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insane-control-room · 3 years

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Poison

[check out the gif vers on twitter :)]

Ao3 Link

The moment after Spy put his cigarette to his lips, Engineer stepped forward and wrapped him into a hug, holding onto him as though his life depended on it.

"Never do that again."

tws: temp death, minor violence, broken bone

Scout’s hearing was a little messed up as he was trying to wake up. That was relatively normal for him. What was not normal was the fact that he could hear other voices that he did not recognize in the slightest. The first few weeks at Teufort had a similar effect, and negatively impacted his performance more than he would have liked, but that made for a colossal swingback once he was able to get some proper sleep.

So hearing new voices that he was certain should not be there set off alarm bells in his head.

“Kid’s still asleep, I guess.”

Part of Scout was indignant at being called a kid, but the other part agreed with that gruff, low voice. Pretending to be asleep in a hostile situation could be pretty beneficial to him.

“Well, it doesn’t matter too much,” another voice hissed. “Grab him and go. We’ve already got his y factor, and that’s what does matter. The brat doesn’t matter at all, really, but we need him to get to what we want.”

Scout stiffened, but tried not to let it show, as he had been picked up by someone who might have been just a little smaller than Heavy. They carried him out of the hall, and he squinted at his desk to catch a glimpse of the time from his golden baseball themed alarm clock. He had received it anonymously on his birthday, and while none of his teammates admitted it, Engineer did inform him that the compound was actual gold, and not just painted. He felt a warm glow every time he saw the time on it, and this time, though stressful, was no different as he beheld the yellowish 3:41.

Too damn early for this, in other words.

Scout knew he was taken outside when he felt the cool air on his face. He immediately recognized the buzzing, spaztic sounds of sapped sentries. That in turn made him wonder where Engineer was, questioning why he had not fixed the problem, and decided firmly that he did not want to think about that too much.

“Good, you brought him,” a high pitched voice that Scout very much disliked giggled. “Now the real fun can start.”

Scout was unceremoniously dropped onto the floor, and he popped right back up, folding his arms and giving a dissatisfied scowl.

“Ey, careful with the merchandise, Mann,” he snapped at Olivia. She only smiled wider, contrasted by the green uniforms of her miniature militia. “I don’t need any of this crap right now. What the hell do you want with me?”

“Oh, I don’t want anything with you,” she clarified, unnerving Scout all the more. Something was dead wrong with that kid. She did not act like a child in the slightest. “I want something from him, and he’s being very stubborn and not talking!”

As she spoke, Scout’s blue eyes followed the general motion of her hands and felt horror bubbling up in him at the sight of Spy. His suit was torn and bloodied, one of his eyes certainly swollen, and his arms were bound behind his back, his ankles added by another length of material that Scout did not recognize at all.

Olivia followed his gaze and smiled again.

“That’s a special type of rope I had made just for him,” she giggled again. “Frank was such a sweetheart to create it to my specifications. The more he struggles, the tighter it gets. He learned his lesson, now, didn’t you Mr. Spy?”

Spy spat some blood in her general direction instead of answering, but Scout winced nonetheless, knowing the truth behind the silent reply. Olivia snapped her fingers, and one of her grunts kicked Spy in the stomach.

“No, no,” Olivia shook her head. “Enough of torturing poor Mr. Spy. We’ve got a new playmate!”

Scout, who had been backing away to run for help, spun on his heel and booked it. A grapple grabbed his back, and at least five Gs of pressure exerted on his spine as he was snapped back. It made him scream out. Spy stared down at the ground in front of himself, not trusting himself to keep his resolve if he watched. They both were aware that Scout yelled about every minor injury, but neither wanted to see him hurt any more than that.

“Now, we all know that your precious respawn is down,” Olivia booped Scout on the nose. “And I really don’t want to kill you. Neither of you. But you, running man, have a lot less keeping your string going.”

“Merde, he’s just a child!” Spy struggled to speak with his cut lips. “He has a whole life ahead of him!”

“Will you talk, then?” Olivia challenged, stepping over towards Spy. Scout was firmly held between two of her cronies. “I would really appreciate knowing where that Austrailium is.”

Scout’s eyes went wide. Spy’s functional one met his, and Scout shook his head slightly, agreeing with the older man. If Olivia got access to any of that rare mineral, then they might as well kiss their lives goodbye regardless of killer robots or not.

Spy went quiet again.

“Break his wrist.” Olivia casually tossed the instructions over her shoulder, and Scout barely had a moment to think before the men grabbed his arm and hand, then twisted. He screamed the whole way through and peaked at the snap, yet could not even press his injured hand to his stomach as he had been grabbed again. Sure, he had broken his wrist before, what the hell did you think the guards were for, just punching? but this was deliberately slow and painful. “Talk, please. Tell me where the Australium is, and then I’ll leave you both alone. If you don’t… well, I wonder what kind of running career a man with broken femurs and spine could have.”

Spy howled in frustration, the tears that had been in his eyes from pain rising up with the torrent.

“This is not-” he struggled to compose himself, accidentally tightening the ropes on him as he tried to get into a more honorable position. “Leave him out of this.”

“Well, you, no matter how hard you hurt, aren’t talking!” Olivia barked, making both lanky men wince with the sheer adultness in her voice, yet at least the words she said were a little childish. “And I need my answers! So I’ll hurt the ones you love most! I know how much money and effort you spend and struggle with this one. A few DNA tests helped a bit too, but you practically admitted it yourself a couple of times.”

Scout tried his best not to listen to the treacherous words coming from the mouth of a child. He and Spy were… complicated. Spy did care about him, in his awkward way, and did dote on him compared to the other members of the team (well, they all doted on him in their own ways), but Scout, he knew that there was an iceberg between them that neither wanted to address, especially not in this way.

“Just leave him alone,” Spy begged. “His mother would kill me.”

Olivia shrugged.

“Then you’d both be dead.”

Spy swore under his breath, shifting uncomfortably. Scout gave him a look, telling him through a puffed chest and slight smirk that he could handle this, no matter what. If Spy could handle getting his ass handed to him on the dirt, then Scout could too. Hell, he even died before. This would be an easy game in comparison.

“I will not tell you where the Australium is.”

“That’s a pity,” Olivia sighed, pouting. “Well, then break the little runner’s leg.”

“Whoa, whoa, settle down there, little Miss Mann,” Spy and Scout almost cried out of relief, Engineer, coming in without a single weapon aside a fancy looking wrench. His overalls had been hastily pulled over his t-shirt pajamas, and the bit of grease on his face told of a man who had repaired his machines before going on out. “Let’s talk this out like civilized folk.”

“Hmph, hello Dr. Conagher,” Olivia nodded as politely as she could. “I guess I could try doing that.”

“Well, if you ask me, none of us would be in any of this mess had people just opened their hearts and mouths a bit more,” Engineer smiled, though it was impossible to see where he was looking. Olivia sat down at a solid looking table, and pointed to the chair beside her. Engineer cautiously made his way to sit down, running on a wish and a prayer. “Don’t you agree, ma’am?”

She blushed, clearly not used to southern charm nor being spoken to so sweetly, and she tampered down her confused emotions by drawing the knife from under the table and swiftly stabbing Engineer’s hand right through onto the table, and a sapper went just as neatly onto his Gunslinger.

“Engie!” Scout shouted at the same time Spy gasped, “Ingénieur!”

Said man had no reaction to their concern. Instead, he stared at the wound for a moment, then at his no longer functional prosthetic.

“Well, shucks.” he commented, as if the situation was as mundane as finding out your trashcan had been toppled in the night by Soldier’s raccoon. “I walked right into that, didn’t I?”

“Yes, you did,” she sniffed arrogantly. “And now, I can get back to the point.”

She punctuated the last word with a spin and slap to Spy’s already tender face.

“Hey, hey, don’t hurt ‘im,” Engineer protested. A bit of his blood started dripping down the table from his elbow. “He gave you his answer, he doesn’t want to talk. I dunno what you want, but it’s not worth killing two defenseless men.”

“Oh, you’d disagree if you knew what I was looking for,” Olivia sneered. “It’s only the most important thing in the world.”

“Love?” Engineer asked with absolute befuddlement. Spy, Scout, and Olivia all laughed at his bewilderment, making him flush with a touch of embarrassment. “Well, it was worth a shot….”

“It was cute,” Olivia smiled. “But no cigar. Just like that one’s wishes that you were his father.”

Spy’s eyes flicked to Scout and then down to the ground in shame. He knew that Engineer was a better father figure towards Scout than he ever had been; though with said man’s encouragement, he was doing a little better.

“Come now, it’s actually really funny!” Olivia insisted through giggles. “Scout doesn’t look anything like Dr. Conagher, and he’s not even a quarter as smart!”

“Miss, that’s just plain rude,” Dell scolded. “Scout’s brilliant in his own ways. If I was in a situation that needed quick thinkin’, I’d ask Scoot for help.”

Scout glowed at the praise. Spy smiled at the sight.

“Well, he’s also a quarter as ugly as you,” Olivia sputtered, confused by his parental nature. Engineer’s eyebrows shot up, and Spy felt a little bad for him as he noticed the slight tinge growing on his cheeks. “It’s a wonder that he’s got a fancy for you at all! After all, his tastes are much more… fabulous and expensive than you.”

It took a moment for all three of them to process what she was saying. The little blush that was on Engineer’s cheeks grew tenfold. Scout stared at Spy, who seemed so shocked that he lost the ability to close his mouth at all.

Then he closed it with a resolve so strong they heard it crack.

Or rather, his new cyanide tooth.

“Spah, no!” Engineer yelped, panic audible in his voice for the first time that night. “No, spit that out right now!”

Spy gave him a smile that struggled to hold in the froth that built in his mouth, and swallowed. Scout heard screaming that he did not know was his own until Engineer snapped him out of it with a hoarse shout of his own.

“Damnit Spy!”

Olivia was just as miffed, with all due honesty. With a viciously sharp scowl, she pressed hard onto Spy’s throat with the bottom of her dainty shoe, and when she was sure he was dead, spat on his body. Engineer muttered a curse, pale and with water building up on the inside of his goggles.

“He’s useless now. Let the others go, we’re leaving,” she huffed, getting into her limousine. She threw at Engineer his wrench, no longer caring.

“Damnit, damn, goddamnit,” he whispered, shaking. The two men holding Scout let him go on Olivia’s signal, and he ran over to Engineer, his own vision blurring from sheer emotion that he tuned right out of. Before he or Engineer even realized, the group of their assailants had left. “Pull out the knife, Scout, swift and smooth.”

Scout, not trusting his voice, nodded and did as he was asked. Engineer let out a shaky sigh as he flexed his sore blue fingers, wrapping them around his wrench.

“Grab onto me.”

Again, Scout listened. Engineer gave a last glance to Spy’s corpse and there was a bright flash of light, whisking them to home respawn. No one else was there to greet them.

“He’s dead, isn't he?” Scout asked quietly. The tears he had been holding in slowly started to drip down his face.

“He ain’t dead ‘til three coroners say he is,” Engineer tried his best not to snap, but those words scared him more than he ever wanted to admit. Respawn was a quick little trick to immortality, but only as long as it was working, and as long as the body was able to handle it. “I’m going ta try an overwrite. I need ya to spit on this.”

“Wh- spit? On that panel?” Scout’s sadness shifted suddenly to confusion. “Why?”

“Just do it, boy,” Engineer pleaded. “Do it and hope with all your might that I can get this ta work.”

Scout did.

Heaven help him, he hoped.

Engineer pressed buttons, shifted knobs, and slid the panel back into place.

A minute passed.

Then another.

Engineer slammed his fist onto the mainframe, yanking off his goggles, the tears that had accumulated splashing onto the floor.

“Damnit!” he sobbed. “No!”

Scout hesitantly patted his shoulder, and Engineer swooped around to hug him, crying into the young man’s chest.

“‘M so sorry, Jeremy,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.”

A warm glow hit them, and Spy groaned, rushing to rinse his mouth.

“Disgusting,” he huffed, and then Scout punched him, hugging him immediately after. Spy hugged him back gently. “Thank you for the warm reception.”

He stepped away to light a cigarette, and looked up to see Engineer’s stare.

The moment after Spy put his cigarette to his lips, Engineer stepped forward and wrapped him into a hug, holding onto him as though his life depended on it.

"Never do that again." Engineer whispered against his neck and shoulder. He was trembling badly, hands gripping tightly onto Spy’s suit.

Spy slowly hugged him back, ignoring the smoldering cigarette.

“I won’t.”

#engiespy #i suck at this game but i love it #team fortress 2 #tf2 #engineer #spy #scout #hurt/comfort #respawn #temporary death #minor violence #broken bone

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kylorengarbagedump · 4 years

Text

Little Bird: Chapter 25 (NSFW)

Read on AO3. Part 24 here. Part 26 here.

Summary: All right, well, I guess no one's gonna go swimming in that pool, anymore.

Words: 6600

Warnings: cw--a kylorengarbagedump special: tons of graphic violence and gratuitous bloodplay

Characters: Kylo Ren x Handmaid!Reader

A/N: HI, HELLO, what the fuck am I doing! I'd like to give thanks to @faestae and John Wick for this chapter. Without them, I'd be completely fucked. For some reason, I keep writing shit that demonstrates how little I know about writing anything other than sex. Please let me know what you thought! I'm interested to see what people think about this bit.

I love y'all so very much! Thank you for always offering kindness and encouragement. <3

You hadn’t taken your eyes off of your Commander since entering the car, hoping that, if you stared long enough, you’d be able to identify any hint of emotion, any flicker of feeling in his inscrutable expression. But Kylo Ren sat, back against the partition, hands at his sides, a veneer of distance cast over his face. The harder you looked, the further away he seemed--like a void, emptying itself, slowly, of vulnerability.

“Do you know how long I’ve known your Commander?” said Snoke. You felt his spider-leg gaze crawling over your figure. “Since he was a boy.”

Unsure if you were supposed to respond, you dipped your head in the tiniest nod you could muster.

“And there was a period where he disagreed, you know. With the idea of Gilead. Did you know that?”

Ren was solid, unmoving, staring through the back windshield. He didn’t blink, didn’t twitch. Swallowing, you allowed yourself to peer over at Snoke. He was watching you expectantly.

“Um.” To be fair, you did know that--you just didn’t know to what degree, and for how long. “I didn’t know that, no.”

“Well, it’s true.” His focus drifted back to Ren. “He was so unsure of himself, back then. Couldn’t ever make a decision. Afraid to let himself achieve what he was truly capable of.” A dark, breathy laugh escaped him. “He was so sensitive, so scared.”

There, right below his nose, you saw it--a twinge of muscle.

“But, thankfully, he’s resolved those doubts, now.” A wicked smile twisted through his skin. “Haven’t you, Ren?”

His eyes, like slate, met Snoke’s for a millisecond. “Yes.”

“Yes.” Now Snoke turned his attention to you. “He believes, like I do, in the roles of society. In the order we can provide by enforcing them.” A glance at Ren. “Isn’t that right, boy?”

“Yes.” His back straightened.

“He agrees with me that Handmaids are one of those unfortunate necessities of society,” Snoke said. “If we had a perfect world, we wouldn’t need you at all.” He shrugged. “For now, both of you have your roles. Separate and equal.”

Not that nonsense again. It sounded just as repulsive as when it had come out of Ren’s mouth. “I think we’re both more than that.” You peered at your Commander, who observed you with guarded confusion. “More than our roles.”

Snoke’s eyes sparkled with some sick delight. “Really, now.” He looked to Ren. “We have to make sacrifices, don’t we. To ensure our vision survives to the next generation.”

He averted his gaze, nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“You’ve made many sacrifices for Gilead, Ren.”

Snoke’s hand laid on your knee, squeezing it, red fabric bunching in his skeletal grip. Your throat thickened with fear, your breath stolen. Ren’s chest filled with slow, tense air, his jaw tight. The knife in your sleeve seemed to sear you with its presence--you imagined whipping it out, swiping the button, slamming the blade right into the old man’s wrinkled neck. Instead, you sat there, watching his hand creep higher, your focus switching between his fingers and your Commander.

Do what you wish with it.

If you tried to attack him now, here, in his car, both you and Ren would end up dead. You shoved the urge into the bottom of your brain, chin trembling as the bony excuse for a hand grazed your thigh--Snoke’s eyes were trained on Ren, daring him to move.

But he did nothing.

A whirr of a winding engine cut through the silence, and Snoke removed his hand--you sagged with relief. He rolled down the window, making a quick motion with his wrist, the limo stopping for a brief moment. Then it pushed forward, past a gated entrance staffed with at least two guards armed with rifles. Fear dug its claws into your chest.

The limo coasted up a long, winding driveway, up to what you could only define as a mansion, and came to a halt. Snoke glanced at the both of you, popping the door open.

“We’ve arrived,” he said. “Come, now.”

Ren met your eyes for a brief, electric second before he exited the vehicle. Steeling your nerves, you followed, feeling significantly hampered by the rustling of your dress. As you clambered into the sun, you breathed the heavy summer air and glanced over the property.

A white stone gate with the pair of sentries encircled a ring of decorative topiaries, bushels of red flowers poking through the mulched landscape. The driveway looped like a racetrack through the yard, up to the bleached cement plaza that opened to a glittering fountain pond. The center of the fountain was dominated by a marble carving of Jesus on the cross, his head craned toward the sky, water gushing in clear, noisy rivers from his hands and crown. In front of you, the staired entrance led to a grand, columned pavilion that guided you toward the front door, a glass and iron arch with concentric rows of windows radiating out to the walls.

All of this might have been beautiful, you thought, had you not been a slave, invited with your owner under the pretense of interrogation.

That, and the two guards coming to escort you to the entrance--also armed, of course.

They bookended you in a line--Snoke, Ren, and you--through the front door, into the vaulted foyer, ivory granite floors stretching out into a wide parlor room, light streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Through them, you spied the backyard, complete with a glimmering Tuscan-style pool, enclosed also by that same white stone. And more guards marching in assignment.

Silent, you kept close to your Commander’s heels as you all climbed the one of the two curved staircases, ascending past an enormous chandelier, tiers of glowing crystal casting flakes of light onto your skin. Despite its warmth, at the last step, you fell cold--there were still more riflemen at the top. The guards ushered you down an empty hall to an open door. They stood at either side of the entrance, and, blood escaping your face, you followed Ren and Snoke inside.

Cherry wood-panelled walls wrapped the oval stone floor, a circular Persian rug rolled out underneath a huge teak desk. It was accompanied by a tall Chesterfield throne upholstered in red leather, two smaller, sister chairs attending the sides. Behind the desk, built-in shelves were lined with heavy, hardbound tomes, all illuminated by two sets of double-necked glass sconces at the two ends of the room.

You stood next to Ren, hands strangling each other as Snoke closed the door and wandered around to the head of his desk. His stride was slow, deliberate, crossing the room like it was slick with molasses. Arriving at his chair, he opened one of the drawers, carding through it before pulling out a folder and plopping it on the flat surface. With precision, he plucked a few pages from it, pushing them forward.

“Do you remember signing these, Ren?”

Kylo Ren’s eyes flicked between the paper and his superior. “Yes.”

“Your very first acceptance to the order,” Snoke said, gazing at it. “The evidence of your commitment.” He turned his attention to you. “You said that you think you’re more than your roles. But I know that isn’t the case.”

You cleared your throat, spine straightening. “And I know it is.”

“You’d be wrong,” Snoke said. “Because Kylo Ren is a facade. An identity--a role. Just like yours.” He paused, waiting for Ren to react. He didn’t. “Before he was Kylo Ren, he was a lost, lonely little boy. Always winding up in fights. Parents too busy to care.”

Ren rolled his tongue along the inside of his teeth, but said nothing.

“But I saw potential in him. Didn’t I, boy?” Snoke offered him a small grin. “I could see the greatness, the cunning, the power you could have.”

“You did,” Ren muttered.

“And this is all you’ve become. Your heart hasn’t hardened. You’re soft. You could never hope to be Kylo Ren.” He sighed, and leered at him. “And I’m disappointed to see that this is the case.”

He was silent, chin raising, stare toward the floor.

“You’re still fighting it, aren’t you?” When he didn’t respond, Snoke’s entire face twisted in a frown. “Answer me, boy.”

“I’m not.”

“No?” Snoke opened the top drawer of his desk and produced a massive silver revolver, tossing it on the desk with a thunk. “Prove it,” he said. “Shoot her.”

Your heart shot between your ears, eyes darting between Snoke, Ren, the gun, Snoke, Ren, the gun, Snoke, Ren, the gun. Kylo Ren was as unreadable as ever--he considered the revolver as if Snoke had thrown down a ballpoint pen. A tiny breath escaped him.

“Everything I’ve done has been for Gilead--my commitment has never wavered--”

“Don’t lie to me, boy!” Snoke’s gaze flashed with barely-leashed rage. “I see how you respond when I touch her, I can feel your weakness for her.”

Ren’s lip twitched. “Weakness. For a Handmaid.”

“I know your mind, Ren. I know every little thought that goes through your brain. Your impulses are raw, you allow Gilead to suffer under your foolishness. This paper...” He held it up, pointing to the signature--beautiful, loopy letters that read Ben Solo. “The boy that signed it still lives. And he is weak.”

Snoke pushed off the desk, stalked over to you--before you could even think to move, his hand gnarled in your hair, fingers scraping like screws over your scalp. You whimpered, thinking to scream, to fight, to beg--but worried Snoke would shoot you himself if you did.

“Show me who you’re meant to be, Kylo Ren.” He ripped you to the floor, shoving you onto your knees near his feet. Then, at the back of your head--something hard. Cold. Another gun. “Or I’ll show you myself.”

In the back of your mind, it seemed strange--for all the scenarios you’d imagined being on your knees in front of your Commander, this had never been one of them. Terror shuddered you, but you stilled the quaking of your flesh, meeting Ren’s eyes, sticking your chin into the air. He stared into you and through you, hooking into your hidden fear, finding himself there. Your chests rose and fell with the same breath, lips parting with the same awful knowledge--there was no scenario where he could save you, no reality where your story could’ve had a different ending. For all of your emptiness, loneliness, wanton need, this was your destiny--two souls, desperate to know the other, denied for every unchangeable reason fate could offer.

Part of you knew that Ren had to kill you. Part of you hoped against hope that, somehow, he wouldn’t.

But then he moved. And he picked up the gun.

“Good,” Snoke said. “Good.”

Ren stepped toward you, face blank, and aimed the revolver until it was inches from your head. You gazed at him, thankful that you’d known relief at least once in the past few years, somehow more thankful that he’d been the one to give it to you. Heat stung your eyes. You wouldn’t cry, not now. You’d wished for death too many times at this point to begrudge its arrival.

“Good choice, my boy,” Snoke said. He jerked your scalp. “Would you like to have a prayer for your last words?”

He scoffed. “What use does a dog have for prayer?”

A hearty chuckle. “Oh, I’m nothing if not a man of God.”

“Last prayer, then.” Ren blinked. “Do what you wish with it.”

In your chest, breath hitched, your pulse flying. The switchblade. Swallowing, you glanced at the floor to Snoke’s foot beside you, then back up, meeting Ren’s eyes. A spark, a crooked crackle of light--you were seeing them, seeing him, seeing yourself, a reflection, an echo, pure resonance in the emptiness of his mind--and in that moment, you knew.

You knew him.

Clearing your throat, you began, “O, Lord Jesus…”

You pressed your palms together, bowing your head to conceal them as you used the heel of your hand to guide the blade up your sleeve.

“... pour into me the spirit of your love…”

The handle poked through the edge of fabric, the wooden scales cool and smooth. Your tongue was paper, scratching at your mouth.

“... that in the hour of my death…”

With the switchblade fully encased in your hands, your finger dipped to find the safety and flick it free. Perspiration had it slip in your grip, and you flinched for only a second, pinching it tight between your palms.

“... I may be worthy to vanquish the enemy…”

Your thumb fumbled for the safety, now, finding it behind your sweaty skin.

“... and receive the heavenly crown.”

Pushing it up, you drew a long, deep breath through your nose. Ren cocked his gun.

“Amen.”

The blade sprung free, and you drove it, a stake, straight into Snoke’s hapless foot. He screamed, his gun clattering to the floor--in that instant, Ren cocked a brow, raised the revolver, and fired. Snoke blew back, blood spattering your crown, a crimson spray cast over the desk, onto Ren’s face, and the body hit the floor behind you with a fleshy thud.

You blinked, gasping, trembling, too terrified to look behind you, too anxious to not confirm he was dead. A quick peek--a massive crater in the lifeless facade of his skull--and you swallowed, looking to Kylo Ren, without breath, without speech, without pretense. His eyes were wide and wild, his chest heaving with something like excitement--then, outside the study, the guards stirred.

“Commander Snoke?” one asked.

Ren glanced at the door. His pupils swallowed his irises, and at the corner of his lips, a smirk. He tore off his tie, tossed his suit jacket onto the floor, back and shoulders swelling like mountains underneath his shirt.

“We’re coming in, sir.”

“Get down,” he muttered as he cocked the gun, aiming it at the door. “Come in.”

You scrambled to the side of the desk and tore off your wings so you could see, curling over your knees, and the door squeaked open. The moment the guard’s head breached the entrance, Ren fired, and you jolted--blood spurted, painting the wall, the body dropped. A second guard flung the door back, rushing Ren before he could reload, but Ren threw his elbow into the man’s chin, wringing his arm around his neck and shoving him to the ground. He drove his heel into the guard’s neck before cocking the gun and blowing a hole through his face.

Heart flying in your chest, you stared at him, mouth open, almost unable to believe what you’d just seen. In the recording, you’d heard Snoke call him a warrior--you just hadn’t known until now what that meant.

“We’re moving.” Ren stalked over and snatched your wrist, but you winced.

“Hold on!” You tugged away and snagged the switchblade from Snoke’s foot, sheathing it and shoving it back up your sleeve.

“Come.” He grabbed you again, leading you over the leaking lump of the guard and into the hall.

As you breached the threshold and crossed the hall, two guards turned the corner--the ones from the top of the stairs. Kylo Ren shoved you behind him, gunshots spearing your ears, a body falling; then he slammed you against the wall, the trill of wide rifle bullets whizzing by your skull. You screamed, covered your head, and Ren reached out, wresting the barrel of the offending gun and wrenching the guard flush with his chest--he shoved the revolver up to his chin and fired, viscera erupting from the man’s eye sockets and coating you both.

You gagged, mind whirling--but Ren was crazed, rippling with the heat of exhilaration. He ditched the revolver and tucked the rifle under his arm, shrugging the body off and grabbing you again. Ren hugged you tight to his frame as he marched through the halls; panting, you gazed up at him, futilely trying to process that he had not only murdered his leader, but now apparently planned to gun down the entirety of this estate--when he all he had to do instead was kill you.

He cursed when you reached the steps. A pair of guards was posted at both sets of stairs--and, seeing you, they shouted and charged. Ren’s attention darted between them, landed on the chandelier. He shouldered you back, running forward and leaping from the banister. You squeaked, hands clapping your mouth--but he grappled the chain, feet stumbling over the metal frame as the crystal behemoth swung like a sparkling pendulum in the foyer. The guards hollered, racking their rifles--but Ren fired first.

Using the chandelier like an assassination assistant, Ren pinned the gun to his body and pulled the trigger, spitting a storm of bullets into the staircase, littering pockmarks over the walls. The guards quailed, ducked--Ren jerked the fixture’s chain, rolling his legs down, and he spun, a carousel of death, firing next at the guards climbing the other steps. These two were not so lucky--you caught hot streams of blood splash over the balustrade, and then Ren swung again, crystals clinking like chimes as the chandelier bowed in wide arcs. Face tight with frenzy, he fired, and you watched the bodies crumple like marionettes and tumble down the stairs.

Bobbing in the air, he cast his gaze around the room, back hunched, an animal starved. You grimaced, crawled forward, gripping the banister, and when he met your eyes, he shifted, making to swing.

“Stop!” came a voice from the back of the home.

From underneath the balcony, you saw two guards run forward, rifles pointed up--before you could shout, they fired into the ceiling, clouds of crystal fragments spewing into the air. Ren wobbled, dodging with surprising grace, then flung the chandelier back.

You watched him, lids wide, as he stepped, one foot, another foot, skating over the steel and lurching forward, yanking on the chain like a rope and throwing his legs into the air. His other arm, still occupied with the rifle, swung down, and as he launched himself toward the banister, he fired, sparks snapping, the chain severed. Ren connected with the railing as the chandelier exploded to the floor, crushing the two guards in a splintering spew of metal and glass. Without thinking, you scampered to him, clutching his arms, straining as you helped haul him onto the balcony. He stumbled to his feet and ripped you up by your wrist.

“Commander--”

“Quiet.”

Adrenaline coursed through him into you, absorbed like warmth through your skin. He dragged you down the steps, tossing his current gun and grabbing a new one while you fled over the ragdolled corpses covering your path. In your dress, it was difficult to maneuver, but Ren pulled you through, jaw set firm, ravenous fury dancing in waves from his body. His eyes were focused and feral, a predator, a true, live killer, consumed with a hunger you’d never before seen--not up close.

He led you toward the front door--beyond the mottled glass, you could spy a pair of guards sneaking close, decked in armor, guns raised. Cursing, he doubled back, your arm popping while he hauled you toward the other end of the home. Then two more guards, also in armor, crept across the pool deck in the same formation, heading toward wherever the back entrance was. Grumbling, Ren tore to the right, wringing you forward--you’d been thrust into a huge kitchen, replete with white quartz countertops and oak cabinetry. You had little time to admire it before he shoved you under the hood of the breakfast nook. Breathless, you pulled your knees to your chest, trying to become as small and unnoticeable as possible.

Slinging the gun over his shoulder, he grabbed two long knives from the butcher block on the counter, sidling up to the wall next to an archway that opened to what appeared like a mudroom. The first sentry peered around the corner, and Kylo Ren snarled, driving the knife through the man’s throat. He choked, gasped, writhing as he fell to the ground, rivers of blood spilling over the floor. The second guard flinched, went to raise his rifle at Ren--but the second of hesitation sealed his fate. Ren jammed his foot into the man’s chest, knocking him onto his back, and stomped his face before shifting the rifle into his hands and ending him with a pop, pop.

Flustered with fear, you made to move--and then spotted that the two guards from the front had made their way into the home, crossing into the kitchen. Before you could warn Ren, one fired, a quick burst, striking him in the side. He roared, crumpling to the floor, a bloom of bright blood staining his side--your body burst with fear, with rage, your mind making decisions without a second of uncertainty.

As the guards pushed toward Ren, you threw yourself into their path, a human speedbump; they tripped, stumbled over you, over each other, trampling you as they both collapsed to the ground. You craned your neck to see your Commander--he seethed as he stood, punching himself in his wound, each strike punctuated with a furious grunt.

Kylo Ren flipped the free knife into the air, caught it by the handle, and sneered, stabbing one of the guards through the eye--his body jerked, twitched on top of you, and Ren rolled the other man with his foot, aiming his rifle at his exposed face and riddling it with holes. You squealed as his frame jolted with the shots, trying to scramble free--but Ren caught you by the arm again, prying you to your feet. He started toward the back door, but you jerked away--he spun, hair tossed in choppy waves over his face, teeth bared, entire form trembling with the throes of bloodlust.

“The--the front,” you managed to eke out. “You’re injured, let’s get out of here.”

He growled, seizing your wrist and tugging you forward. “We’re not done yet.”

You swallowed. This was no longer about escaping. It was about revenge.

Led through the mudroom in the wake of his wrath, Ren discarded you to the side of the door and shouldered it open. Two guards stood, anticipating, at the exit, two more chasing around the pool. Your Commander wrapped one of the guards in a headlock, using him as a shield while he surged forward, facing the closest guard while shooting over his arm at the other two. They shook, barraged with bullets, toppling back until they both splashed into the pool, crimson fog weeping into the water. The guard in his grip kicked back, and he faltered--the man closest to him took this as an opportunity to lunge, and smashed into Ren, knocking him and his hostage to the ground.

Chest tightening, you made to move, but hesitated--what would you do? Shoot them? Your brain raced with the possibilities--at this point, you’d picked up a pistol, but you’d never pictured yourself as someone who could end a life. You’d also never pictured yourself as someone who would speak back to the lead Commander of Gilead, get belted over a knee, have her pussy stuffed with a gun, or feel worry for the man who owned her.

That last one caught you by surprise--you weren’t just worried, you were terrified. And not for yourself, but for him.

Kylo Ren rolled as the other guard approached, his rifle raised--he ducked behind his captive, using him like a barrier and reached down to the man’s side, stealing a handgun from his belt. The other guard went to dodge, but was blasted in the face with two shots, raining blood over the brick patio, crumpling to his knees and smacking the ground.

Caught in a struggle, Ren went to shoot his final victim through the skull--but the man had already produced a knife from the other side of his belt, and slashed up, ripping Ren across the shoulder and slicing his face. He howled in pain, and the guard took the opportunity to tear himself free, scurrying to his feet, reaching for the gun in Ren’s hand.

Something possessed you--fear, indignity, affection, something--and you dashed through the door, grappled a gun from the corpse closest to you, and cocked it. Maybe, before Gilead, you weren’t a person who could end a life. But now, you were a survivor. And you would be damned if you or your Commander would die here.

Taking the pistol in both hands, you aimed at the guard’s torso. “Hey!” you shouted for absolutely no reason. He glanced over, confused. “Fuck you!”

You pulled the trigger, ears ringing--the bullet nailed his chest, and he staggered, jaw dropped, perhaps wondering if he had really just been shot by a Handmaid. Ren, face smothered scarlet, swung to his feet, swiping the knife from the ground. He snatched the man mid-fall, hoisted him into the air and, snarling, shredded his throat with the blade. A geyser of blood gushed from his neck, bathing Ren in its fever, soaking his shirt, coating the curls of his hair. His shoulders crowded with the desperate cycle of his lungs as he loosened his grip, letting the body hit the ground, crimson bubbles seeping from the wound.

Hands quaking, you lowered your arms, dropped the gun. You couldn’t find your breath, chest fighting for air. Ren turned, eyes tracing the bodies, until finally, they landed on you. Heat hit you, strangled you, wrapped you like wire in a suffocating, powerful, need. Both of you, sprayed with blood, panting, aching--everything you had done, you’d done for the other. His transgressions faded to shadows in your mind. Against every single governmental pillar and logical instinct, you were alive because of him. And you wanted nothing more, now, than to be in his arms.

The word fled your lips, a caged dove. “Kylo…”

Kylo Ren threw down the knife, rushing you, and your feet moved too, carrying you on feathers to him, until your bodies connected, his arms coiling around you, his mouth bruising yours, the taste of iron fresh between your teeth. He was damp with blood, his skin spilled copper into your nose--but despite it all, you groaned, flooded with passion, burning in his embrace. Ren’s tongue drove into your mouth, his hand cupping the back of your head, wetting your hair as he crushed you to his frame. Thighs thrumming with desire, you kissed him back, nipping his lip, threading your fingers through his sticky waves--he moaned, crumbling to his knees, his hold taking you with him.

“You saved me,” you muttered against his lips. “You saved--”

Ren silenced you with a kiss. “Little bird...” He nibbled the line of your jaw, jerking a fistful of hair and burying his face in it, inhaling deep. “Get these clothes off.”

You shivered. “Yes, sir.”

Keeping his gaze, you gathered the hem of your dress and peeled it over your head, his eyes leaping over every bit of exposed flesh as it was revealed to him. You tossed it and your switchblade to the side, his hands grappling with your hips, sliding up your sides, smearing crimson over your skin. Whimpering, you reached toward your feet, pulling your boots off and throwing them to the side, attempting valiantly to remain kneeling while you inched your underwear down your hips and over your calves. Ren watched, trained on your naked cunt, as you finally flung it behind you.

When you went to begin the arduous task of unhooking your bra, Ren growled, your knees scraping across the pool deck as he yanked you into an impatient kiss. You whined in pain, soothed by his soft lips working yours, new blood from the wound on his face dribbling into your mouths and over your wrestling tongues. He wrested your tits from your bra, dying them red, thumbs skating delight over your stiffening nipples. Moaning, you writhed into his chest, and he gripped your face, nails scraping your scalp while he pulled you closer, groaning into you, leaning--you followed him, chasing his kiss until he was on his back, your legs straddling him, palms planted on his chest.

A soft, anxious breath escaped his throat, and he swirled his tongue over yours before biting your lip and pushing you up, hands settling on your thighs, rocking you back and forth over his thick erection. He watched you, panting in rhythm with you, and you admired him--how fucking beautiful he was, even (or especially) doused in blood--his eyes stark with need, his mouth parted in open anticipation, his muscles tensing as he gripped and squeezed you, jerking his hips into your heat. If he was in any pain at all from the gash on his face or the bullets in his side, it didn’t show--he rolled into you as if he cared for nothing other than the sight of your body over his own.

“Are you okay?” You placed your hands on his, squeezing them.

Ren frowned and swatted you off, gathering both wrists behind you in a tight vise. “Interesting question to pose while you’re already grinding onto me.”

You blushed. “I just wanted to make--”

He shoved two bloodied fingers in your mouth, depressing your tongue, cranking your jaw open. “Ask me again after I’ve fucked that little cunt raw.”

Shuddering, you clenched, and nodded.

“There we go.” He released your tongue, popping your wrists back--your tits swayed from the movement, and he hummed in satisfaction, kneading and groping at the flesh, teasing your nipples. “You’re gorgeous…”

“Oh…” Submerged in desire, you could barely process his words. He twitched underneath you, drawing another spasm from your core. “Kylo…”

He sucked in air through his teeth, digging his fingers into your breast. “You want my cock? Hm?” He reached down, brushed his thumb over your clit, and you whined. “You want me inside you, slut?”

“Fuck,” you whispered. “Fuck, yes, please.”

“Good girl…”

Ren kept his grip on your wrists, working at his pants until he’d managed to pull his long, heavy cock free. You ached at the sight of it, wanting to slide it between your folds, feel it pulse inside you, bask in its swollen heat. Ren slapped it against you and shifted his hips, pushing you higher, hand stroking his length as he guided it to your entrance. Stoked on adrenaline, on some sort of intoxicating infatuation, you were wet and wanting and warm with need--you sank onto him, crying out when he broke you open, letting him drive deep into your belly.

“God,” you hissed, “you feel so good…”

He throbbed at the base, rutting up into you and popping your wrists again. “Shh.” His free hand clutched your hip. “I’ll tell you when to speak, little bird,” he muttered. “Be quiet and take this cock.”

Ren’s strength overwhelmed you--he slammed you from below, fucking up into you, forcing gasps and squeals from your lungs. Bliss blazed through your blood as the force of his thrusts throttled you, body quaking, breasts bouncing. His face was screwed in a twist of lust and effort, lip furled, strangled growls escaping his chest--he pumped hard, fast, pinching you in his hands as his own pleasure built.

“Fuck,” he growled, “that’s right--do you like that?”

“Yes…” The words were as unfiltered as you were. “I love it…”

“Good--good girl.” His stare devoured you while you rode him. “So beautiful… so perfect…” A hand glided up your side, cupping one of your tits. “And all mine…” He grunted, punished you with a particularly hard thrust--you yelped. “Say it.”

A twinge in your heart, distant and irritating. “But I--”

He yanked your wrists, straining your shoulders, branding a bruise into your breast with his fingers. “Say it.” His pace switched, and he rammed your cunt with brutal, deep strokes, striking your cervix with white streaks of pain. “You’re mine.”

“Kylo--”

Ren seethed, throwing you off of him and onto your back, wincing when he loomed over you, and he pounded his side, hissing in pain. Your eyes widened--in seconds, he’d spiraled into mania, his face wrought with possessive fervor while his fist pummeled his wound. If he’d looked beautiful before, now it was sinful: dark hair matted in messy clumps around his crown, his brow drawn in focus, his shirt, torn from the knife, flopping over to reveal his bare chest, showered with blood. He peeled your legs wide, ankles in his fists as he lifted your ass from the ground--and, sneering, he split you, cock cleaving your cunt. In pleasure, you sobbed.

“Fuck,” he growled again. “You’re so fucking tight…” Ren started fucking into you, slipping in to the hilt, hips hitting yours with loud slaps. “You feel so good around my cock…”

Whinging, you lolled your head on the deck-- his words sent a torrent of yearning through your flesh, and your clit screeched for attention, but part of you knew that touching it yourself would deny you release altogether. So you stared at him, chin tucked to your chest, each stroke bringing new, desperate breath to your lungs as your back scratched the smooth stone underneath you.

“Nothing to stop me,” he said, “nothing to keep me from you.” He jerked you closer, and you wailed from the depth of his thrusts. “You’re going to be mine…”

“Kylo--”

“No,” he hissed. “Say it.” He propped one of your legs on his shoulder, his hand diving between your legs to rub your clit, covering it in blood--you cried out, clenching, convulsing, pleasure creeping into your vision. “Say you want to be mine.”

The earth turned beneath you. Everything, all of it had been for you, but not in the way that you had hoped. No, it had been to alter the universe to his own whims, to construct a galaxy where he could possess you, keep you, trap you in a tiny, wire cage. His little bird.

You wouldn’t accept that--not after today. You couldn’t.

“Only if--ah--you’re mine, too,” you replied. “I can’t just be yours! You--you have to be mine!”

“What have I told you?” Ren groaned, deep and low. “If that’s what you want…” He gathered some of the blood from his face onto his thumb. “Then you’ll want for nothing.” He slicked your clit while he fucked you, the fluid warm and wet and spinning you to the height of euphoria. “Say it.”

“I’m--I’m yours!” You shut your lids, awash in the elated reality of his admission. “I’m yours, Kylo!”

“Cum then,” he ordered, “cum on this fucking cock...”

You were drawn and quartered by ecstasy, spine arcing toward the sky as your core clamped his dick, limbs shuddering with the waves of your epinephrine-injected climax. Ren growled, leaning over you to hammer into your cunt, strangling his groan as he poured his cum into you, rolling his hips until he was empty--empty of rage, lust, and energy.

Swallowing, you heaved, eyes fluttering open, seeking out your Commander’s gaze. Not that his position mattered, in this hazy purgatory of existence. In this moment, the laws and regulations of Gilead didn’t apply to you and Ren. You’d defied them, destroyed them all. Together.

Something, some emotion you’d wrestled into submission so many times before slithered out of its grave--like hope, but more poignant, more powerful, not just the faith that you could survive. No, it was the dream that you could thrive, that Gilead would crumble underneath both of your feet, that--maybe--you could take a canvas and paint a future with him in it.

Locking eyes, you spied it there, too, beyond the lowered shield of his anger: a mirror of your mind. His hand fell between your breasts, his lip quivering, fingers skimming down your sensitive, starlight skin. How long you laid there, you weren’t sure, but it was after his soft cock had slipped out of you, after your breath had leveled. Sweat glazed you both.

“Why did you do it?” you asked, finally. You fumbled for his hand, laid yours over it.

Ren paused, staring at the image of your hand--so much smaller--wrapped around his, analyzing it in his mind like a puzzle. His jaw tensed, and he pulled away. A piece of your heart wilted.

“I told you,” he said, beginning to adjust himself to decency. “Gilead is flawed. My vision will perfect it.” He met your eyes. “You’ll be mine. And you’ll want for nothing.”

“But…” You narrowed your lids. “You’re mine, too, then.”

“I am.” He stood, gazing over the carnage of the yard--the bodies, the blood, the dyed-red water--all of it turning rancid in the summer heat. “Your Commander.”

There it was. The mallet of his intention, shattering your dreams to disasters. It was as if you had been thrust into the pool yourself, drenched in cold, icy admonishment. How stupid, how foolish were you to imagine that Kylo Ren could consider bringing Gilead down? How short-sighted had you been to believe, for one moment, that he would ever renounce his ownership of you? How horrible, how awful were you that the tiniest, most foolish part of you wanted to accept this--agree to his terms, as long as he’d stay, somewhere, in that canvas.

He held out his hand. “Come.”

Shaking your head, you grabbed your underwear and pulled it on. It seemed silly, getting dressed when half of your clothing would be muddied with blood. You glanced up at him, mapping the wounds in his body. He was hunched, but not hampered.

“Are you really okay?”

Ren still had his hand extended. “Yes.”

You frowned, slapped it away. His eye twitched, attention switching between you and his hand--and, to your surprise, he shoved it in his pocket. You grabbed your dress, tugged it on.

“Continue getting dressed,” he said. “I’ll contact my men and tell them--”

“Hello? Who’s out there?”

The voice, tight with fear, froze you both--Ren’s fists clenched, your heart falling somewhere into your ass. From inside the mudroom, a young woman cloaked in blue emerged, and you recognized her immediately. Snoke’s robot, er, Wife. Christine. She hadn’t spoken once at the dinner.

Between the gloves, the hat, the heeled shoes, it was obvious she was just now returning home. As she surveyed the yard, her gaze fuzzied, and she tumbled into the threshold. Neither you nor Ren made a move to help her.

“What… what happened here?”

It was a fair question. But admitting you’d both participated in a coup likely wouldn’t go over well. You weren’t sure what Ren’s plan was, but you knew the Eyes could have you both killed if they learned this had been your doing.

“Commander Snoke is dead,” Ren said. “I killed--”

“The guard,” you said, glaring at him. “He killed the guard who killed Commander Snoke. After that, the entire place went up.” Looking back at her, you gestured to Ren. “You need to call an ambulance, he’s been injured.”

Christine, appearing dizzy, pushed off of the doorframe and nodded. “I’ll… I’ll get help. Just…” She waved her hands in circles. “Don’t move.”

With that, she stumbled into the home, the click of her heels growing distant.

You sneered at Ren, pulling on your boots and stuffing the switchblade in your sleeve. “You’re welcome.”

He watched you as you stood, said nothing for a moment--a twitch of pain crossed his face. “When I’m taken to the hospital, you’ll be questioned,” he said. “Say nothing. I will handle this. And when you get home, bathe and get into bed.” His eyes raked over you. “Do you understand?”

You nodded. “Yes, Kylo. I do.”

Ren exhaled, drinking you in. “I’m going to contact my men before the ambulance arrives. They’ll have work to do here.” He reached out and cupped your face. “Be good, little bird.” He patted you on the cheek, and walked into the home.

#kylo ren smut #kylo ren x reader #kylo x reader #kylo ren imagine #kylo ren #kylo trash #little bird #handmaid au #fanfiction problems #bloodplay #tw: violence #just fulfilling all my tfa and tlj fantasies in one fell swoop

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legobiwan · 4 years

Note

could you do 18 and 100 for the trope mash up thing? (And if you want two characters, Obi-wan and Hondo?- I got a little confused with your added instructions to the trope mashup)

Circus AU / Accidentally Saving the Day (Hondo & Obi-wan)

Anon, I had to WORK for this one and even did a little research into circus history since I am woefully undereducated about the topic. I think I’ve found an interesting way of weaving these all together and giving a little bonus at the end. Stick with me here, I need to do a bit of an introduction to get this whole idea going.

For the purposes of this AU, please assume that the Clone War and all the events surrounding it happened directly after Naboo, meaning everyone is about 10 years younger than they are in canon. Also assume that Qui-gon was not killed on Naboo, although that has little bearing on this particular story.

THIS GOT OUT OF CONTROL. I was expecting to write a fun little 1,000 word thing, not a whole AU concept. But here we are, so….uh…

We’ll see what everyone thinks? Enjoy. And good luck :D

—-

“How are they doing?” Szimon Tesdak asked, thin, long mustache bobbing up and down at the ends.

The other man patted the Pamaradian prancer’s neck, running his fingers through the thick mane of her hair. The prancer shivered, eyes darting back and forth, hooves tapping nervously on the durasteel floor. The man known as Whisp spoke softly in the creature’s ear, the words foreign to even Szimon’s cosmopolitan ears. A few moments later, the prancer settled, nuzzling her snout into Whisp’s shoulder.

Whisp turned to face Szimon. “They’re restless,” he said. “Fourteen hours in a cruiser is a bit much for anyone to take.”

Szimon waved the veiled criticism away with a flick of his wrist. Yes, it had been a long journey, but the payoff would - hopefully - be worth it. And they needed the credits - or whatever these people were going to pay.

“An hour more and we’ll be there,” Szimon said with false confidence.

Whisp stood, crossing his arms tight against his chest, the black-and-crimson fabric of his worn travel tunic wrinkling with the gesture. There was a hint of beard on the young man’s chin, something that, when it grew in, would likely age him a good ten years. The man peered at Szimon with grey-blue eyes like he was trying to ace one of those vision tests at a local spaceport agency. Always looking for hidden meaning, he is.

And sometimes he finds it.

At least with the creatures, that had been the case. Two years Whisp had been working for Szimon and never had the older circus master figured out the man’s trick. Szimon had spent his life in the circus, from his childhood on Thybaar right up the grand days of the bright Coruscant lights to his now-ramshackle operation held together by thread, petty theft, and the occasional cashing in on favors owed.

Szimon had seen it all - and more, but nothing like Whisp and his ability to communicate with the creatures, like he was reading their minds. “The Whisperer,” the other members had taken to calling him. The moniker had stuck, albeit in shortened form, Whisp’s real name - whatever it had been - long forgotten.

“Remind me again why we’re flying out to the Outer Rim for a show? Seems a bit of an expense when we could just as easily round up a few smaller venues for far less hassle,” Whisp said.

“Ah, Whisp, ever the cynic,” Szimon clapped a meaty hand on the other man’s shoulder. “Don’t think of it as a hassle,” he waved a dramatic hand, as if unveiling something from a behind a curtain. “But as an expansion of our operations.”

Whisp cocked an eyebrow. “Hardly difficult seeing as our operations comprised of three planets the past month, two of which we never actually got to land on.”

Szimon snorted. Well, yes, business had been down because of the war. Szimon himself cared little for the politics of the Republic or the Separatists. A government was a government, with all its little games and corruptions, mazes of betrayal, and endless mountains of datawork. No, Szimon Tesdak would never be chained behind one of those desks.

But many others were, shackled to unfulfilling jobs and lives, stuck in a desert of mediocrity and boredom. That was where Szimon came in. Unhappy citizens tended to breed unhappy revolts. But give them a nice circus, something to laugh at, a little magic that was absent from their day-to-day existence?

It didn’t really matter who was in power. The problems, the outcomes -they were always the same in the end.

Still, the war had been disruptive to his business and over the past few months, the “Great Thybaarian Traveling Show” had been forced into semi-refugee status as planet after planet was devastated by the conflict between a mechanical and clone army. Circuses were part of avoiding war, not conducting it.

Szimon shook off the dark thoughts with a wide smile. “Come on now, Whisp. We’re going to make great friends on the Outer Rim. My benefactor has promised a large sum, maybe even a sponsorship if we play our cards right.”

“I thought they were pirates,” Whisp retorted, half-smile playing on his face.

Szimon made an airy gesture, chuckling. “Pirates, embezzlers, Hutts. As long as we get paid, I’ll work for the Sith themselves.”

Whisp tightened under Szimon’s arm, which was wrapped around the thin man’s shoulders. Some unreadable emotion passed over his face, a premonition of a storm. After a moment, he spoke, hesitant.

“I suppose.”

“That’s the spirit!” Szimon exclaimed, shaking Whisp. “Come on, we have to make preparations for landing and I’m not letting Battlebuzz near those controls again.“

—–

“That was a very impressive show, my friend,” the pirate known as Hondo Ohnaka sidled up to Whisp, unceremoniously dropping into the seat next to him, tankard full of green ale.

Whisp looked up from his own mug, half-consumed, eyeing the pirate warily. “Thank you,” he replied, adding, “I think,” after a moment’s hesitation. It never hurt to be too cautious around pirates.

“All those acrobats, all the flips and whooshes.” Hondo made an extravagant gesture with his arm, nearly taking Whisp’s head off. “And the beautiful women dancing to such music, it shouldn’t be allowed!” he grinned, giving Whisp a knowing look. ”My men, they enjoy that - some of my women, too!” Hondo cackled, downing the entirety of his pint in one go, wiping his mouth with his sleeve.

“But you, my friend - with the creatures.” The pirate’s voice turned a shade serious and several parsecs more calculating. Whisp bit his lip, steeling himself to steer another drunken conversation away from this dangerous territory. “Yes, the creatures,” Hondo continued, nearly singing. “Now that was something I’ve never seen before. Most beast tamers use weapons.” The pirate made a few motions mimicking a whip. “They use fear and intimidation but you!” He pointed a finger that almost went up Whisp’s nose. “Ah, it was almost like you talked to them with your mind.”

Whisp gave a forced shrug, his pulse starting to race. He needed to stay calm. Needed to focus on the present, not his anxieties. He laughed to himself, bitter, wholly aware of the gross irony of that statement. “Just an ability I’ve had since my youth,” he said, voice flat. “Better me in the circus than those brutish weapons-wielding tamers you mentioned.” Whisp scowled. That much was the truth. Whisp couldn’t abide by their methods, couldn’t stand the way the pain and fear radiated from the abused creatures. He knew he couldn’t save them all, but if he could give a second chance to even a single Borcatu, if he could find a home for those who had been cast out -

Anger trilled at the back Whisp’s brain, a sensuous, lush melody more tempting than any of the ribald pirate ballads in the background.

Hondo beckoned at another Weequay, grabbing two pints from a serving tray, setting one in front of Whisp in an unspoken command. “Yes, your youth. Tell me about that. Your accent is polished, very posh, very Core World.” Very monied. If only, Whisp rued.

It had been too much effort to try and tame his accent, which stood out amongst Szimon’s motley crew of performers like a neon bell weed in the desert.

Whisp took a long sip of his beverage, smacking his lips together. The new alcohol was a step higher in quality than the dredge he had been drinking before. He peered to Ohnaka on his right, wondering if he was about to be drugged, kidnapped, or worse. Oh well, he thought, drinking some more of the beverage. Might as well enjoy while I can.

“I was brought up in the Core,” Whisp recited, setting his glass down, not even needing to think about the words he had said them so many times. “My family, unfortunately, abandoned me, so I took to farming in the Mid-Rim as a means of sustaining myself. It was there I discovered I had an affinity for creatures and then did some work in healing clinics before the war broke out. The Republic Army took over all the planetary clinics so I was forced into finding…” Whisp bobbed his head, “more creative ways to apply my talents.”

“Interesting,” Hondo noted, his gaze greedy as he looked Whisp up and down. Whisp’s other hand moved to his waist. So much for enjoying. He fingered the blaster he had hidden under his red and silver vest, neatly tucked away in a shoulder holster.

Hondo held out a hand. “I don’t mean to cause you alarm, my young friend,” he said with a laugh, sitting back in his chair, kicking both feet up on the table. “You can put your blaster away, I only want to talk business.”

Whisp’s hand tightened for a moment before he raised an open palm in a universal gesture of surrender, his brow furrowed.

“What type of business?”

“What type indeed?” Hondo hummed, rocking his feet back and forth in time to the bawdy, clangorous music. Somewhere on the other side of the room, Tergallian and Lopisa had gotten into a knife-throwing contest with some of the pirates. Whisp had a feeling the Weequay had bet on it and that the pirates were about to lose their shirts, pants, shoes, and who knew what else in the deal. Might have to make a quick getaway if there’s enough of a ruckus, Whisp thought, eyeing the locations of the exits and the best strategies to get there without being shot.

Again, he winced.

“Oh, you won’t make it out, I promise” Hondo commented, his expression still jovial. “All the exits are under full guard and I guarantee there’s no other way out unless it’s by my command.” He pressed a finger into the table, all traces of humor gone from his voice. “Unless,” he began after a moment, “you are a Jedi.”

Whisp was off his stool in an instant, blaster in hand. Not wanting a direct confrontation, he pointed it towards the ground, the table hiding the weapon from the view of most of the other pirates and circus members. Off in the corner, Szimon’s eyes grew wide as he made a series of furious movements in Whisp’s driection.

“I’m fine,” Whisp signed back in the strange language of gestures known only to those in this particular circus, an easy way to communicate on stage while looking artistic and also a not bad method of either avoiding trouble or sometimes finding it - if their pockets and stomachs were empty enough.

Hondo clasped his hands behind his head, looking unconcerned. “I did not mean to upset you,” he said, lips quirking upwards as if he had just figured out some baffling puzzle. “Only warn you about my security system. But let us not talk of such things, as they disturb you and as my dear mother always said - “ Hondo raised a finger. “Son! You catch more apidactyls with honey. And if that doesn’t work, you can still catch them with a blaster.”

Not worth the fight. Not even sure I’d win this fight, Whisp sighed inwardly. Knowing when he was outmatched, or at least when to choose his battles, Whisp retook his seat with a muttered curse.

“Fine, then. What do you want from me?”

Hondo smiled. “Ah, now we talk business,” he shrugged. “Nothing much, my friend. And nothing - mostly - to do with your little traveling show. But the circus isn’t going to pay you forever and a man of your many talents - ” Hondo leaned forward, putting both forearms on the table. “Could fetch a pretty hefty payday if he found himself aligned with the right people.”

Whisp’s eyebrows rose. “Are you offering me a job?”

Hondo raised both arms. “Maybe, if you are willing to - “

“Hondo!” A large, burly man came barreling into the room. At once, the music stopped with a zippered rip of a holodisc jarred from its needle, pirates and circus members alike turning to the wide-eyed, heaving pirate.

“We got trouble out there!”

Immediately, Hondo came to his feet, blaster in hand. “What kind of trouble?”

“I think it’s the Republic! Looks like them, at least. They’re tryin’ a fall back to our compound!”

“We’ll see about that,” Hondo growled, raising his weapon. “No one takes over Hondo Ohnaka’s compound without my permission!”

—-

Blaster fire rang out from all sides, a multicolored lattice of deadly energy. To Whisp’s surprise, Hondo was near the vanguard of the pirates, shooting at the incoming wave of bright, white uniforms with terrifying precision. The pirates were good, Whisp had to give them that, the transition from unruly drunkards to semi-disciplined guerrilla fighters more seamless than Whisp thought possible.

“Any ideas?” Szimon asked next to him, the pair huddled behind a large boulder, just out of range of the real fighting. Whisp knew Szimon didn’t care one way or another about who won this particular battle - one of thousands Szimon had witnessed over the years. But their ship - their livelihood and home, not to mention only asset - lay just beyond the front line of what Whisp was pretty sure were the infamous clones. If their ship was damaged, or, even worse, destroyed - they were all done for.

Whisp took in the scene, applying his natural affinity for tactics that had been first discovered early in his tenure with Szimon, an awkward encounter with the Ruuthian mafia, a highly successful performance, and a jar of…requisitioned heeble eggs belonging to Ruuthian mob boss. It had been his quick thinking that had gotten them out of that mess, a plan so crazy it couldn’t do anything but work. From that point on, Whisp had earned the nickname, “The General,” much to his dismay.

Carefully, Whisp extended his senses, not only his eyes and ears but his other senses, the ones he kept locked away from everyone else - everyone else except his creatures. The creatures didn’t care what his status or title was, if he had succeeded or not, if he occasionally broke some moral law that had been branded into his mind as a child. The creatures didn’t judge - they had never judged and found him wanting.

It wasn’t good. For all of Hondo’s firepower, they were still in the bottom of a cereal bowl in the sandy crevasse, the clone troopers above holding higher ground as they advanced on the compound. It didn’t escape Whisp’s notice that the troopers’ blaster bolts were consistently going wide, aimed to injure or impede, but not kill. Some strange long-buried instinct rose in Whisp’s chest as he watched the men, sensing their similarities, down to a genetic level. Was he was supposed to be on their side? Supposed to be fighting with them, supposed to -

An explosion rocked the compound, bringing down metal, stone, and all kinds of debris on the pirates. Hondo barked out more orders, a line of men running to set up what looked like a short-range missile while the rest of the pirates resumed their firefight.

I’m supposed to be getting us out alive, Whisp fumed at himself. No more distractions. Szimon’s face was covered in dust and sand and for a moment Whisp almost laughed. The circus master looked the spitting image of the Great Lady Devonna in her full makeup.

“Are you alright, Szimon?” Whisp asked, helping the other man to a seat.

“I’ve seen worse,” he growled, swiping debris from tassled gold epaulettes perched on bright red shoulders like two Felucian retrine sparrows. “Just do something, Whisp, I’m not getting any younger here.”

Right. Whisp looked again at the fight, the positioning of the men, their ship. The pirates weren’t going to win an all-out firefight, not like this and Whisp had to assume there would be reinforcements coming sooner than later. It was now or…

Whisp frowned. They could wait for the clones to take over the compound and beg for lenience. But knowing the Republic, they’d probably confiscate the ship. And send them to prison. Besides, Whisp’s own presence might raise too many uncomfortable questions, ones he had no desire whatsoever to revisit.

So much for that idea, he rued, while surveying the scene. The clones were all faced towards the fighting, Hondo’s forces feisty enough to keep them fully engaged. There weren’t that many of them, not a full battalion, for certain, which meant it was likely Szimon’s ship was wholly unguarded and not even considered a threat, as it had no visible weaponry. If he could just…

Whisp closed his eyes, feeling for the familiar energies, the outlines of the creatures he cared for, from the smallest snitmouse to the largest morak. Yes, he thought, connecting his mind with the stampede creatures. They would never see it coming.

A moment later the earth rumbled, the fighting slowing to a small drizzle of blaster fire as the line of clones turned to the oncoming dust storm that hid the three moraks, now prodded on by Whisp, feeding off of his repressed frustration and anger with the representatives of the institution that had driven him to this life in the first place. Of the people who were trying, again, to deprive him of a home, of a place where he belonged.

Unaware the opaque cloud hid anything living, no less animals whose shells repelled most blaster fire - a well-kept secret known not even in the fancy universities on Coruscant - the clones fired to no avail as the moraks descended, sending bodies flying in every direction with desperate shrieks, the remainder of the forces too startled to return fire efficiently. Three bloody minutes later, the remaining clones ran, retreating, leaving the bodies of their fallen comrades as the only evidence of the failed ambush.

Cheers rose the pirates as they lifted their weapons in glee, somehow manifesting mugs of ale in their hands only a scant minute after they had been involved in a full-bore battle. Whisp slowly climbed from behind the rock, pulling Szimon up with him. The Thybaarian looked at Whisp as if it was the first time he had ever seen him.

“Was that you?” he asked, eyes trying to pierce through years of layers, of hidden secrets that were the only true skin of the man known as Whisp.

Whisp laughed, uncomfortable. “What? No, I mean - “

Szimon shook his head, still dazed. “I always had my suspicions, you know. Not just the creatures, although I’ll grant you that’s one hell of a trick.” He paused, his expression unreadable. “I figured there was some reason you weren’t up with them in that fancy tower, figured it was none of my business, but now - “ Szimon’s eyes turned calculating. “This isn’t just some parlor trick, is it, it’s - “

Whisp backed away, palms splayed in front of him, as if trying to stop the words from entering his space. “No, I’m not. I - “ he looked around, wild, feeling just like one of his creatures, feral and trapped. He was going to lose his home again, once they found out, it was all going to be over. “I never - “ Something snapped, then crackled with inside of Whisp, like the breaking of an invisible, electric bone, sparking flying everywhere.

“I never was one, okay!” he yelled, stomping his foot. “Never was, never will be! That man - that child - died over ten years ago. This -” Whisp gestured angrily at himself. “Is what I am. Nothing. More.”

They had been certain leave Whisp with that message. Nothing more. Just nothing.

“A fascinating story, my young friend,” a low, baritone voice intoned from behind them. “I would be curious to hear more of it.”

Whisp spun around. The man was - there was no other word for it - regal, imperious, commanding the attention of every being in the valley, as he moved towards Whisp and Szimon, long brown cape billowing in the wind, deep violet outfit a perfect fit on his broad chest. Hondo’s troops paused mid-swig, ale running down their necks, and even Hondo himself craned his head forward to get a better look at the newcomer.

Fifty blaster rifles rose at once.

The man stopped, surveying the ends of the weapons pointed at him with a disaffected gaze. The compound held its breath, sinews tightening around triggers as an unworldly clarity came over the canyon, as if each atom, each sound wave could be made manifest as a physical, tangible reality. And then the man smirked, wholly unconcerned with his vast disadvantage in the situation as the world returned to its customary blur. Whisp and the others exhaled, noisy phlegm crackling up their lungs, dust tingling in their throats.

The stranger took an unhurried step forward raising one hand.

“You may lower your weapons,” he addressed the pirates, voice betraying nothing but absolute confidence. It occurred to Whisp then that the man had never been at any disadvantage at all. “I intend no harm,” he added in his deep, patrician voice.

Hondo took an equal, ambling step forward, hands clasped behind his back. He circled the newcomer, a hound sniffing for possible quarry, gazing him up and down, as if he were a incoming shipment of contraband. Then, after a moment, Hondo gave a nod, and the blasters summarily disappeared.

“My, my we are popular today,” the pirate began amiably. “To what do I owe the pleasure, Mister…” Hondo gestured at the other man in question.

“I am here for three reasons,” the stranger announced, ignoring Hondo’s unspoken inquiry. “The first was unwelcome, but unsurprising. My ships were caught unaware, en route from a trade post in the Outer Rim to Jybosti. I carry the identification cards and manifest if you desire proof of my claim. The Republic forced our hand, causing us to land here and engage in an unwanted ground battle which regrettably involved your forces.” The man turned to Hondo, giving an apologetic gesture. Hondo answered with cool regard, his skepticism echoing through the enclosure. Whisp had to agree. No one just happened to go by a place like Florrum without reason. Especially someone like this.

Still, it wasn’t the stranger that had been one shooting at them. Maybe he was telling the truth. Or at least a part of it.

“Secondly,” the man continued, opening his arms, “I would like to thank you all for, how shall I say - “ He paused for dramatic effect, lifting his chin slightly. Whoever this man was, he knew how to hold a crowd, perhaps even better than Szimon. “Saving the day, however unexpected your heroics may have been.”

“Yeah, heroes!” One of the pirates bellowed, raising both his blaster and ale mug, several others echoing his enthusiasm with chants of “Heroes!” which quickly devolved into far less elevated rhetoric.

“And thirdly?” Hondo asked, after the raucous had died down.

“Thirdly,” the man drawled, turning his full attention on Whisp. “I would like to know further details regarding this young man’s story.”

Whisp’s eyes went wide as he took an involuntary step back. “There’s not much more to tell, I’m afraid,” he said, trying to keep his voice even. The words were automatic, a defense mechanism so perfectly tuned, it was nearly instinct. But the strange pressure that had been growing at the back of Whisp’s brain spiked with the lie, leaving a dark, velvet shadow in its wake, something immensely powerful yet a balm to his frayed emotions. It was something…

Whisp gasped, eyes locking with the other man.

It was something familiar.

The stranger smiled, all edges as he clasped his hands behind his back, addressing Szimon. “This young man is in your employ?” he asked, brusque, nodding towards Whisp.

Szimon straightened his jacket and his posture, already sensing a deal in the making as he slipped into tell-tale ringmaster persona. “Yes, sir, best creature tamer I’ve ever seen.”

“Interesting,” the man commented, drawing out the word. “And if he were to leave your employ, how would that affect your operations?”

“Well, I daresay it would be quite the inconvenience,” Szimon began, his confidence building as he fell into the familiar patter of a sales pitch. Whisp barely heard the words, disbelief rising like an angry, red ocean. Would Szimon really do this to him? Now? After everything?

“…so you see, unless I would be suitably compensated for my losses…”

The grey-haired man leaned forward and whispered something in Szimon’s ear. Szimon’s eyes went moon-wide, his mouth dropping open, words tripping from his mouth.

“I trust that would be satisfactory?” the man asked.

“I - ah - “ Szimon sent a half-apologetic glance over to Whisp, eyes gleaming with barely-contained avarice. “I think that would be more than fair.”

“Excellent,” the man articulated, ignoring Szimon’s half-gasped ‘thank yous,’ now directing his full attention back to Whisp, drawing himself up to full height. “And you, who are about to enter my employ. What is your name?”

So that was it. No offer, not even a perfunctory question, Whisp’s future once again dictated by the whims of others. Whisp clenched his teeth agains the injustice of his very existence. “Whisp,” he answered, barely keeping the venom from his voice, fists tightening into balls, nails digging into his palms.

“Your real name,” the man growled. Behind him, Szimon gaped, now looking on with unabashed curiosity, a faint patina of guilt oozing from his sweat-beaded forehead.

Long-buried memories, banished ghosts relegated to an afterlife he had not yet experienced rose in Whisp. He squeezed his eyes shut against the assault of emotions, of the sharp knives of betrayal, the deep pools of loss that threatened to overwhelm him. Had it been so long since he had uttered his own name?

Forcing a noisy breath between his teeth, he steeled himself, meeting the icy gaze of the other man, who considered him with keen, intense interest.

“My name is Obi-wan Kenobi.”

For a brief second, the Force surged in a strange, dark elation as the stranger’s eyes glimmered with satisfaction.

“And I am Yan Dooku of Serenno. Come, Obi-wan,” he said, putting an arm around Whisp’s shoulders, leading him away from the confused and quiet scene of pirates, of the doe-eyed stares of what had - for a brief, happy moment - been his family.

From one family to the next, always a visitor. First the Jedi and Qui-gon Jinn, then Bandomeer. Then clinics, then circuses, and now this.

With Dooku.

Something settled in Obi-wan’s gut, not unpleasant. For the first time in years, he allowed himself to open to the Force, wholly and without constraint. This felt right, more right than anything else had in Obi-wan’s life.

“Come,” Dooku repeated, voice warming ever so slightly. “We have much to do.”

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fanaticwritings · 5 years

Text

smoke and mirrors [chapter 1]

The Streetcar named desire

pairing: tom holland x fem!reader

word count: 2k

warnings: smut, profanity

updates: saturdays!

a/n: i am reuploading this fic cause tumblr messed up big time the first time. anyway, i didn't plan on writing a lot of smut but my hand slipped (oops) so please don't read after the warning if you're underage. also, others, let me know if I should include more of it! happy reading!

___

You hummed sleepily as you felt warmth encompass you; the warmth undoubtedly being Tom's body. You felt his chest press against your back, felt his arm slide under your stomach and pull you close.

"Mornin' love," you mumbled into the pillow.

You didn't really want to wake up. Tom's touch, the covers, his room were all too warm and far too comforting. For a moment you could pretend you didn't have responsibilities and expectations to live up to. It was just you and him. Him and you. A perfect forever.

You were almost drifting off again when you felt Tom's fingers push one of your bra straps aside and then, a moment later, his plump lips kiss your shoulder.

"Morning," he whispered hoarsely, kissing a trail towards your neck, before turning you towards himself.

You blinked open one eye, gazing at his hazy form sleepily. "I don't want to be awake yet."

Tom reached over to run his hand down your back. It was a soft gesture but you knew what he was up to. You blinked a couple of more times, albeit reluctantly as Tom's face cleared before you. His curls were in complete disarray, eyes crusty from sleeping in and lips puckered in a funny way. And yet, there were fewer things in the world, more adorable than him in this moment.

Completely disregarding your comment, Tom decided to slide on top of you.

You groaned in mock dismay as he settled down on you because you had to admit, the pressure felt wonderful.

"Tom, what in the-," you began but were cut off by his lips gently pressing against your own.

Morning cuddles were a daily ritual with Tom. You never got enough of them.

"I'm so lucky," he murmured once you broke apart. He was now half on top of you and half on the bed, one arm propping his head up beside your own.

He looked at you fondly then, trailing a lazy finger down the length of your arm.

You brushed a curl of his hair aside, smiling.

"Oh, so we're in that mood today."

"What mood?"

"The I'm-going-to-melt-Y/N-with-my-words mood."

He smiled. "I'm always in the mood for that, love," he retorted, squeezing your waist, which was where his hand now rested.

"As much as I'd love to stay and hear everything you have to say about me, I- we- have work to do," you sighed, caressing his cheek gently.

The reluctance with which you said it was even more evident when you didn't move to shift from under him. Not your fault, he was mesmerizing. God he looked beautiful above you; freckles and curls galore.

"I hear ya," he whispered, nodding as his fingers slipped inside your underwear.

You gasped. The nerve.

You slapped his arm gently, almost wanting to give in to his obvious desire but, but, work.

He pouted at you, clearly disappointed.

"You could spare two minutes. I promise I won't take long," he mused, suppressing a grin. You noticed that his fingers were still resting on your hip bone.

Why, o' heaven's above, did this man have to make everything so difficult?

"You wish," you said, biting down your lip to stop yourself from blushing at his cheekiness. You shifted a little under him, trying to find wriggle room to escape.

"Get off!," you huffed, when he didn't budge.

Tom looked at you for a long moment and then sighed, lifting himself off of you and sliding onto the bed.

"When will I see you next?" he asked, as you rose from the bed and headed towards the shower.

"Tonight."

"That's a," he glanced at the tiny alarm clock on the bedside table, "- whole fourteen fucking hours."

You looked at him for a moment, his puppy eyes almost getting the better of you. But two years was good practice enough and you shook your head. Besides, it was fun to watch him suffer.

"Patience, Holland."

Some days at the Corp were just plain boring. Nothing of consequence happened on such days, you had to merely sit through the whole day, attending meeting after meeting to discuss short plans. These meetings you could easily avoid but you were a dedicated worker.

The Corp was where it was today because you had never slackened.

After finishing the third meeting for the day, you settled back into your office, scanning through your mail to reply to some of the pending ones.

Just as you hit send on one of the replies, there was a knock on the door.

"Hey," Lucas Valdez, your PA, entered holding a large number of envelopes. You smiled at him as he placed them on your desk.

"Thanks. How'd the date go yesterday?"

"He was a total bore," he said, shaking his head in disappointment and his curls flopped on his head.

"Aw, I'm sorry! Don't worry, you'll find someone nice soon," you said, handing him a few files. "Also could you please send these to Lopez, Sharma and Phil for me? I need them to meet me."

Lucas nodded in confirmation and politely left.

You decided to go through the post as well because it was a boring day anyway and nothing could possibly bore you more.

You quickly leafed through them; a couple of advertisements, a few job applications (you kept those aside) and one small, plain envelope. There was no name on it, no stamp.

Huh. Strange.

You grabbed the letter opener and sliced the envelope open. A smaller piece of paper slid out of it.

The material looked quite expensive and vaguely familiar. Your eyebrows furrowed as you picked it up. It felt like it was an office paper but you couldn't be sure.

You turned it over. Written in a perfect, cursive handwriting and neon red ink were the words:

"Nothing is as it seems."

Something you know too well with the secrets you keep,

As you sow, so shall you reap,

Learn, lest you fall,

Beware, take from you, I will all.

You read it once, twice.

Now, you were a pretty famous public figure. Getting hate mail was a part of the job description but that didn't make it any easier.

The poem left you feeling just as uncomfortable as others had before. Nevertheless, this was still new. People were rarely this poetic in them.

What secrets were they talking about? If they meant you and Tom..

As if on cue, your personal phone chimed with an incoming notification.

Tom <3

I'm at your place.

Fourteen hours. I'm counting.

You smiled in spite of yourself and clicked the phone off, deciding to leave him on read. More the suffering, the better.

You glanced back at the note, the uneasiness settling over you once again. What could they be possibly talking about? If it was a hate mail it was unnervingly vague. And if it was someone's idea of a cruel joke, it was working.

Just then someone knocked at your door again and you hastily pocketed the note. It was Lopez, Phil and Sharma.

You blinked at them, struggling for a split second to remember why they were here.

Get a hold of yourself.

You smiled, recalling that you were the one who had asked for them. As they say down and began talking, you did your best to push the words to a far corner of your mind, the left side of your pants feeling strangely heavy.

[smut warning]

You found Tom in the living room that was attached to the kitchen, talking to someone on the phone. He motioned to you that he'd take a couple of minutes and you nodded, slipping inside the kitchen.

Your cook had, as always, laid out a scrumptious meal for you and Tom to down. You had barely opened the lid to the first bowl when Tom called from behind you.

"Your fourteen hours are up, Miss."

You turned to him, holding the bowl of pasta in hand. He was dressed in a plain white tee and your favorite grey sweatpants.

"I've still got half an hour left," you said nonchalantly, picking one piece of pasta and popping it into your mouth.

Tom watched you chew it slowly. It was completely involuntary that you let out a moan at the warmth that spread through your chest; you were actually famished.

"That's it, you little shit," Tom muttered under his breath and the next thing you knew you were being pushed against the counter, Tom's hands working down your body in a frenzy. He unbuttoned your shirt faster than you could process and chucked it to the floor. In another swift motion, he pulled off his own shirt as well before pulling you close again. His lips slammed against your own and then you couldn't really think at all. You moaned as he ground his hips into you, his hardening length pressing against your abdomen. You let your hands wander to his hair as he continued to grind into you, your knees already giving way under you. Warmth filled the base of your stomach as you slackened against him, mouth hanging open and eyes fluttering shut.

Just as your hands moved to his neck, he stopped, dragging his lips to your ear.

"I'm going to finish what I started and you're not going to say a thing," he grunted, his voice dropping low.

Before you could respond however, he'd turned you around and pushed you further up against the counter. You could feel him press against you, your shoulder blades digging into the hard muscle of his chest.

He thrust one hand into your pants and under your panties, fingers finding your wetness immediately.

His lips attached themselves to your neck and then he began to work you.

You moaned loudly as his middle and index finger dipped inside your already aching core and began to scissor their way through. His lean fingers knew exactly how and what to do and you immediately collapsed against him, groaning. He twisted and squeezed at your clit as his lips sucked hard on the skin of your shoulder. A flick of his wrist made you buck against him and you heard a deep chuckle rumble behind you.

Fuck.

Tom loved marking you. It wasn't good sex until you'd woken up with a few hickeys all over your back and chest.

Meanwhile, his other hand had unhooked one half of your bra and cupped your breast, thumb playing with your nipple. Your senses were in overdrive. You could smell his cologne; hear him panting in your ear as he pushed against you; feel his touch inside you. And God, nothing had ever felt this good.

You groaned as his fingers worked their magic, sliding further up and towards the spot he knew would tear you down. He moved faster now, the friction pushing you closer and closer towards the edge just as he started grinding against you again.

The sensation was a bit too much and you weren't even aware of the moans that tumbled out of your mouth as you gripped the back of his head and fucked his fingers. You bit down on your lip, to stop yourself from screaming his name.

"Come for me, darling," he whispered, his voice dripping with lust, fingers moving with a pace you couldn't keep up with.

And just like that, the ground slipped from beneath you, the world erupting in colors before your eyes.

"Fuck," you moaned as pleasure rattled through your body. You spasmed as Tom's fingers slowed their movement; stopping all together as you came down from your high, panting heavily.

"I had to wait fourteen hours to do that. Told you you were missing out," he said as you leaned against the sink, still breathless. You watched him saunter back to the living room and plop onto the couch casually, as if he hadn't just fucked you senseless.

You adjusted your pants and shirt, discarding your bra altogether. You reckoned you wouldn't really need it now. Legs still wobbly, you walked over to him and sat down on his lap, straddling him.

He looked up at you, eyes still dark and hair an absolute mess.

"I'm sorry you had to wait, baby. Let me make it up to you," you murmured locking your lips with his, the tiny note inside your left pant pocket, long forgotten.

___

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natashasbanner · 4 years

Text

like there’s no goodbyes: Chapter 4

Sometimes saying goodbye and moving on are the right thing to do. But it can also be the hardest. Bruce couldn’t keep living like a ghost in the halls of the compound, but that meant leaving behind Natasha. She wasn’t ready yet.

It broke his heart but it had to be done. He focused on helping people again and the last person he expected to encounter was Natasha herself.

Goodbyes were hard but for one night, they didn’t have to be.

A/N: It’s been forever, but in my defense I did move across the country and started a new job. Okay, please enjoy.

Also on AO3

Bruce was tossing and turning, unable to fall asleep. He was only in Greece for a few days, passing through on his way back to Wakanda. He’d splurged on a nicer hotel room after six months in traveling across Europe, helping where he could.

But after over a year and a half of stiff spring mattresses, the soft mattress and plush pillows were almost too much. He couldn’t get comfortable.

Eventually he gave up trying and threw the blankets off of himself. He grabbed the ice bucket and room key from the dresser before going out into the hallway. He decided if he couldn’t sleep, he’d raid the mini bar.

The ice machine was on the other end of the hallway across from the elevators. There was already someone getting ice so Bruce waited outside the tiny room. The elevator opened as he stood there, and he wasn’t even surprised to see Natasha walk out of it.

She was in one of her old all black tac suits, gun in hand. There was a limp in her step that she was trying to hide, and she was favoring her left arm.

“Where’s your room?” she asked urgently nodding her head at him.

Bruce dropped his ice bucket and pointed down the hall. She all but ran down the down the quiet hallway and he was right on her tail.

“This one,” he said and opened the door.

She hurried inside and dropped into the chair in the corner, groaning as she went.

“What the hell is going on?”

“Nothing,” she said and winced. “It’s taken care of.”

“What does that mean?”

She looked up at him with her eyebrow raised. “Do you really want to know?”

Bruce paced across the room, dragging his hands through his hair.

“You can’t keep doing this, Nat.”

He dropped onto the end of the bed and tried to calm down, his heart rate slowing back to normal.

“Doing what, exactly?” She asked and set her gun on the desk.

“Showing up like this,” he sighed. “How did you know I was here?”

She shrugged and winced again. “You used your credit card and I was in the area.”

She said it so casually, it set Bruce’s teeth on edge. Like she hadn’t just run off an elevator in the middle of the night very clearly injured.

“So you just decided to drop in?”

Her eyes were closed as she answered. “We’re still friends right?”

His temper deflated a little and he chuckled softly. They were certainly more than friends, but if that’s what she wanted.

“Yeah,” he breathed out and looked her over. “Are you hurt?”

“Nothing I can’t handle,” she said, her eyes still closed.

“Let me see,” he said.

She cracked an eye open and smirked at him.

“I’ll be fine, Doc.”

“Humor me,” he said flatly and waved her over.

She watched, one eye open for a moment before shifting out of the chair. Slowly, she limped over to him, no longer trying to hide it. She stopped just out of reach.

“See?”

Bruce shook his head. “Why do you have to make things difficult?”

“Fine,” she said and brought one of her hands up to the zipper of her suit. “You wanna see?”

Bruce swallowed and nodded his head. “Please.”

She tugged on the zipper and pulled it down over her breasts, exposing the sports bra she wore underneath. She stopped momentarily and he looked up into her eyes. There was a glint there that he recognized. She was teasing him.

“Take it off,” he whispered.

And with one swift motion, the zipper was down. She unfastened the widow’s bites from her wrists and dropped them onto the desk with her gun. She slid her arms from the sleeves and let the top half of her suit hang around her waist.

He saw why she’d been favoring her left side. There was a bandage taped over her ribs, it looked fresh. Her fingers followed his line of sight, touching the tape around the edges.

“It’s just a scratch.”

“I’m sure,” he scoffed.

He’d treated some of those so called scratches, could pick them out among the other faint white scars lining her skin.

“You’re not done,” he reminded her nodding at the suit.

She bit her lip, and ran her fingers over the folded over fabric of her suit. “Patience.”

Bruce leaned back on his hands and watched her bend over to unzip her boots. She kicked them off, one after the other and slid her hands down her legs, taking the skin tight fabric with her. She kicked it aside with her boots and stood in her sports bra, simple cotton underwear and thick socks.

He took a moment to look her over, take in the nasty bruise along her thigh and smaller ones on her knuckles. A little worse for wear, but no worse than he’d seen her before.

“What now?” she asked softly.

“Come here.”

She crossed the floor, slowly toying with the waistband of her underwear. He leaned forward when she got close enough and reached for her wrist.

“Not yet.”

She raised an eyebrow, but let him pull her onto the bed and into his lap. He scooted back some so they weren’t hanging off the edge of the bed. She shifted to sit on his thighs instead of kneeling over him.

“What do want?”

“You already asked me that,” he whispered, reaching up to brush back the hairs that had come loose from her ponytail. “My answer hasn’t changed.”

She leaned forward and pressed her forehead against his.

“I don’t want to fight with you Bruce.”

“Kiss me.”

Her lips were on his in the next breath, soft and slow, like she was trying to convey what she couldn’t put into words. He didn’t want her to say, to burst this bubble they once again found themselves in. For the night, they had this, the one thing they couldn’t seem to let go.

He opened his mouth to her, running his hands up her sides. She squirmed under his touch, his fingers seeking out the spots that were especially sensitive. The ones she liked to deny even existed.

“No fair,” she breathed, pulling away to kiss his neck. She sucked softly on the skin there, nibbling at what would surely be a bruise in the morning.

“What?” he asked, smirking. “This?” He squeezed her sides and she jerked in his lap.

He chuckled and moved to kiss her again, but her hand on his chest stopped him. She pushed until he got the hint and laid on his back. She moved onto her knees again, between his legs, and leaned over him.

“You’re wearing too many clothes,” she whispered and ran her finger down his chest.

“Why don’t you fix that?” he challenged with a raised eyebrow.

She didn’t waste any time dragging his shirt up by the bottom. Bruce sat up to help her get it over his head and she pushed him back against the mattress. She slipped her hand into the waist of his pajama bottoms. He wasn’t wearing any underwear and he saw her grin as her fingers ran down his length. He was already half hard, but under her gentle strokes and ministrations it wasn’t long before he was fully erect in her hand.

Her eyes flicked up to meet his for a moment, watching him through her lashes. He smirked and moved his hips. She let him go and pulled her hand out of his pants and sat up, hands on her knees.

Bruce closed his eyes at the loss of contact and sucked in a breath when she started walking her fingers under his belly button. It sent waves of pleasure straight to his cock and he groaned. His pants were starting get uncomfortable.

She was grinning up at him, smug.

Bruce pushed himself up onto his elbows, but her hand on his stomach kept him from moving any further.

“Tease,” he accused with a chuckle.

“If that were true, I’d leave you to take care of that on your own,” she said with her eyebrows raised. She pressed her lips over the waistband of his pants.

“Are you?”

She didn’t say anything as she sat up again. She took hold of his pants and pulled them unceremoniously down his thighs, baring him to her. She laid on her stomach, her head hovering over him.

She took him in her hand again and kissed the base of his cock. She dragged her tongue up the shaft. When she reached the tip she paused a moment to meet his gaze before taking him into her mouth.

Bruce fell back against the mattress while she moved her tongue deliciously over the tip of his cock. He moaned and bucked his hips involuntarily when she took him fully into her mouth. Her head bobbed and she pressed her hand into his stomach. He was getting close, he could feel it as her movements got faster. With one hand he balled up the sheets below him and the other found the top of her head.

He pulled on her hair, not enough to hurt, but enough to get his point across. She got the message and with a few more wet passes, he came in her mouth. It took a moment for him to come back down and by then she’d gotten up to go to the bathroom.

“I have to go,” she said when she came back out.

“What?” Bruce ask, pulling the blankets over himself, suddenly feeling very exposed.

“I have to keep moving,” she said and picked up her suit.

Bruce sighed and ran his hands through his hair. He should have seen this coming, but he’d let himself to be pulled in again. He felt sick in the pit of his stomach.

“I thought you said you’d taken care of it.”

He looked up when he heard the zipper of her suit go up. Her widow’s bites were back in place and her gun was holstered at her thigh.

“It is,” she said, not meeting his eyes. “Now we’re even.”

Bruce clenched his jaw, his fists balling into the blanket in his lap.

“Goodbye Natasha,” he sighed, covering his face with his hands.

She didn’t say anything, but he listened to her put her boots back on. There was a silence and he felt her eyes on him. For a moment, he thought she was going to say something, but she only sighed and left the room.

Bruce only looked up when he heard the door close behind her.

#brucenat #hulkwidow #brutasha #please enjoy :D

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arthur-morgan-slap-my-ass · 5 years

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Extra Credit

Anonymous said: actually oh my god could you please write dutch taking a young woman (like early twenties ish) under his wing and being her mentor and obviously it turns hella smutty and he’s super daddy and in control ✊🏻✊🏻👌🏼👌🏼😩😩

Anonymous said: Hello, love your blog. Just wondering, are you by any chance going to write more professor Dutch stuff? The one you wrote a while back was 😚👌

AN: Ask and you shall receive, amirite. This took longer than I expected, mostly because I got sidetracked by my midterms and I’ve had some personal issues alongside while writing so I’m not entirely satisfied with how it turned out - but I hope you like it! There lots of love put into it!!!! As always, thanks to wondeful @winters-uprise for being my beta! Also, happy easter.

Word Count: 4800+

Summary: Questionable decisions, perfect marks, crumpled essays, daddy Dutch not knowing how to handle teasing, sweet and indecent comments, awkward conversations and strange proposals.

Part: 1 | 2

Consider supporting the writer and donating to my Ko-Fi!

When you were offered the student aid position, this wasn’t exactly what you had in mind — not really, no. You were glad, of course — a student aid position was going to send your GPA over the clouds —, but you didn’t expect to be assigned as Mr. Van der Linde’s aid, and even more surprising of you to accept it. When you knocked on the office door, still as dark and riddled with books as you could remember it, he didn’t seem surprised or startled when you slipped in carrying the essays of your fellow classmates.

He didn’t seem particularly surprised neither, when you put the papers on his desk with a sheepish smile, asking in a mellow voice, “will you be needing anything else, sir?”

“My dear,” he started, leaning back on his chair, the perfect vision of temptation — suit jacket discarded, dark-navy waistcoat hugging his lean frame tightly and white shirt rolled up to the elbows. “I’d like to ask you a very serious question.”

The smile on your face cooled, nearly disappearing, and you had to shift from one foot to the other. “Sir?”

Dutch cocked his head to the side, idly play with the gold rings on his thick fingers. “I have a theory,” he smirked now, the corners of his eyes crinkling, “and I’d like to test it out.”

“Oh?,” you prompted him on, fidgeting on the sleeve of your worn out wool cardigan.

“The outcome,” Dutch groaned, scratching his chin, a very self-pleased aura about himself, “will depend entirely on you; or might I say how you’re going to do, shall you decide to accept it, my dear.”

You gnawed on your lower lip, skin prickling slightly in anticipation. “Sir?”

“I will write you a commendation letter, my girl,” he spoke offhandedly, smirking when your eyes widened a little. “That shall be enough for your honorable mention, if that’s really what you want.”

“My commendation letter?,” your eyes widened then, urging him on, too curious for your own good.

Dutch now smirked, clearly amused at your expense, “but bear in mind, sweetheart,” he held his gaze at you, examining your smaller frame from head to toes, “I do not do favors for my students.” This sent your mind to a screeching halt, tumbling and crashing to the walls of your better judgment. He simply cocked his head to the side, now looking at your face. “I prefer to say… we’re here to help each other.”

You frowned slightly, somewhat flustered and sensing the oncoming blow to the conversation — one that you were sure would rattle you to the bones —, and so you stayed quiet.

The man looked at the papers on top of his desk, hand coming up to rub his thumb on his bottom lip. “You just picked those up?”

“I—,” you stuttered, following his gaze, “yes, um… I did, these are the essays from last week, although I think some in the class didn’t hand it in time—“

He touched the pile of papers, apparently counting the number of students under his tutoring that had followed through with the activity. “It’s enough.”

Again, you frowned. “Enough?”

“How badly do you want to graduate, Y/N?,” Dutch asked at last, turning his dark and brooding gaze to you, an eyebrow cocking up at your clear absence of response. “It’ll be a year from now, I reckon?”

“Ah— yes, it…,” you staggered slightly, “that’s… right.”

He hummed then, nodding as if satisfied with your response. “You have a thesis advisor yet?”

“What’s the point of this, professor Daniel?,” you snapped, the rebellious streak surfacing in your voice as you challenged him. You weren’t just a pretty instrument to be played by him.

“I have a proposition for you,” he continued, not paying mind to your little outburst — and looking very unimpressed, in fact. “I’ll advise your thesis, since I know you haven't found an advisor yet — and I do believe your project is interesting.”

Dumbfounded, you blinked. What were you supposed to say to him now?

“Sir, I’m very thankful—“

“Don’t thank me yet,” Dutch waved his hand at you, dismissing your gratefulness. “As I said before, this isn’t a favor. I’m going to give you something that you want and you, my beautiful girl, are going to give me something that I want.”

You swallowed nervously, the slow beating of the antique clock way too loud in the room. It felt too unreal, and yet cliché — something to be expected, really, but it was hard to believe that it was happening to you. “And… what… what is it that you want?”

Dutch seemed very pleased at your question, resting his head back at the cushioned chair with a light smirk. He looked at you with half-lidded eyes, taking in your whole figure deliberately as if summoning the words he wanted to say before actually verbalizing them. “Many things, but for now, I think I’d like to have a smoke.”

Changing your weight from one foot to another, you fidgeted with the sleeve of your cardigan once more. “A… smoke?”

“Get my cigarettes for me,” Dutch huffed, somewhat amused at your confusion; pointedly looking downwards to his front pocket. “And don’t make me repeat myself.”

Gawking at him, you then snapped and gasped indignantly. “I’m not—“

“You will,” he spoke firmly, watching you darkly, like a wolf ready to pounce. “You will, won’t you?,” his head cocked to the side, “you want to please me. This is your chance.”

You pressed your lips together, fingers flexing restlessly as you weighed your actual options. Should you? Where was this leading to? How long had he been planning this? Is this why you were offered the position as an aid? This couldn’t possibly be ethical—

“Don’t think too hard,” Dutch said finally, looking somewhat caring, but also impatiently waiting for you to move. “Just do as I say.”

Taking the first step forward felt way harder than it should’ve been, and you did it meekly — not daring to look him in the eyes for longer than a couple seconds. He smiled, pleased as you got to his side with a furious blush creeping up your cheeks, and you hesitated for a second; leaning into him for your hand to slip into the left pocket of his chalk-stripe navy dress pants.

Dutch watched you with half-lidded eyes, dark and predatory as only he could be, and the glint there wasn’t missed when your hand brushed the inside of his thigh; doing your best not to touch the obvious bulge of his cock through the linen of his fancy three-piece suit. Your pinkish blush turned into a crimson one when you took hold of the cigarette pack and the man spread his thighs with a quiet sigh at your feather light touch.

“Thank you, my girl,” he spoke easily, taking the carton box from your hands without much of a fuss, the cigarette making its way to his lips in a well known motion — and you stood there, too anxious to move; but also incredibly… hot.

He looked at you then, lightening the cigarette and taking a deep drag. The smirk spread further and you felt small and somewhat silly standing there, behind his dark mahogany desk and next to him. It still felt surreal. “I’m going to correct the essays now.”

Sensing it in the air, you asked somewhat hesitantly, “would you want me to leave?”

Dutch scoffed, taking another drag before answering. “You’re staying,” he moved the papers to his line of eyesight, skimming over them before fixing you with an expectant stare. “Sit, girl,” he patted his thigh.

You stared blankly at him, unbelieving. “… Dut—“

“Come, now,” he flipped the page of the first paper, reading over it, “you do know I don’t enjoy saying the same thing twice,” the red pen scribbled something over the paper, his cigarette burning lazily at the corner of his mouth and he blew a small cloud of smoke. “Don’t you want to do me proud, mhm?,” he flicked the cigarette on the crystal ashtray, fixing you with an expectant stare. “Do as daddy says, sweetheart.”

With your lower lip trembling, you felt your will melt away. Dutch put out the cigarette, stretching a hand out towards you — which you took, shy; but willing. He smiled, wrapping his fingers around your wrist, touch warm and calloused on your skin. You slid into his lap, legs on each side of his thigh as Dutch adjusted you weight on top of him; his hand pulling your waist against him. “Now, there is a good girl, don’t you think?,” he purred into your ear, the minty smell of his aftershave mixing with the smoky tobacco. “Aren’t you?”

“I…,” you whispered, feeling very small and exposed there on his lap. What if someone came in and saw you like this? But Dutch pressed his face to the side of your neck, nose brushing the skin and raising goosebumps in its wake. You blushed, trying hard not to squeal at the prickling of his stubble. “… ah, yes.”

“That’s it,” you felt the smile in his voice, his hand caressing up your thigh and riding your black pleated skirt up, nonchalant and confident. You fought the will to push his hand away, not because you felt uncomfortable but because it was embarrassing — and very lewd in a certain way. “Cute little thing, you are.”

You let out a low keening sound, sighing as he leaned forwards to pay attention on the papers; your eyes barely registering the words he wrote on them and the scribbling in red ink; grades being assigned that easily and effortlessly. That made you squirm on his lap, your own hand coming down to rest on his knee between your legs. “Dutch…”

He didn’t reply, ignoring you instead; turning the page with a single and well-practiced move. You frowned, pressing your lips together as the pen came down to scribble more on the paper; and his other hand brushed up your thigh once more, sliding under the soft fabric of your skirt and the soft skin between your legs. “Dutch—“

“Try again, sweetheart,” the man whispered back at you, picking up another essay, “you’re smarter.” His hand squeezed the flesh of your thigh, fingers digging into it as he pulled you more fully against his crotch. “I know you are.”

You breathed in sharply then, both hands flying to grasp at his forearm and wrist between your legs. “D— daddy…?”

“Smart girl,” Dutch praised, now brushing his thumb at the front of your panties and making you squirm, unconsciously pushing back at his lap. You leaned forwards, head low and eyes closed with a deep frown at the new sensation, at him toying and complimenting you — and it was a surprise, really, how easily he had managed to push you around. “You’re not just a pretty little thing,” he quipped at you, voice low and sultry. “You’re smart and want to be praised, isn’t it? Is that why you keep making little mistakes, taking up too much work, baby?”

Dutch cooed at your answering whimper, brushing his fingers over your sex and cotton panties frustratingly on the way. “Do you want me to notice you?,” the man asked, lips touching the back of your neck. “Want daddy to give you some attention?”

You pushed back on his hand, not entirely sure if you should focus on it or the leg between yours; his half hard cock straining at your constant rocking. “Daddy, I—“

His hand grasped at your waist, hugging you to his chest as to keep you from moving too much; and you let out a low, frustrated drawl at it. “You squirm too much,” Dutch hummed, hints of amusement in his voice. “Makes me think you’re almost enjoying this, no?”

“Maybe,” you answered, voice low and tiny compared to his, and when you opened your eyes you saw another two essays graded on your right. “It feels good— daddy...”

“It does, doesn’t it?,” Dutch kissed your neck again, hand around you moving and fingers now rubbing a slow teasing circle over your pussy — and you weren’t ashamed to admit it, you were wet. “You like it, sweetheart?”

You leaned back on his chest now, turning your face to bury it into his neck and you could feel the way he had tensed up; the hand that had been correcting the papers stilling for the moment — but you couldn’t care. You moaned, canting your hips upwards towards his touch with a burning need.

“Stop,” Dutch spoke in a warning tone, pulling his hand away from between your legs to rest it on your waist as to still your body, and you whined; pushing back on him in a deliberate move. You could feel the firmness of his cock, outlined by the expensive dress pants, pushing against the side of your hip insistently as you tried to chase the sensation. “I said,” he hissed then, letting go of his pen and wrapping his long fingers around your neck, “stop, girl.��

Whimpering, you tried to squirm to no avail upon his lap; hands grasping on the fabric of his trousers and squeezing tightly. “No, I— just… I want—“

“And now we want things, do we?,” Dutch condescended on you, caressing your exposed neck and collarbone. “My, you’re feisty aren’t you?”

You frowned, trying to move and hump on him again, but his hold on you only tightened. “Daddy—“

“How do we say when we want something, sweetheart?,” he hissed into your ear and you could feel your body melt at the term of endearment that slipped from his lips as sweetly as threateningly. “Won’t you show me your manners?”

With a shaky gasp, you stilled and tried to debate if this was what you really should do, coming to the self-assured recognition that even if you didn’t want to do this, you’d be lying. Did you want to? Yes. But should you? The answer didn’t matter.

“Oh, please daddy,” you mewled, lips trembling and eyes watering with want, “I need more—“

“Do you, now?,” he mused, more to himself, and you felt the rough brush of his chin against the sensitive back of your neck, goosebumps raising through your body, “what is it that you so desperately need, then?”

“… you, daddy,” you answered promptly, closing your eyes in frustration and embarrassment, dreading the words about to leave your mouth, “inside me.”

Dutch breathed in sharply, the only visible sign that he was as affected by this as you, and the grasp around you slackened. “Stand.”

You turned around to look at him, confused. Had you gone too far? Misread what he had wanted from you? What if—

“I said stand, girl,” he punctuated it by squeezing the flesh of your thigh firmly, voice dark and threatening, “now.”

Scrambling off of his lap, you got on your feet with wobbly knees and your skirt riding up your waist and rumpling the nice white blouse you had picked for the day. The dark-red woolen cardigan dangled precariously from one of your shoulders and when you turned around to look at the man, meek and anxious, he all but smiled.

“Off with it,” Dutch pointed at your cardigan as he moved to unbutton his vest, briskly shaking it off — and God, something about seeing him wearing a crisp white dress shirt with rolled up sleeves was—, “and don’t make me say it twice.”

Jumping into action, you slipped off the soft coat and allowed it to pool around your feet on the floor, shuffling off your slippers at the same time. Dutch hummed appreciatively, coaxing you forwards and closer to him.

“You’re just so pretty, aren’t you?,” he whispered, hand warm and calloused as it slipped between your thighs and squeezed the softness of your skin, “blooming with it, just begging to be plucked.”

You closed your eyes, allowing him to wander with his caressing and moaning softly. “Daddy…”

Dutch hummed in reply, fingers inching upwards and hooking on the underside of your panties — and you were ashamed to admit at how wet they already were just from the light touching and the teasing he’s given you so far. “Look at you, sweetheart,” he whispered, smiling at your full-body shiver, “all wet for me.”

His fingertips pressed to the tender flesh of your thighs once more before he decided to move upwards, hooking them into your soft-cotton blue panties and dragging it down in a long and deliberate moment, one that almost felt… intimate. You reached out, to hold onto his shoulders to keep your balance as you stepped out of them and he pressed a light kiss to your forearm, pulling the piece of clothing from you — and you weren’t entirely sure where it went to, but it didn’t matter now.

“Be good now,” he whispered to you, calloused hands pushing your just above the knee skirt further up, rumpling the white shirt you had carefully chosen for today, “behave and you’ll have fun, my dear.”

You bit your lower lip, feeling the soft caress of the hem of the skirt caressing your backside. It was hard to keep quiet like that, even more so when Dutch leaned back, smiling at you; as if admiring his handiwork. He cocked his head to the side, hand coming up to scratch at his chin as if in thought; the warm glint of his ringers impossible to miss.

“Off with the shirt,” he demanded, dark and imposing, “I want to see you.”

No hesitation this time — mostly because you were looking forward the “fun” that he had promised —, you unbuttoned the shirt, the unmatching bra — a lacy baby pink with white peeking from below the fabric when you were ready to shrug it off; and you did, the fabric pooling on top of your cardigan and slippers discarded earlier. When you moved to undo your bra, Dutch stopped you with a wave of his hand.

“Keep it for now, sweetheart. You look precious like that,” he drawled, clearly proud at how readily you had complied to his request. The man eyed the remaining essays on top of his desk, looking back at you with unhurried ease, hands coming down to undo the buckle of his belt in a deliberate and uncaring motion. “Do you want to sit on daddy’s lap now?”

You blushed further, trying not to look down at his lap where he obviously had freed himself, hands slowly pumping his cock to a full erection. With a meek voice, you cast your eyes to the side, whispering, “yes, daddy.”

“Come here, baby,” Dutch called in a hushed tone, urging you further to his lap as to sit there facing him this time. His hand cradled your hip, curling there and squeezing softly as the other disappeared down below, a finger dipping into your pussy to check for wetness before taking a hold of himself, “you’ll be a good girl for daddy, won’t you?”

Squirming, your let out a broken whimper and clutched to his shoulders with a furrow on your brow, “yes…”

“You’ll sit here,” he spoke, voice demanding attention, as if in one of his classes, “and daddy will finish correcting the papers.” At this, you pouted, the protest blooming in your chest dying out as soon as Dutch cupped your cheek, “yes, yes, hush now,” he smiled, drawing his thumb down as to press it in your mouth and you instinctively ran your tongue over the pad, sucking on it. “And once daddy’s done, he’s going to fuck you silly, do you understand?”

With a begrudging nod, you agreed to his words — because what else could you do? No wasn’t something you wanted to say, not now anyways. “Okay, daddy.”

Dutch huffed a breath, cocking his head to the side with an expectant smirk, “what else?”

Your eyes widened, the flush spreading further down your exposed neck and ears — and when you tried to look away from him, his fingers pulled your face back to his, his eyes focused on you.

“I’m… thank… thank you, daddy.”

The smile widened then, Dutch apparently satisfied at your display of submission, and the hand on your hip pulled you down and towards his chest — your head resting against the crook of his neck as you sunk onto his cock; slowly, steadily, inch by inch, making you gasp and shiver, clinging onto his shirt at the intrusive sensation. It stung a bit, not enough to make it unpleasant, but more than enough to remind of how full you were at the moment.

Dutch ran his big hand over your back, soothing and gentle like you didn’t imagine he’d be capable of — and that made you shiver, moaning quietly and clinging harder to him, your knees sinking into the warm leathery seat of his desk chair. He shushed you quietly, pressing a kiss to your temple as he rummaged through the papers; the moving of his thighs under yours enough to make you want to cry out and rock down on him.

When you were offered the position as student aid, that wasn’t what you had in mind — no, not at all in fact. Gulping nervously you squirmed, painfully embarrassed, although not enough to turn away on the affair, sitting snugly on his lap; Dutch’s fingertips caressing the soft skin of your thigh below the skirt. You keened lowly then, trying to get more of his cock inside by pressing down on him, unconsciously clenching around it with needy lust and—

“Don’t be greedy now,” Dutch admonished you, stilling your hips with a heavy hand, “be a good girl for daddy. You wanted this, remember?”

You whimpered weakly, tucking your head under his chin with a weak nod, core trembling in need — and by god, he felt so firm and big under you, a constant reminder of how Mr. Van der Linde could just up and fuck you against the mahogany desk of his office, manhandle you and whisper dirty things in your ear and—

“Daddy,” you moaned quietly into the skin of his neck, yet he seemed unphased by it. “Please—“

“Don’t,” Dutch answered, a hand snaking down to brush lightly on your clit and you bucked up on it; only to have his hand squeezing on your waist to remind you to stay still.

The steady scratching of the pen on paper kept going, Dutch sighing in deep thought and paying no mind to you or your soft complaints; even as you shivered at the obvious huff of breath on your shoulder. There was the rustle of paper on his desk and, at the same time, the hand down under your skirt moved to squeeze the supple skin of your thigh. You pursed your lips, closing your eyes as you tensed up to keep from moving too much on his lap — and he still paid no mind to you.

You pressed down again, whimpering quietly and pulling at the roots of hair at the base of his head in a desperate plea for release. Dutch hummed in annoyance, muttering a quiet “let go, princess,” and when you pretended not to hear it, the hand on your thigh moved and delivered a soundly slap to your backside. You yelped, bucking up in surprise, soon followed by a low whine.

“You naughty little thing,” Dutch huffed, kneading the tingling skin, “you know better than to defy daddy like that. Don’t act up on me, princess,” he whispered now, breath past his lips brushing against the shell of your ear and making you shiver, “unless you’re sure you can handle it.”

Dutch leaned forwards, the change in angle making it all feel so much deeper inside of you, the pressure nearly overwhelming. You keened quietly, squeezing his shoulders once more as a dark chuckle rolled out of his tongue.

“What a pretty essay you put up this time.”

What.

“You can’t be…,” you turned around taking a look at the paper in front of him, your name printed out at the top of the page. Your gaze turned to him, eyes wide as embarrassment took over.

“You should stay really quiet if you want daddy to focus and grade you accordingly, don’t you think?,” he mocked, the fingers on your waist drumming up your back, undoing your bra with the help of his other hand. “After all, your GPA looks so pretty now…”

It was true, that getting the position as a student aid had sent your GPA over the clouds, but he wouldn’t—

“Please,” you pleaded, somewhat desperate, “I’ll be quiet, I promise—“

Dutch smiled then, pulling the bra from your shoulders and tossing it to the side with a pleased sigh, calloused palms cupping your breasts tenderly, almost lovingly. “Good girl,” he groaned, kneading the soft flesh slowly before looking up at you with a smug smile. “Won’t you give daddy a kiss to show how grateful you are?”

With a quiet moan, you leaned forwards, one arm lacing around his neck while the other curled between your bodies; fingers brushing the sharp line of the man’s jaw. The kiss, when it came, was sweet and intoxicating — and you tried to ignore the fact that you were to kiss the man now, for the first time, after he’s already bottomed out in your pussy. Dutch sighed, pleased and languid, unable to avoid the unconscious thrust of his hips up into the inviting warmth of your sex.

“Daddy—,” you whimpered, kiss turning from a gentle ember to a roaring fire at the quiet groaning from the man below you, “I’ll be good, I—“

“Yes,” Dutch agreed heatedly, fingers digging into the skin of your buttocks and pulling you down onto him, “yes, a good girl aren’t you?”

You gasped at it then, as he started to move you on his cock; and your hips soon followed the desperate rhythm. He leaned back, moaning lowly as you pushed down on him, clinging to the crispy whiteness of his dress shirt.

“Look at you,” he growled, a palm coming up to cup your cheek rather roughly — but you didn’t mind, you didn’t—, “such a sweet little thing, aren’t you?”

You nodded, face burning hot at the sensation of his hand on it, blushing furiously; a sob blossoming from deep within your chest as he hugged your smaller frame into his chest with a trembling huff. “Oh, God—“

“My girl,” came the answering groan and you felt the hand on your face move to cradle your head to his chest, holding you there in a protective and somewhat selfish manner, “you’re making daddy so proud, sweetheart.”

Dutch pushed up, your body still held within his grasp as he set you on the table; the cool surface of the dark desk raising goosebumps on your skin. The papers scattered, some sliding off, others crumpling under you or simply floating away, but neither of you cared, you couldn’t—

“Fuck,” the man cursed, pressing his body snugly to yours, the head of his cock pushing in somewhat too deep, “feel so good, baby—“

Whimpering, you closed your eyes, arching your body up and digging your fingers into the exposed skin of his forearm; other hand wrapping around the back of his neck in a vice grip. The desk rattled at the first few thrusts, Dutch holding your hips down against it to keep you still and pliant under him.

“Please,” you gasped out, desperately clinging to him, legs lacing around his, “please—“

He all but snickered, looking down at you with wonder. Dutch pressed his thumb into your mouth again, pleased to see that you complied and started suckling on it; brows furrowed and eyes closed. “You want to cum, sweetheart?”

You nodded, whining lowly and arching your hips up for a better angle, and Dutch pressed a soft kiss to your chest; thrusting purposeful and languid to get the most out of it from you, but it was when he pressed a finger — the thumb previously in your mouth — down on your clit that your release came, flaming hot and desperately sweet at the same time. And at that, you cried out, curling under him as he kept going to let you ride out the final waves of your blissful orgasm, still shaking and breathless under him—

“Shit—,” Dutch groaned, pulling out and before you could ask why, you felt the hot splash of his seed on your thigh, hand coming down to jerk his spent cock a couple more times. You closed your eyes, basking in the bliss of release, bare chested and exposed on his desk with your legs still wrapped around your professor.

“Thank you, daddy,” you whispered, smiling at yourself when Dutch huffed out a laugh above you, the sound sweet and endearing in a way you couldn’t quite place your finger at.

And when he put out the grades on the notice board next week, claiming that the essays were to be kept by the graduation Dean, you simply smiled at your perfect mark.

#dutch van der linde #dutch van der linde x reader #dutch van der linde imagine #red dead redemption #red dead redemption imagine #saucy #professor series #fanfic

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deathfrisbeeinthetardis · 4 years

Text

I walk through the valley of the shadow of death

Summary

When Detective Shane Madej got the briefing, his blood ran cold. He needed to tell Goldsworth, he owed the man that much.

Notes:

So the original idea came from me wanting to read/write angry Shane because of the 'Goddamn it' he says in the Pennhurst Asylum Post mortem at 11:08, but with more you know, genuine anger. Then the whole situation came to me after reading Waiting for the Sunlight by @ebonybow (which is amazing btw, if you read my stuff you've got to check out theirs, it's about a million times better)

This fic is absolutely self-indulgence so that I don't have to write another chapter for, um, other stories that I have started, soooo, I hope ya'll like this!

Read below or find it on Ao3!

The tall man was let into Ricky's office half a minute after he approached the basement hatch concealing the entrance to Goldsworth's empire. His composure was veiled for those outside the door, but his shoulders were so stiff from the tension that he almost shook with it. Pushing back his rain-soaked hood, he scanned the simply furnished room to find the boss lounging in the armchair, a book in his hands and dressed in black as per usual.

'Mr. Goldsworth," he said. It never hurt to start formal, they always manage to work back to their own peculiar brand of familiarity with a bit of time.

"Detective Madej, a bit on edge, are we?" The smaller man gives him a sly smile that wasn't entirely devoid of warmth, eyes flicking up from the heavy tome to look him over. It had been a while since they last spoke face to face, out of the necessity of course. There have been… complications.

"They know," Shane said tightly and feels a sort of grim satisfaction as Goldsworth sits up in the armchair, eyes widening slightly at the news. It was why he had rushed from the office as soon as he could sneak out of the meeting without drawing attention. If the situation wasn't dealt with, the consequences could doom them all.

"How much do they think they have?" He sounded so damn calm.

"They have your name, your real name, Goldsworth." Shane bit out, "You're a smart man, you know where they will go looking next."

Goldsworth scoffed, standing in a fluid motion to walk over to the plain wooden desk, laying a hand on a faint raised line on the surface. To an outside eye, it would be just a casual stance, but Shane knew of the thin sharp dagger concealed in the unassuming wood, Goldsworth could have the blade at Shane's throat in a second, but the taller man didn't back down, gaze fixed on the downturned face of the boss.

"And where, might I ask, did they find out that piece of information? Not many know it." Goldsworth was looking at him now, eyes sharp and piercing. Shane only met his stare with one equal in intensity.

"It's not important. We--" he cut himself off when Goldworth's eyes glinted dangerously. Now isn't the time to argue about what they had between them, the safety of Goldsworth's people took priority. "You need to take measures to protect them, get them out of town, hell, out of the country even, with how much of the force is being put to track them down."

"Who leads the mission."

'I can't tell you that." Shane swallowed, determined not to look at Goldsworth's hand on the desk. He needed the man to listen to him and exhibiting fear or anxiety is not what the situation needs.

"It's Ilnyckyj isn't it?" Shane's face must have shown enough to confirm his guess, as much as he tried to maintain his mask, and Goldsworth laughed dryly, eyes sharp under the dim light of the room, "Of course it is, only using the best to hunt the worst eh?"

"Don't." Shane's voice was low, a little more control slipping away and a little desperation sneaking in as he walked the two strides it took to stand opposite Goldsworth at the desk. "Andrew is a good man, he's only following orders. He doesn't deserve that."

"And my family does? You know full well what measures they take to hunt down people like me, you've led them." There was venom in every word, raining down onto Shane's battered conscience like knives. How much of what he has done in the name of the King can he really brush off with the excuse of just following orders? He didn't know anymore.

Shane pressed his hands on the desk with as much force as he dared, not for what Ryan might do, but for fear that the walls may be listening. "God damn it, Ryan." He hissed, dropping the name down to a whisper, and Goldsworth flinched as if Shane had struck him. "This goes beyond you and me, it's not a game anymore between you and the crown. They will do anything to find you."

"And are you going to help them?" Goldsworth's voice was steady, but there was unease in his eyes. It had taken a chance encounter, half a dozen clashes and months and months before he had dared to risk trusting a man in the crown's employ, and Shane knew the danger the situation put both of them in, knew it in the twisting knife in his heart where Sara had been.

"I would never--how could you think that?" Disbelief coated his words, but was he really surprised? Like the man said moments ago, there were only that many people who had been given the privilege of knowing who the infamous Ricky Goldsworth really was, each tested and challenged to hell and back before they earned the boss’s trust. It was easier to suspect him than to think that any of them would betray him, Shane was right here.

But the hurt lingered just the same.

"I know how to hold my tongue too, Goldsworth." He had had to learn how.

The hand Goldsworth had on the desk was showing white on the scarred knuckles where he had drawn out the slim blade, and fuck it, this was the last time they would likely see each other ever again, so Shane reached out and grasped Goldsworth's hand with his own. He felt the tendons jump beneath his fingers as if the man had almost flinched but contained himself at the last second.

This sort of contact was new, sure they have done a good deal more, but that had been through the touch of fists and blades against the vulnerable parts of the body, never comforting, never casual. But the man didn't pull away, just looking down at where their hands rested on top of the desk, the tip of the blade tucked to the bare inside of Shane's wrist.

"You need to get out too, Ryan. Please." His eyes grew damp, and it had nothing to do with the blooming pain where the sharp steel had cut into his skin. All the panic and fear after he heard his captain speak at the briefing condensing to hit him all at once, taking away his breath, and his voice shook with the effort it took to remain presentable, barely over a whisper.

"I can't lose you too."

There was silence, such horrible heavy silence in the room as Shane waited for a reaction, words, an explosion, a knife in his throat, anything. But the man opposite him just stood frozen in place, staring at the growing puddle of blood on the dark surface of the desk. Uncertainty was showing through on his face for the first time in the years they had known each other, worked together, saved each other's asses more than a few times. The reveal of just that bit of humanity incited a pointless hope and in Shane's heart, but he wasn't the one that mattered here.

He would have gotten down on his knees to beg then, to beg that Ryan leave his honorable struggle, take his family and get the hell away from the poisonous reign of the king. The man had enough support and power to form his own damn kingdom. It wouldn't have been difficult, since Shane didn't have much pride left to lose, and if it meant Ryan would survive, he would gladly suffer the necessary blows to his fucking dignity.

"Okay." The quiet word shocked Shane from his thoughts, and it took a moment before his mind registered what the man had just said, and his shock must have shown on his face, too fierce of an emotion to hide beneath the mask he wore every single second he was on duty for the king.

�� "Okay," Ryan said again, finally raising his eyes to look at the taller man. His grip loosened on the knife and he twisted his hand until strong calloused fingers gripped Shane's wrist, putting pressure over the bleeding wound. "I'll go, but come with me. You can get out too."

Now it was Shane's turn to still, the ever-present ache in his chest sharpening in a split second, the wound that never closed. "I-I can't." Tears spilled down his face to mix with the rain that had not yet dried, his words barely getting past the tightness in his throat. "Sara-"

"Madej." Goldsworth cut him off, fingers digging into his wrist and sending a jolt of pain up Shane's arm, bringing him back to the here and now with the command in his voice. The man's eyes softened as he looked at Shane, and the taller man felt dread take hold in his mind before the man spoke.

“My men found the ashes two days ago, the seer says it's her.” A pause, “She’s gone, Shane.”

Shane reeled, floundered, tears running dry. Sara was gone. The woman he had planned to spend his life with, then taken away by guards, the knowledge of her life within the capitol a constant harrowing on his soul. Was death really that bad, compared to being held as the counterweight for his obedience? Shane should be happy that she finally didn’t need to suffer because of him. He had done enough damage to this world.

Distantly, he felt Goldsworth’s hand on the back of his neck, pulling him forward until their foreheads touched gently, the touch all there was to tether him to reality, he could feel the man’s breath on his face when he spoke.

“She would have wanted you to get out. You’re a good man, you don’t deserve this.” The words shot through the grief clouding Shane’s brain, and he managed to focus on Goldsworth’s mouth, reading the words as they were uttered.

“I’m going to need you to be brave,” Ryan said, giving Shane’s neck a light squeeze until the taller man was nodding slightly, though how much of that was a conscious decision than tremors he did not know. He tried to speak, and it took a few attempts for the broken syllables to spill out.

“Okay.”

#I wrote another one #Procrastination #weird au #I really crave some angry Shane #alex writes #I am actully quite pround of this one

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unholyhelbiglinked · 6 years

Text

The One with the Coffee Shop

CHECK OUT MORE TRIPLE TREBEL ONESHOTS HERE

The office was stuffy and almost unbearable, a constant side-effect of a mom and pop coffee shop in the middle of a college campus. It was hot, a small desk fan blowing even hotter air into the gingers face as a thin line of sweat moved across her brow.

Chloe Beale tapped the blunt edge of her pen against the computer paper that she stared down at with ease, biting the inside of her lip. She hated this part of opening and hated this part of closing even more- the damn money. She hated the way the bills curled under the heat, the way the old paper smelled, and the metal coins weighed the bank bag down.

She leaned back in her chair, raising both hands to her hair as she ran them through the fire-filled mess. Her eyes were closed- heart pounding against her wrist. This was the first quiet moment she's had in the last 18 hours, still seething over the half-paid employee who had called out last minute, making her pull a double.

"Boss," A three toned knock sounded at the door, electing a rough moan from Chloe's throat.

"You're one too," She stated, not turning to face Beca, she pointed the edge of the pen everywhere "The cash cabinet is open."

"Right, because I need to steal about 500 from that giant stack of money you have over there."

This edged a deep glare as Beca shut the door behind her, she was the only other person in the shop at the moment, having been cleaning the damned cappuccino machine in her usual meticulous way. "Listen, we have a customer."

"Beca!" Chloe yelped, spinning in her chair.

"Relax, I told her that I needed to get more half-and-half." She waved her hand wildly in front of her face with a slacked expression. "It is her, you know."

This made Chloe still, her face dropping softly. Of course, it was her, the two women standing in the crowded office had seen the same blonde haired woman every single day at least twice a day. Once in the morning, once when they were switching shifts, and once at night. It was usually staggered- neither getting a chance to talk to her for more than five minutes. Both pining hard for the young woman.

"Right, and how exactly do we do this?" Chloe cocked an eyebrow, biting the inside of her lip.

"Normally," Beca shrugged.

"Okay, yeah" The redhead nodded hastily "hi, stranger, my name is Chloe and this is my girlfriend Beca. We both want to fuck you, isn't this nice weather we're having?"

Beca rolled her eyes with great conviction, pressing her back against the door as she tucked her hands behind her. She was nervous too, not lashing out from lack of sleep, but very nervous nonetheless.

"Point taken," She balanced her bottom lip between her teeth. "How about we start with asking her why she's always here, you know? The girl must not sleep."

"How about we start with half-and-half?" Chloe chuckled, staring adoringly at her girlfriend. Her very fidgety girlfriend who had first brought up the idea of the woman a few weeks earlier, fully expecting Chloe to shoot her down; she didn't- instead she welcomed the offer, finding herself with a weird feeling every time the blonde entered the room.

"Shit," She breathed in, clumsily reaching for the door as she whipped it open, taking in the cool air that suddenly hit her "I would fire myself at this point." She mumbled as Chloe barked out a laugh behind her.

Aubrey Posen was leaning heavily against the counter, a look of stress creasing those gorgeous Irish eyes of hers- even if they were downcast by the smooth iPhone in her hands. Her nose scrunched up in a way that seemed adorable. Everything about her was tense, and she had deep circles under her eyes; but still, she plastered an award-winning smile on her face as soon as the two girls walked into view.

"Hi!" Beca smirked, "Sorry about that,"

"No worries," The woman clicked the edge of her device before shoving it into her back pocket, giving the two women all of her attention. "Did you find what you needed?"

"I uh-"The tiny brunette stumbled over her words, realizing her hands were empty, and in fact didn't' contain the creamer that she had promised to rummage for. Instead she heard the muffled response from her girlfriend who had her head shoved in the fridge behind them.

"Oh!" Chloe spoke, "Would you look at that, hey Becs, there was half-and-half in here all along."

"huh," She laughed slightly, not taking her intense stare away from the woman who stood in front of them, clearly in some type of rift. She recognized the odd shift in pressure in the room. "Wow, I'm forever oblivious. I'll have that coffee up right away."

"The usual, right?" Chloe asked, leaning heavily against the counter next to the smaller woman. She knit her eyebrows together her fingers close to meeting Beca's. The girl was filled to the brink with anxiety about the situation. "You can sit if you want,"

Aubrey drew in a slight breath, she glanced at the door nervously, her jaw clenched. There were two gorgeous women in front of her- two women who she had seen more than once every single day. Every single day for the last semester she had pined over the brunette, her midnight eyes and broody personality were just light the dusky shift that she worked every day. She was pretty sure she had fallen for the younger woman. Well, she was until she saw Chloe.

Chloe who was bright like the morning sunshine, and bubbly like the little foam that collected on top of those white mugs. The woman had snuck a little bit of cinnamon onto every drink when Aubrey made an off-handed comment about how she missed being abroad where her father was stationed one year.

Both women made the blood rise to her cheeks and burn against her core- but she ignored it. Ignored it all because she simply didn't have the time. But now? Now in this empty coffee shop mere minutes before closing, she was offered a seat at the counter. A seat that she desperately needed to take; because damn did her legs ache, and her mind hiss.

"What brings you here so late?" Chloe asked, making Beca scoff and roll her eyes. The girl was always here this late- technically the two were supposed to close the doors at nine. They did, but Beca would always keep a look out for the blonde who wandered in a little past 9:30 PM.

"I have a late class," Aubrey said, blowing out a breath as Chloe busied herself with the woman's usual drink- Beca going silently back to wiping down the large metal machine that buzzed in the stark silence. "Law is not an easy major."

"Is that why you don't sleep?" Beca quickly regretted it as it left her mouth, turning around slightly to give a wide-eyed gaze to the girl. "I mean, not that you look like you don't sleep, I just-"

"It's fine," She laughed, holding up her hands as Chloe glowered through her bloodied hair. "I don't necessarily scream well rested, with the bags under my eyes and all."

Beca let out that long breath that she had collected in her chest like a squirrel storing nuts for the winter. "So you don't sleep, then?"

"I get a few hours every night," She swallowed, nodding towards Chloe as she slid the mug against the counter- making the usual to-go drink for a longer stay. "Thank you."

"Sure," Chloe nodded, she started to round the corner, flicking off one of the main lights- it made the overhead ones staggered- the eerie calm before a final closing as Beca shut off the main machines, leaving them in stark silence other than the taller woman grabbed a few muffins from the bottom shelf.

Aubrey knit her eyebrows together as she tossed one to the blonde, who caught it with ease. She knit her eyebrows together. Staring down at the food that was in her hands with curiosity. She didn't give much pause as Chloe slid into the bar stool next to hers.

"It's on the house," She explained, digging into her own pastry. It was filled with chocolate chips- edged to the brink with sweetness. "So why don't you sleep? Other than the copious amounts of caffeine rushing through your body."

"Is this an intervention?"

"What?" Beca laughed nervously. Awkwardly. "No, nope."

Chloe shook her head in disbelief at her girlfriend's antics. She buried her face in her muffin, words becoming muffled and slight as she swallowed mouthfuls of sweet pastry. "I'm going to shut up now."

"Wait, is it?" She widened those bold forest eyes, darting them between the two girls. "Oh my god, it is. I barely know you two and this is an MTV style intervention."

She let out a thick sigh as she pressed both of her hands to her hairline, staring down at the untouched food in front of her- strands of rough hair clouding her stare. Chloe went right into mother-mode, wrapping one arm around the girl as she rubbed little circles on her back with comfort. Beca gritted her teeth- clearly craving that level of touch from both women.

"Oh, sweetie, we didn't mean to-"

"No, no I'm glad you said something," She said, looking up with a brink of tears in her eyes. "I mean, if you guys notice it, then maybe it's time that I start? I've just been… so busy that I've been going through the motions of life and- God, living off your coffee." She widened her eyes, turning towards Chloe "which is really good by the way."

She looked towards Beca "And yours too!" She drew in a sharp breath, "Everything is so damn hectic, with LSAT's coming up I've just been struggling so much. Now the two smoking hot girls from the coffee shop notice I need more sleep before I do-"

Beca used a tactic she usually did with Chloe when the girl spiraled. It was simple and clean, her fingers wrapping around the woman's, squeezing a certain pressure point until she stalled in her speech- staring up at those damned midnight eyes. "Hey," She said, "It's alright, take your time."

She took a steadying breath. "I haven't slept in almost two months. Not completely." She spoke, gauging the caring stares that she felt between the two. "And you guys, are… you're just really great. That's the reason I keep coming back here, I mean, I could make my own coffee but I don't' want to, because…"

Chloe cocked her head to the side, as the girl continued.

"It's stupid, I know it's stupid. But I don't really like coffee, I like hot chocolate, but it takes you guys longer to make the coffee so I always order it."

Chloe used her other hand to slowly push the untouched mug away from the girl- gently like slowly taking away a touch of food from a starving animal. She drew in a careful breath.

"Which is really dumb because you two are together." She finally finished, flashing her gaze between the stranger that held her and the one that hugged her close. "I can see the way you look at each other. I'm just some random person who orders way too much coffee. And is technically a zombie."

Beca smiled sweetly at that, pushing out a breath. "Have you noticed the way we look at you?"

"You're not just some random girl," Chloe spoke softly "You don't think we question every customer like this on their drinking habits, do you?"

"But you're-"

"We like you," Beca interjected, "That's all that matters."

"You?" The words came out in a whisper as she noticed how close Chloe was, the scent of her strawberry shampoo, and mint gum that she had devoured a few minutes earlier. It was cooling and soft altogether.

The way that Beca ran her thumb lovingly over her hand with a few worried glances that were peppered with emotion and lust all at once- the whispered heat that continued to press against he cheeks.

Chloe closed the distance between them, pressing her touch so tenderly against the woman. She tasted of coffee, and dear god, Aubrey melted so easily into the embrace, tightening her touch against the brunette in a way that could only be described as greedy- but right.

The blonde let out a groan, one that wasn't caring, but a hot and fierce, passionate one. It made Beca ache, ache for that very same touch that she had just witnessed between her girlfriend the stranger that had part of her heart in a little box already.

Aubrey must have noticed that because her stare flicked towards Beca, having pulled apart as Chloe panted, her forehead still balancing against the blondes. She lifted her chin slightly- a nod of approval or something more- but it didn't take long for the older woman to pull Beca closer.

Beca was slow and soft with her movements, stomach pressing against the edge of the counter as her ribs began to fall sore. She didn't care though, because the world fell away at the instant touch, the moment their lips met and she could taste Chloe- but feel Aubrey, it was everything.

Aubrey let out yet another gasp as the forcefulness behind it all- used to initiating the touch in the first place- but she crumbled so firmly under both girls pull. She craved more; more than just this, but perfectly content.

"Whoa," She whispered, gravelly as she kept her eyes closed, Beca relaxing her touch away from the woman's jaw as she pulled back- happy with the dazed look she had provoked in Aubrey's stare. "That was…"

"Sorry if we're a bit forward." Chloe went back to her muffin, like nothing had happened- a lazy grin on her face. "You are just really captivating."

"And really tired." Beca started, the woman in front of them still blinking. "You should get some sleep, Aubrey."

"I don't," She trailed off, "I don't think I can sleep after that."

#Beca Mitchell #Chloe Beale #Triple Treble #aubrey posen #fanfiction #oneshot

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n3rdlif343va · 6 years

Text

A Christmas Reveal

Although he isn’t here right now, this is a present for @seththeshallow who was my first fandom friend and has always been one of my biggest supporters. Seth sees the best in everyone and refuses to let me give up on myself, no matter how moody I get. Thanks for being one of the best, Seth :)

Christmas was Marinette’s favorite holiday. She loved the bustle of the bakery, her parents cheerfully singing along with the songs on the stereo as they crafted Christmas treats for all of their family, friends, and customers. She loved the way the customers smiled as the entered the decorated space, taking in the warm glow of the hanging lights and the sweet smells of the baking goods. Even though preparation for the holiday meant long hours, Marinette happily gave up the sleep to continue to patrol Paris at night and wake before dawn to help braid bread and fill pastries.

The holiday always seemed to arrive too quickly, the days blurring together with the whirl of excitement and anticipation. When she was little there was the excitement of presents and having her parents to herself for an entire day without the demands of the bakery. As she grew older, the excitement shifted, encompassing her own desires to make the wonderful people in her world smile with heartfelt presents. Loving the time with her parents had never changed though and she had cherished their Christmas traditions, even if her mom and dad had been too exhausted to complete every tradition. Tonight, her parents had fallen asleep while they were watching their traditional Christmas movie, and Marinette had snuck back down to the bakery, determined to clean the place as a Christmas surprise.

Stacking the last of the Christmas deserts on the bakery shelves, Marinette glanced at the clock, briefly wondering what all of her friends were up to. Most of them celebrated Christmas with their families, Alya and Nino enjoying the chaos of their large families, while others celebrated on a smaller scale. She smiled thinking of the different places the Dupain-Cheng baked goods had made it to while dusting off her floured hands on her dirty apron.

One friend floated into her mind, making her heart stall in her chest. During almost every free moment, Marinette had thought of Adrien, surrounded by the cold walls of his enormous house and without the love of a real family. She had given up hope that Mr. Agreste was ever going to care enough about his son to give him a real holiday and she felt the familiar ache settle around her heart at the thought of Adrien spending the last hours of Christmas alone.

She had tried to convince him to join her family for the holiday and Nino had also begged Adrien to crash his family’s celebration. Their friend was stubborn though, somehow still clinging to the thought that this year would be different. Climbing toward her bedroom, Marinette let the memories of their last Christmas loom ominously in her mind. Taking her last few steps at a sprint, she called for Tikki, continuing to run toward her balcony as her transformation took over. Long gone were the days of standing still for the transformation, and as Marinette crossed the threshold of her balcony doors, Ladybug appeared in her place. With a flick of her yo-yo Ladybug launched herself onto the rooftops of Paris, determined to not repeat her mistakes from the previous year.

Pacing through his room, Adrien cracked his neck, muttering under his breath with his anger. The scene was familiar. Absentee father, an expensive and impersonal Christmas tree, and the promise of a meal to be consumed at too late of an hour with too few guests. “There is no point in having a twenty person dining room, if there is no one ever here to eat in it!”

Adrien’s angered shouts caused Plagg to fly from his perch, holding both hands up in front of Adrien’s face. “Look kid, last year was bad, in a lot of ways. Did you expect this year to be better? You could have gone to Nino’s or Marinette’s, but you chose to stay.” Seeing the defeated look sink over Adrien’s face, Plagg sighed. “I bet at least one of them is still celebrating. Let’s go… but this time… leave a note!” Floating back to the desk, Plagg snapped up a notepad and threw it at Adrien’s face.

In spite of his frustration, Adrien caught the pad with a smile. Catching the pen Plagg threw at him with his free hand, Adrien quickly jotted “not kidnapped, at Marinette’s, be back whenever.” The snarky part of him that still spoke in teenager wanted to add “not like you care,” but he resisted the urge with a small huff. Ripping a piece of tape from the roll, he stuck the note to the outside of his bedroom door, turning around with a cheeky smile in Plagg’s direction. It was a new ability, one that both he and Ladybug loved to brag about and Adrien wasn’t going to waste an opportunity to use it. Leaning down in a running position, Adrien heard Plagg protest as he started to sprint, opening his mouth to call for his transformation.

The words never made it past his teeth as a red blur swung through his window, colliding with his body before he could stop himself. Together, they rolled across the floor, landing with a thud against the wall. Sprawled out with the weight of another person on him, Adrien gasped for breath, his eyes going wide when he realized who was so clumsily draped over him.

“I’m so sorry!” Ladybug scrambled to get to her feet, slipping on the edge of the rug and crashing back onto Adrien’s chest. “Ugh!” she grunted, pushing herself up with her hands braced on either side of Adrien’s head. “Um… Happy Christmas?”

The laughter started deep within him, erupting as he curled on his side seeing her flustered face and red cheeks. Every interaction he had had with Ladybug in the last few months had reminded him of Marinette and he couldn’t keep in the giggles when it came to the clumsiness of his two favorite ladies. Waving a hand in the air, Adrien allowed himself to be pulled into a sitting position, slumping forward on one knee as he tried to wheeze words through his laughter. “Hey, Merry Christmas to you.” He hiccuped, clamping a hand over his mouth and turning his wide eyes in Ladybug’s direction.

She began to giggle as well, turning her body to sit shoulder to shoulder with Adrien against the wall. There was a part of her that was wilting with embarrassment, but the bigger part of her was focused on hearing Adrien’s laugh. This wasn’t the same Adrien who had disappeared last year and certainly not the same melancholy best friend that she had grown accustomed to over the past months. Nudging his shoulder, Ladybug tilted her had. “Were you running across your room for a reason?” His motion had caught her by surprise, leading to their unfortunate tumble across the carpet.

“Uh….” Adrien’s brain blanked. Half-formed excuses were stumbling over each other in his mind and his mouth moved without creating coherent sounds. Continuing his disjointed failure of communication, Adrien shrugged, waving a hand as nondescriptly as his current speech patterns.

“He was about to transform,” Plagg stated. The tiny kwami landed on Adrien’s knee, arms crossed over his chest and smirk looking ready for a fight. He chuckled at the strangled noise coming from his partner and raised an eyebrow as Ladybug’s mouth dropped open.

“But… you are… and then… he is…” Ladybug sounded as intelligible as Adrien, staring from the black cat lounging on Adrien’s knee to Adrien’s red blush cheeks. She recognized the voice of Chat Noir’s kwami, but her brain continued to click like a broken clock. Continuing with her dumbfounded mumbling, she was caught off guard when her own transformation dropped without her command.

“Plagg, I am going to kill you!” Tikki flew from over Marinette’s shoulder, tackling the black kwami to the ground in the midst of her screeched threat. Gone was Tikki’s sunny disposition, replaced by a tiny ball of red fiery rage who was hell bent on lecturing Plagg into his grave.

“Hey, Tiks,” Plagg remarked, pretending to gag as Tikki thrashed him by the shoulders. “You are not any better yourself.” Nodding toward Adrien and the newly revealed Marinette, Plagg began to cackle as Tikki’s eyes became wide. “I guess the cat’s out of the bag.” Rolling out from underneath Tikki’s hold, Plagg escaped across the room and into Adrien’s closet.

Marinette stared at Adrien. Adrien stared at Marinette. Neither of them spoke as they each raised a hand, first pointing in the direction of the kwamis and then pointing at each other. Adrien’s eye began to twitch as he tried to reconcile his discovery. Marinette is Ladybug, Ladybug is Marinette, and Adrien was confused. Using every ounce of smoothness that he possessed, Adrien let his hand drop and said, “well, alright then, Maribug… I mean Ladynette… what… no… I meant, you’re a super friend! Or a best hero?” Drowning in his own inane drabble, Adrien threw himself backwards on the floor. “You are both,” he summed up, lifting both of his arms towards his ceiling, “and I love you both. So I love all of you. I mean, all that is you?” Letting his hands drop to smack over his face, Adrien groaned. “Please let this be a dream,” he pleaded, begging for a release from his own awkwardness.

Cautiously, Marinette reached down to wrap her fingers around Adrien’s wrist. Her brain was a cyclone of confusion, but it seemed she was coming to terms with her partner’s identity in a more efficient manner. Tightening her grip, she pulled Adrien into a sitting positioning, grabbing his shoulders and shaking in the same way Tikki had shaken Plagg only moments before. “We always knew that we were other people under the masks. Tikki said that we had to keep it a secret,” shooting a glance over her shoulder, Marinette noted that Tikki had the good sense to look bashful. “The secret is out now. I’m glad it’s you.” The last sentence escaped before Marinette could think better of it and she clamped her mouth shut praying that Adrien would let it go.

“I’m glad it’s me. I mean… you…” Adrien had never tripped over words the way he was now. He was raised to interact and think quickly in social situations, but his brain was stubbing its proverbial toe on the fact that Marinette and Ladybug are the same person. The happiness inside of him finally bubbled over and he jumped forward, wrapping his arms around Marinette to pull her into a hug. “We’re partners, Mari!” he laughed, burying his nose in her shoulder and smiling harder when he felt her laughter.

A small huff above their heads had both Marinette and Adrien looking up. Hovering above them with a smug look was Plagg, holding a spring of red and green in his tiny hands. Wiggling his eyebrows, Plagg began to make kissing noises, only stopping when Tikki appeared behind him and smacked him across the back of the head. “Ow! Tikki!” Plagg protested, swatting back at the red kwami. “I’m a trying to move things along here! Tell me you aren’t tired of hearing these two pine over each other? Because frankly, I can’t take any more sappy monologues from Adrien.” Exclaiming his displeasure, Plagg rubbed the back of his head when Tikki hit him again.

“You two do not have to kiss, just because this idiot is waving around mistletoe,” Tikki declared her opinions at Plagg, shaking her head dramatically slow in his direction. “Don’t do anything you don’t want to do!”

Tikki’s advice was unheard by Adrien or Marinette. In tandem motion, they moved closer to each other, Adrien tentatively raising a hand to brush his fingertips over Marinette’s cheek. “I really am glad it is you,” he whispered, eyes flicking down to Marinette’s mouth before settling on her blue eyes. When she smiled, the corners of her eyes crinkling with the genuine nature of it, Adrien couldn’t help leaning closer. Holding a breath away from her lips, Adrien gave Marinette a chance to pull away. Instead, he felt her press closer, the soft brush of her lips against his sending shockwaves down his spine.

“I agree,” Marinette exhaled, shifting back slightly to examine Adrien’s eyes. Seeing nothing but hope and happiness, she leaned forward, closing the distance between them to initiate their first kiss.

“Finally!” Flinging himself backwards on the bed, Plagg landed with a gentle plop, his arms spread to his sides.

“You are an idiot,” Tikki responded, landing next to Plagg with her legs crossed.

Propping himself up on one elbow, Plagg eyed the kissing couple across the room. “Maybe I’m an idiot,” Plagg stuck his tongue out when Tikki scoffed at the word maybe, “but you need to learn to believe in Christmas miracles.” Laying back to stare at the ceiling, Plagg began to hum We wish you a Merry Christmas.

Turning over her shoulder, Tikki observed Adrien and Marinette smiling at each other as if they were the only two people in the whole world. Sighing, Tikki laid back, mimicking Plagg’s posture as she faced the ceiling. Plagg was definitely an idiot, and Master Fu was probably going to kill them, but Tikki found herself smiling anyway. If Christmas meant finally bringing soulmates together, Tikki was definitely going to have to rethink her beliefs about holiday miracles.

#miraculous ladybug #miraculous daily #tales of ladybug and cat noir #ladrien #ladybug and chat noir #marinette dupain-cheng #adrien agreste #adrienette #reveal fic #christmas fic #a thank you

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welcometophu · 7 years

Text

Not Your Destiny: Chapter 15

Marked Book 1: Not Your Destiny

Chapter 15

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Ángel climbs into Luca’s car on Tuesday morning laden with boxes. The one labeled with Luca’s name never even makes it into the shop; Luca’s on his third cookie when Ángel slips out of the car to walk inside.

He carries them all back to the office, figuring that it’s the cleanest space for them and he can leave notes on workbenches. There’s a big box for Cleto and Maritsa together, and another large box for Zita’s family. Gabi and Tony each get smaller boxes, and there’s one around the same size for Sam and Max. He might not know them well, but he gets the feeling that Sam will sulk if everyone else gets cookies and he doesn’t.

Ángel roots around in the desk to find a fresh pack of bright orange sticky notes, then grabs his chair to pull up. He stops just short of sitting, a brightly wrapped package in his way. Frowning, he picks it up, sets it on the desk instead after pushing his cookie boxes out of the way.

“I smell cookies, and Luca’s eating something in his car,” Gabi says as she pushes into the office. She sheds her jacket, dropping it over the back of her chair, then picks over the boxes to find one with her name. “Ooh, delicious sugary breakfast. Thank you, Ángel.”

“Yeah.” He turns the unexpected package over, finds his name written in thick black marker on the bottom.

There’s no from, only the scribbled to: Ángel across the colored paper.

Gabi leans in close, huffs softly. “Are you going to open it?”

“Is it from you?” Ángel asks. He slits the first bit of tape and carefully peels the paper apart.

“Rip it,” Gabi encourages. “I mean, c’mon, it’s a surprise present, and you can’t just peel it open like it’s the depression and you have to save the paper.”

“Doesn’t your grandmother still save wrapping paper?” Abuela does, when she can manage it. Ángel once found her neatly ironing it to put away for the next year. There was a time when he was pretty sure that his birthday paper was the same sheet, three years in a row.

Gabi’s silent, her cheeks sucked in, lips pursed in a sour expression. She shakes her head. “My grandmother’s dead,” she says quietly. “Sore subject, don’t go there. Move on.”

“Sorry.” Ángel wonders if he’ll ever get through a day where he doesn’t manage to stick his foot in his mouth around the Mollicones. He focuses instead on very specifically ripping the paper apart with one sharp tug. Gabi claps, and he does it again, just to make her laugh at him. It only takes a few pulls to reveal the box under the paper, and Ángel frowns, turning it in his hands. “Who got this?”

“Apparently someone who thinks you like temporary tattoos,” Gabi says. “And before you ask, I don’t know.” She rolls her chair closer, grabs the box from his hands and opens it up to look inside. “This is actually pretty cool, isn’t it? Are you going to make me a tattoo?”

“Maybe later.” Ángel gets the box back from her, just in time as Luca comes in. He closes it up, shoves it to one side as Luca leans in, interested. Ángel gets a hand up, nudges Luca back. “Did you eat the whole box?”

“Not yet, give me until after lunch,” Luca says easily. He sits against the edge of the desk, long legs stretched out and arms crossed. “How much would I have to pay you to make say… twenty mini boxes of cookies?” He tilts his head, brow furrowed. “Okay, five really small ones, and five bigger ones. That’s really all I need.”

“You want to pay me to make you cookies?” Ángel’s eyebrows go up. “I’m not that good a cook. Hayley and Tanner helped last night.”

“Are there any left?” Luca leans in as he asks, whispers in Ángel’s ears. “You could help me get laid.”

“Damn it.” Ángel pushes Luca away, and Gabi laughs while Luca pouts. “I am not making you cookies to give out so you can get sex.”

“I have a lot of people to give gifts to, and those little crunchy ones with the cherries on top were fantastic,” Luca says. “And the chocolate chip ones. Chewy and crunchy. Fantastic.”

“Joey’s recipe for the chocolate chip. The others were traditional.” Ángel licks his lips, shakes his head. “And I’m still not giving you cookies to try to lure people into bed. It won’t even make that much of a difference. I’m sure they’re all ready to go with you anyway.”

“Like I said,” Luca says with a small shrug, “I like a lot of boys. And luckily, they like me. What were you hiding from me?”

Ángel blinks. “I wasn’t hiding it from you. I was just putting it away.”

“Someone gave him a temporary tattoo maker,” Gabi explains, leaning forward, elbows on the table. “Which means he’s making me a tattoo at lunch.”

“Wasn’t me.” Luca raises his hands, wrists out, and really, Ángel doesn’t need the reminder that Luca’s not the one. He’s gotten the point by now. “And I don’t need any more ink, fake or otherwise, so I’ll leave you guys on your own for that. But if you reconsider the cookie offer, Ángel, I’m in.”

“Still not baking you cookies so you can get laid,” Ángel says dryly. “Find me the person wearing my mark, then maybe I’ll think about it.”

Luca glances at Gabi, who raises her eyebrows just before Luca shakes his head. “I’ll be on the floor,” Luca says, heading for the door. He lingers in the doorway, one hand against the frame. “In case you didn’t notice yesterday, be ready for a busy week. Everyone who’s on vacation dropped their car off to get it checked this week. It’s one of our busiest times of the year.”

“This and the week of the Fourth of July,” Gabi says. She reaches for a stack of papers, hands them to Ángel. “All three stations are going to be busy, and these are the ones we have appointments for. Go make sure that Tony and Luca know what they’re doing today. Maritsa has some kind of spa thing today, so Cleto will be in this afternoon, which will help out.” The phone rings, and she reaches for it, sing-songing a greeting when she picks it up.

She pauses, hand over the receiver, motions for Ángel to stop before he can leave the office. “You’re where?” she says, writing something down quickly. “Sure, yeah, we’ll have a truck out there right away. If you’ve got a spare, we’ll get that changed for you, or we can tow you back here if that’s what you’d prefer. Oh, rim’s gone, too? What kind of pothole did you hit?” Gabi waves the paper in the air, and Ángel sets down the stack he’s holding so he can take it.

When she flicks her fingers at him, he goes. It’s definitely starting out to be a busy day.

He gets through the morning with only three calls for the truck, one that results in just a jump start, and two others where he has to tow the car in. There’s not much room left in the back parking lot, and after the third call, Luca calls for Ángel to bring one of the cars in for a quick oil change.

Ángel’s just sliding under the car when he sees Tony’s feet, hears a low rumble of watch the hose; Ángel kicks out, just barely touching Tony in response. Because thanks, he needs to remember that he dumped oil all over himself last time.

He manages to stay mostly clean and is in the bathroom, washing his hands, when Hayley’s voice rings out in the shop. She isn’t even near him, and he can still feel the prickle of her magic across the back of his neck, raising the fine hairs. He grabs a towel, tries to dry off as much as he can, before he heads out to meet her. “Hey.”

She smiles, her hair up in a ponytail, swishing back and forth as she sways on her feet. “Hi. Tanner dropped me off because he’s taking Emerson to the indoor soccer place for an hour to practice and I wanted to bring you lunch.” She raises the bags in her hand. “I think I brought enough for everyone, but it’s pretty much just an assortment of food. From that Cuban place on the corner near your home? Abuela said you’d like it.”

“Love it.” Ángel wants to dig in, his stomach rumbling loudly, but if Hayley’s going to share, then he should share. He sets the bags down on the desk, seeing the way Hayley leans interestedly over to look at the box. “I have a secret Santa,” Ángel says dryly.

“Or a secret admirer.” Hayley looks innocent enough that it sparks an idea.

“Do you know—”

“No, of course I don’t!” Hayley protests fast enough that Gabi starts snickering, and it does absolutely nothing to allay Ángel’s suspicions. Hayley holds her hands up, sparks flickering on her fingertips. “I don’t know anything about it,” she says firmly, shaking her head, ponytail swinging. “Not a thing.”

“Please stop staring at her like she holds the answers to a murder investigation,” Gabi mutters. “She’s spewing magic everywhere and it smells terrible.”

Hayley’s hands drop and she spins on her heels. “What does it smell like?”

“Like if a rainy day became a raging fire,” Gabi mumbles. “It’s pretty gross.”

Ángel touches Hayley’s shoulder, guides her into the hall. “You know better,” he says quietly.

“I keep forgetting they’re Clan,” Hayley whispers back, and there’s a loud grumble from the office. “They’re so friendly. And they like you.”

“Not all shapeshifters are the same.” It seems like a safer term to use than Clan, and Tony as good as admitted that much to Ángel over the weekend. “Besides, you didn’t know them in high school. They were downright standoffish.” Admittedly, there were extenuating circumstances. But Gabi wasn’t particularly friendly before that, either. And her brothers were worse. “Come on, let me show you around.”

Giving Hayley a quick tour of the place doubles as a way to tell both Luca and Tony that there’s food available. Hayley peers around the corners of the shop, makes her way into Tony’s bay and ducks under the hood where he works, laughing when he bangs his head in surprise at her presence.

“How’s Helga?” Hayley asks as she makes her way back to Ángel. The car Ángel just changed the oil for still sits in the middle bay, while Luca works on a newer SUV and Tony’s doing something to a car that Ángel thinks might be older than himself.

“Out back. We haven’t had a chance to work on her since Sunday.”

Tony nudges past them, heading for the bathroom. “We’ll get her done,” Tony says, leaving the door propped open for Luca to join him at the sink. It frames how tall Luca is to see them side by side, both hunched over the sink.

As good as Luca looks, Tony’s back is a better view. Ángel inhales roughly, rubs at his wrist as he steps back, passes the bathroom and pushes into the office. Gabi looks up, eyebrows up.

“What—?”

“Did someone say food?” Luca rolls a chair in from the floor, stained with oil, and offers it to Hayley with a flourish. It takes some work to get them all situated and comfortable with the food, the office crowded with two desks, four chairs, and five people. Tony ends up sitting on the edge of the desk, squeezed between Ángel and the wall. Hayley’s on Ángel’s other side, and Luca’s claimed the wall side of the other desk. Gabi’s the only one with room, and Ángel’s pretty sure it’s because she shoved Luca over to make space.

Hayley makes small happy noises as she nibbles on sweet plantains after finishing her sandwich. Ángel lingers over his Cuban sandwich, savoring the flavors; he can’t get anything like this at school unless he makes it himself. Tony takes a bite of his empanada, and Ángel inhales that flavor as well, licks his lips.

Tony holds it out, eyebrows arched. “Do you need a bite?”

Ángel doesn’t argue the point; he’s not going to reject it. He simply hands over his sandwich and takes the empanada, bites into it and chews slowly before swallowing. “I miss this,” he admits around a full mouth.

Tony silently hands him back his sandwich, unbitten, and Ángel feels his skin warm when he hands back the empanada. “If you weren’t seriously offering,” Ángel says, “then I’m sorry for stealing your food.”

Tony shrugs, takes a bite of his own. “It’s fine,” he says. Gabi makes a small noise, and Luca huffs before reaching for the bag to peer in and see if there’s anything else.

Ángel relaxes, finds himself leaning against Tony’s leg in the lack of space. It’s warm, and the food is good, and the conversation goes on around him while he tunes it out.

The front door to the shop slams. Luca pulls his feet from where they’re propped on the desk, lands on the floor with a thump, halfway to standing. Tony jerks upright, stands squeezed into the space by the wall. Gabi’s nose wrinkles, and she rolls her eyes.

“Fuck,” Luca says. Tony raises a hand, and Luca goes silent, lips pressed thinly together.

“I’ll take care of it,” Tony says. He leans on Ángel’s shoulders, slipping behind him on the way by, then shoves the door to the office wide to stride through.

“Tony!”

Ángel recognizes that voice from the phone, and right after that the unmistakable sound of kissing.

“Gross,” Gabi mutters.

“She’s throwing herself at him,” Luca’s voice is barely a whisper, his gaze fixed on the door. “Didn’t he break up with her?”

Gabi’s snort is dark and bitter. “Never sticks, does it?”

Ángel can hear the murmur of voices, but he can’t hear the words. Hayley’s gone absolutely silent, blinking, wide-eyed, staring across the desk at Luca and Gabi, who both have their heads tilted. Luca idly bats a crumpled piece of paper across the desk, grabs it, and bats it again. Gabi toys with a piece of her hair that’s come loose and curls around her face.

Ángel swears he can hear his own heart beating.

“She’s pushing thirty,” Luca murmurs. “Of course she’s not getting younger. If she wasn’t such a bitch they probably would’ve been married five years ago. He’s wised up on that at least.”

“Zita has two kids.” Daphne’s voice rings clearly, dropping abruptly after that.

Gabi looks at Luca, who looks back at her, mouth slightly open. They both shake their heads. “No kids,” Gabi hisses. “I mean, fuck no.”

“He’s smarter than that.”

“Condoms break,” Gabi grumbles. “And I wouldn’t put it past her.”

“Is she—” Hayley cuts off abruptly, her voice louder than everyone else, echoing into the near-silence. The murmur in the hall stops as well, heels clacking on the floor and approaching quickly.

“Why, hello, Gabriella.” Daphne’s voice is thickly sweet, her smile bright and charming. Too-white teeth in a face that seems too-perfectly made. Even and symmetrical, blue eyes and thick honey-brown hair that curls around her face in a neatly short cut. “Luca. And…?” She trails off, gestures at Hayley and Ángel.

“None of your business,” Gabi snaps.

Tony comes up behind Daphne, his hands at her hips, leaning into her. “Ángel’s working here to pay for his car repairs. Hayley’s one of his best friends. She brought us lunch from the Cuban Bakery.”

Daphne turns in place, frames Tony’s hands with her face and kisses him quickly. “If you have more help, then you have time to go out tonight.”

“Cleto’s still getting married and only working part time.”

“Cleto’s in this afternoon,” Gabi reminds him, tone flat. “Go on, Tony. Get out of here. Get it out of your system. You know she’ll just bitch more if you don’t.”

“Always such a pleasure seeing you, Gabriella,” Daphne murmurs, and Gabi’s lips curl, baring her teeth.

“Same,” Gabi says. “So much pleasure.”

“Ángel will pick up the slack,” Luca offers, still looking at the desk and the tiny piece of crumpled paper that he bats back and forth. “Don’t worry, Tony. We’ve got this.”

“See, they don’t need you.” Daphne spreads her fingers against Tony’s chest, and something goes tight and uncomfortable in Ángel’s chest. Tony’s stiff. Quiet. As if he’s as uncomfortable with this display as they are.

Ángel feels like he should rescue him, and has no idea how.

Tony wraps his hands around Daphne’s wrists, slowly lowers her hands. He kisses her quickly, then nudges her out the door. “Pick me up at seven,” he says.

“The shop closes at—”

“Seven,” Tony repeats. “I have paperwork to do. I’m staying here now, but I’m all yours after seven.”

Daphne’s head tilts, gaze slipping over Tony from head to toe. “Fine,” she decides. “I’ll be back later. See you then.” A slow smile grows. “Love you,” she says.

Tony exhales roughly. “Love you,” he echoes.

No one says a thing as Daphne exits, heels clacking down the hall, door slamming closed behind her. Silence until the car starts up, and pulls away.

Gabi pushes to her feet, gets in Tony’s face. “What kind of an idiot are you?” she asks, jabbing her finger in his chest.

Tony’s expression is a quiet mask as he grips her finger, keeps her from pushing at him. “I’m not going to talk about it. Ángel, if you want to finish my empanada, you’re welcome to it. I’m not hungry anymore.”

The empanada was good. Really good. But Ángel’s appetite is gone now, too, and he shakes his head. “Thanks, but no thanks.”

It’s a blessing when the phone rings, breaking up the awkward silence in the room. Gabi answers and takes notes so that Ángel can go out on the call, while Luca and Tony escape back to the floor. When Hayley follows Ángel to the truck, he doesn’t mind. They can talk about inconsequential things, he can show her more of his home town. Anything to forget the weirdness that just happened.

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#welcome to phu #welcometophu #not your destiny #phu marked #marked

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area50dununiverse · 7 years

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YOOOOOO I am so happy you're back! Just saw you posted a new fanfic so thought I'd prompt you and keep you busy lol (jk jk) but this is really dirty so feel free to skip it! but we haven't had a john ed and liam three way story in a while so how about they love to role play and are really in to acting out diff scenes like liam is doctor they're patients and there for a physical, cop/criminals teacher/students etc? no pressure to fill but ps I loooove your writing can't wait to read more!

Hello lovely! I like to fill prompts in order but I skipped a load (sorry other anons) to fill this one because I loved it! it’s a bit smuttier than I thought it would be because I think I got carried away. Edward is a super-bottom in this, I didn’t mean it to work that way but, it did (because he is a super-bottom IRL). While looking up ideas on roleplay costumes, I found a butt plug that was like a police baton, so that’s in there, oh! and I also watched a few videos to make sure the last roleplay was even possible. Turns out, it is and I prayed no one will ever see my google history!!

This fic has also made me realise I have a kink for J&E in dresses and skirts, which I will pounder on in the lonely hours...

anyway, enjoy!!

Liam loved this. Loved the thrill and the playfulness. He loved how naughty it was, how taboo it was.

Edward was on his knees in front of him, mid-blowjob. He was better at sucking dick than John was because although John was good, he wasn't as skilled as his twin. Edward worked hard, twirled his tongue, hollowed his cheeks and sucked in all the right places. He also knew how to use his teeth just slightly. Yes. Edward was good at this.

John was sitting on the bed opposite where Liam was standing, his eyes watching Edward's every move. Liam knew he was going crazy with need but he wasn't allowed to touch himself, Liam had made that quite clear. He had to watch. That was his punishment.

Liam came with a long growl, his fingers gripping Edward's hair a little too tightly but it was okay because one more flick of Edward's wrist and he too was coming, humming around Liam's cock.

Liam stepped back, pulling out of Edward's mouth with an obscene 'wet' sound. He threw a smile at John before leaning down to kiss Edward's wet mouth, tasting an odd tinge of bitterness that he could never get used to.

John looked desperate now and Liam was certain that Edward would finish him off as soon as he was to leave the room. Edward got to his feet as Liam turned towards the door and just as he had predicted, the last thing he saw as he closed the door behind him was Edward kneeling beside John and pulling at his jeans. He didn't mind though, punishments weren't supposed to last forever. When they had started this, Liam fully understood that this was their world, they simply let him in every now and then and Liam knew how lucky he was.

•

It was that damn film that made Liam think things. Imagine things.

He didn't know who had put it on but it wasn't their usual type of film. It was a crime, drama, cops and robbers type film and the main character the policeman was hot. He was sexy and Liam couldn't help but think it was the uniform.

That's how he found himself searching online and even worse, buying an outfit. He felt a rush of excitement as he entered his credit card details and checked out, sure to select the next day delivery option.

When it came, Liam almost felt embarrassed, he almost regretted it but then he found himself trying it on and oh fuck, it came with a police baton that had a smaller, pointed end and Liam just knew what that was for and where it would go. The uniform was dark blue and looked ridiculous but in a strangely sexy way. The shirt only done up to just above the belly button, leaving most of Liam's chest exposed. The capped sleeves were tight around his biceps and the trousers hugged him in all the right places. He couldn't wait.

In hindsight, Liam thought he should've at least brought the idea up to them, maybe just a little suggestion to test the waters. But he didn't; instead, he crashed into their room shouting "nobody move!" While waving his baton around and having a terrified John and Edward staring back at him like rabbits in headlights.

There was a pause, longer than Liam would've liked and just long enough for him to feel uncomfortably stupid. John was laying on the bed, laptop resting on his propped up knees while Edward sat on the small sofa with the iPad, in the middle of watching something on Netflix. They both stared back at him, wide, scared eyes replaced with confused yet slightly amused ones. Liam was just about to turn on his heel and leave when John spoke, his voice soft and silky when he said: "have we been bad boys officer?"

Liam almost fist pumped he was so excited but instead, he straightened up and tried to look like he had this under control. "Yes," Liam said, unsure of where to go from there.

"Will you need to use these officer?" Edward asked as he leaned forward to poke the handcuffs hanging on Liam's belt.

"Yes," Liam said again, "but first, I'm going to have to strip search the both of you." He grabbed Edward by his hoodie and dragged him up onto his feet, a rush of excitement running through his body.

He pulled off his hoodie and his t-shirt underneath before running his hands down his chest to unbutton his jeans. "Get these off-" he growled as he pulled Edward's jeans down to his thighs. Edward smirked before leaning down to pull them down and off his legs, leaving him in his pants. Liam spun him around quickly and bent him over the desk, holding his cheek against the wood.

"Hands behind your back-" he snapped, watching as Edward complied before he cuffed him.

He turned to look at John, who looked like he was about to burst with excitement. John caught sight of Liam's baton and licked his lips, making Liam burn up. "And you!" He grabbed him and pulled off his t-shirt before stripping him of his joggers and bending him over next to Edward.

Liam took a second to look at them both, wearing nothing but a tiny pair of pants each, bent over with their hands cuffed behind their backs. It was like every wet dream come to life.

He smoothed a hand down John's back, fingertips barely touching him but still making him shudder.

"Do you know what this is for?" Liam snapped as he slammed the baton down between their faces on the desk. No one answered so Liam hit the desk again, making them both flinch at the same time.

"No-" Edward said even though Liam could see that he one-hundred percent did know what it was for.

"No what?" Liam snapped, poking Edward's arm with the baton.

"No officer," Edward added, smirking behind his words.

Liam smiled down at him as he gently ran the baton down his spine and over the curve of his arse. Edward's breath hitched and Liam couldn't wait any longer. He quickly pulled Edward's pants down and took out the bottle of lube that he had tucked into his pocket. He slicked up the narrow point and very slowly entered Edward with it, making him squirm.

Liam could hear John's breathing picking up from beside Edward as he pushed it in further, opening Edward up. "Keep that there-" he snapped before stepping behind John. Edward let out a little whine and Liam laughed, bending over John to whisper in his ear.

"I think your brother likes the plug," he breathed, "let's leave it in for a little while."

John made a small noise which wasn't quite a grunt or a hum but somewhere in-between. Liam pulled John's pants down, letting them fall around his ankles. He didn't waste any time in using two fingers because he knew how John liked it, he liked the burn, the stretch, and the roughness. John moaned as he bit his lip, his eyes travelling down Edward's body as far as he could see in the position they were in. "You like it?" Liam asked, opening his fingers in a scissoring motion. "You want a go?"

John didn't answer so Liam trusted his fingers in harder. "I can't hear you, John."

"Yes!" John finally moaned before quickly saying "yes officer, I want it."

Liam quickly pulled his fingers out of him earning a needy whine from John. He stepped behind Edward again and pulled the baton out slowly, making Edward pant and grunt. He reached across and lined it up with John's entrance, circling the ring of muscles before pushing it in, faster than when he did with Edward.

John reached the hilt quickly, crying out and rocking against the desk. "That will keep you quiet," Liam smirked before turning back to Edward. He quickly slicked himself before lining himself up against Edward. "You want it?" Liam asked as he applied the tiniest bit of pressure. Edward frantically nodded before gritting out a strained "yes officer-"

"What do you say?" Liam teased, pressing against him harder.

"Please?" Edward breathed, "please officer, I want it-"

Liam ran a hand down Edward's back and looked at John, who was watching intently. "What do you want Edward?" John pulled his lip between his teeth again and Liam wanted to bite it, wanted to suck it into his mouth in a heated kiss.

"I... I want-" Edward pushed back against Liam so Liam put a hand on his head, holding him against the table. "I want you to fuck me!" Edward cried, adding a quieter "officer."

"Well done, that wasn't too difficult was it?" Liam smiled as he pushed his hips, entering Edward and bottoming out in one smooth thrust. Edward moaned and so did John and Liam thought he was going to come far too soon.

He moved his hips, pressing Edward's face into the desk as he picked up speed, the metal of the cuffs rattling as he fucked him harder. Liam moaned, the tightness and the heat almost too much, the sounds Edward was making and little sounds coming from John almost pushing him over the edge.

He reached over and took hold of the plug, moving it in time with his thrusts and making John cry out.

Edward came suddenly, his body shaking and knees buckling from under him. Liam kissed his shoulder before pulling out, pulling the plug from John at the same time. He entered John hard, picking up speed straight away. John whined and whimpered, shouted and moaned as Liam fucked him hard, leaving Edward still cuffed and watching.

He took hold of John's cuffed hands and pulled on the chain between the handcuffs, pulling it towards him. John's back arched perfectly and Liam admired his flexibility as he pulled the cuffs further, pulling John's shoulders back, his chest sticking out in front of him and his head thrown back against his shoulders. John couldn't make much noise in the position he was in but let out a strangled moan or a small hum with each thrust. It only took two more snaps of Liam's hips for John to come, his muscles flexing and hips twitching.

Liam pushed him back down, slamming him back onto the desk as he let himself go, brutally fucking into him until he came.

The world around him disappeared and he thought his heart was going to beat out of his chest as he climaxed, burying himself in John.

"Can I move now please?" Edward asked as soon as Liam opened his eyes again. He nodded as he pulled out of John, making him grunt and squirm.

He undid the handcuffs and watched them both shake out their arms, stretching them and flexing their backs. They both winced as they moved and Liam suddenly worried that he had hurt them.

"Okay?" He asked, looking between the two of them with wide eyes. John smiled and let out a breathy laugh as Edward nodded.

"That was... Different," Edward said with his own little smile.

"That was amazing!" John added with a nod of confirmation coming from Edward.

"You have the best ideas, Liam," Edward said as he flopped down on the bed.

Liam and John followed, all three of them getting settled into the soft bed. "Let's go to sleep and when we wake up, we can give that uniform another go-" John smiled as he closed his eyes. Liam laughed and closed his own eyes, feeling sleepy and gross, but mostly sleepy.

"I love that uniform," he heard Edward mumble as they drifted off to sleep.

•

John and Edward picked the next one. The policeman outfit had so much wear that it had run its course so they wanted something new. After a search online and Liam telling John that under no circumstance was he dressing in the sexy Elmo costume he had seen, he left them to it because he had work to do.

They wouldn't tell him what they had picked which scared him a bit and the next day when he got a text simply saying 'come over, it's here!' He was even more worried.

'It better not be Elmo!' He replied quickly, surprised when he got an instant reply asking him to come in a shirt and tie. That must mean they are the ones dressing up and Liam couldn't decide if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

Liam let himself in and headed inside, completely taken aback when he found them sitting in the living room. They had gone to a lot of effort and moved the dining table into the living room along with two chairs, which they were sitting in.

Liam could see straight away that they were dressed in school uniform; warring white shirts with the top three buttons undone with a loosely knotted tie.

Just as Liam was processing it all, Edward turned sideways in his chair and crossed his right leg over his left knee. He was smirking and he had every right to as Liam stared back in shock. Edward was wearing a black pleated skirt that came mid-thigh, paired with some long black knee-socks. Liam's eyes travelled up his legs and across to John's that were tucked under the table with his ankles crossed.

He was wearing the same skirt but with what looked like stockings. stockings.

Liam didn't know what to do, couldn't process it. There was something telling him that he shouldn't be aroused by this but fuck; he was. He definitely was.

"Why did you have to keep us after school, sir?" Edward asked, his lips perfectly pouting.

"You were asked a question, sir," John said when Liam didn't answer. He wasn't sure if he even remembered how to even speak.

"B-Because you were..." He made eye contact with Edward and swallowed before saying: "because you were very naughty."

Liam let his eyes wander over the two them and shifted. How was he supposed to punish them? He wasn't sure what his next move was but as he thought, his hand found a ruler that was laying on the desk. He picked it up and saw Edward lick his lips and yeah, that's what they had planned.

It turned him on, even more, thinking about them planning it, laying it all out and getting dressed up.

"Get 'round here-" Liam snapped, gesturing to his side of the desk with the ruler. They both jumped up and Liam could finally see the full picture. Their skirts were short, falling mid-thigh and John's stockings finished an inch or so under where the skirt fell. Edward's socks were pulled up over the knee, leaving his thighs exposed.

Liam swallowed again, thinking about what he was about to do and desperate for someone to touch him.

"Hands on the table." Liam's voice was deep, stern and in control, even though he didn't really feel it. They knew what effect they had on him and Liam was under no illusion that he was the one in control here.

They complied easily, placing their palms against the table, the angle letting Liam see right up the back of those skirts.

His eyes widened at the sight of the small panties they were both wearing, delicate little black ones that were almost see through. Liam didn't know what they were but they looked like woman's knickers that covered only half of their arses and made out of some kind of sheer material that he wanted to touch.

"Come on then-" John said, breaking character slightly but managing to wake Liam up. He stepped forward and ran the corner of the ruler down the length of John's back, all the way down and over his arse.

"Impairment aren't we?" Liam teased, watching his muscles twitch and tense under Liam's gentle touch. He hitched John's skirt up using the ruler and tutted. "Dirty."

John huffed out a short breath and Liam smirked. He pulled his arm back and only hesitated for a second before snapping the ruler down against John's arse cheek. John's breath hitched but he didn't react in any other way. Liam thought that he had been too gentle so the next one was a little harder.

There was a noise this time, a light slapping sound followed by a breathed whimper from John.

Edward shifted next to him so Liam quickly slapped the ruler against his skin without warning. Edward jumped, his elbows almost buckling, a small yelp falling from his lips. Liam licked his lips and quickly snapped the ruler back down against his cheek, making the pale skin a deep red. Edward pushed his hips back, jutting out his arse in a silent plea for more. But that wouldn't be as fun, so Liam moved his attention back to John.

He slapped the bare skin that the knickers didn't cover without warning, making John groan. It all came as a surprise to Liam, he had no idea they would be into spanking. He knew they were no angels, they weren't as sweet and pure as they looked. When this all started, Liam went gentle, careful with the both of them but it didn't last long because it soon became obvious that behind closed doors, they were just like anyone else. Maybe even a bit rougher, riskier than anyone else Liam had slept with.

Liam used the ruler to lightly rub the red skin, soothing it a little. His left hand reached out and he ran his index finger over the seam of the underwear, finally touching the exposed skin there. "These-" Liam choked off, his throat dry and his dick begging to be touched.

He turned back towards Edward and done the same, hooking his finger under the knickers and running it up and down. "You're dirty." He removed his hand before leaning forward to cup the front of the knickers.

Edward gasped as Liam grabbed his dick through the knickers. They were already wet where Edward had been leaking and that was it, he couldn't wait. Liam quickly let go and pulled his trousers down to his ankles. "Don't think your punishment is over-" Liam snapped as he stepped forward and lined himself up. He wondered if he should stretch him first but Edward interrupted the thought by pushing back against him. He didn't want to be prepared, he wanted it like this and the thought almost killed Liam as he pushed forward, painfully slow.

Edward let out a long groan, pushing back with his hips and arching his back just perfectly. Liam looked at John, who was watching intently, his hips rubbing against the desk and Liam really thought he wasn't going to last. "Stop!" He had enough mind to snap, his hand pulling John's arm. "I didn't say you could do that-"

John groaned and took a step back from the desk, his palms flat against the table top still.

Liam pulled out almost fully before slamming back into Edward, rocking him against the table. He set a hard pace, his hips quickly snapping back and forth and Edward tried his hardest to brace himself against the table.

He was moaning like something out of porn and Liam was on the edge. He drew back his hand and brought it down hard against Edward's arse cheek. "Shut up, you need to stay silent-" he ordered, Edward falling silent instantly. It was hard, Liam could tell, Edward bit his lips and at one point, brought his own hand up and over his mouth. It was incredibly hot and desperate.

He quickly pulled out, allowing himself a moment to calm down. He needed to last. Edward's body deflated a little, his hips pushing back in search for Liam.

"You've been so good," Liam cooed at John, cupping his arse cheek and squeezing. "You deserve a reward."

John whimpered at his touch, trying to stifle it and Liam smiled as he said: "it's okay, you can make as much noise as you wish." He gave another squeeze and John groaned.

He looked back at Edward and the idea struck him. He almost laughed, he was so giddy. "John-" Liam pulled John's underwear down and pulled him towards him. "Your reward for being good, do you want to know what it is?"

"Yes sir," John breathed, his cheeks pink and lips wet. He looked like he had already been fucked.

Liam held his hand as he pulled him behind Edward. "You get you fuck your brother..." Liam smiled, watching John's eyes run over Edward hungrily.

"While I fuck you," Liam added, John's eyes flicking to his. John was smiling and quickly turned towards Edward to line himself up.

"Can he make noise now please sir?" John asked, fluttering his eyelashes and Liam couldn't say no so he nodded.

He watched as John smoothed a hand down the length of Edward's back before slowly entering him.

He leaned over him and kissed his neck before whispering: "you can make noise," and it was like someone lighting a firework as Edward let go and moaned, panting and pushing back against John.

John set a pace, not as hard and fast as Liam's but almost. He watched them for a moment before moving behind John, placing his hand on the back of his head and pushing him down so he was bent over Edward's body.

John stilled his hips and Liam touched him, running both hands over his arse and pressing a finger to his hole. He heard Edward whimper from underneath John and Liam wondered if he was uncomfortable under John's weight and bent over a table.

He spread John's cheeks and lined himself up before quickly pushing into him. He wasn't slow like he was with Edward, he had passed any kind of restraint and he was desperate.

John cried out, his fingers gripping Edward's shoulders, making Edward moan too. Liam pulled back before thrusting back into him, making his hips push further into Edward and making him groan.

John leaned up, bracing himself on Edward's shoulders and the angle was so much better now he was almost standing, tighter and deeper. Liam leaned forward to bite his shoulder, snapping his hips forward. Liam fucked into him, in turn making John fuck into Edward as his thrusts moved John's hips, moving his cock in and out of his brother.

Edward reached out, his chest flat against the table with his arms stretched above his head, holding the edge of the table on the opposite side.

Liam continued his brutal pace, furiously thrusting into John and watching him fuck into Edward. It was almost too much, Liam was hot and sticky, his muscles tight and his stomach knotting. He knew it wouldn't be long before he came and he secretly hoped he wouldn't be the first one.

John straightened himself up so he was standing up straight, his back against Liam's chest and his head lolled back against his shoulder. John took the lead by thrusting into Edward, snapping his hips back and into Liam, who was all too happy for him to take over.

Liam stilled himself, letting John thrust back and forth, the filthiest moans leaving his lips, echoed by Edward's.

Liam looked over his shoulder, watching John fuck Edward. His skirt was bunched up around his waist, shirt pushed up under his armpits and twisted. Edward's cheek was flat against the table while his fingers gripped the far edge, the whole table rocking with the force of John's thrusts.

Liam knew he was about to come but then John was crying out, his voice high pitched and broken, his hips stuttering as he pushed into Edward. John gripped Edward's shoulders hard, so hard Liam thought he would leave bruises but Edward was moaning and saying John's name, his hips twitching and Liam realised that he was coming too.

Liam pulled back and thrust hard into John, only needing to do it once before he was coming. He let out a long moan, the heat spreading all over his body and all he could think about was how good this was, how tight it was, how hot it was.

John moved first, lightly pushing Liam off of him and he stood up and pulled out of Edward. Edward made a sound of discomfort as he stood up slowly and Liam was taken aback at his appearance. His hair was all over the place, lips bit red and shiny and Liam could see the marks where John's fingers had been. There was also a red line across his stomach where the edge of the table had been digging into him.

"Are you okay?" Liam asked, feeling guilty that Edward was being crushed under both of them.

"Are you kidding?" Edward laughed, his eyes bright but tired. "I've never been better!"

John laughed and turned to walk away and Liam could see the dark marks on his arse from the spanking. He hoped he hadn't hurt them, taken it too far but then Edward was lifting John's skirt and saying: "cool, you've bruised. Have I?" He turned around and lifted his own skirt for John to assess the damage.

"Yeah!" John grinned, running his fingers over the skin and adding: "That's so hot."

Liam left quickly, the sight of them lifting up their skirts to look at each other's butts was too much and Liam didn't have the energy to get hard again.

•

"Lay down and close your eyes!" John snapped as Liam tried to peak again. He slowly lowered himself down so his head was resting on the pile of pillows, his eyes firmly closed. "Keep then closed now."

"Okay, okay-" Liam laughed, shifting around to get comfy. He was wearing nothing but his boxers on their instruction and now he was left waiting. Maybe that's what they wanted, to build up the tension, the anticipation.

He heard them moving somewhere next to the bed and strained his ears. He couldn't hear anything until Edward cleared his throat and said: "open your eyes-"

Liam's eyes sprang open and landed on the two of them. His eyes widened at the sight; both of them dressed as nurses, in skin-tight little dresses. The dresses were white with a big red medical cross over the left nipple. They both had the little watches pinned to the right side and a stethoscope around their necks.

"We're going to check you over," John smiled sweetly. Edward moved around the other side of the bed and gave him a smile too. "Open your mouth please?" Edward asked, pulling out a little plastic stick. Liam opened his mouth, his brain trying to catch up with the situation.

Edward leaned over him, the deep V neck of the dress showing off his fair skin as he stuck the stick into his mouth. Liam's eyes focused on where the dress ended and Edward's thighs began. He figured that they must have a thing for dresses but that was more than okay because they looked amazing.

When Liam looked back up, Edward was looking at John and he was sure they were having a silent conversation. "I'll listen to your heartbeat." John leaned down, putting the stethoscope in his ears before pressing it to Liam's chest. The coldness made Liam hiss and twitch but Edward was moving the stick against his tongue so he couldn't speak.

"Close your mouth-" Edward said as he stood up, taking the plastic stick from his mouth. Liam done as he was told and watched as John listened to his chest.

"That's actually quite cool," John smiled as he stood up, looking at Edward.

"Let me have a go-" Edward reached out to take the stethoscope from

John and put it in his ears. Liam watched him as he listened to his heart with a smile. "That is cool-" Edward grinned at John.

"Is it real?" Liam asked because now he was intrigued.

"Yeah, I got it online," John told him proudly. Liam frowned at him, curious now and said: "well I want a go too-"

"No," Edward snapped, "we're the doctors... Or nurses."

"But I wanna go." Liam tried to grab it but Edward was faster, the game completely forgot about now.

"Liam, just shut up and let us be doctors," John tutted.

"Nurses." Edward corrected, earning a glare from John.

"Whatever," he said, "just shut up, we can play with that later."

Liam huffed and sat back with his arms folded. "Okay, where were we?" John mumbled as he looked down at Liam. He ran his fingers down Liam's chest, making him shiver and forget all about how unfair it was that he couldn't try the stethoscope out.

"We'll make you feel better," Edward whispered, grabbing the front of Liam's pants and winking.

Liam bucked up into the touch, letting his eyes run down Edward's body, taking in the uniform and licking his lips. John leaned down and kissed him, opened mouthed and wet. He closed his eyes and let himself get lost in the both of them.

Edward pulled on his pants until they were completely removed and thrown to the side. He stroked Liam far too gently and teasingly slow.

Liam moaned into John's mouth just as John closed his lips around his tongue and sucked. Liam hummed, moving his tongue in and out of John's mouth and making John whimper. He pulled back and smirked before looking at Edward and saying: "examination time?"

Edward nodded and Liam frowned, getting nervous about what they had planned.

"All fours-" Edward instructed, letting go of Liam's dick and leaving him wound up and frustrated.

Liam slowly moved, debating with himself if he wanted to be on all fours because fuck knows what they wanted to do to him. He briefly wondered what other medical equipment John had found online but tried not to think about it as he knelt over, completely exposed.

"Have you ever had an internal examination Liam?" John asked, his voice genially curious, making Liam wonder if this was apart of the game.

"Yeah," he mumbled, not really wanting to talk about it at this very moment in time.

"Did you like it?" Edward asked. Liam scoffed as he shook his head because no, it wasn't great. "You'll like this one." Liam opened his mouth to ask what exactly Edward had meant by that but then slick fingers were circling his entrance and words were lost on him.

He turned the other way to see John, his brow furrowed as he watched his fingers slick Liam up. He gently pushed his index finger against the opening and slipped it inside. Liam closed his eyes again as John moved his finger back and forth.

It wasn't usual that Liam bottomed, he had only ever done it once or twice so it felt strange and as John added another finger, Liam grunted and tried to relax against the intrusion.

It felt kind of nice after a while, John had used enough lube that it was easy and he was going slow, his fingers moving gently inside of him.

There was silence in the room, the only sound being Liam's small moans when another finger was added. He looked to his left and realised Edward was no longer there so craned his neck to look behind him. Edward was standing next to John, his arm stretched out and he realised that they were both fingering him; two fingers each.

He moaned at the thought, finding it incredibly hot, leaking pre-come as he pushed back against them.

Someone bent their knuckles and with precise fingers found Liam's prostate. Liam cried out, hearing a small laugh from behind him right before they done it again, fingers brushing up against that spot.

They started to thrust their fingers, timing their thrusts so as one pulled out, the other thrust in and vice-versa, his prostrate constantly being stimulated. Liam moaned and gripped the pillow underneath him, his elbows bucking, unable to hold his weight any longer.

"Ready?" John asked and Liam nodded. He didn't have to be told what John was talking about, he was ready, so ready.

One of them pulled their fingers out and Liam felt an odd loss, missing them straight away. He felt a pushing sensation followed by a 'pop' and he wanted to pull away but at the same time, he wanted more.

It occurred to him that one of them still had two fingers in place while the other one was pushing in and Liam had a thought, an idea of what was going to happen.

John whispered a small "fuck-" so Liam guessed it was him who was currently balls deep while Edward scissored his fingers, making Liam feel a strange feeling of being stretched open.

John didn't move, just let Edward finger him but If Liam was to think about it for long enough, Edward's fingers were moving against John's dick while inside of him, and it was just too dirty to imagine.

The fingers slowly pulled out and Liam waited but they didn't return. There was a moment of nothing before John started moving his hips, thrusting into him slowly and carefully. Liam grunted and pushed against him. He loved the feeling, loved the fullness and wondered why he didn't do this more often.

John pulled out a bit too far, pulling completely out before thrusting back in. Liam moaned, quite likening the 'popping' sensation, moaning as he done it again.

John set a rhythm, pulling right out before thrusting back in, harder than before and it was only then Liam noticed his hips being pulled from side to side. He opened his eyes as his hips were pulled to the right before John entered him, that popping sensation making Liam moan before he pulled out and pushed Liam's arse to the left. He entered him again and suddenly Liam realised what was happening; they were taking it in turns to fuck him, passing him back and forth between themselves and fucking into him.

Liam wanted to see but couldn't get a good enough look, the whole situation almost too much for him. He caught sight of Edward bucking his hips as he fucked Liam, burying himself inside before pulling out. John pulled Liam towards him and repeated what Edward had done, fucking into him with a grunt before passing him back to Edward. Liam moaned and he wished he was on his back so he could see them.

There was suddenly nothing, leaving Liam feeling a strange emptiness. He turned his head to see what they were doing, mumbling a weak: "more." He felt a hand on his back and the pressure again as someone pushed against his entrance. It was different somehow, it felt harder than before, bigger and Liam wondered if they were using some sort of sex toy. He could take it though, needed it as he pushed back against it.

There was a bigger pop as something entered him and he heard John whimper as Edward groaned. There was burning, whatever they were using was almost too big but there was so much lube, it slipped in quickly, making Liam shudder.

"Oh my god-" Edward whispered and Liam turned to see, suddenly realising and fuck. They were both inside of him and Liam didn't even know how it was possible. But it was and they were moving at alternate times, just like they had done with their fingers. John pulled out as Edward pushed in and all Liam could do was helplessly cry out from underneath them.

He felt his stomach knot and he knew he was about to come.

He opened his mouth and let out a deep moan, his words a jumble and slurred as he tried to warn them. Liam thought that they hadn't heard, hadn't understood but then someone was stroking him, hard and fast, aiming for one thing. Liam cried out, throwing his head back, almost screaming as his orgasm took him. They had stopped fucking him but someone was still stroking him through it and Liam could've sworn he passed out just for a second.

By the time he had come back to earth, John and Edward were climbing into bed. They must have finished themselves off, or each other while Liam was spaced out and he was only slightly disappointed that he had missed it. He turned onto his back and winced. He was sore and his whole body ached but it almost felt nice, a little reminder of what had happened.

They fell onto the bed either side of Liam, their breathing laboured and eyes closed. Liam wanted to say something, comment on how filthy that was and how he wants to do it again and again but he didn't, he just closed his eyes with a small smile. "Can I play with the stethoscope now please?" Liam asked, getting nothing but silence in return.

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progeny-of-the-fury · 7 years

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Journey to the Twelve: Nymeia, the Spinner

Log date: 8/17/17

OOC Note: The text in these logs are strictly for the readers enjoyment. Anyone using the knowledge displayed within this text without the participants knowledge risks the potential of blacklisting from future communication and roleplay. Please do not meta-game!

Tags: None

Spinner of Fates, is an aspiration such as mine own achievable through sheer willpower alone? Or am I too, destined to be strung within the tapestry of destiny, unable to save myself from what you have deemed my rightful end.

Siovant Parlemaix: "Mm. Forgive my... extended tardiness."

Adelise De'bayle: "Mm. It is quite fine. Spending some time within the city has been quite nice. I was able to speak to some of the locals like I had wanted to."

Siovant Parlemaix smiles evenly, "That's good to hear. I trust that your friend has gone off on his own for the time being?" A glance was cast around, as if expecting the mentioned Duskwight to pop out from under his nose.

Adelise De'bayle: "For now, yes. We had a rather eventful conversation last night. I believe it ended rather well," her lips curl into a pleased smirk, head tipping upward as she sniffed about the air. "I have no doubt he will meet up with us again soon, but for now it is just you and I. Hopefully that is no issue?"

Siovant Parlemaix scoffs brusquely at her words, "No issue at all." He'd note loftily, his keen Elezen ears tipped for the sounds of shifting trees and grass. "I'm glad to hear that you were treated to such riveting company, though."

Adelise De'bayle: "It left me in risen spirits. I look forward to us continuing on this excursion however, we have a great deal of land to cover," she flicks her wrist some, twisting her hand in a beckoning motion to lead him along. "Come now, we are to visit the Spinner. Have you been to Aleport at all yourself? Seen the great statue of Llymlaen?"

Siovant Parlemaix rolls his shoulders in some manner of a shrug, gracefully avoiding stepping on a sheep. "I haven't, actually. My travels have never taken me quite so far as Aleport."

Adelise De'bayle grins slightly at the man's near trip over the fluffy animal, a hand slipping up to cover her lips modestly. "Is that so? Then this will be a new experience for the both of us..." her tone was low, voice content and smooth like honey. Seemed for once she was in a good mood, a rare anomaly. Entering into Lower La Noscea, the duo step into a cave, bats heard fluttering about its echoing halls. "Hmm... tell me, do you fear the dark at all?" she prods out, continuing forward.

Siovant Parlemaix gave his head a haughty shake, "Hardly. The only thing I fear about it is bumbling into the edge of a desk at night and stubbing a toe." He snorts, although a glance skyward seems to even his mood out slightly. "It is a lovely day. Perfect for this kind of excursion." He affirms with a huff.

Adelise De'bayle: "I see..." her eyes roll over to the man as they walked forward, her leading them to a cliff side that looked out over the ocean. "I like to think most do not fear the darkness, but rather what lurks within it. I quite like the thought of something reaching out and grabbing at me from the unknown," she proclaims out superciliously. "That moment of fear between potential life or death teaches us a great deal about ourselves," her dips forward, taking in the sight. "It is a beautiful day. A shame the Shroud does not hold views such as this."

Siovant Parlemaix would reach out to palm the small of her back, simply indicating his affection with the mildest of gestures. "I agree, although my own experience with that tentative place between life and death would often place me in the fray of a battle." He notes, "The Shroud has a different sort of atmosphere, to be certain."

Adelise De'bayle: "I do not particularly revel in battle, simply the justice of it. I try to avoid confrontation if possible," she admits out, eyes lowering as she turned to make way south west. "I have tasted the near-embrace of death many different occasions more than I would care to admit, but those moments only grant me insight on what to better do next time."

Siovant Parlemaix gives his shoulders another one of those languid rolls, "Aside from fighting, I don't particularly excel in any given aptitude. If not for the struggle of blades upon blades, I'd scarcely have a place in this world. Save for perhaps as a paper-pusher." He notes blandly, lips setting into a firm line. "Alas, thoughts for another day."

Adelise De'bayle peered over her shoulder toward the Elezen, her lips dipping displeasing. "I disagree Siovant. There is plenty you are capable of. Do not discredit yourself to naught more than a butcher," she brings past her shoulder, tossing her hair back over her back. "I remember you telling me of your past before the Adders, but... did you wish to become an Adder? Or was it simply, an opportunity?

Siovant Parlemaix gives his head a shake, "I didn't have a wealth of options at my disposal at that time, so joining the Adders seemed to be a fruitful choice. I don't really know where I could have gone, otherwise. My noble family would not care for an additional mouth to feed, and my mother had since passed away. It was either join up, or get comfortable with the idea of sleeping outside.”

Adelise De'bayle: "They would not feed you? Why?" her tone was quiet, disbelief seeping through. "You and your brother seemed close?"

[8:21 p.m.]Siovant Parlemaix: "My brother was not the Lord of the house at that point, it wasn't until he took the position after my father passed away that I was afforded to grow closer with my half-family."

Fu Majime hums in a discordant tome. "Thiss shaappeee...she never prevaricaaatess. She yet deeliineeaaates...." she giggles. "Shape obfuscated beyond the for still persist..." she looks behind her attempting to follow the voices. "It comforts, yes?"

Adelise De'bayle leads them down a somewhat treacherous hill, the young woman's herself slipping up on her boots, but managing to keep some form of footing. Once at the base of the hill, they were welcomed by the sight of a single large boulder, the Spinners symbol etched onto its surface. Fireflies flittered about them, a quiet ambience mixing with the gentle crash of waves. "Well, I am-" Adelise pauses as she hears a voice, brows raising as she peaked about the stone, "uh..."

Fu Majime bows, finally identifying the shape. "Th-this shape is fu, she is elated at the intersection- m-meet you. Might she delineate your shapes' masks?"

Siovant Parlemaix arcs an elegant brow at the sound of a voice, moving to rest a hand atop the spine of his grimoire. As the source of the sound comes into sight, he affixes her with a golden hue. "Make a habit of ambushing strangers with absurdity?"

Fu Majime scratches her horn. "A-ambush...incorrect assessment as her shape defends. A-absurdity?? S-she hopes!" her eyes widen in joy. "S-she performs comedicformings as they help...strategy. Also, ac-acculturation inherent..."

Adelise De'bayle: "Might she delineate our 'masks'? Are you referring to our faces?" Adelise asks in a flat tone, her mood seeming to become increasingly colden by the moment. Eyeing the woman down with disdain, Adelise tilted her head to and fro, "do you need help? Are you unwell?"

Fu Majime blinks and chews her lip, searching for the words. "T-title...this shape's mask fu...haw about y-you?" She stammers

Adelise De'bayle leans toward Siovant with a grimace, motioning a hand up, "do you think she is having a stroke? Should we do something?"

Siovant Parlemaix lifts a hand to curiously stroke his bristled chin, owlishly gazing at the confusing creature. "Hrm. I'm not sure, myself. She seems harmless, at least."

Adelise De'bayle: "Harmless, yes. Unwell?" the Half-Elezen shrugs, approaching the Xaela woman with a squint of her eyes, "how am I? I was quite well, I have come to meet with Nymeia."

Fu Majime throws her head back and gnashes at the rain. "Hear Hear" She exclaims while dissolving into laughter. "Er, she inquires as to your delinea--" at the mention of Nymeia. "A-ah the weaver of spans primal forming of the...spoken twelve?” Fu Majime beams with delight at Adelise.

Adelise De'bayle looks toward the smaller woman with a resigned expression, her eyes dulling as she listened to her yammer on. "What does she wish to know of my face." Perhaps humouring the woman might bring some sense to all of this.

Siovant Parlemaix curtly tugs his coat a little more firmly around his shoulders as the rain begins to fall. Silently, he splits his attention between Adelise, the stranger, and the stone itself.

Adelise De'bayle reacts indifferently toward the rain now soaking into her dress. She had long but been hardened to most climates.

Fu Majime: "F-forgive her etiquette and perception intermittent. All is shapes imbued by the hues of iteration..to..me." Her eyes study her feet. "T-this shape inquires for...names?"

Adelise De'bayle sighs, her head pulling back some in reluctance. Eventually returning her attention back toward the Auri, she would answer. "Adelise De'bayle. A..." she pauses, motioning a hand. "We have just come for the stone, pay us no heed."

Siovant Parlemaix: "Siovant Parlemaix, as it pleases."

Fu Majime arches an eyebrow. "I-impossible, this shape already...noticed your shape's encroachment..."

Adelise De'bayle simply stood there, unsure of what exactly she was supposed to say in response. I mean, the woman was not wrong. "Then we shall all enjoy learning of the Spinners virtues."

Fu Majime taps a horn. "P-perhaps, her shape is ....delineated as student..." she walks around the pair, plopping down.

Siovant Parlemaix: "It seems that additional ears have been a theme for this trip so far."

Fu Majime scratches her horns. "She borrowed such ears cause her shape lacks..."

Adelise De'bayle: "You could say such," she huffs out, shaking out her hands as water dripped into her gloves. "Anyways... Nymeia the Spinner. Watcher of celestial bodies and goddess of fate. Hm," Adelise leers back over toward the Xaela in some thought before pushing the intrusive idea away. "Sister of Althyk and master to Rhalgr of all gods. She commands the fifth heaven beside Taliak. A shame we cannot make out the Ewer constellation..." taking a breath from her recalling, Adelise would blink over toward Siovant. "Well. I suppose that comes with crossing these lands. Meeting those who make it up..." Adelise's words freeze as the Xaela's words reach said pointed ears, a frigid glare turning in her direction. "Excuse me?"

Fu Majime: "J-joke..this shape lacks ears therefore...she cannot be aggregate. She clamps..." she shuts her mouth.

Siovant Parlemaix lifts a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, his expression growing to something more harried. "I suppose that you are correct. I simply hadn't expected everybody we came across to be so..." He gestures vaguely. "Out there."

Fu Majime is distracted by the sky as her mouth gulps at the rain.

Adelise De'bayle scrunches her nose, "confounding woman," she seethed out, turning her expression back toward the stone with a knit of her brows. "Trust me, sweet Lieutenant, I would rather not have such meetings myself," she grumbled out, clearly ruffled at the remark over her ears. "Menphina grant me strength," she marched over toward the stone, dropping to her knees in a huff as she began to dig through her bag.

Siovant Parlemaix simply watches the small ritual from afar, amused and interested judging by the wry expression that dances across his face.

Adelise De'bayle snatched up her 'stone' placing it into the green before the boulder as she pressed her wet gloves against its surface. "This did not go quite as well as the last my friend, but perhaps this time you will find your fate changed," she breathed out solemnly, the words escaping her quietly.

Fu Majime hums, singing faintly "This shape has a mission/ the mission is fishin. she's a fishin magician/who casts with precision..." her voice rises in crescendo as she's distracted by the dimming fireflies. "licensed to fish/ licensed to kill/this shape gulps her fill..." a firefly lands on her breaking her concentration.

Siovant Parlemaix would take a languid step towards the kneeling woman, doing his very best to block out the words flowing from the Auri woman. Adelise would be treated to the feeling of the larger man's nails scritch-scratching lightly into the crown of her hair.

Adelise De'bayle appears to grow gradually more and more agitated as her serenity before the goddess' virtue is shattered. Puffing out frustration as she took back her treasured item, tucking it away, the girl found herself being somewhat soothed by the sensation of nails against her scalp. Leaning into his hand with almost a purr, her annoyed visage slowly but surely began to soften.

Siovant Parlemaix draws his tone in, low and throaty as it was. "There there." He muses softly for her benefit, "Shall we move on? I don't much relish the idea of getting rained on again." He suggests in those crooked tones, smiling lightly.

Adelise De'bayle rolled her eyes up toward the Elezen man with a pout of her lips, a heated breath leaving her nostrils as she nodded into his hand. "I think that would be for the best. I have a request for you as well, let us carry on though."

Siovant Parlemaix would move to take Adelise's hand, to lead her away from the stone, and back onto the road. "By all means."

Adelise De'bayle: "Take care."

Fu Majime yells out after them as they leave, "your shapes too!"

The duo make their way back up the hill, quickly away from the spectator they happened upon.

Siovant Parlemaix: "So, what was your request?"

Adelise De'bayle: "Are all black-scales like her?" the young woman glanced back some, afraid the woman might have been on their tail. Attention piquing as he prodded at her, Adelise straightened herself some as she placed her hands to her hips. "Fight me. I wish to beat you. At least once."

Siovant Parlemaix had to blink a few times to make certain that he'd heard her correctly, "Excuse me? You want to fight?" He seemed a bit put off-balance by the idea, although an amused quirk to his lips indicated his enthusiasm. "That could be arranged, I suppose."

Adelise De'bayle scoffs out passionately, "I admit, I am feeling rather heated at the moment and I have long since brooded over your win-streak over me. Though you are axeless, and i will not fight you with a dagger. Nor do I believe you would cast magic on me..." she eyes him with a narrowed stare, "unless you wished to test me? I figured hand to hand would be best."

Siovant Parlemaix lowers his hand to his hip, unclasping his tome and setting it aside onto the ground. With it's enchanted state, and heavy binding, the volume wouldn't be damaged by the dirt. "Hand to hand, Mm? And what do I get if I win again?" He adds a particularly amused inflection on the 'again', knowing it would likely get her riled up.

Adelise De'bayle of course easily took his bait, lips tugging over her teeth into a snarl as her hands tightened at her side. Again. Again! "Hmph. Well. What do you want? If it is a wager you want, then you have got it."

Siovant Parlemaix adopts a cocky pose, one hand slipping under his coat to clasp his hip in a jaunty manner. "Hrm. Well, since I'm sure my victory is already assured..." He taps his chin idly with the other, musing for frustrating amounts of time. "You can buy me a drink, if I win." He finally decides, apparently going for the least inappropriate thing that flitted through his mind. "And what would you want?"

Adelise De'bayle quirks a brow up, clearly surprised by his 'purity'. Lips tugging downward, seemed surprise was not the only emotion she felt. "Ah... hm..." attention drifting here and there as she looked around. Biting down on her lower-lip, it seemed the young woman was struggling to find one on a similar line of appropriateness. "Ah, I know!" she grins wildly, "when I win, you must play your lyre for me."

Siovant Parlemaix rests back on his heels, throwing his head back in some manner of exasperation. "It would have to wait until we returned home, if that's the case. It's currently sitting in my room, after all." He notes, "But, very well. I accept your challenge, only it's too bad it will never come to fruition." He taunts.

Adelise De'bayle frowned, seeming to reconsider. "It is possible to change my desire?"

Siovant Parlemaix: "Hrm. Well, what then?"

Adelise De'bayle flicked her head off to the side with a purse of her lips, her cheeks red, "you must let me ride you back into the city," she murmured out. Pausing a moment in a pregnant silence, Adelise seemed to quickly stumble over her words, "on your back! On your back! Wait as in... I ride on your back to the city!"

Siovant Parlemaix laughs sharply at her change in pace, "That's what you want?" His shoulders roll, giving her a rake with his eyes. "You'll have to hike your skirt up to your waist if you want to get your legs around me, but I'm not going to complain." He chuffs, spreading his stance slightly.

Adelise De'bayle flat-lines her lips in mild discomfort, awkwardness radiating from her form. "Yes, that is what I want. It is no issue, I am wearing trousers under this," she grunts out, taking a step back. Removing her bag and dagger from her figure to set aside, Adelise dug around within the satchel for a long moment before tugging out a hair-tie. Forcefully pulling back her long umber locks, she tied them up into a high ponytail before positioning herself readily.

Siovant Parlemaix seemed like he was stuck between whether or not he wanted to take his coat off, finally deciding to keep it on! Hopefully she didn't try to grab at it, considering the difference in their sizes. His stance lowered even further, joints cracking with some exertion. He gave no warning with his charge, the only indication she got was the slightest tightening of his frame before he threw his weight in her direction. He attempted to charge his lowered shoulder into her middle, and drive her to the ground.

Adelise De'bayle was rather quick on her feet, also feeling particularly protective of her wounded midsection. Watching as the man charged forward toward her, Adelise would toss herself up and off the dirt, her hands reaching to collide with the man's shoulders as he came into her proximity. Shoving herself up and over him, the bottom of her skirt potentially flapping into his face, she would land behind him with an audible grunt. Twisting her boots into the earth, her form would spin as she raised a shin aiming the kick at his side.

Siovant Parlemaix stumbled slightly as she vaulted over his shoulders, grunting mildly as he felt her booted foot collide with his side. "This isn't the Grindstone." He'd chuff, moving to seize the leg that she'd kicked him with. And if he was successful, he'd move to jerk and yank the smaller woman off her feet.

Adelise De'bayle: "Oh?" she asked out breathily, a wide grin spread over her face, "and what is that supposed to meaAANGG-" retort sharply cut as she felt his larger hand grasp onto her leg, Adelise felt her world flip upside down as her form was hoisted up, head dropping near the dirt. Skirt flopping down, obscuring her vision as she squirmed about, Adelise would toss a force filled punch in his direct. Where she aimed however was varying as she currently was mostly blinded by her own clothing choice.

Siovant Parlemaix was shockingly quick on his feet when he needed to be, dancing well out of range of her blows so that he could posture further. "It means that nobody is going to be around to see what I do to you." He preens, that devilish tone implying nefarious intent. The stakes were higher than it seemed, perhaps.

Adelise De'bayle clenched her jaw in frustration as she continued to thrust and twist about within his hold. Damn this man. Her ire grew by the second as he provoked her within his manhandling, her boot eventually thrusting forward to kick at him in fury. "Release me! Release me you brute," she barked out, "you will not win this way, mark my words!"

Siovant Parlemaix did as he was asked, although he lofted his brows at her words. "Brute?!" He scoffed with faux offense, hopping on his heels as he waited for her to get her footing again. "Well? I'm waiting, Hestia. I thought you were going to try and impress me!"

Adelise De'bayle pushed herself back up onto her feet, teeth bared as she practically growled out animalistically. She was an easy girl to rile, truly. "You wish for me to impress you?! Fine..." she narrowed her eyes dangerously. Rushing forward the woman dove between the man's legs, presumably still set apart in the ready for combat. Rolling behind him as her skirt tore from her body, the Half-Elezen twisted her form around with an outstretched leg, lunging herself up to attempt and onto his back. If she managed to stick the landing, she would latch ferociously onto his coat, her heels digging into the surface of his body as she attempted to knock his tall form into the earth. An arm would find itself thrusting upward in the heat of it, aiming to snake around his long Elezen neck.

Siovant Parlemaix was nothing if not a firm believer of hindsight, and in hindsight he probably shouldn't have gloated quite so much. It wasn't as though he didn't like to fight as much as he wasn't overly fond of being strangled. He struck the ground hard, with a sharp grunt slipping his lips as his knees scraped into the dirt. His attempt to dip his chin in before her arm was unsuccessful, but he also wasn't about to simply let her win. His body surges, aiming wickedly-strong elbows at her midriff by painfully twisting his body in retaliation.

Adelise De'bayle had taken the fall with him, managing only to avoid most of any collide with the ground beneath them, though a slip forward managed to trap single leg under his heavy form. Unable to wiggle away, Adelise brought another arm to his neck as she tugged him into her with force. Seemed for once she had the high-ground... though not quite literally. An absolutely devilish grin was painted over her before she felt his elbow impact her belly. A strangled gasp escaped her as pain ignited through her form, her arms immediately releasing him as she flopped off and back into the dirt, attempting to shove the man's form away from her as she strained out a wheeze.

Siovant Parlemaix coughs out a few rough notes, before he stiffens with sudden and cold realization. "Oh!" He hisses, "I'm sorry, Hestia. I'd forgotten..." He scrambles over to her, clutching worriedly at her. "Your wound. Are you alright?" He fusses at her, the ferocity that he'd displayed gone in an instant.

Adelise De'bayle held a dull expression, her jaw clenched tightly as she nodded to him. Holding a hand to her belly, she choked out some words, "fine. I am fine," the words muffled through grit teeth. "Do... don't you stop fighting me..." she remarked out, grimacing as she attempted to sit up.

Siovant Parlemaix wrapped fingers into the chest of her dress, "We're stopping for now." He asserts firmly, "Has it been troubling you this whole time? And you didn't tell anybody?" He purses his lips, making certain that she remained seated for the time being.

Adelise De'bayle: "It is fine!" she cried out, her arms moving to wrap to her form. "It will heal as all wounds do! I am not so weak," her lips scrunched in vexation, being held still for the time being. "It was just a tender touch, I could have powered through it!"

Siovant Parlemaix scolds her with some vigor, "You're lucky to be alive right now. I was a fool to engage you like this, but I won't be responsible for putting you at death's door again. We can fight again when you've healed completely, but not a moment sooner." He hisses, baring teeth not-quite-as-sharp as her own but lacking little for vigor. He was testy with worry, it seems.

Adelise De'bayle seemed to deflate some as he rose his tone at her, head tucking into her chest as if to curl and avoid his frustration. "It is so much better though... after everything I did, you would not be able to do that to me, believe me. I am not so foolish! I do not do anything with the intention of getting myself killed..." eyes directed at her now torn skirt, Adelise's face continued to squeeze upsettingly. "You saw the wound yourself... it was fine..."

Siovant Parlemaix huffs grouchily as she curls into herself, "We're going back to town." He'd state with some firmness, "But..." He trailed off as he rose, "I'll still carry you, if you want." He averted his eyes, feeling a bit embarrassed for his outburst.

Adelise De'bayle pushed herself up with a groan, her hand holding to her midriff with some applied pressure. Once back on her feet with a small stagger, the young woman offered him a grumpy stare of her own. "I did not win it..." she whined out in irritation.

Siovant Parlemaix gives his shoulders a sort of lazy shrug, "Didn't lose, either." He asserts, whirling around and taking an unsteady knee as he waits for her to mount-up, so to speak. "We're all done here anyway, Mm? Best to make tracks."

Adelise De'bayle watches him, lower lip pursed out in crankiness. "You..." she groused, stepping forward to slip her arms over his shoulders, the touch far gentler than her earlier strangling. Hiking what was left of her skirt up her waist, Adelise would slip her legs up the man's side after pressing her weight forward onto his back. "I dislike how you do this..." she murmurs into his ear.

Siovant Parlemaix offers her a cheeky smile over his shoulder, reaching up to clasp hold of her thighs and keep her firmly pressed to his back. "I'm sure you'll get used to it." He offers with frustrating cheerfulness, and with some promptness he would slip off towards town!

Perhaps our fates are preordained. Though that is not to say mine is what I am told it is. After all, would our own drive not push us toward where we were meant to be? I know where I should be, who I am. And every person, no matter how strange that I meet in this lifetime, tells me one more thing on who I am meant to be.

#Journal #Age of Fire and Gold #Journey to the Twelve

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