quietly. “Want some advice?”

“Uh, I didn’t know you’d have some Raleigh, you did say I should fake date him to promote the song,” Ellie grins as Raleigh glares at her lightly. “But alright, give it to me.”

“Take it from someone who got fucked up from a fake relationship,” He motions his head towards the kitchen. “If you have even the slightest feelings for him, don’t do it or you’re going to end up hurting yourself.”

Ellie frowns. “But you two worked out though…”

“Yeah but the shit we went through?” Raleigh sighs as he shakes his head, his voice a little pained. “I had to watch her get dragged by the media and I couldn’t do or say shit because we “broke up”, then I had to pretend like I was over her and pretend like I didn’t give a shit when I saw her kiss another guy. Even if it was a fake rel. That shit messes with your head, you know?”

Ellie nods sadly. “I won’t develop feelings for Logan. I promise.”

“Good, keep it that way,” Raleigh shrugs before the familiar playful and teasing smile makes its way to his lips. “But if you start to feel like it’s there, it’s a good indication that its time to bounce.”

Ellie grins just as Cadence makes her way back into the living room with a huff and deep furrow on her eyebrows.

“I talked to Mona.”

“Sounds more like it was yelling babe.”

Raleigh merely smiles at the glare Cadence sends his way before she sits next to Ellie and takes Ellie’s hands into hers.

“I understand why you did this. I’m not going to say it’s easy but if this is what you really want then I won’t stop you. Just…be careful okay?”

“Yeah and have fun!” Raleigh says as he reaches out to the bowl of candy and throws it towards Ellie who clumsily catches it. “I’ve met Logan, he’s a nice guy.”

“Aren’t they all?” Cadence sighs as she leans back on the couch. “I’m not saying that it won’t be fun. Sure, it will be but it’s also going to difficult when the real and fake just…blur together and that’s when it starts to get less fun.”

“When did it start to blur for you Cadence?” Ellie asks innocently as Raleigh’s eyes sparkle in absolute delight as he leans forward and looks at his fiancée with curiosity and affection.

“Yeah Cadence when did it start to blur for you?”

Cadence rolls her eyes as a small smile tugs her lips. “The charity function when we sneaked away.”

“Ah,” Raleigh leans back with a fond smile. “That’s a good one.”

Ellie’s eyes bounce between them and she already knows that she’s effectively been shut out. Not that she minds, she’s practically used to the two of them so attached and magnetized to each other that it’s not uncommon for her to feel like the perpetual third-wheel.

“Right, I’m going home guys,” Ellie announces as she stands from the couch and unconsciously pockets the candy Raleigh had thrown to her. “I still have songs to write.”

“Keep up us updated!” Cadence calls out as Ellie makes her way to the penthouse elevator. “About the album and Logan!”

“Always,” Ellie calls out just as the elevator doors close in front of her. She sighs and leans back on the elevator and lets her mind wander. It’s not like she didn’t have her apprehensions, after all she’s well aware of the things she could be risking if she ends up falling for Logan.

But a part of her is undoubtedly curious. What kind of boyfriend would Logan be? Would he be just as cheesy and flirty or would she see a different side to him? Would she be able to pull some inspiration from their fake relationship for her album?

The last question makes her flush a little as she gets into the cab and makes her way back to her penthouse. It wouldn’t be weird for her to write a song about Logan, after all an artist is supposed to get inspiration from the influence and their environment right? It would be weirder if she didn’t have any songs about Logan on her album if they plan to fake date for three months or so.

Ellie doesn’t have time to fully delve into those thoughts when she reaches the building her penthouse and she hurriedly makes her way to her floor. She goes through the motions of putting away her keys and flicking on the lights before she makes her way to her bedroom and flops down on the mattress.

She takes a minute to stare at the nonsense patterns of her ceiling before she reaches into her pocket to pull out her phone when her hands close in on a small round object. She pulls it out and looks at the red candy with confusion before she realizes that it’s from Raleigh and Cadence’s place.

An idea suddenly hits as she quickly scrambles to sit up on the bed and takes out her phone. She tears open the wrapper and presses the candy on her lips. She turns the camera of her phone to her before she snaps twenty or so pictures before settles on one and places a filter to make it look a little bit aesthetically pleasing. A wide smile takes hold of her lips as she pulls up her Pictagram account and posts the picture with the caption:

Boy I’m your candy. Tell me what you’re waiting for.

It’s subtle and suggestive, just like they agreed on, after all it’s just part of the lyrics for their single ‘Candy’ and people could even say that Ellie is simply promoting the song—but with no link to the actual single nor the usual words of “stream Candy” attached anywhere, the comments that rush in quickly figure out what she’s hinting on.

I knew it! I fucking knew it! This is folks, this is the sign we needed that they’re dating. Oh my god I’m so happy but I’m so sad?? But I’m so happy too omg If she breaks his heart, I’m gonna kill her. I heard that there’s gonna be an MV dropping. Will we get a kiss scene???

Ellie laughs a little as she lays back down on the bed and continues to scroll through the comments that come in. She skips through the hate comments, already immune to them at this point, and focuses on the love and support of their “relationship”. She feels a little tinge of guilt that she’s fooling her fans like this but at the end of the day, it’s her life and she’s allowed to live it according to how she wants to.

A notification pops up in her screen and her heart races when she sees that Logan has posted something. She navigates to his page and when the picture loads, the little squeal of delight she lets out is both embarrassing and well-earned.

The picture is a shirtless selfie of Logan with a piece of candy trapped tantalizingly between his teeth as he looks into the camera with playful smile and sparkling brown eyes. The caption at the bottom reading:

Girl I’m your candy. All I want is you my love.

It’s far from the “subtle” that they had agreed on but it’s not like she dislikes it. In fact, it puts a silly smile on her face that she can’t wipe away. Now, she’s wondering if this truly is his first fake relationship because he just seems too good at it.

Ellie goes to look at the picture again, carefully trying to commit to memory everything about it, before she closes her phone and tosses it next to her. She knows that tomorrow, every celebrity gossip blog is going to start writing articles about their Pictagram posts and she’ll feel the full effects of their fake relationship once dawn breaks.

But for now, she allows herself to get lost in her thoughts and lets the exhaustion of the day pull her to sleep. Because tomorrow, she’ll be going through an experience she’s never had before.

An experience that, that she hopes, will bring more good than bad.

~*~

“Helloooo? Earth to Ellie?” Ingrid huffs as she crosses her arms in front of her chest. “Look if you’re too busy to hang out with me and get pics for my Pictagram, we can always reschedule.”

“Huh? Oh, sorry,” Ellie replies sheepishly as she places her phone on the table. “My bad Ingrid, what were you saying?”

“I was saying,” Ingrid says as she gestures her hand to Ellie, her sparkly pink nails glinting under the florescent lights of the café. “What’s up with you and Logan?”

“Nothing’s up.”

Ellie’s phone pings with a new message and Ingrid narrows her eyes suspiciously as she leans in and swipes Ellie’s phone from the table. Ellie scrambles to get it back but Ingrid is too quick and she’s already inputting Ellie’s password and seeing the new message.

“Still up for date night, El?” Ingrid reads in delight and shock before she turns to Ellie with a dramatic gasp. “Ellie Wheeler you’re dating Logan and you didn’t tell me? What, are we not friends anymore or something?”

“Shh!” Ellie moves across the table between them and grabs her phone as she nervously looks around the semi-crowded space of the café. “And he’s exaggerating. It’s not date night, we’re just watching a movie.”

“Yeah because that’s soooo not a date,” Ingrid rolls her eyes as she picks up her cup of tea and takes a sip. “Whatever. I’m happy for you, he’s definitely an upgrade from all the assholes you’ve dated in the past.”

“I told you we’re not dating,” Ellie says as she takes a peek at her phone and almost melts a little at the list of movies he’s already curated for them to watch later tonight. “At least not officially, not until we announce it in three days.”

“Announce? Officially?” Ingrid narrows her eyes at Ellie before she lowers her voice. “So it’s a fake rel?”

“Yeah,” Ellie picks one of the movies from his list and sends him a quick message. “It’s just that—fake. So we aren’t actually dating.”

“Then what’s with his Picta posts?” Ingrid pulls out her own phone and navigates to Logan’s page. “In the past week he’s either posting about his car, his upcoming album or cryptic posts about you. I mean look at this,” Ingrid clicks on a picture and turns the phone to Ellie. “It’s a picture of him in a field of flowers. The caption literally has the lyrics to your song. Dude sounds like his halfway in love already!”

Ellie blushes a little as she looks at the picture Ingrid’s showing her. She really does love that photo, it’s probably one of her favorite ones his posted. In the past few weeks, they’ve both been trying to be “subtle” about slowly enticing the public with their supposed relationship but Ellie has gradually learned that there is nothing subtle about Logan. All of his posts leave no room for speculation or doubt while she tries her best to be subtle when she posted a picture of her wearing a yellow and black dress.

“He’s just really good at the whole fake dating I guess,” Ellie shrugs as her phone pings with another new message from Logan. She glances at her phone and a small smile tugs on her lips when she sees his message.

Nice, I wanted to watch that one. Your place or mine?

Yours, she replies with a small smile.

Ingrid frowns. “I feel like a third wheel and he’s not even here.”

“Okay, phone down now. Let’s take the picture because I need to go and finish up one more song for my album.”

Ingrid rolls her eyes as she motions with her fingers for Ellie to come closer so they can take the picture together over their array of untouched desserts on the table. Ellie smiles prettily, the kind of smile she’ll only ever use when she’s taking pictures to be posted, as Ingrid tilts her head down a little and pouts her lips a little.

After twenty or thirty pictures with different angles, Ingrid is finally satisfied and flicks through the pictures before she finally settles on one.

“What should the caption be?” Ingrid says as her nails tap on screen. “Girls day out? One in a Million reunion?” Ingrid looks up from her phone and frowns when she sees Ellie grinning at her phone before Ingrid sneakily takes a candid photo. “When your friend can’t get off of her phone because she can’t stop talking to her fake boyfriend?”

Ellie glances up at Ingrid with a small frown. “One in a Million reunion sounds better.”

“You think?” Ingrid scoffs as she types out the phrase and posts it first. She then pulls up the candid photo she took of Ellie, writes down a caption and posts it. She leans back and observes Ellie and waits patiently for her response.

Ellie furrows her eyebrows before she looks up at Ingrid with blank face. “Really Ingrid?”

“It’s not a lie,” Ingrid smirks knowingly.

Ellie sighs as she reads the caption again under her picture.

Guess what’s making El smile so much? Hint: it’s a date.

Ingrid is right at least, it’s not a lie that she’s genuinely excited for her not-a-date with Logan. In the past week or so, they’ve gotten closer. A lot closer than she’d expect them to be and she’s starting to see how…charming, caring and genuinely nice Logan can be. It has come to the point where they’ve been talking late into the night until she’s basically fallen asleep on the phone.

And that terrifies her. Ellie doesn’t want to admit it but the feelings she’s starting to catch from him are starting to spiral into a dangerous territory and if she was smarter, a little more cautious, she’d cut her losses and ask for this fake relationship to be cancelled and, as Raleigh advised, bounce.

But she doesn’t want to. Not when she really likes the feeling of being able to unironically say that the Logan is her boyfriend.

“Anyway, I need to go,” Ellie pockets her phone and stands up from the chair. “Let’s meet up again next week if you’re free.”

“Sure,” Ingrid waves her way and flips her blond hair over her shoulder. “But next time actually pay attention to me, okay?”

“Roger that,” Ellie grins as she places her sunglasses, makes her way to the door and out of the café.

~*~

The ping of Logan’s phone sounds loud in the empty space of his makeshift studio in his apartment. He looks at it curiously before he moves the guitar to the side and reaches for the black device. A wide smile pulls on his lips when he sees the picture of Ellie grinning at her phone, his eyes flit to the caption below the picture and the smile on his face starts to physically hurt his cheeks.

He goes to message Ellie, his fingers typing out his thoughts before he can stop them.

I’m excited too troublemaker. He pauses, deletes the message and tries again.

You look cute in the picture. He pauses again and decides fuck it—he’ll send both.

I’m excited too troublemaker, you look cute in the picture.

He waits with anticipation when he sees the three dots appear and disappear. When he reads her message, he’s sent into a fit of laughter as he lays down on the carpeted floor and holds his phone inches from his face.

Oh my god shut up. She follows up the reply with a cute sticker of a tiny bunny character repeatedly thumping on the chest of a taller bunny.

He grins lazily as he types out his next message. Are you bringing snacks?

Better, I made something.

Logan raises a curious eyebrow. He can confidently call himself an Ellie fan and he, embarrassingly, knows a lot about her. Her knowing how to cook though, somehow, escaped his radar.

Didn’t know you could cook. Are you any good?

The reply is instant, almost as if she already knew that he would ask that question.

Of course I am. Don’t you trust me?

I do. Because strangely enough, he really does. Careful troublemaker, you know what they say about a way to a man’s heart.

Logan, I don’t need to be good at cooking to get through your heart.

Logan’s eyes widen, his heart picking up in speed, and he’s finding it a little difficult to come up with a reply. But his few seconds of silence must’ve set her in a panic when she hurriedly follows it up with another message.

I mean, I’m already your fake girlfriend, right?

Right, he replies before he gathers what little is left of his self-control to finish his message. I’ll see you later El. I gotta finish up the last song before you come.

Okay, see you later!

Logan lets out a heavy sigh and drops his phone on his chest and lays his forearm across his eyes. His mind swims and he can’t stop himself from finally admitting that he has the biggest crush on Ellie Wheeler.

And it’s not just a fan-crush either but a real, tangible, heart-stopping crush.

Not that this is a recent development or anything, he’s noticed that in the past few days—he’s finding it increasingly difficult when he’s nowhere near his phone. Even when he’s recording the newer songs he wrote for his album that finally got approved (due to Candy’s success), he always goes to his phone after each session so he can reply to whatever message she’s left for him.

That’s never happened to him.

Whenever Logan gets himself involved with a girl, he’s usually fine if they don’t talk for a couple days. Hell, he even prefers it since he values his solitude. But with Ellie, it feels as if he’s going to miss out on something important if he doesn’t reply to her messages or talk to her at the end of the day.

It’s a terrifying feeling for him. They haven’t even properly stared to fake date and he’s already catching this pesky crush that he can’t seem to shake out. And Logan knows himself well. No matter how hard he’s going to try to mask it, it’s going to be obvious on his face when the Paps take their pictures.

He sighs and pushes himself off of the floor and grabs his guitar. He’s been having trouble with composing his last song for the album since he’s been instructed to make it the kind of heartbroken love-pining that he’s known for—except make it R&B pop. He was excited at first, finally being able to blend what he’s known for and what he loves to create, but these days he just can’t seem to write down a single word or strum out a single note.

The subject is about heartbreak after all but all he’s been feeling is flutters of butterflies in the past few days.

He strums out the first few notes and looks to his notebook to test out the words he’s able to somehow to write down.

“Tell me once again, tell me you love me like you did that moment,” Logan pauses, reaches out to crush out a word, and he tries again. “Tell me once again, tell me you love me like you did that—time? Fuck!”

Logan places his guitar down and weaves his hand through his hair in frustration. He’s well aware that if he doesn’t finish this song within the month, it’s going to get handed to ghost writers. He’s also scarcely aware how important this album is. If the reception is good, he’ll be able to continue to release songs that he’ll actually love to sing on stage for once. No more grumpy producers telling him to cry in the booth and no more forced interviews where he has to pretend that the song is about a girl who broke his heart once.

It’s finally going to be only him, his music and his own art.

The distant and muted sound of his apartment buzzer reaches his ears and at first, he’s a little annoyed that someone’s here to interrupt his session but the annoyance is immediately wiped away when he remembers that it’s most likely Ellie.

He pushes himself off of the floor and takes quick and long steps towards the front door and yanks it open. He can’t help the smile that breaks out on his face when he sees her standing in front of him with a light peach sundress and a Tupperware of something in her arms.

“Hey, I’m here for movie night.”

“Date night you mean,” He corrects with a grin before he moves to the side and motions for her to enter the apartment. “Make yourself at home. I’m sure you already know where everything is.”

Ellie rolls her eyes with a smile before she makes her way to his kitchen. “How’s the song going?”

“Awful. I’ve got a mental block I can’t get over,” Logan sighs as he leans on the doorframe of the kitchen and observes her quietly as she pulls out plate and puts it on the counter. “Anyway, what did you make?”

“Cookies!” She smiles with pride as she tilts the Tupperware full of cookies to him before she starts to place them on the plate. “I hope you like peanut butter cookies.”

“I love them,” If Logan is being honest with himself, his feelings towards any flavor of cookie is about average. He neither likes them nor hates them but if Ellie is the one that made them, somehow he can find himself to love them. He walks to the counter and plucks one cookie from the plate and takes a bite. His eyes widen a little as the flavor hits his tongue. “Damn, these are good.”

“Told you I’m good,” Ellie beams with pride as she takes the plate and motions towards the living room. “Also, what’s blocking you from the song?”

“You” is what he’d like to say but he’s not sure if he can survive to the aftermath of that conversation. So he shrugs and follows behind her as they make their way to the living room.

“Don’t know, guess it’s just one of those days.”

“Want me to help?” Ellie abruptly stops walking and turns around, almost sending Logan crashing into her. “I also want to bounce off some lyrics with you for a song I’m working on.”

Logan thinks for a moment at the proposition. If he’s being honest, he’d rather not revisit the song until he’s let it sleep for a few days. But he does want to hear the new song she’s working on and there is one song he’s been meaning to let her listen to.

“I have a better idea. I have this song I want to run by you, get your feel for it.”

Ellie’s eyes light up as she looks around a little to try and locate the direction of his studio. “Raincheck on movie night then?”

“Sure,” Logan chuckles softly as he points to the door down the hall. “Bring the cookies though, something to keep our brain going.”

Ellie nods as she walks towards the door he points to and enters his studio. It’s a lot smaller than the one in her penthouse but it’s enough provide a good space for creating music. She places the plate of cookies on the table before she sits on the carpeted floor, crosses her legs, and pulls out her phone from her purse so she can find the instrumentals for the song.

Logan chuckles as he takes sits next to her. “I was going to offer you a chair.”

“No way, I think better when I’m sitting on the floor.”

Logan smiles softly, the little string of his heart tugging at the thought that it’s the same for him too.

“Okay here are the instrumentals,” Ellie starts, her voice serious, commanding and—for Logan—extremely sexy. “I’ve got the chorus down and the bridge but the first verse still sounds clunky.”

“Sing it for me.”

Ellie nods as she presses play, latches on to the lyrics on her phone and starts the song with a few adlibs of soft and raspy ohs.

When I see you, I feel a sense of familiarity After a moment of thinking, I approached you Besides us, everything else has vanished Please trust this experience Match my tempo babe

She finishes and looks at Logan expectantly but he only looks back at her with awe.

“I still can’t get over how good your voice sounds,” He chuckles softly when Ellie glares at him slightly. “Hand me the lyrics.”

Ellie hands him the phone. He rewinds the song a couple of times and mumbles through the lyrics a little before his eyes catch on to the part where it feels a little clunky.

“Here, this part sounds a little off the beat,” Logan moves her phone closer to her, his shoulders touching hers. “Maybe something with one more syllable to hit the last note?”

“Hmm…” Ellie takes her phone and hums through the lyrics, her eyes intensely trained on the words, as Logan observes her with a soft smile. “How about this? Please trust this moment to me.”

“Sing it for me.”

Ellie nods and she gets through the first part quickly before she slows down at the end of the first verse and sings the new lyrics.

Besides us, everything else has vanished Please trust this moment to me Match my tempo babe

“That’s it,” Logan says as he unconsciously moves closer to her, his face so close he can see the light peach blush on her cheeks. “Sounds like a hit already.”

She turns to him with a smile but quickly looks away when she realizes how close their faces are. She distracts herself by typing in the new lyrics to the song. She goes through the entire song again a couple of times, just to make sure that there’s nothing else he needs to comment on, before she’s finally satisfied with the results.

“Okay, I’m done with mine. Let me hear yours.”

Logan chuckles softly as he pushes himself off of the floor and moves to the keyboard in the corner of the room. He takes a seat just as Ellie follows him and stands behind him. Logan looks over his shoulder at her with a smile before he pats the space next to him.

Just as she takes a seat, his fingers fly over the keys and the soft and slow start of the song fills the studio. Although the actual song will have more layers to it, this is the best he can do for now. He drops his voice down a little as he tries to achieve the emotions he’s wanted to inject into this song the moment he composed it—sultry and enticing.

It’s a little stuffy when I make eye contact with you I’d like to dive deep into your eyes I’d like to look into them but I can’t If your fingers touch me, I feel like I’m losing my mind.

He goes through the first verse with ease, the emotions in his heart easily flowing out and mixing with the beat and lyrics of the song and he’s terrified of how easily all these emotions come to him when he’s singing for her.

He glances at her knowingly as he reaches to the second verse, the lyrics of the song starting to jump out of the page and into what little space is left between them.

I think I’m drunk Try mixing in another blue sapphire Let me know if there’s an island for me in your sea It’s like I’ll explode The blue spreads through all of me. You can fall for me, if you want.

He reaches the bridge and belts out a sustained high note and finishes the song with a few adlibs of ohs and lets the last of the note ring out in the studio.

“Wow,” Ellie says as she looks up at him with wonder and awe. “That’s an amazing song Logan. I feel like I already have a favorite song from your album.”

Logan grins as he gazes into her eyes. “No changes then?”

“None. Absolutely none,” Ellie unconsciously plays with the edge of her dress. “You should sing for me more often. I like being your only audience.”

Logan laughs a little, his body unconsciously moving closer to hers. “Does this mean you’re now a Logan fan?”

“Release the full album first,” She replies teasingly as she tilts her head to him. “I’ll decide then.”

“Ellie…” Logan whispers softly, his brown eyes searching hers, as he starts to move lean forward but he catches himself—his brain catching up to his erratic heart. He pulls away abruptly and tries to internally shake away the haze that she’s brought on him. Anymore than this and he’ll be helplessly falling into her arms. “Anyway, it’s getting late, don’t you think? Don’t want Mona to chew your ass out.”

“Oh,” Ellie says, the disappointment clear in her voice, before she turns to look at the clock on the wall and is shocked that two hours had run by without her knowledge. “You’re right, I should go.”

“I’ll walk you out,” Logan stands from the chair and grabs the plate from the table. “I’ll pack this up too.”

“You can keep it, it was supposed to be our snacks anyway,” She chuckles as she makes her way out of the studio.

Logan follows dutifully behind her as they walk down the hallway and reach his front door.

“Thanks for helping me with the song Logan. Too bad I can’t give you the credits for it.”

Logan grins as he reaches over and opens the door for her. “Make it up to me by giving me a signed album.”

“Careful, that’s how other artists end up taking advantage of you,” Ellie warns with a playful smile before she steps out of the door and looks at him a little apprehensively. “Our fake relationship is going to start in three days. Are you ready?”

“I am,” Logan says honestly, maybe even a little excitedly. “I doubt anyone’s going to be surprised though.”

“That’s your fault, I told you to be subtle,” Ellie chuckles softly before she turns to leave. She looks over her shoulder and gives him a small smile. “Goodnight Logan.”

“Goodnight Ellie. Message me when you get home.”

Elli gives him a small wave goodbye and watches her carefully to make sure she gets to the elevators without the any problems. When the elevator closes, he closes the front door and presses his forehead against the wooden surface. He squeezes his eyes shut and runs through everything that happened so far.

He groans a little when he realizes how close he was to kissing her after he finished singing his song. If he was a weaker man, he would’ve done it. But she already set her boundaries. No kissing, hugging or touching—unless it’s in public. And he’s going to keep that promise.

Although, embarrassingly, he’s already running through the best date spots for their first official date as a fake couple.

A date, he’s hoping, will end with a kiss.

~*~

“Ellie! Come here!”

Ellie turns to look at the director in her chair as the make-up artist continues to touch up her make up for the music video shoot.

“Coming!” Ellie replies as she stands from the chair and smooths out the orange and black jacket she’s wearing before she makes her way to the director.

Once she reaches him, he gives a quick rundown of the scene needed for the shoot. She follows him around the set, an explosion of yellow, pastel neon and soft orange lights and décor that mimics old 90s arcades, as he points out the different places she’ll be shooting her solo scenes. One where she’ll be inside a tube like structure, another is in front of a makeshift brick wall and the last one is a raised platform with fairy lights dotted in the background and foreground.

“We’ll shoot your parts first then we move on to Logan’s,” The director motions to where Logan is sitting in his chair having his final run through from the assistant director for his own scenes. “The props should be in the tube.”

Ellie’s eyes light up when she turns to look at the tube structure and sure enough, there on the bottom is where a myriad of different shaped and colored candies in aesthetically pleasing glass jars wait for her. It’s already pretty rare for her to eat anything too heavy days before a music video shooting so having the opportunity to eat on the actual shooting is a blessing she’ll never have again. Unless she titles all of her songs to something food-related.

“Can I eat it?” Ellie asks as she crawls into the center of the tube, takes the glass jars and puts it on her lap as she takes a seat. She twists open the lid and takes out a blue dice-shaped candy and holds it up to the light.

The director laughs. “Just try not to eat all of it. We start in five everyone!”

“You okay over here?”

Ellie looks up and smiles when she sees Logan approaching her in a red and white hoodie, his white pants hugging is legs in the most distracting of ways. He reaches the tube structure and takes a seat on the entrance of the tube.

“Good, you?”

Logan smiles as he motions to run his hand through his hair before he stops himself when he remembers that his hairstylist has already spent hours on his hair.

“Ready to eat something, I’m hungry.”

Ellie grins as she offers him the candy she’s holding. “Want a bite then?”

Logan raises an eyebrow before he leans forward and takes the candy between his teeth, his eyes never leaving hers as his lips touch the tips of her fingers.

Ellie is immensely thankful to her makeup artist for making her makeup just a little thicker today so it can survive the harsh lights. It turns out it has a dual purpose today—survive the lights and hide away the blush on her cheeks.

“Delicious,” Logan comments with a cheeky smile as he runs his thumb over his bottom lip. “Save some for me later.”

Ellie doesn’t have time to reply, not that she had any coherent words to reply with, when the director calls out for the first take. Logan stands from where he’s sitting and gives her a little thumbs up before he walks out of the frame of shoot.

Ellie takes a minute to get her beating heart to settle before she turns to the camera, her demeanor already changing, as she hears Candy playing in the background.

“And action!”

~*~

“Good job Ellie, let’s take a five minute break and reset,” The director calls out as Ellie hops off of the platform.

Just as she’s about to go back to her seat somewhere behind the cameras, Logan intercepts her and offers her a water bottle. She smiles gratefully and drinks almost half of the bottle. Maybe being under the lights and nibbling on candy for forty minutes made her more dehydrated than she thought.

“Want me to get you another one?” Logan chuckles as she shakes her head no.

“I’m good for now,” Ellie twists the bottle cap close and hands it back to him. “Ready for our shoot?”

“Yeah,” Logan’s eyes flit to somewhere over her shoulder and he moves to her side, wraps an arm around her waist and guides her away a little. “Careful, there’s a camera behind you.”

“Huh? Oh thanks,” Ellie looks behind her just as she sees the huge black device hovering near where she had been standing. A memory comes to her and she laughs a little. “Ever hit your head on this?”

Logan winces at the thought and shakes his head no.

“I did, when I was shooting Easy,” Ellie chuckles as she unconsciously leans into him, his hand warming up the skin on her waist. “Just as I was really feeling the music, I turn to the side and bam! The makeup team had to do some magic to hide the red bump here.”

Ellie points to her right temple and Logan snickers as he gazes into her eyes with a soft smile, giving her waist a reassuring small squeeze. “I’ll make sure we won’t get a repeat of that then.”

“Then you’re doing a fantastic job so far,” Ellie moves closer to him, the space between them nonexistent, and somewhere in the back of her mind—she’s aware that she shouldn’t be this close to him even if everyone knows that they’re “dating”.

“Logan and Ellie! Let’s start,” The directors voice booms around the space of the studio and the spell they’ve trapped themselves in breaks. Ellie is the first to move a little away from his hold and Logan, reluctantly, lets his arm fall away from her waist. When he’s no longer in her space, he can already feel the rush of cold air that envelopes him.

“Make sure you don’t get left behind,” Ellie comments as she looks up at him with a teasing smile.

Logan smiles and puts his hands in his pockets, the fire in her eyes both inspiring and addicting.

“Never troublemaker.”

~*~

Ellie takes a sip from her glass of wine, her back against the headboard of her bed, as she crosses her ankles and goes through the selection of movies on her TV for her next movie to watch. After the music video shoot that ran for close to three hours, she was finally able to relax for the rest of the day and she’s been spending it catching up on movies she’s wanted to watch for awhile. Although she wanted to hang out with Logan after the shoot, he had to quickly get to an interview with a popular podcast channel on PlayMe.

After she picks one from the thriller category, she blindly pats around for her phone on the bed. She goes through her Pictagram account and lazily scrolls through her timeline as the opening scene of the movie fills the silence of her bedroom. Since they’ve announced their relationship (with a cringy couples pose pic that had them laughing and wheezing the first few takes), most of her timeline has been full of their fans congratulating them and making compilation videos of whatever little interaction they had shown in public. Ellie doesn’t want to admit it out loud but she really does enjoy seeing people so happily supporting the both of them. In her past relationships, most of her fans and friends disapproved of her choice (with good reason too) but with Logan, all she’s getting is love and support.

It’s painful for her to admit it but Logan is just that good of a guy and he really is the Cadence to Ellie.

Ellie frowns a little at the idea that she’s the Raleigh of their relationship.

!!!!!!!! El, watch this!

Ellie’s eyebrows furrow a little when she sees PlayMe link that Riya, her closest friend even before she became an artist, has sent her. She pauses the movie and places her glass of wine on her nightstand when she sees the thumbnail of the video. She can already tell that it’s Logan sitting in a podcast room and if she isn’t mistaken, it’s probably the interview he had to quickly run to after their shooting.

You sure this is all fake?

Ellie’s eyes widen a Riya’s message before she quickly locates her earphones, plugs it in and plays the video. It starts off innocently enough, just going through Logan’s music history and talking about his most popular songs. Then it delves into Candy and, naturally, to her.

“So, Candy and Ellie. What’s that like?”

Logan chuckles a little, a soft smile pulling on his lips. “Which one do you want me to talk about? Depending on how much time we have left, I don’t think we can get to both.”

The hosts laughs. “Ellie of course!”

“Yeah Ellie!” His co-host chimes in. “What’s it like working with her?”

“Amazing,” Logan grins as he leans back on his seat. “She’s passionate about her work. She doesn’t take any of my crap either.”

“And you guys are dating now! What’s that like?”

“It’s…” Logan pauses a little, a soft smile tugging on his lips. “Surreal you know? I mean dating your idol is probably number one on the list of things that doesn’t happen to guys like me.”

“I bet Ellie is just as lucky,” The co-host laughs.

“Nah, I’m the lucky one,” Logan’s voice drops down to something soft, something honest. “She’s sweet…way too sweet for someone like me. She knows how to have fun too and it’s never boring when I’m with her...it kinda feels like home sometimes.”

The host whistles. “Write her a song while you’re at it.”

Logan laughs. “Told you I’d only have time to talk about one.”

“If Ellie is listening in—hi Ellie!—what would you like to say to her?”

“Where’s the camera—oh there,” Logan smiles handsomely directly to the camera, his brown eyes sparkling with amusement and affection. “Miss you already troublemaker. Let’s reschedule that date night already.”

The whole room dissolves into awws and Ellie touches her cheek, feeling the warmth of her blush heating up her palm. She doesn’t even get the time to properly process what she just saw when Riya sends her a flood of messages.

Did you see it? El tell me you’ve seen it. Was he really faking it? And why does he call you troublemaker? El!!! Reply already!!!

Calm down Riya! I just finished watching it.

Cool. Thoughts?

So many. Ellie probably has enough thoughts in her head to last her for the rest of the week. But how is she able to properly articulate all of them without giving away her crush for Logan? Nobody knows about it—not even Raleigh and Cadence, the two people she shares everything with.

I think…maybe it isn’t all fake?

I knew it! I freaking knew it! The way he looked at the camera? The things he said? Sorry but your boyfriend is hot El.

She wants to correct Riya. That Logan isn’t her boyfriend but rather her fake boyfriend but surprisingly, giddily, she doesn’t. So she immerses herself a little in the fantasy, in the belief that maybe there really is something more to them than just their fake relationship.

It won’t hurt right? After all, this is just a little crush. A feeling she won’t allow to grow into something more. After all, she promised Raleigh that it wouldn’t get to that—hell, she promised herself.

But a crush is something small and insignificant. Something she can easily overlook and abandon when things start to get sticky.

So Ellie flops down on her bed, a wide grin on her face, as she dials Riya’s number so they can properly gush over her extremely hot boyfriend and talk about all the things she’s excited to explore with her very much fake but not fake relationship with Logan.

#choices rod #choices platinum #logan x ellie #choices logan #rod logan #male raleigh x cadence #raleigh carrera #cadence dorian

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shinadog · 3 years

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Alright, here’s my first attempt at writing something Yakuza related - inspired by a freakin nightmare I had, here’s MOB! It’s a multi-chapter plot oriented story based on an alternate ending for Yakuza 5 (so be careful, it will spoil that game).

Summary : Something happened after Haruka’s concert.

PART 1 - The Crowd

The crowd was completely silent as the girl spoke.

No one really knew how to react - how could they? This is not what they wanted to hear. They came here tonight (they paid an exorbitant price for a ticket, for the right to stand in a pit with hundreds of others) for one thing only. To hear a trio of teenagers sing about love, dreams, and all kinds of other nice things. Not to have one of said teenagers make a heartfelt but ultimately uncomfortable speech about…

About what, by the way?

The fact that she, Haruka Sawamura, was now standing on a stage, something most people would KILL for, and that it wasn't what she wanted? That the beautiful moment she had lived tonight just wasn't good enough for her. That she wanted to go back home. To her family.

When she started to explain what she meant by family is when she really started to ruin the mood, though.

It's not that the people in the crowd were cruel.

If you asked them "can a former yakuza turn over a new leaf and raise a kid", they'd probably say yes. If you asked them outside of an idol concert that was now pretty much ruined, that is. For some reason, hearing that girl talk about her love for her criminal of an adopted father didn’t sound as reasonable when she was standing on a stage and the crowd was standing beneath her, forced to listen. Forced to realize the perfect little picture they had in their mind, the cute upbeat innocent girl who came here to sing nice songs and thank them for their attention, never existed.

They felt cheated, somehow.

Still, they said nothing. There were a few whispers here and there, some questions asked a bit louder, but other than that, Haruka bowed down and left the stage in an unnerving silence. Her two co-stars eventually left too, and for a moment, the crowd was lost.

Was this it?

That was the moment people were starting to show the first signs of agitation. When the crowd started to feel less quiet. As the staff started to get them to leave, apologizing profusely, more and more people were starting to object. They paid to be here, to spend a nice wholesome moment, and all they got left with was this vague feeling of disappointment. Worse than that, they felt betrayed.

That girl practically told them, to their faces, than this dream, being an idol and having the incredible chance to perform at the Japan Dome, an once in a lifetime opportunity, wasn't good enough for her.

That's not how it was supposed to go.

The crowd was lost.

Eventually, they had to move. Hundreds and hundreds of angry, upset people walking into each other to get out of here. A human wave, grumbling and complaining about how short and ultimately upsetting that whole experience had been.

But they were reasonable, well adjusted citizens, after all. They would leave without making a fuss. Go back home, make some angry social media messages about the concert and move on.

That would have been nice. Reasonable.

Instead of that, the crowd ran into a fleeing girl who, like them, was trying to get out of here.

There was an awful moment when they stared at each other. The idol and her fans. The girl who rejected them and the angry people who felt as if they had been personally betrayed by someone they loved. Someone they swore they knew.

It wasn't clear who started it.

Who threw the first punch.

Who pushed who.

Who first started to run.

When the crowd of reasonable, civilized music enthusiasts became a mob.

When instead of cutesy pop tunes, the air was now filled with the screams of people being caught in the stampede.

No matter how it happened, in an instant, chaos had erupted. The mob was a loud angry wave now, crashing into itself, stomping mercilessly on the poor souls who had the misfortune to fall.

When asked about it, later, well after the dust had settled, people who had been part of the mob will say they don't know what happened. They'll say they were scared - and they were. The threat of being crushed by other people in the absolute chaos of it all had been terrifying. They'll say they were sad that it happened. That the girl didn't deserve that.

They'll never admit they felt a self righteous anger that almost turned them into monsters.

After all, they were well-adjusted, normal people.

******************

Kiryu was not smart.

A smart man wouldn't have run to fight some asshole all on his own after being shot and punched a bunch of times, only to collapse in the snow like a moron trying to get back to home. Hell, a smart man wouldn't have joined the yakuza at 16 just to run after the respect and love of the man he wanted to call father. And, of course, a smart man wouldn't have been convinced to abandon his family so that his child could become a pop star.

While he wasn't smart, Kiryu had a good instinct. He knew when something was up, deep in his gut. So when he woke up in a hospital bed, his whole body screaming as the pain woke up with him, he knew. Something was wrong.

Not because of the pain. That, he expected. He had no idea how long he had been out, but it hadn't been long enough to heal, that much was certain. Every muscle in his body felt sore, and the burning ache where he had been shot was still there. If Kiryu had to guess, he'd say he wasn't unconscious for more than four days. Not that he cared about that right now. What he wanted to know was why he woke up with this feeling of dread. With an alarm blaring in his head, warning him that something was wrong. It might have had something to do with the friendly yet incredibly worried faces in front of him.

Saejima, standing with his arms crossed near the room's door, and Akiyama, sitting on a chair near the end of his bed, were both staring back at him, stuck in an uncharacteristic silence. It was especially jarring for Akiyama, who had opened his mouth when Kiryu had turned his head in his direction, closing it just as quickly, as if he didn't know what to say.

Kiryu frowned.

Then all the things that were wrong with this scene struck him at once.

The way Saejima was standing, stiff and tense, completely still even as their eyes met.

The small "fuck" that finally escaped Akiyama's mouth, and the way he immediately stared at the door, as if he was hoping for some needed interruption.

The wrinkled clothes, still covered in blood in places, that both men were wearing and the heavy bags under their eyes, as if they had been up for days.

The fact that they were the only two people in that room, when Kiryu remembered separating from three companions on that fateful night.

The blurry memory of a man making the promise he'd protect his daughter. A man who was not here today.

The horrible realization that Haruka was not here, either.

And, finally, the fact that the heavy, oppressive silence was still here as his brain painfully connected the dots.

"What happened?"

All things considered, his voice didn't sound as weak and shaky as he would have expected. It wasn't his usual voice, though, it was tainted by the panic that was now compressing his chest, making it sound way less threatening than usual. Maybe it was weak and shaky, after all.

He was met with more silence, and it both scared and angered him.

"Shit, he woke up?"

Majima's head poking through the open door startled him.

Not that being startled by Majima was anything special. The man had found many ways to surprise him through the years, and hearing his shrill voice was usually enough to make Kiryu brace himself for whatever was coming for him. He was less of a wildcard these days, sure, but Kiryu had learned it never hurt to be on his guard anyway.

Still, Majima's sudden appearance in the room wasn't what made him suddenly straighten up in his bed, ignoring his body's complaints. No, it was the way his expression shifted as their eyes met. That weird horrified look, one he never saw in that lone eye, as Majima dragged himself inside the room, closing the door behind him - now THAT was startling.

"What the FUCK happened?"

Alright, so his voice was definitely shaking. It wasn't weak anymore though, he had pretty much roared that question, trying to get up despite the pain being hard to ignore by now. He was a mess. He didn't care, he needed some kind of answer. Akiyama’s hand was on his shoulder, he wasn't sure when that happened. When he spoke, the man's voice sounded lower than usual, and that hushed tone did nothing to calm him down.

"We can talk later, that's the first time in eight days you've been truly awake, maybe you should take it slow."

Eight days, huh. Not the four days he imagined earlier, but still not his worst. It didn't tell him what happened while he was out to make everyone stare at him like that. Kiryu had been awake for what felt like minutes and no one had done anything to give him an answer. Which only made the alarm in his head blare louder.

He strained his neck to look at Saejima across the room, still motionless:

"Saejima, please."

Kiryu wasn't sure why he was singling him out. And if the way the man raised his eyebrows was any indication, Saejima was surprised to hear him call for him, too. Maybe it was because both Akiyama and Majima were already starting to tell him to calm down and consider going back to sleep, the former mumbling something about fetching a doctor. Maybe it was because he had the feeling Saejima wouldn't lie to him.

Eventually, the tall yakuza made a few steps to stand near the end of the bed, his expression unreadable as he started:

"Our plan mostly worked, but-"

"Where is Haruka?"

Kiryu thought he could let him talk - he wanted too, even, but the second he had started explaining, he had to interrupt. He had to know. Saejima looked at the others for what felt like an eternity, and finally-

"She's alive."

No one in the history of the world had ever said "she is alive" to talk about someone who was safe and sound. He couldn't have picked a more worrying wording if he had tried. Kiryu focused on the man in front of him, ignoring once more his exhausted body begging for him to at least lay down again.

When Saejima started talking again, he didn't dare interrupt this time, horror taking over with each words:

"The concert, uh, it happened. Shinada got the shooter, and we took care of shit at the Millenium Tower too."

Kiryu couldn't care less about the events at the Millenium Tower. If he had to guess, he'd say Majima and Saejima had to fight, maybe even fight each other, as they were sporting a variety of bruises. All he wanted was to know what went down at the Japan Dome.

"At the end of that one song, Haruka, she…" Saejima took a deep breath, and Kiryu swore his heart had stopped. " She made a speech. ‘bout ya. Said she wanted to go back home and stop the whole singing thing."

Uh.

That wasn’t really what Kiryu had expected. Months ago, he would have been overjoyed to hear those words. Days ago, even. But right now ? All he could hear was the voice in his head yelling that it wasn’t right, that something terrible had happened. He managed to mouth a small "...and ?", urging the other to continue.

At this point, Saejima looked as if each word was costing him a lot. Kiryu would have felt sorry for him if he wasn’t on the verge of having a bloody heart attack. Majima must have felt his brother’s distress, because he eventually took a step to get closer to the bed :

"The concert got to an end, people were pretty pissed about it, and Haruka, she just ran away. Tried to come get ya."

"It’s my fault." Akiyama blurted, looking more serious than Kiryu had ever seen him. " I’m the one who called her. To tell her you left for HQ and that we didn’t know what happened there. I’m so fucking sorry."

Asking "sorry for what" was on Kiryu’s mind, but somehow he didn’t manage to form those words – there was a heavy lump in his throat by now, and he felt so tired that he was afraid he was going to faint before those fuckers finally spit out the truth.

It eventually came, from Majima, his voice horribly serious for once, deeper and full of pity, which Kiryu realized was awfully scary to hear :

"When she got out, she ran into some folks from the audience, and a fight broke out."

"It was more like a stampede than a fight," Saejima added, contempt in his voice. "Those stupid motherfuckers just started running and they crushed everything in their way."

Kiryu was finding it harder and harder to focus on what was being said. Or to picture what happened. Or to just stay awake at all. He knew his body enough to know that he was about to drop and sleep for a couple more days, and he knew that he couldn’t. Not before he knew-

"Four dead and too many wounded to count."

He blinked. He wasn’t even sure who had said that. Akiyama, maybe. Kiryu somehow didn’t register a voice, just a number. And the word "dead" ringing in his ears. Saejima said she was alive, he told himself. She is alive. Four poor fuckers were dead, but she was alive. She had to be.

"Haruka ?" He asked, his own voice sounding like it came from far, far away. He was really starting to lose it, he was out of time-

"The mob got to her before any staff member could react, she was already outside and there was too many fucking people…" This time he was certain it was Akiyama’s talking. Probably. The scene was getting pretty blurry, by now. Words had mostly stopped making sense, but he still listened. "By the time they got her out of here she… She had been through a lot."

"She’s in a coma right now. Doctors said her vitals are good, she has a good shot at waking up"

The word "coma" still made sense.

In fact, it made so much sense that it made all the blurry noise surrounding his senses disappear, leaving him with nothing but dread.

Dread and stupid, impulsive anger, of course.

He got up.

Well, he tried to.

He almost managed to put one foot on the ground before Saejima shoved him back in the bed, humiliatingly easily. "Don’t fucking do that. I know it ain’t easy but you need to calm down."

"I need to see her."

"We’ll go once you’re strong enough." Akiyama said, his hand uselessly pressed on his shoulder, as if Saejima needed any help to keep him pinned on the bed. "Date is with her right now, so she isn’t alone. It’s probably better if we wait a bit, she’s… It’s a lot to take in."

You don’t fucking say, he wanted to shout.

"This isn’t how it was supposed to go..." Kiryu heard himself say, his voice breaking slightly, before a new spike of anger made it get louder. " Where the fuck was Shinada while all that shit was going on ? He said he’d protect her !"

"Well, when it started getting bad he did try to find a way through the crowd, but…" Saejima shook his head, looking more tired than ever. "It was an angry crowd, Kiryu, I’m sure he did his best, but it was too much. No one could have done anything."

Kiryu is vaguely aware that he kept talking after that. That he said Shinada was still alive after being pretty much crushed by the stampede, and that he was in a room somewhere in the hospital.

He didn’t care, though.

No one could have done anything.

The last thing Kiryu thought of as he passed out was that HE could have done something.

No angry crowd could have stopped him. He was certain of it.

He could have prevented this.

He should have.

#i'm FINALLY putting this here lmao #i hope this is readable on tumblr that's basically the only place i can put it on screw ao3 #eeeeh how do i even tag this #yakuza #yakuza 5 #yakuza fanfiction #rgg #rgg5 #weird art of mine #stories #fics #mob

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