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ckret2 · 28 days

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Chapter 51 of human Bill Cipher is once more the Mystery Shack's prisoner: Dipper and Mabel try to figure out what the Axolotl's poem means; Dipper gets the hang of astral projection; and... whatever's going on up there happens.

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Ford and Dipper came back into the shack through the gift shop; Ford didn't want to risk crossing paths with Bill. While Dipper went into the house, Ford went down—returning to the safety of his subterranean study.

Once Ford had put on the old black trench coat he'd worn during his multiversal travels and gotten comfortable at his desk, he pulled out Journal 5 to document the events of the last few days. In a cheap ballpoint pen, he wrote, I've lost my #1 Grunkle pen (and favorite coat) to the waters of Lake Gravity Falls. And then, deciding this didn't adequately express his feelings, he drew a small frown. That coat had served him well for decades, and he'd really liked that pen. It did write excellently, and it had reminded him of his gniece and gnephew.

He spent three pages documenting the eclipse—what happened, what readings he'd taken, what he and Dipper observed—and then another four pages talking about Bill. What he'd told them, why Ford had dismissed it; his claims about a trans-dimensional axolotl distorting gravity with its migration; the statue, the rescue, the breakdown.

The act of writing always helped Ford clarify his thoughts and untangle mysteries; it wasn't until he was writing that he realized the limbs Bill had said he couldn't feel were the ones that had broken off the statue.

He listed the rules of the chess variants he could remember Bill inventing. He drew Bill huddled in front of the board, grim, tear-streaked, exhausted; and then scratched out his face, embarrassed at the thought of immortalizing such a raw moment for his private viewing.

He wrote, There's still a slim possibility that the entire "eclipse," start to finish, was Bill's masterfully-orchestrated scheme to make us pity and trust him; but it's unlikely. Although Bill is fiendish enough, he isn't currently powerful enough, and his lies certainly aren't elaborate enough. If he could pull off such a byzantine ruse, then he could just as easily escape—and if he can escape, why hasn't he? Bill may be insane, but he's never been THAT irrational.

And so, even as twisted as Bill's idea of "friendship" is... for the very first time, I'm convinced that he was telling the truth all along when he said he wants me as his friend. It's not an act. He risked his life to save someone who's an active threat to him.

And at the end of it all—though I'm grateful to be alive in spite of my own stubbornness—do I like him any better for it?

Ford leaned back and shut his eyes, sifting through the inner tumult of anger and old hurt that defined most of his memories of Bill, looking to see if anything had changed.

There was a sore, tender spot in his emotions, a place beginning to rot with remorse; when he prodded at those emotions, he found that it was shame over his own harsh conduct of the last couple of days. But he was only ashamed of how cruelly he'd acted; he wasn't ashamed that Bill was the one he'd done it to.

Outside of that tender spot—regret over his own behavior—nothing else had changed.

No. I still hate him. I'm grateful to be alive, but I hate him. He hasn't undone anything he did to my family and me, and he never will. Forgiveness can't be purchased with favors.

I'm only relieved at the certainty of it. Bill has committed an act that can't possibly be a lie. I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he's shown me the truth; and the truth is he'd rather see me alive than dead. Whatever other lies he may tell, I can hold on to that fact.

Bill's miserable eyes peered out at Ford between the scribbles he'd drawn across his face. It was truly a pity that Ford had to hate him. Pity that Bill hadn't been somebody better. He could have been better.

Ford couldn't find it in himself to be embarrassed that he'd filled four pages talking about the monster he'd already wasted so many more on. Bill had been right about him: You might hate me to my face, but behind my back you're as obsessed with me as ever. The only thing Bill didn't understand was that hatred and obsession weren't mutually incompatible.

####

"Hey, Dipper," Mabel said, unfolding the living room sofa bed.

"Hey, Mabel," Dipper said, passing through living room on his way to the stairs. He climbed up to the attic.

He came back down from the attic. "Mabel. Why's Bill asleep in your bed."

"He really needed a nap," Mabel said.

"Okay but why on your bed?"

Mabel pouted. "Dipper, do you realize he's never slept on a real bed? Ever?"

Dipper tried to imagine sleeping on a couple couch cushions on the floor every night. "Yeah, okay, that does kinda suck." Even if it was Bill's own fault he wouldn't sleep in the living room.

By unspoken mutual agreement, having a Bill in the bedroom followed the same law as finding a centipede in the bathroom. The law was "that's the centipede's bathroom now." So once the folding bed was set up, they sat on it to serve as their hang-out spot for the evening and caught each other up on what they'd done the last couple of days.

After Dipper & Co. had left, Grenda had come over to take advantage of the low gravity to retrieve the kite that had been stuck in a tree near the Mystery Shack since last summer (it was, tragically, too tattered to salvage), and then they'd gone over to Candy's house to photograph each other performing feats of impossible strength. (Mabel would be sending some pictures to their parents to confuse them, and adding the rest to her summer scrapbook.) She'd spent the next day breaking the trampoline world record until Soos came outside and said gravity was probably too low for it to be safe to be up in the air anymore, if Bill's warnings about being off the ground when gravity hit zero were true; at which point Mabel had hung around inside air-swimming until she suddenly slammed against the ceiling, and then the ground. She was fine. She just had a couple of bruises. She showed Dipper her bruises.

In return, Dipper told Mabel about how their quest had gone: the checks for micro-rips, Bill's increasingly frantic warnings, the lake—

("You got to see a bajillion magical axolotls and I didn't?!")

—the cliff, the Axolotl, Dipper's near-death experience, and what he now knew about his out-of-body dreams.

"Seriously?" Mabel hissed, eyes bugging out. "And he had us looking up lucid dreaming books! What a jerk!"

"I know! He could have just ignored the whole thing, we didn't even think it was anything but dreams."

"And I'd thought he was being so helpful, too! Like he was really trying to make up for giving you 'nightmares'!" Mabel laughed in disbelief and flopped down on the flimsy mattress. "All that because he just didn't want us to know how it was really his fault? Biiill, ugh."

His fault. Dipper hesitated, wondering whether he should tell Mabel what Bill had said about Mabel's Fault; then decided against it. Bill had probably been telling the truth when he'd said he only wanted all the credit for Weirdmageddon.

But—Dipper did tell her about Bill saving their lives. He would have felt like a liar if he hadn't—like he was trying to trick his sister into thinking Bill was worse than he already was. He hoped Ford wouldn't mind; but how could he not tell Mabel?

"He could have just let you die and didn't?" Mabel turned that over in her head, processing this sudden shift in Bill's behavior. "Wow. I'm impressed."

He also told her about their previous encounter with the Axolotl. Considering the other lies Bill had told recently, anything he said about them meeting the Axolotl was dubious at best; but Dipper could remember the Axolotl, so maybe some of it was true, even if Bill had twisted as much as he could. ("The Axolotl said hi, by the way." "Aww. Tell him hi back!" "Yeah, I... don't know how to do that.")

Dipper laid out his journal between them on the folding bed, and Mabel read over the couplet a few times. "'Sixty degrees that come in threes, watches from within birch trees'..."

"It's got to be talking about Bill," Dipper said. "Equilateral triangles have three sixty-degree angles. I just don't know why the Axolotl wanted to talk to us about him."

Mabel frowned at the lines. "I think... I remember meeting him too," she said.

"You do?"

"Kinda. Like in a dream," she said. "We were in some kind of futury space race car. And he had a really comfortable beanbag chair."

"Yes! I remembered the beanbag chair, too!" And he hadn't mentioned it in his journal. "This is great! Talking about it must... must cause us to remember, somehow. Maybe since the universe where we met the Axolotl doesn't exist anymore, our memories of it are... detached or something? Psychically floating around between dimensions until we try to remember them?" He took in Mabel's skeptical frown and shrugged. "I don't know!"

She scrunched up her face. "Ugh. Last summer's first-grader time travel was complicated enough. This is like college-level time travel. Maybe we can ask Bill how it works?"

She said it so easily, like she thought it was actually a good idea. Right after she'd heard about the lucid dreaming thing, too. "I don't think he'd help." Dipper lowered his voice. "He really didn't want Grunkle Ford and me to find out about the Axolotl—and he kept telling me not to think about what the Axolotl told me. He's trying to cover something up."

"Oo-oo-ooh." Voice dropped to a whisper, Mabel said, "Do you think it's some kind of Space Axolotl conspiracy?"

"It could be," Dipper said. "All I know is he was trying to tell us something important about Bill. Some kind of prophecy, or... maybe a warning...?"

He trailed off. Mabel had stopped listening to Dipper. She was rereading the couplet Dipper had written, moving her lips like she was murmuring under her breath—but whatever she was saying, it was much longer than the couplet Dipper had written down. Distractedly, she said, "Do you have a pen?"

"Yeah, here." Dipper quickly handed over the pen he kept in his vest.

Mabel clicked it, went to the bottom of the page, and wrote: A different form, a different time.

Dipper sucked in a sharp breath as the words snapped into place in his mind. "That's it! That was the last line! What else do you remember?"

"That's it," Mabel said. "It was free form poetry with a bunch of rhyme pairs."

"I don't think free form poetry rhymes."

"Pbbbt." Mabel blew a raspberry and shoved Dipper's face. "Whatever! You know what I mean." She pointed at the last line. "Do you think the poem's about why Bill's here? He time traveled to the Mystery Shack in a new body..."

"Exactly! Bill must be back here for a reason. He's got all those powers—or, used to, anyway—and he knows more about the multiverse than anybody on Earth... Maybe there's some kind of big threat coming, and Bill's the only one who can stop it, and—and the Axolotl wanted us to know...?"

"I like the sound of that," Mabel said. "That'd basically make him a hero, right?"

Dipper grimaced. "I mean. I guess? But we're talking about Bill. If he does help us stop a threat, it'd be like if a serial killer picked up a hitchhiker and killed him, and then it turned out the hitchhiker was an even worse serial killer."

"That still sounds kinda heroic to me."

"Pfff, okay." He looked at his journal. "But... what is he here to do?"

Mabel considered what they'd already written. "Maybe we can use him to spy on our enemies through birch trees!"

"Thaaat's probably not it."

"No, I think I'm on to something. I can feel it."

There was a lot of empty space between his couplet and Mabel's line. "There's more we're missing, though. Maybe the rest of the poem describes the threat? Or what we need to get Bill to do?"

"I can't remember anything else, though."

"Me neither."

They stared at the page together, waiting for something to come to their blank minds. Mabel looked at the fish tank. "Hey, Primrose! Do you know anything?"

The pet axolotl in the tank ignored her serenely.

Dipper said, "'Primrose'?"

"Yeah, last summer Grunkle Stan said her name is Freakface, but I thought she deserved a cuter name. She's primrose color!"

"Ford says he originally named him Nikola."

Mabel gasped. "Nikki..."

Dipper twisted around to look at the axolotl. "Do you know anything? Do you... get messages from the Axolotl's heralds, or anything...?"

Nikola slowly opened his mouth, and slowly closed it.

Mabel said, "Hey. The Axolotl's one of those dimension-crossy time-travely guys, right? He probably wouldn't have given us a prophecy in the wrong timeline and then made us forget it unless he knew we'd remember it in time in the rightdimension!"

"I guess," Dipper said uncertainly.

"So we don't need to worry about it! We'll remember it when we need to."

"Unless this timeline's going to branch, and the only one where we survive is the one where we put all our effort into trying to remembering—"

"Shhh!" Mabel put a finger over Dipper's mouth. "Uh-uh. No college time travel. We'll be fine!"

Dipper pushed her over. "Okay, but we should at least try a little to remember what the Axolotl told us."

"What if we work on it separately?" Mabel propped herself up on an elbow. "Instead of just sitting around thinking about it. And whenever we remember a line, we can tell each other and see if it makes anything click."

"That might be faster," Dipper said, stroking his chin. "We're already remembering different lines."

"Yeah! And that lucid dreaming book said something about focusing on a problem before you sleep so you can figure it out in your dreams! We can just work on it in our sleep and we'll remember it all in no time!"

Dipper laughed. "What? No way, I think lucid dreaming is just one of those made up pop psychology things. I didn't get it to work at all." Either it didn't work or Bill had deliberately recommended a terrible book.

"I did! I can remember like... eighty percent more dreams. And I can tell when I'm dreaming a lot more often!"

"Huh." Or, maybe Dipper just wasn't doing it right. "Maybe I need to start over from step one. Do you know where the book we were using went?"

"Over here!" Mabel had set a couple library books on the end table next to the sofa bed; she pulled out the second one, which had a glittery pink bookmark with a cat on it stuck two-thirds of the way through. "Just don't lose my bookmark."

"Thanks." He'd reread the first step before bed. "We should probably be getting ready for bed anyway, huh?"

"Seriously?! It's barely bedtime!" And when the adults weren't watching, official bedtime was an hour and a half before Actual Bedtime.

"I'm exhausted. I just hiked up and down a mountain and faced down death."

Mabel pointed at Nikola. "You faced down a big salamander."

"Close enough."

They went upstairs, brushed their teeth, went to their bedroom...

And stopped in the door. Bill was still asleep. "Oh. Right," Dipper said.

He was curled into a ball on his left side, facing the wall, covered with only the zodiac blanket and his borrowed/stolen top hat sitting on the side of his head. He didn't use a pillow; he'd pushed Mabel's pillows and dolls behind himself to form a squishy makeshift fortress.

"Please don't wake him up," Mabel whispered. (She'd already set up the folding bed for herself; she'd clearly planned on this.) "He's had a really really hard time the last couple of days, and I think he needs as much sleep in a real bed as he can get, and it's just for one night, and I'm sure he'd rather sleep than do anything evil—"

"He said something, didn't he?"

Mabel paused. "Yeah. I think seeing his body really messed him up."

Dipper sighed. "We were trying to keep him away from it." He didn't want Mabel to think they'd forced him to stare his own death in the face. "But he did that... eye thing and looked through the trees, and..."

Mabel nodded.

Well. Dipper couldn't kick him out now. For Mabel's sake.

As children, occasionally when they got hotel rooms with a bed too few, their parents would stick them in one bed with a barrier of pillows in between them. At age thirteen and without two crabby parents trying to get them to just go to bed after a long plane flight, they unanimously vetoed that plan. Dipper decided against asking Stan if he could sleep in Ford's unoccupied bed, both because he suspected Stan would just go upstairs and drag Bill out of the room and because he didn't want Stan to think he was scared of Bill. He wasn't scared of Bill. Not anymore. He could handle one measly night in the same room as him. Anyway, somebody had to make sure he wasn't unsupervised in their bedroom all night, right?

Dipper and Mabel quietly set a floor mirror and old lamp next to Mabel's bed, draped a sheet between them, taped on a pink poster that said "WARNING! TRIANGLE ZONE!" and was covered in stickers of triangular objects, and decided Dipper was adequately shielded. If Bill did get up during the night, he'd probably trip through the sheet and wake half the house before he got anywhere near Dipper.

Dipper went to sleep with a baseball bat in his hands.

####

"Okay," Bill said, hands on his sides, "what am I looking at here?"

The feral band members of Sev'ral Timez turned toward Bill, eyes reflecting in the dim light. They were squatting around Bill's petrified corpse like a pack of apes examining a sleek black monolith.

"Hey girl," Creggy G. said.

"Hey," Bill said. He looked down at himself. His onyx black feet hovered over the ground and the yellow glow from his exoskeleton illuminated the clearing. "Lemme cut to the chase, is this gonna turn into a raunchy dream? My corporeal love life is about as cold and dry as Antarctica, I keep hoping one of my dreams will get a little hotter and wetter—"

"Nah, G," Deep Chris said. "Mr. Bratsman got us fixed."

"Aw."

"We're here to pay you reverence for freeing our minds from the chains of the conventional," Greggy C said, gesturing to Bill's corpse. Leggy P was kneeling and bowing to it and Chubby Z was posing for it. "We want to help free you like you tried to help free humanity."

Bill's eye narrowed. He tapped a finger against the edge of one brick as he considered this offer. Finally, skeptically, he said, "Fine. I'll bite. Why should I think you can help me?"

"Because we can give you the understanding your heart's been missing, girl. You're just like us," Chubby Z said. "A horror never meant to exist, born of a dream to construct the perfect golden idol, forced to dwell within an unnaturally-fabricated human shell."

Bill tilted his head thoughtfully. "I'm with you so far."

"We want you to join us," Deep Chris said. "Cavort with us in the silvan night, G. Shun the harsh light of the spotlight for the healing salve of moonbeams. We'll get drunk on the sweet fermented summer berries, uncaring of how the brambles prick our flesh. We'll dance in a frenzy of ecstasy and only sleep when the morning sun lifts the dew from the flowers and the sweat from our skin. It'll be straight Dionysian, boo."

"We can kiss the hot trees," Creggy G said.

Bill grabbed his shoulder. "Oh, you're the human that keeps making out with birch trees! I knew your face was familiar!" He paused. "So... are there any eligible ones around here?"

"Sure, girl, just downstream."

"If I'd known, I would've polished myself first."

"Say you'll join us, Bill girl," Deep Chris said. The band crowded around Bill to either side, posing around him—the backup dancers for the star singer. "You'd be one of us."

"We're already exactly the same," Creggy G said, holding up a mirror so that it reflected his and Bill's faces beside each other. In Bill's human face were two empty white eyes with pinprick pupils and pale blue irises, exactly the same as the eyes of the Sev'ral Timez boys.

He sat up with a gasp, hands flying to his face. There were still green boughs at the edges of his dreaming vision, blending into the wooden boards of the Mystery Shack's attic. Before sleep had fully fled his mind, he seized up the zodiac blanket draped over his body and stared into his embroidered eye.

The eye stared back at him. Through it, he could see his horrified sleepy face, and his normal slitted yellow eyes. His connection to the blanket's eye disappeared as he finished waking up.

He heaved a sigh of relief and flopped back down. He'd been lucid, but he hadn't been in control of that dream. He still needed practice.

He rolled toward the light of the window, groped around beneath it until he found his journal, grabbed up his crayons, and flipped pages blearily until he found the first blank one. He started writing down his dream, pausing only briefly as he tried to figure out how to translate "Sev'ral Timez" before settling on a sufficiently goofy way to misspell "several times" in Plaintext.

He made it halfway down the page before he stopped. Hold on. This wasn't his beautiful journal. These were not his beautiful crayons. He checked the cover and grimaced in displeasure when he saw a pine tree rather than a hand. Dipper's journal. Bill ripped out the page, ate it, and set the journal and Mabel's crayons back on the table under the bedroom window.

"What was that," Dipper asked, "some kind of Morse code?"

Bill yelped and twisted around. Dipper's soul was hovering above Mabel's headboard, watching over Bill's shoulder.

"Hey! Back, foul ghost!" Bill snatched up Mabel's pillow and swung it at Dipper.

"Ow—Hey! How did you hit me, I'm in the mindscape—"

"I said back!" Bill swung again, chasing Dipper off the bed. "Back into your fleshy tomb!" He climbed off the bed, stumbled into Dipper and Mabel's trap, tripped through the sheet and probably woke up half the house.

He yanked the sheet off and flung the pillow at Dipper by its corner. "Now get back in your body, go to sleep, and leave me alone."

"I don't know how to get back in it. I just wait until it happens by itself," Dipper said, floating irritably over his sleeping body, arms crossed. "Why do you think I just wander around every time I have this dream?" He paused. "Right—it's not a dream, is it."

Bill sighed heavily. "Try putting your body on like..." He almost said like an exoskeleton, remembered his audience, and amended himself: "Like it's clothing. I usually start with the hands. Just like putting on gloves!"

Dipper looked at the cold fingers wrapped tightly around the baseball bat. "How do I put hands on like gloves? There's no opening or—"

"Just try it, would you?" Bill sat tiredly on the edge of Mabel's bed.

Dipper shot him an irritated look, but pressed his ghostly hands against his fleshly ones, passing through the skin until one set of fingers rested inside the other. A fingertip twitched.

Bill gestured with one hand, continue. "Now the sleeves."

"I know how to get dressed." Dipper laid down in his body, forearm into forearm, shoulder into shoulder—until he was wholly back inside. He sat up, awake. "Huh."

"There, see?" Bill said. "And if you want to take it back off, just do the same thing in reverse. Like degloving your body from your soul!"

"Did you have to phrase it like that?" Still, Dipper tried it, peeling out of his body from the fingertips up. He left his body sitting upright as he hovered over it.

Bill chuckled tiredly. "Lookit your face, staring at nothing. Stupid looking."

"Shut up." He slid back into his body, more quickly now that he knew what he was doing.

"Great," Bill said. "Now that you know how to get back in your body, never do that again." He flopped back onto Mabel's bed and rolled over to face the wall. "It's a pain in my base having you wander around all night."

"Then you should've thought of that before you ripped my soul out of my body," Dipper grumbled. "Can you reattach me to my body?"

"Sure, easy." He lifted a hand to point down at his regrettably human form. "Not like this, though. Wanna help reattach me to my body?"

"Never in a million years."

"Then come back in a million years. There's nothing I can do for you until then." Bill dragged Mabel's zodiac blanket back over himself. "So sorry. Go to sleep. Leave me alone."

Dipper bet Bill could do it and was only saying he couldn't to try to trick Dipper into helping him. But he lay back down—clutching his bat again—and shut his eyes.

After a moment, Bill asked, "Where's Mabel? Sleepover?"

"Sofa bed in the living room."

"Right."

And then there was silence.

Several minutes passed. Dipper nearly fell back asleep. He heard Bill climbing out of bed and creeping across the room; but the footsteps didn't approach Dipper's bed, so he didn't open his eyes.

A few minutes after that, Dipper heard him come back, walking more heavily. He cracked open an eye to see what Bill was up to.

He was carrying Mabel, who was still asleep; his arms were trembling from her weight, but even at that Dipper hadn't known Bill was that strong. With a quiet grunt, he set her on her bed, then haphazardly tossed her sheet and zodiac blanket over her. He picked up his top hat from the bed and put it on; and then he wandered off, footsteps quiet as a ghost, and Dipper heard the creak of the door as he left the bedroom.

That was a lot nicer than Dipper had expected from Bill. Maybe he did care about Mabel in his own way.

Mabel rolled over and latched on to one of her dolls. Dipper shut his eye and fell back asleep.

####

(My favorite part of writing this was Bill dreaming about Sev'ral Timez saying the most absurdly flowery things imaginable. Anyway, let me know what y'all think about this week's chapter! And reminder that I MIGHT skip next week or the week after because the next couple chapters need heavier editing than usual.)

#bill cipher #human bill cipher #sev'ral timez #(a tag i have never used before and will probably never use again.)#gravity falls #gravity falls fic #gravity falls fanart #fanart #my art #my writing #bill goldilocks cipher

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miguelhugger2099 · 5 months

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Little Miguel, Big Miguel (Pt. 2)

Summary: Miggy meets a few people and he finally grabs the chance to speak with you again. Previous This chapter was so hard to write oml Art in the middle by LBY2K99 Miguel x GN!Reader, fluff, lowkey crack, not proofread at all, Word Count: 3, 106

Eventually Miggy and Jess walked through the entrance of the cafeteria, the threshold being much larger than he expected with various spiders on high beams or on a string of web. Others were normal and sitting at the many tables and booths the place had provided.

Was that a T-Rex?

“You hungry?” She peered down at him after walking in front of a counter. Miggy shrugged despite his stomach growling.

“I could eat,” He huffed when Jess shoved a tray in his hand, a burger that had his variant’s mask plastered on the bun. His eyebrows raised in surprise. “Huh. A little more conceited than I thought.” He mumbled to himself.

“Hi, guys!” Jess walked past and called out to a group of people sitting at a booth. They all turned and greeted her back before all of their eyes landed on Miggy. He squirmed slightly as Jess walked in front of him and Miggy followed hesitantly behind.

“Bloody hell. Did the boss shrink? That's jokes.” One smirks, chuckling to himself, his voice smooth and deep that melted nicely with his British accent.

The other three are slack jawed, not believing what they’re eyes.

“Did he shrink?!” One with a blue headband gasps.

“No, Miguel didn’t shrink,” Jess rolled her eyes. “This is our new recruit, Miguel, obv–obviously. He's getting used to the place so,” Her hand stretches out to list their names. “Hobie, Pavitr, Miles and Gwen.”

“Is no one finding this strange?” A teenager that looked a little older than him spoke out, his suit completely black except for the red stripes running down his arms. Miles, Miggy made sure to remember. “It's Miguel but…pocket sized.” The girl next to him softly smacks his chest with a warning look.

“He's a kid, Miles. We've met other variants of ourselves before so this shouldn't be different.” Her eyebrows furrowed and the metal piercing by her right glinted underneath the fluorescent lights. Gwen.

Miles pouted. “At least my variant was the same age.” He mumbled under his breath.

Gwen smiles. “Nice to meet you, Miguel.”

“Ah–actually. You guys can call him Miggy or anything other than Miguel. Just to avoid confusion for the time being.” Jess intervenes awkwardly, helping Miggy into a seat by Miles and Gwen. All of them give their own greetings, welcoming Miggy in despite the strangeness of seeing a more timid and kid version of the man in charge.

“Qué tal?” Miles leans back in his chair.

Miggy brightens up. “Hablas español?” He asks Miles. Miles sits up, wide eyed and suddenly nervous.

“Y-yeah, I know un–un poquitito, y'know.” There was still a bit of an accent but Miggy didn't mind, simply chuckling and nodding, subconsciously showing off his sharp fangs when taking a bite of his burger.

“Woah, were those fangs?” Pavitr leans over the table to take a closer look. Miggy leans back. “Are they retractable too?”

“Uh, no. It’s–it’s just like that.” Miggy chuckled awkwardly after swallowing.

“How long you been Spider-Man for?” Miles asks and turns to him.

“Ah…almost a year, pretty sure.” He kept eating, taking another few bites.

“Are you on rapture?” Hobie tilts his head with a raise of his eyebrow, almost with a hint of concern in his eyes.

Bug-eyed and jaw slacked, Miggy snaps his head to Hobie, nearly choking on himself. “No!” He sputtered while Hobie nodded and leaned back as he relaxed. “Shock, what is wrong with you guys?” He wheezed out.

Pavitr laughs. “I like this new little boss.”

“He don’t got a stick up his arse, that’s for sure. Makes him ten times better than the geezer.” Hobie plays with his bottom lip ring.

“Be nice.” Jess warns with her arms crossed.

“I am nice. That was my nicest, actually.”

Jess’s phone pings in her pocket and she checks her alarm. “Shoot. I need to go. Miggy,” He turns his head to her. “We’ll have to finish orientation another time. I gotta head home. Guys, if you could just keep an eye on him till the end of the day?”

The group of young spiders nod up at her, all responding with their own variations of responses. Jess gives a lingering look to the group, eyeing them down to make sure she can trust them. Deeming them good kids, she sighs and waves, walking away to open a portal back to her dimension. Miggy shrinks in his seat, now being with semi-strangers and the only person he kinda knew in this place, left.

After she leaves, all of them begin to ask more questions like how old he was, if their Miguel’s universe was similar to his universe, etc, etc. Miggy tried his best to answer ease their curiosity with a gentle yet nervous smile. It had been a while since so many people have been kind to him.

Gwen mentions your name after thinking for a moment. “Do you think they know about him?” Miggy’s ear perks up at the mention of you. Where were you anyway? Did you leave? He wanted to see you again.

“Not if Miguel allows it. I can see him getting mad about this.” Pavitr rests his chin in his palm.

“Be a bit freaky if I were to see ‘em together anyway. Since they’re always around the big man.” Hobie crosses his arms on the table.

“I don’t think it’d be freaky. Everyone’s making a big deal about this.” Gwen frowns. Miggy droned out their talking, his eyes searching side to side to find and exit. Don’t get him wrong, these are nice people and he can see himself being friends with them, he just…really needed to see you.

Or maybe it was an excuse to escape their gossiping while in front of him.

Miggy slipped from his seat and escaped the flurry of whatever the hell they were saying while they chatted amongst themselves. He used his webs to swing himself to the ceiling with a small fwizz coming from his wrists. His claws poked out, clutching onto the metal as he crawled away, avoiding Spider-Monkey and out of the threshold. He failed to notice a pair of eyes watching his exit.

He hopped off the wall and landed on one of the many beams the building provided. Miggy took a few glances around him to make sure no one could bother him when he lifted his wrist to his face. He hesitantly raises a finger to the screen. Even though it looked like his universe tech, he still had no clue how it operated. Deciding not to break it accidentally, he brought it close to his lips. “Hey, miss…AI lady, ma’am?” He whispers to the watch.

Lyla suddenly popped up on top of the screen, her holographic body standing in front of many tiny floating monitors. Miggy yelped, covering his mouth with his other hand.

“What’s up little boss? Got a question? And no, you’re not allowed on any mission. You’re on babysitter protocol.” Lyla didn’t look up at him, choosing to look at each file and trashing the ones she deemed unimportant.

“Babysitter?” Miggy scrunched up his face in disdain.

She yawned. “Big boss doesn’t want you out and about to other universes yet. Sorry, kid. Now if you’ll excuse me–”

“Wait, wait! No! That’s–that’s not what I was gonna ask.” He panicked, gripping the watch with his hand. Lyla’s heart sunglasses slid down her nose as she turned her head over her shoulder to face him. “I was just gonna ask about…” He saw your form leave Miguel’s corridor before bumping into another spider person he didn’t recognize for a quick chat. He felt his little heart speed up and smiled. “...them.”

Miggy and Lyla both peered down to watch you smile and laugh with the other spider-man. Miggy noticed a redhead baby in his arms. Lyla glanced at him, back to you and then back to him. She stood up straight and crossed her arms after sliding her shades back on her nose bridge. “Oh, they’re way too old for you, kid.” Miggy frowned at the holographic lady. You had finished talking with whoever that was and waved him and the baby goodbye. Miggy’s heart raced as he prepared himself to jump off the beam.

“Whatever, pequeñita. Don’t need your help anymore. Catch a virus or something.” Miggy grinned mischievously down at her while Lyla gasped in shock.

“Hey–!”

Miggy switched her off and quickly used his webs to stick to the ceiling and swung down behind you, landing on his feet with a quiet thump. Hearing that sound, you turned around to check to see Miggy had stood up on his feet with a toothy smile. The sides of his hair had fallen out of place and he tucked it behind his ear as he walked up to you.

“Hey.” He placed his hands on his hips and puffed up his chest to appear more muscular. You huffed a small laugh, crossing your arms and tilting your head as you looked at him.

“Hi there. I didn’t think we’d meet again so soon.” You decided to amuse him. Miggy shrugged.

“Guess it was fate,” You snorted but Miggy continued anyway. “I was wondering if you had time for a chat? This is your universe I'm assuming? You could show me around the city. Maybe grab a snack together.” He grinned, looking at you with an innocent expression. But you knew better. Miguel would try the same thing in his own version once in a while.

“Uh-huh, yeah, right. Where’s Jess?” You placed your hands on your hips. Miggy stiffened but recollected himself.

“Busy.” He said, technically not lying.

“Sure,” You dragged out. “Well, I thought you came from a similar universe. I don’t think there’d be much new stuff to show you, kid.” You give him a playful pointed look with a tilt of your head. Miggy tsked, poking his cheek with his tongue in annoyance. He didn’t like you thinking he was just some kid. He was more than that, he’d prove it!

“Well, I beg to differ. I’m naturally curious, y’know. It’s one of my charms so I’d like to see if you’re right.”

“So you don’t believe me?” You raised your eyebrow.

Miggy hummed in thought, looking off to the side. “Not at all. Just a test.” He grinned.

You rolled your eyes playfully. “Alright, I’m not doing that,” Miggy’s face dropped. “But I am just heading home really quick and then coming back here. So, if you want, you can join me.” You offered and his face brightened up.

“Yeah! Yeah–sure, sure. That I can totally do.”

“Great. It’s actually not far from here so we could just walk to—”

“Woah, woah, woah. Walk? If you hadn’t noticed, I’m Spider-Man.” Miggy gestured to himself with a smug smirk, but your face didn’t falter.

“I see that.”

Miggy pouted. “I can carry you.”

You waved him off. “That’s really not necessary. I know you’re strong but–” You yelped as you felt Miggy grab your waist and pull your close. The height difference was a little awkward but he didn’t seem to mind one bit. He wanted to prove to you he was capable and strong. His webs shot out and stuck to the walls, swinging the both of you around while he tried finding an exit with a determined look. You wrapped your arms around him, hoping to the universe that you wouldn’t fall, and he felt his heart race a little faster.

“Directions, please!” He exclaimed, a smile in his voice while you screwed your eyes shut. You eventually felt the wind in your hair and the far away sounds of hover cars zipping past. “That’s new!” He dodged the cars with stealth, clutching you tighter to him.

Your legs became shaky and as soon as your feet touched the ground of your patio, you fell to your hands and knees with a giant huff. Miggy landed beside you, letting you take a breather.

“Estas bien?” He asked gently, his voice much softer than the persona he tried to maintain. He knelt by your side, hugging his knees to his chest.

“Fine, fine. Just…don’t do that again.” You helped yourself up and walked inside after opening the glass door. Miggy followed behind you, slightly embarrassed. He glanced around the area, seeing a void of color all around. Simple grays, blacks, and whites as the palette for couches, walls and the like. It was super different compared to back home. His mom usually did the decorations. Miggy thought this room felt very cold.

“This is your home?” He asked, feeling like this was a stark difference from your personality.

“Yeah, well kind of. I live here with someone.” You reply, rummaging through some things in a different room. Miggy perked up, his lips turning downward and feeling jealous.

“Who?” He asked, looking around to see if he could find anything that showed two people lived here.

You didn’t respond. Maybe you didn’t hear him, maybe you did. Miggy was distracted anyway as he walked slowly around the living room. In the corner of his eye, he saw a box that was out of place on one of the selves by the giant holographic TV. He strolled towards it, its dark purple color being the only thing attracting him.

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t go around touching things.” Your voice was heard behind him, making Miggy jump. He took a big step away from the box, becoming more curious but he respected you enough. “I thought you would’ve had enough manners to not go snooping in someone's home.” You tossed him a soda and he caught it, seeing that the name brand was slightly spelled different from his own dimension. He found it a little unsettling; still getting accustomed to everything.

“Sorry.” He mumbled, popping open the can with his talon. “What did you get?”

You shrugged. “Some things to help out the society.” You walked towards the couch and sat on the far right to rest yourself on the armrest. “Just give me a minute and we’ll head back.”

Miggy nodded along, shifting his weight from side to side. “What…are you to the society?” He asked quietly, almost afraid he’d offend you.

“What do you mean?” You looked over at him, patting the side next to you to offer him a seat. Miggy walked over and sat by you, a little farther than what you offered.

“Like…you’re clearly not a spider person, much less some powers, but yet you’re in the society. You know all those people yet you’re…a civilian?” You nodded.

“Yeah, I’m just a regular person. I can’t climb walls or shoot webs but…I think I have a right to be there.”

“You said you were special. What does that mean?” He peeked over at you, his soda faintly fizzing.

You avoided his question. “How about you tell me about yourself instead?”

Miggy tilted his head. “Me?” He asked. “But…I don’t think I’m much different from your ‘other me’.”

You waved him off. “I’m sure there’s some difference. C’mon, don’t be shy. I wanna know about the newbie.” You cross your legs and turn to face him.

Miggy looked apprehensive, not really sure if it’s the right time to spill his life story but you asked so he caved in.

“Well, I was bitten trying to save my, uh, bully.” He looked down at his drink and took a small sip. Your smile dropped.

“You were bullied?”

Miggy nodded. “Well, yeah. It, uh… didn’t end well,” He rubs the side of the can. “There was this huge explosion when checking out the spiders in Alchemax– my dad used to work there,” He doesn’t look up at you. “My dad’s boss and his kid were there. His son bullied me, sure, but when that explosion happened, somewhere in between I got bit and…I dunno,” He sighed, a clear heavy weight on his young shoulders. “Kron was there and I tried–I did– and I don’t even know why I did but he still…y’know.” He shrugged his shoulders. “It’s fine. I mean, it’s not fine but even though he died, he bullied me. But it doesn’t mean he should’ve passed, y’know? Then I woke up and they said my dad died too so it was all confusing back then.” He leaned back on the couch with a heavy sigh.

“I’m…so sorry,” You apologized grimly, guilt eating you up for asking. Miggy looked over at you and gave you a reassuring smile, his fringe falling out of place.

“It’s fine. It happened a while ago. The feeling is still there, just a little less. You didn’t hurt me, promise.” He then chugged the rest of the soda down his throat, feeling the fizz bubble down to his stomach. He crushed the can right after, his talons digging into it and showed you the marks he made. “I got sick powers and I can help my family more now. When they’re in trouble I can just put on the suit and make sure they’re safe.” He beamed with pride and you mirrored the same expression.

“You love your family?” You asked gently, taking the can from his hand and getting up to place it in the recycling bin.

“Mhm!” Miggy nodded. “Since the explosion, we all became a little more tight knit. My mom especially. She became more protective over my little brother since he’s still super little.” He looks up at you as you come back.

“What’s his name?” You hide your smile since you feel you know the answer.

“Gabriel.” Miggy beams. “He’s practically my shadow, which mom doesn’t like. Says I’m too reckless and doesn’t want him to be like me.” He blew raspberries to signify his mild annoyance at the thought.

You laugh and grab a backpack full of things that Miggy assumes were the things you came to collect. “After you swung me around, I think I agree with her.” You joked.

Miggy shot up from his seat and pouted. “Not cool.” But he enjoyed the way you smiled. “Gonna head back out now?”

Nodding, you slip the backpack on and walk with him back to the balcony. “Yup. Whenever you’re ready.” You look at him expectantly. He went a little wide eyed.

“You want me to swing us back?” Lost on why when you screamed earlier.

“Well, I’m prepared this time.” You and Miggy smiled at one another and he looped his arm around your middle. Your hands around his neck and he stuck his web to a building, jumping off the balcony and swinging back to HQ.

A/N: Please forgive me for this mid chapter i'll try to make the next one better i promise

{Taglist 🏷

@sassypotatomoosee @ihavemanyhusbandfandoms @arrozconpepitoria @nanarain @autismsupermusicalassassin @amberpanda99 @huniedeux @oharasfilipinawife @m0stergirl @maimedloveaffairs @glassracecar @lazy-idate @peachipeachy @palesatan @sleepingghoule444 @lizaistewdelulu @cicithemess @amelialysm @keigoloveminty @tatatida @peachyrue-777 }

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel o'hara x you #miguel x reader #atsv miguel #miguel o'hara #miguel spiderman #miguel spiderverse #miguel ohara #spiderman 2099

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mirrored-movements · 1 year

Text

Home Pt. 2

(Yandere!Miguel O'Hara x F!Reader)

Synopsis: You've always had the ability to travel through universes, there was never a reason as to why and you never paused to question it. However, there was someone else who began to question it.

Warnings: Obsessive behavior? Horrible writing probably <3

Part 1 Here

“And you’re 100% sure you’re qualified to do all of this?” Finding yourself seated on a medical chair with the sleeve of your arm rolled up and a tension banned wrapped around your forearm, you stared at Miguel wearily.

Over the past few days, you’d been stuck with the man going through some tests in order to determine your ‘danger level’. Most of them unfortunately coming out inconclusive leading the man to declare that he needed a blood sample.

“How many times do I have to tell you- I am qualified.” Rolling his eyes with an exasperated sigh Miguel shook his head, one hand holding an alcohol wipe while the other readied a needle.

Rolling your own eyes in a mockery you let out a huff. “Qualified with what though? I’ve been stuck in your presence for almost a week now and I barely know anything about you. What happened to some small talk or something?”

His head shook from side to side once more, the man merely humming to signify he was somewhat listening all the while taking a quick blood sample. It wasn’t that he didn’t like you; you seemed like an outgoing person, and got along with most of the people that happen to stumble across you within the HQ.

It was just the fact that he didn’t know if you were an anomaly or not and didn’t want to risk getting attached nor risk the multiverse.

He couldn’t go through any of that again.

“Well, what exactly do you want to know? I might feel obliged to humour you.” Pulling away from your arms and passing you a small bandaid, Miguel twisted around to set the vial of blood into a centrifuge. His gaze flickered towards you from the side awaiting whatever your little mind might come up with.

As if not expecting this response you hesitated for a second, suddenly every question you had before left your brain and only one stupidly basic one remained. “What's your favorite colour?”

Blinking almost dumbfounded at the simple question he fully turned to face you, mind wondering why out of everything you could’ve asked that you asked that.

“I don’t have one.”

“What about favorite animal?”

“No.”

“Favorite season?”

“None.”

“Are you just going to say no to all my questions or are you going to answer one of them?” Finding that he wasn’t answering anything no matter how simple you crossed your arms with a disgruntled huff.

Seeing the way you grew annoyed with his replies Miguel's lips barely quirked up, one of his thick brows raising. “Well, are you going to ask any actual questions?” Retorting back with that he then rose up from his seat, eyes remaining fixed to where you sat.

“Ok fine, if you weren’t bitten by a spider how come you’re still a Spiderman?”

“I’m not answering that.” Taking the vial of blood from the small machine Miguel had to hide his amusement at the way you’d begun complaining. Your smaller form quickly jumping up from your seat to begin berating him trying to come to a conclusion to your own question.

“But you said-” “I said I might feel obliged.”

“So you were never going to answer in the first place?!” Gasping dramatically at the realization you laughed in disbelief at the sort of sneaky smirk that’d curled across the man's face.

Maybe there was a reason you’d gotten mixed up in all this multiverse madness.

“Lyla,” Calling out to his AI, Miguel awaited her appearance. The holographic image right away questioned him on what he needed. “Check in on (Y/N).” The command was simple to follow, and despite the small teasing from the AI a screen had popped up before her.

“Mm looks like she’s chatting with some people.” Musing that out Lyla bobbed her head, her small form flickering to the side as Miguel peered over at the screen. A part of him wondered who you’d found yourself talking with.

He couldn’t help but roll his eyes at the sight of Ben leaning over a pillar dramatically, whatever being said presumably incoherent as yourself and the form of Peter both shared a look before bursting into laughter.

His chest rumbled.

“Lyla, assign those two to a mission.”

Looking over at the man with a brow raised she made a pop noise with her lips. “There are no missions curr-” “Make something then. Tell them to investigate something or someone or just- do something.” His hand waved through the air as he spoke, “And tell (Y/N) to come here.”

“Roger that.”

Watching the small hologram fade away he let out a breath, tongue running across the elongated canines within his mouth before another huff left him. Heavy steps bringing him back over towards the microscope he’d been occupied with for the past few hours.

Eyes peaking through it once more at the sample that rested below, watching the small cells dance around. The genetic makeup of them seemingly assimilating with the atmosphere around them, matching with the structure of those from that universe.

It was a breakthrough in his opinion.

A serendipitous breakthrough.

“Damn room is always so damn dark.” Stepping into the room that housed Miguel's strange floating office you grumbled under your breath about the lack of light, eyes struggling to adjust to it. “You know ambient lighting is a thing.”

“The light hurts my eyes.”

Practically jumping out of your skin at the sudden appearance of the hulking man you let out a forced laugh. “Does that have to do with your spider bite-less Spiderman abilities or something?”

“It does actually.” Without skipping a beat Miguel clicked his tongue, gaze drifting across the plain look stretched out across your face at the response, it looked like you hadn’t expected it either.

“Oh, ok thats, thats something I guess.” Clasping your hands together you nodded your head, praying that your face gave off the ‘what did you call me here for’ look.

To be honest, you didn’t mind Miguel. He was very intimidating upon your first meeting however it seemed like as the testing progressed and you were stuck with him for a while he seemed to loosen up. As much as he could at least, there were still some things that freaked you out a bit.

Such as the way he could just appear out of nowhere and scare the literal soul of of you as well as his temper. You’ve only seen it once since being at HQ, it was short but nearly ingrained into your brain as in that moment you’d come to find that perhaps he was more spider like- then the spider-people.

Fangs. He had fangs is what you meant, and claws- you think.

“You shouldn’t socialize too much with everyone here. They might question why a civilian is here.” Chiding that in absentmindedly he outstretched one of his arms towards the floating platform, a practically glowing web being shot from a device around his wrist allowing him to gain access to it.

Blinking at what he’d said then what he did you opened your mouth to speak only to shut it right after as that same glowing web shot down attaching to the front of your shirt. With a short yell in surprise, you were whisked onto the platform, Miguel's hands planting onto your shoulder to steady you as soon as you’d landed.

“A little warning would’ve been nice.”

“I’m going to swing you onto the platform.”

Giving him an ‘Are you serious’ look you’d dropped it rather quickly. He seemed different compared to when the last time you both chatted. More…willing to speak and joke around with you if that makes sense.

Before he seemed to keep you at arms reach but now it felt like he was trying to make up for lost time.

“Ok well we’re on the platform now, what did you want to show me? Or why did you need me.” Somewhat growing anxious with the sudden silence you watched him press a few things against a glowing orange keyboard, a pair of large circles popping up.

“Do you know what these are?”

Starring at the two things your brows furrowed. “I don’t know a cow pattern?”

“This one,” He pointed towards the one on the right, “Is from your average day civilian. This one,” the other one was pointed to. “Is from you. Notice any difference?”

“Yes?” He gave you an incredulous look and you corrected your response. “No, I don’t.”

“Exactly. From this, we know you’re not an anomaly.”

Perking up at this you stared at him in disbelief, heart beginning to race a little at the prospect of being allowed to leave. “So does that mean I can go home now? That we’re done testing?”

He didn’t quite like that implication.

“You are home.” Seeing the way your hands fell back to your sides he added on as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “This is the average citizen from here, Earth-928 and, your genetic code- this here,” He motioned back towards your circle. “Matches here.”

“Whatever home you had is here now. You belong here, it is set in stone.” There was no way he was going to mention how your code blends in with whatever universe you found yourself in.

Why go somewhere else, when you could stay there?

Blinking while trying to process what he was saying you began to shake your head in disbelief. “Well, your data is wrong then. I wasn’t born here, so I can’t stay here.” Stepping back you shook your head at him, mind still trying to wrap around this. “You said I’m not an anomaly so I can just continue to do what I was doing before coming here.”

“But what if you leave here and then become an anomaly? What happens then? It is proven that breaking what is meant to happen ruins worlds.”

“Now you’re just trying to psyche me out. I know I don’t belong here Miguel, whatever tests you did are wrong.”

Clicking his tongue he watched you carefully, eyes sharp, almost predatory now compared to how you recalled them being. However, he raised his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, you can go.”

“But do you even know where home is?”

Your mind paused at this, unwilling to quite process what he’d said. You’d been traveling around for so long- did you remember where you lived? Was there ever actually a place you called home or was that something you made up in a sort of last-ditch effort to seek self-comfort?

But, despite all that- you surely weren’t going to be stuck in one place. That’s not how you did things.

“I’m sure I can manage.” Choosing your words carefully noting how Miguel had become ridged you felt as though it was in your best interest to open a portal. “It was nice to meet you, Miguel.”

“You get lonely traveling around.” Once more he spoke, hand leaning out to press a key on the keyboard, your voice playing through some speakers of a conversation you’d had with Peter on one of a few occasions. Maydays father becoming some sort of comforting face you found yourself returning to for advice- despite his advice being close to unusable. “Never fitting in. People alienating you. Seems like you’ve had more fun and made more friends here than, say the hundreds of dimensions you’ve been to.”

“Am I correct?”

“Why are you suddenly so interested in everything? You weren’t like this the first time I came here.”

“I didn’t know if you were going to be stable here. But now I do.” Whatever was running through his mind left him letting out another breath. “And I know where you belong now. All this time, all these portals- led you here.”

“To me.”

Stunned. Shocked. Confused. Speechless.

Those were only a few words you could use to describe how you were currently feeling. Just an overall ‘What?’ could sum up everything.

“Miguel,” Raising a hand as though you were trying to tame some sort of wild animal you sucked in a breath. “I barely know you. You barely know me. We barely know each other.”

Taking a step the man hummed nodding along, something you previously took as a friendly manner now seemingly less friendly and more of a way to keep him from lashing out. “Then we get to know each other. It’s not too late.”

“It’s never too late.” Despite his tone sounding hopeful, the look he gave sent your nerves buzzing, a hidden challenge almost. Cocoa hues flickering a ruby hue the longer you seemed to remain silent- say something.

Seeing that you weren’t answering Miguel glanced up at the ceiling, the last bit of his patience wearing thin- not that it was very big, to begin with. “I’ll give you a head start,” A step forward from him was a step back for you, the airy laughs leaving him sounding hollow. “You can go anywhere you want, any dimension. But if you can’t find where your ‘home’ is by the end of the day?”

“I’ll come and get you. And bring you home.”

----------------

Casually wrote the three things on my account in one day <3 anyways if you have any issues with my writing or anything, sue me IG idk.

Anyways lemme know if you want a part 3- I might feel inclined to write more for my lovely lovely Miguel <3

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aplaceforyourhearttorest · 5 months

Text

Ride The Lightning ⚡︎ Lars Ulrich (18+)

Blowing a handful of stray hairs out of your face as you finally make it to the top of the seemingly never-ending stairs, your already depleting good mood completely plummets as soon as you take in the smug look on the drummer's face waiting for you. Your feet falter as soon as he fully comes into view, and your eyes immediately pick up on the fact that he's alone for once. Lars pushes himself up into a fully standing position, his hands in his back pockets to try and conserve heat in the concerningly cold complex's hallway. Thundered light bolts through and graciously gifts the two of you temporary brightness every few seconds, the sun now long gone as grey hues of spattered clouds take over the sky above the state of California.

"Got caught up in the rain on the way over here, didn't you?" He cockily asks, his accent licking at the words and making them sound more thickened and condensed. "Let me in, would you? Your brother's holding a guitar for us, and we need it for the rehearsal set we have tonight." His carefree and dismissive tone gives off no signs of gratitude to the fact that you had just cancelled your plans to run over here and let him in as soon as you got the phone call from your older brother.

You rapidly blink in disbelief as the Dane sarcastically steps aside for you, his left hand impatiently ushering you forward as you drip and create a small puddle in the outdated carpet underneath you. Lips pursing as you reach into your soaked pocket for your duplicated set of keys to the apartment, you narrow your eyes before flicking your head towards the overconfident musician to your right. An indignant sound strangles its way out of his throat as rainwater flies and lands on his flushed cheeks and shocked expression, and you successfully unlock the front door with a hidden and triumphant smile on your lips.

"Doing your daily running around for the rest of the band?" You ask in an innocent voice, instinctively walking toward the bathroom as you hear the front door being kicked closed and shut, the urge to dry off stronger than the want to continue to banter. "No, I'm simply doing a favor. You know, a thing you do for friends and for people who actually like and care about you. Ever heard of the term?" The taunting and condescending tone in his voice makes you falter for a moment, before you grasp onto a towel and firmly shut the cupboard with an audible and resounding click.

"Fuck this." You mumble, before stalking your way back out to the living room area and going up close to the musician, not stopping until your feet are only an inch apart. Lars pauses mid-faux performance with the new and sleek white electric guitar in his hands, his earlier cocky expression turning cautious as he looks at the neutral and resentful one on yours. Before he can make another asinine comment or tease you any further, your arm straightens out with a sudden strike. The rough cotton comes in contact with his pale and freckled skin and leaves a few inches of rugburn in its wake. The drummer lets out a shocked cry, before placing the guitar down to reach out and wrap his hand around your closest wrist. Lars lets out a grunt as you roughly shove at him to let you go, before he finds momentum and places you flush against the wall behind the two of you.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" He exclaims, his pupils widened and a hazy mess, while you wince from the pressure engulfing your damp and reddening skin. "You're what's wrong, you asshole," you seethe, your head pushing itself off of the wall to peer forward into his green eyes, the button of your nose brushing the bridge of his. "I've done nothing but be nice to you and your band for the last year, while you've bought and exchanged instruments and tech gear with my brother, and you've been nothing less than a dick to me this entire time. So, what the fuck is wrong with you, huh? Upset a girl can play the drums better than you can, while she's taller than you too?"

Lars clicks his tongue and lets out a humorless laugh, his hand retreating away from your wrist as he takes a step back and looks away from you. You move forward, the adrenaline and frustration in you pivoting you to follow him over to the drum set near the windows facing the front of the building. "Answer me." You urge, your eyes taking in his tense form as he untangles and wraps his fingers in the skin tape your brother left behind for him. Lars glances up at you with a halfhearted glare, before letting out a slow breath and snapping the container of the adhesive shut.

"It's not my fault you don't know how to take a joke," he starts, raising an eyebrow at you as you let out a dumbfounded and disbelieving scoff. "You just seem overly sensitive, and I get bored sometimes, is all." Your eyes zero in on him, and you tilt your head downward to watch him as he sits on the chair near his main instrument. His left hand trembles as he undoes the headband keeping his drumsticks together, and you come to a sudden realization as you observe his unsteadiness. He wasn't jealous or hateful or conniving. He was nervous.

You bite your lip as a thought runs through your mind, and a small hum of amusement exits you before you can help it. Lars' head snaps up at the sound. "What?"

"You said James was going to be coming over tomorrow night to finalize the payment, right?" The drummer nods at you before twisting the wooden sticks in between his taped-up fingers, the absentminded movements almost capturing the entirety of your attention. "I'm just wondering why you came over today, is all. Since James is the one I get along with best, and I'm sure it's the same for him too." Satisfaction warms your gut as you watch his jaw click and strain in place, the muscle contraction making a small chill run itself down your cloth-clad spine.

"So, you want him here instead of me, is what you're saying." He states, his fingers halting all movement and the chair underneath him screeching in protest as he pushes the chair back with full-body force. You wince at the sound and go to open your mouth to reassure him, but falter as he throws down the drumsticks and reaches over the set to grasp ahold at your still wet and dripping t-shirt.

"What," you start to ask, before gasping out loud as he tugs you forward, your stomach pressing up against a cymbal for purchase and your feet almost lifting from the ground. You fluster as he leans up and glares into your eyes, his forehead brushing yours from the closeness and causing your heart rate to accelerate. "Do you ever think that maybe, just maybe, I enjoy getting that reaction out of you, because I'm the only one who can? Today's one of the only morning's we have off before tour preparation, and I'm stuck in this overcrowded apartment, with a girl so dense she can't even tell when someone is trying to flirt with her and get her fucking attention."

You gape as he looks at you earnestly, before setting his face and letting you go. You reach out to encircle your hand around his wrist instead and go to plead as you watch his eyes dim in what seems to be defeat. "Can you please continue? Because I've gone from months of thinking you can't stand being in the same room as me, to you suddenly admitting to actively reaching out on your own to be here with me today. My head is spinning." Lars' expression softens and he twists his wrist to carefully guide you around the drum set, and onto the chair he carelessly shoved away to the side earlier. You let out a trembling breath as he squats down to level with you, the muscles in his thighs and biceps straining from the confining movement.

"When I first met you, I thought you were beautiful, and the guys caught on to my attraction to you immediately. The only way I could get them off of my back was to join in on the teasing the other guys would give you. I don't know when the teasing turned into us insulting each other and getting under each other's skin, but it wasn't my intention to ever hurt your feelings or get you as upset as I did today," he murmurs, his eyes averting yours to look down and caress at the slight tears in the knees of your pants. "I feel like a major dick right now, and I'm sorry."

You furrow your brows as you take in his downtrodden expression, before reaching out to tilt his chin up and make him look at you. "Before you turned into the biggest asshole I've ever met, I thought you were attractive too. So much that my brother started getting on my ass and told me to make a move. But before I could, your insults started to dig in far too deep and I started to come after you and rebut even harder. I know I've hurt and belittled you at times as well, and for that I'm truly sorry." Your free hand's fingers absentmindedly wrap themselves in the middle of his long hair and gently massage his scalp while you apologize, the satisfaction warming your gut earlier coming back full force as you watch his eyes almost slip to a close and his pink lips begin to open in barely hidden bliss.

"You like that?" You whisper out in the cool apartment air, and a soft gasp expels itself from your chest as the fingertips caressing your kneecaps slide up to your thigh and grip the flesh. Lars looks into your eyes and nods, a weighted sigh pillowing out of him as your fingers lightly twist in his mane and tug. Lightning strikes out and nearly makes contact with the windows nearest to the two of you, the bolts of light making the flush on the man in front of you even more apparent during the brief highlight.

"You said you wanted my attention earlier, right?" You ask, your voice barely above a slight tremor of an exhale and nearly incoherent. Lars nods against the grip in his hair and on his chin, and his eyes widen as you tug him forward, his hands once gripping your thighs now grasping onto your waist to steady himself as you bring him forward.

"Come and get it, then." You shutter out, barely able to finish your sentence before his grip turns bruising and his lips ascend on yours.

⚡︎

Warm puffs of heated breath make their way down your bare and goosebump-ridden chest as you lean against the drum set behind you, your lips spread open wide in a permanent gape as the Dane sucks and licks marks into your skin. The tip of a tongue breaches out between kiss chapped lips to tease the top of your left, swollen nipple, and your hips pulse up against the firm and unyielding hands holding you down in place.

The teasing tongue wraps itself around your areola and gently tugs with a light gnarr of teeth, and you cry out at the oversensitivity, your hands reaching down to lightly tap on the shoulders of the man currently trying to taste every inch and centimeter of you.

Lars lifts his head from your chest and removes his mouth from you with a reverberating pop, you blushing as the sound echoes around the room and him sporting a wolfish grin at your reaction. The warm and persistent press of his erection on your leg makes the slick in between your thighs nearly double in amount as you acknowledge the weight of it, and you whine out as your clothed sex pulsates against the soaked material of your uncomfortable bottom clothing. Before you could beg him to move on, he sends you a gentle smile and wetly makes his way down to your navel, your stomach involuntarily sucking in as his appendage makes its way into your belly button.

You let out a light laugh at the ticklish sensation, and you feel him smile against your heating up flesh, the hands holding you down slowly rubbing circles in the bruising skin of your hips. You close your eyes and lick moisture back to your reddened pout as you feel him slide even further down and make it to the beginning of your jeans within a few heat filled seconds.

"Where else do you want me to taste you, angel?" Lars asks you, his face holding on to an innocent expression as one of his hands trail down from your side and its thumb digs into your clothed clit. The musician looks at you with faux confusion as you cry out, his tongue coming to peek out in barely hidden hunger as your chest heaves and your arms give out underneath you. Wooden drumsticks falter and tumble down to the floor, the sound going unnoticed as Lars helps you lift your hips from the chair beneath you and tugs your pants and underwear down in one haste filled yank. You immediately shy away as your overheated and weeping pussy is exposed to the awe looking man kneeling in between your legs, and you freeze in place as he lets out a tsking sound.

"I asked you a question, princess. Where else do you want me to taste you?" You let out an audible gasp as he situates himself and grazes his fingertips everywhere except for where you truly needed them.

"Want your tongue to taste my pussy, want your mouth on me again," you start shakily, letting out a moan as you watch his green eyes darken at your next words. "On your pussy." Lars temporarily closes his eyes and twitches against your leg from your words, and you murmur out his name as his hand travels to cup your sex and tease at it with his calloused palm. "So, if this is my pussy, then I don't have to wait for you to tell me where you want me to taste you, do I?" He asks you, waiting for your nod of consent and agreement, before thumbing your clit and bringing the digit up to his swollen lips. Lars watches as your breath visibly wanes at the sight of him eating your slick so casually, and he bites back a satisfied and predatory smile as he brings his spit slick thumb back down to rub it against your pulsating folds.

"So, I can eat this pussy, tease this pussy," he muses out slowly, watching you writhe in front of him with impatience and desperation. "Use this pussy whenever I'd like?" You nod with fervor and let out a cry of relief as he slowly teases two fingers inside of your tight heat, the relief almost palpable and bringing tears to your eyes. Lars lets out a coo as he watches your fluttery lids begin to dampen with emotion, and he bends down to lightly press a kiss to your trembling thigh, before trailing his head and mouth up to where it truly wants and craves to be.

You melt and slug against the drum set behind you as the first rough swipe of his tongue meets with your enflamed clit, and your nails dig into his shoulders as his free hand pulls you down even further on the chair. Digits curve themselves in the wet heat inside of you, and your legs seize and tense against either side of his sides as he brushes against your sponge-like spot with finesse. Lars moans against your weeping and gushing sex as he feels your walls clench and constrict around his fingers, and his eyes nearly flutter shut as your taste and slick make their way into his inviting and overactive mouth and down his jaw.

The heat in your groin intensifies and a seeming coil snaps as you reach your first orgasm that night, a sob wrenching its way out of your sore and exhausted lungs as your cum accumulates and strings against his fingers and now sopping wet wrist. Lars' eyes open back up fully as he watches you gasp for air above him, and satisfaction fills him as he watches you involuntarily twitch from his ministrations. His cock impatiently twitches in the confines of his fitted jeans as he waits for you to come down from your oversensitive high, his fingers carefully removing themselves from inside of you and coming up to draw figure 8's in your shivering skin.

"You still with me?" He asks you, you letting out a stilted exhale and weakly nodding back a response, unable to catch your bearing enough to verbally respond back. A feeling of disappointment floods through you once you are finally able to lift your head and see that he's still erect in between your legs, his cockhead visibly pulsing against the material of his pants and staining the zipper of them with precum. Lars lets out a soft sound of confusion as your unsteady hands tug him up into a standing position, his hips bucking into the cupping palm of your hand as you rub against his hard dick.

You let out a hush as he begins to protest your movements as you shakily lift yourself off of the drum set from behind you and the ruined chair, and carefully make your way down onto your still trembling knees. "I just want a taste," you dazedly reassure him, your tongue still feeling heavy and slow from your orgasm just a few minutes ago. "Once I can fully process a single thought that isn't only about me wanting to suck your dick, I want you to fuck me against the drum set."

Lars' mouth gapes open and his eyelids flutter at the relief of you releasing his dick from the rough and damp confinement of his jeans, and a small stutter of a sound punches its way out from his chest as the rain pelts itself down on the windowpane outside. Your mouth begins to water once his length bounces itself against his groin once it's freed, and you waste no time before sliding your tongue out of your mouth and wrapping it around his flushed, red tip.

The Dane lets out a sharp gasp as you immediately slide down to the hilt once your tongue collects the copious amount of his pre-ejaculate, and his fingers run down to make purchase in your wet locks as you hungrily swallow around him.

"Holy shit." He shakily whispers out, the muscles in his stomach taut and tightening as you mouth fuck him for all he's worth, your tongue sliding out as you deepthroat him and moan at the feeling of the tip of his dick meeting with the back of your throat.

You lightly tap against his hips with one of your spit-soaked palms and let out a positive sounding hum, your eyes fluttering shut and eyelashes collecting stray and heavy tears once he begins to fuck your mouth and throat. Calloused fingers tear their way through the strands of your hair as his hips make audible contact with your chin, going so far into your throat that the tip of your tongue makes contact with his tightening and raising ballsack.

Lars has to force himself to slowly slide out of the tight heat of your mouth and cup the base of his dick before he orgasms, the tip of his cock still weeping out a few drops of pre-release as he takes in your disheveled look and state. Thick tear stains run themselves down your cheeks and bubbled spit collects itself in a messy spread along your chin, and you lightly rub at the hood of your sex as your arousal drips down onto the wooden floorboards beneath the two of you.

"God, you're such a fucking dream." Lars grunts out, his fingers slowly removing themselves from your hair and bending down to wrap his shaky palms around the slick sides of your waist. You let out a pleased sound as you're lifted up with ease and planted back onto your feet, the sound soon turning into a gasp as you're steadily maneuvered and bent over the drum set, the chair you released on earlier getting shoved to the side once again.

The drummer lets out a hum of approval as he watches you obediently spread your legs wide and fight your inner shyness, the slick running down your thighs enticing him even further as he nearly mounts himself over you. "What'd you say about me fucking you against my drum set earlier, again?" He casually asks you, you beginning to feel small in this position as he towers over you, a blush fighting its way up to your messy cheeks as you hear and feel him slicking himself up with your release and wetness.

You can only whisper and beg out a please, before his length slides into you with an experienced and hearty thrust, his tip hitting your g-spot like it was made for you and this moment entirely. Lightning strikes out again and paints itself white against the two of you, as you sob and hold onto a cymbal as you're pounding into from behind.

Slick and disgustingly messy sounds create a cacophony in the small apartment, combined with your strangled and gasped out moans of pleasure, and you let out a silent scream as the man behind you slides a hand down your front and pinches at your clit, his mouth only releasing itself from your hickey-ridden shoulder to playfully muse out.

"Knew you'd sound better screaming for me, rather than at me." You're unable to rebut back as your second orgasm takes over and your release soaks the front of his still thrusting thighs. A hand delicately wraps itself around your throat as he continues to fuck up into you with reckless abandon. You let out silent gasps of pleasure and overstimulation as he uses you against his set, the partial deprivation of air making you feel deliciously lightheaded. Lars moans out against your ruined skin and pulses himself inside of you as he fills you to the brim, the sensitive skin of the tops of your thighs beginning to sting from his once seemingly never-ending thrusts.

Thick globs of cum run their way down your weakened legs as he slowly removes himself from inside of you and gently turns you around, your body relaxing in his embrace as he brings you forward and into a spit coated kiss.

"You doing alright? I was a little bit rough with you." Lars' eyes run their way down your exhausted and beat figure, and you nod against him with the rest of the energy you've got left in you, before slumping forward and closing your eyes.

"How about we both get in the shower, and then come back out and clean up this mess?" You tiredly open your eyes and let out a shocked and weak bout of laughter as you look down at the floor beneath you. A thick consistency of your combined releases drip themselves down into a puddle on the floor from the drum set and the chair is tumbled over and lying down on its side, the curtain closest to it now on the floor and tangled around a leg of it. If you look close enough, you can still see the shine of your cum on the sitting area of the chair. You quickly blush and glance away as your feet are removed from the ground once again as he lifts you up. And as you tilt your head back and allow yourself to be carried away and toward the bathroom you stormed out of earlier, you let a small smile grace your face as lightning resounds and vibrates the floorboards beneath the two of you.

You were glad he made his way over to your brother's apartment on his own, and eventually to you, and into you.

#metallica #lars ulrich #lars ulrich x reader #metallica smut #metallica x reader #metallica imagines #james hetfield #kirk hammett #lars ulrich smut

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aurevell · 8 months

Text

Returning the Favor Sterek | 5k | T

Stiles pays a nighttime visit to his boyfriend in secret, or so he thinks. Unfortunately, the Hale family has keener ears than he realizes.

It’s late when Derek hears the noise at the side of the house. A creak of siding that cuts through the backdrop of cricket song. Just one lone sound, but there’s something cautious about it. Probing.

He lowers the book he’s reading, but no other sounds follow. Derek has been lying sprawled across his bed, drowsy and warm and comfortable, sweatpant-clad legs resting against the wall—but now that he’s conscious of the sound, his focus sharpening, he thinks he’s been hearing quiet noises grow nearer for some time without quite comprehending them. A wild animal outside, maybe, creeping slowly around the foundation of the house. Something large enough that the mulch in the flower bed crunches beneath its weight.

It’s not often that a solitary animal grows bold enough to venture this close to a werewolf pack—the scent always scares them off first. They don’t even get raccoons out here, especially not with the cold this time of year. It could always be their cousin Warren, who’s always thought it funny to startle his relatives with unexpected visits in the dead of night. Or any one of the nasty things in Uncle Peter’s wild stories, supernatural things that creep into the house come dark.

Derek glances at the window, book still resting on his chest, but the house is still.

Maybe it’s gone. That’s just as well: he’s too comfortable to drag himself over to the window to look.

And then another sound comes, an unmistakable creak. Heavy weight settling into place.

Downstairs, his mother sighs. “What was that?” she demands, her voice faint with distance. She and his dad are likely out on the porch swing at this time of evening, even though it’s nearly winter, lunatics that they are. “If Laura and Cora are at it again—”

“I’m sure they aren’t, Tal,” Derek’s father replies, sounding amused. “You put the fear of god in them.”

Mom scoffs. “If we have to repair another door, it’s coming out of their pockets.”

“Not everything is my fault, Mom,” Cora mutters pointedly from down the hall. There’s heavy metal coming from the vicinity of Laura’s bedroom, just low enough to be blasting from her headphones, and she doesn’t pipe up to defend herself.

The thing hasn’t gone away. Metal squeaks a moment later, and then the scrabbling returns, punctuated by a thump and a muffled grunt.

Annoyed, Derek tosses the book aside and clambers to his feet, crossing over to the window. When he hoists up the sash, letting the night chill waft in, he peers down into the dark and finds that the source is worse than anything he could have imagined.

It’s his boyfriend, scaling the side of the house like some deranged cat burglar.

Stiles is hanging onto the drainpipe, having managed to hoist himself several feet off the ground. He’s leaning against the metal awning over the kitchen window, one foot atop the shutter and the other scrabbling for purchase against the siding. At the clatter of Derek’s opening window, he looks up, startled, and nearly loses his balance.

“What are you doing here?” Derek hisses.

“Just returning the favor.” With a moment to catch himself against the awning, Stiles gets his bearing and grins. “What? Don’t make that face. C’mon, you can show up at all hours of the night, but turnabout isn’t fair play?”

With that, he sticks his tongue between his teeth, which he sometimes does unconsciously when something demands his full attention. And the perilous task of climbing should get his full attention, given how often he stumbles when both of his feet are on the ground. God, Derek is about to witness his idiot boyfriend fall to his death or something.

Stiles heaves himself mostly onto the awning, clawing for purchase with a grunt. When he reaches for the window, he loses his grip, nearly sliding backward onto the grass; in a flash of panic, Derek grabs him by his shirt and yanks him forward.

“Are you trying to get yourself killed?” he demands, aware of their volume and even more aware of their audience.

The awning rattles as Stiles draws up his long legs to slip inside the window feet first, ducking under the sash. He’s panting a little as he pulls himself upright, though he bats his eyes sweetly in the face of Derek’s scowl. “Oh, please. I knew you’d catch me. ‘My hero,’ and all that.”

“Should have let you fall and die,” Derek retorts, shutting the window.

“Probably. Oh man, that was so athletic. Sometimes, I amaze myself.”

Derek doesn’t have anything smart to say to that. He’s only half paying attention, too busy bracing for the discussion sure to follow.

He and Stiles may as well have stomped up and down the stairs blowing air horns as far as the rest of the house goes. Everyone will have heard. Derek is absolutely sure because you can hear a pin drop, like no one’s even moving, like everyone’s waiting with bated breath—either gleeful or judgmental or both—to hear what comes next. Even Laura’s deafening headphones have gone silent. Fuck.

Worst of all…Stiles doesn’t know any of this. He doesn’t yet know about the secret the Hale family hides, or how keenly they can hear, or that every word he says will be seized up and cheerfully dissected and gossiped about in real time.

Read the rest on AO3

#sterek #sterek fic #mine #vaguely inspired by a tumblr post i have been unable to find after multiple searches in the month+ it took me to write this #i think it was a pic of two cats falling off a roof??#and whoever posted it was basically like 'haha this is stiles-coded after he tries to climb derek's window and pulls derek down with him'#i'm pretty sure i even reblogged it and yet where is it??#if you know what i'm talking about let me know lmao #anyway #this is only a little bit about stiles struggling through the window #mostly it's about how i think werewolf hearing would upgrade the sibling-on-sibling crime possibilities in any given household #and the fact that you could not get away with ANYTHING noisy without every other person in the house knowing about it #so having blabbermouth stiles stilinski pop into said household while being totally ignorant of the existence of werewolves...#let's just say 'poor derek' and leave it at that lmao

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tcwmatchmakingau · 10 months

Text

Take a Chance (Part 2)

Pairing: Crosshair x reader

Rating: General (but MDNI)

Summary: Crosshair can’t scarcely believe that he’s been matched so quickly. The date he goes on is like nothing he’s experienced before.

Warnings: more Crosshair angst; fluff; more of my matchmaker OC Tal (and a blink-and-you-miss-it of my clone OC Creed); Crosshair has a lot of feelings but doesn’t know how to show them

WC: 5.2k

Read Part 1 here!

Crosshair spent the entire rest of the day in agony. Tal had promised to message as soon as possible, but Crosshair needed information three hours ago. Curse Wrecker for shoving his nose into Crosshair’s business. Curse Wrecker for wearing down his walls, lowering his defenses, putting him into this karking situation. It was nearly enough to dredge up the old itch under his skin for a quick smoke, something to take the edge off.

No. That wasn’t a promise he’d break anytime soon. 99’s wrinkled face flashed in his mind, and he sighed, slouching farther into his desk chair.

He’d sit at this damned desk all night if he had to.

Instead of the intel-gathering he should have done in the first place, all he could do now was sit and wait and hope that his target would stumble blindly into his scopes. It wouldn’t be the first time—but it certainly wasn’t his preferred way of completing a mission.

He tried, genuinely tried, to not think of this whole endeavor as a mission. The date looming in his near future could very well change the entire trajectory of his life in a way that none of the routine reconnaissance and black ops missions Clone Force 99 took on did. But he couldn’t help it. He was grasping at straws, snagging on anything that gave him a semblance of normalcy.

The dim Coruscanti sun had just begun to set, speared by the innumerable skyscrapers that blocked his view, when the comlink chimed. Forcing himself to breathe evenly, he glanced down at the newest message.

Crosshair— come to my office when you can. Nothing’s wrong. Just want this conversation to happen in person.

His brain shut off after the first sentence. Something had gone wrong. His prospective match—matches—somehow found out who he was and bailed, withdrew their applications with RTL. Worse, the matchmaking service had decided that he was unfit material for their clientele and would be barring him from utilizing the company in the future.

A swell of anger crested through him, burning away the anxiety he’d been wallowing in all day. They really had no idea who they were dealing with, did they? Well, he would just have to go down there and give Tal a piece of his mind.

Halfway out the door, he fired off a text to the group chat—going out—before putting the comlink on silent and shoving it into his jeans’ pocket. The walk to the shiny, chromium-plated building passed in a blink; before he realized it, Crosshair stood peering up at the clean white sign, a scowl marring his features.

The receptionist was different from the one he met yesterday, but the man behind the desk seemed to know exactly why he was here as Crosshair stalked to the check-in station. Pressing a button on the intercom, the man spoke in a low tone, holding up one finger for Crosshair to wait.

“Yes, of course,” the man said. “I’ll let him know.”

Setting the phone back in its cradle, the man gave him a cursory smile. “Tal will be right out.”

Crosshair grunted in acknowledgement, but refused to sit. He lingered in an aisle between chairs, arms crossed over his chest, pointedly staring at the door that led to the back offices. In the corner behind him, two regs conversed quietly. He felt their gazes bore into him. Normally, it pissed him off; right now, all he wanted was an explanation.

The moment the door cracked open, Crosshair yanked the handle. A young woman, eyes wide as plates and hand flying to her heart, shrieked in surprise.

“Oh—uh, s-sorry,” he muttered out, anger in his chest immediately dousing with embarrassment. “Thought you were—”

“Th-That’s alright,” she said, affixing a smile to her face. Blinking, she peered past him. “Creed?”

One of the two regs stood and straightened his denim jacket before disappearing to the back with the case worker. Before the door fully shut, though, it swung open once more, admitting the familiar figure of Tal.

“Someone’s impatient,” Tal noted with a raised eyebrow.

With a hard look, Cross merely swaggered past his case worker, taking the monotonous hallways back until he recognized the exact wood grain pattern on the correct door. Tal touched their keycard to it and the door unlocked with a click.

“Speak,” Crosshair spat as soon as the door shut behind Tal.

Tal’s jaw worked for a moment, their eyes narrowed as they appraised him. “Wanna try that one again?”

Crosshair deflated, sinking into the silken futon. He gestured helplessly for Tal to break the news, whatever it may be. It was as close to an apology as he felt capable of mustering right now.

“I just thought you ought to know that the match chosen for you,” Tal began, perching in their seat, hands laced in their lap, “doesn’t exactly live nearby.”

Crosshair scarcely dared to breathe. Eyes locked onto a faint stain in the area rug, he swallowed down the riot of emotions coursing through his body and focused on the words.

He still had a match.

Exhaling, he dared to glance up. Tal met his gaze with a calm expression of patience.

“I can see how my message may have worried you,” Tal said. “But I wanted to talk in person. These are very special circumstances, and I want you to know all the options.”

Still giving him a choice, still giving him control, even after he made an ass of himself. Mollified, Crosshair nodded slowly.

“Which are what, exactly?”

“Either we bring her here, or send you to her,” they said. “We recently opened up the applications to other planetary systems, intending to establish other branches wherever clones settled down. It just happens that her application matches yours, not any of the men on her own planet.”

He couldn’t quash the childish sense of pride that filled him with. “‘Special circumstances,’ eh?”

Tal nodded and said, “Leadership is willing to cover the cost of transportation for the first meeting at least. I am still negotiating for future meetings should this first one be successful.”

“You’re…fighting for me,” Crosshair said. The disbelief rang harsh, even in his own ears.

“That is my job,” Tal said with a wry smile. “Believe it or not, Crosshair, there are people who want the best for you and your brothers. For all the clones.”

Leaning back against the futon, he rubbed his hands over his face, pressing his fingers against his eyes until starbursts exploded across his vision.

“It’s a lot to take in,” Tal said. “But what I can tell you is that she is very excited to meet you.”

“You showed her my profile?” he asks, lips baring in a half-snarl.

“Maker, no,” Tal said with a gentle laugh. “The moment you let me choose was the moment this became a double-blind process. Once you agree to the meeting, you’ll receive just her holoscan and name, and she will get yours.”

Crosshair turned that information over in his mind. Never no mind the fact that he hadn’t been the one to give up the choice, it wasn’t lost on him that Tal used the word ‘meeting’ rather than ‘date’—removing a lot of the pressure and anxiety that he still felt over this whole situation. And really, what did he have to lose? His brothers would support him whatever his decision, like they always had, once they processed their own emotions. Sure, he’d probably let this mystery woman down, and Tal, too, but his match didn’t even live on Coruscant. He’d likely never meet her if he didn’t do this. And Tal, well… Crosshair was no stranger to shutting others out.

In reality, the only person who would be hurt if he chose not to do this was himself.

Maybe he owed it to himself to try.

“Alright,” he finally said. “I’ll go to her. See the sights.”

Which is how he found himself, a standard week later, standing in the midst of one of the less busy ports on Coruscant. The shuttle taking him to the nearby system, Stassia, was due to arrive at the terminal in just a few minutes, and Crosshair couldn’t keep his eyes off of the chrono. Would his date—he struggled over the word, even in his own mind—understand if he was late because of traffic delays?

Looking at the chrono meant that he also ended up rereading the series of messages from his brothers.

Remember, vod, just be yourself.

That is terrible advice, Hunter. Crosshair, be the opposite of how you usually are. -Tech

Don’t listen to Tech. You’re gonna be fine. She’s gonna love you no matter what! Or they wouldn’ta matched ya together.

Grinding his teeth, Crosshair shoved his comlink back in his pocket and tried to ignore the conflicting advice. As starships and people flowed around him like water, he remained unmoving, rooted to the spot. There were very few times in his relatively short life where he could recall feeling like this, and he despised every one of those memories.

He was a wreck.

Outwardly, he’d never show it. He knew he continued to exude the calm, collected, debonair facade that had practically become his trademark, even as his insides melted to jelly and solidified to permacrete simultaneously. He was being ripped apart from the inside by nerves.

He’d printed out the holoscan that Tal provided him, the only bit of you that he knew so far besides your name. The flimsi crumpled in his grip before he remembered to relax. Even in a holoscan, slightly pixelated and distorted, he knew you were beautiful. A bright smile and shining personality, he realized, staring down at the flimsi clutched in his grasp, he couldn’t wait to meet.

The shuttle arrived on time, departed the port on time, and made the jump to hyperspace on time. It did little to ease the heavy stone of nerves settled into Crosshair’s stomach. By the time the ship lurched out of the hyperspace lane, he’d bitten his nails down to the beds, one of them bleeding.

During the war, he’d seen his fair share of planets—always in quick bursts, flashes of cultures and climates that sometimes left his mind whirling. In their own ways, every system was unique and beautiful, and this one was no different. The Stassia system was on the smaller side, a surprise given its location in the core, but what little snooping he’d done on the HoloNet revealed a comfortable, temperate planet dominated by agriculture and cattle. As he gazed through the transparisteel viewport down at the vast green landmasses and deep azure oceans of your homeworld, the nerves that had been plaguing him for the past week settled.

He was here. He could do this. He would do this.

He still had no idea what activity he’d be expected to partake in. Hunter’s first date with his partner had been a simple dinner; Tech took his to the Coruscant Library; and Wrecker met his to watch a speeder race. But that had all happened on Coruscant, a city-planet; this, he mused, disembarking the shuttle, this planet was much quieter.

Breathing deep, he enjoyed the scent of hot earth, grass, and animals that filled his lungs. The sun, hanging low in the sky, scattered color across the sky in a vast canvas, oranges bleeding into purples, as fireflies gently warbled lime green across the field ahead of him. “Quiet” was certainly the word for it; this quaint little space port boasted a singular platform and loading dock, nestled at the edge of a small town.

A few other passengers had gotten off at this stop as well, all of them nat-born. Crosshair watched in silence as they all rushed off the platform, joining their loved ones who waited along the dirt path that led into town. Skimming the small throng, any hopes that had buoyed up upon landing suddenly burst. He didn’t see your face among the crowd.

Biting down on his toothpick, he stuffed his hands into his jean pockets and trudged along the dusty footpath toward the town. The closer he got, the more this world came to life around him. The sweet smell of freshly baked bread wafted on the warm evening breeze from open windows, mixing with the joyous sounds of children giggling in whatever game they played. The buildings here were short and square, made of wood instead of metal, but looked comfortable. A string of warm yellow lights flickered to life overhead as he passed through the town center, a latticework of wires, bulbs, and gently chiming trinkets. He watched as lovers linked arms to stroll down the street and parents scolded their spawn for darting too far ahead.

And then he saw you.

Standing at the end of the main square, clutching at the strap of your crossbody bag, your face quite literally glowed in the incandescent illumination above. Head tilted back, a soft smile playing over your features, Crosshair had never seen someone so…at peace.

He didn’t realize he was staring until you seemed to notice him, frozen in place, eyes locked onto your face.

He watched the recognition spread over your features instantly, your eyes widening and smile broadening into a beaming grin.

“Crosshair?” you asked, striding toward him.

He gave a single, curt nod. “That’s me.”

Holding out your hand, he glanced down at it before shaking it. Your skin was warm against his, smooth and pleasant. You gave him your name, even though he already knew it, already had it committed to memory, and then resumed fidgeting with the strap of your bag.

“So,” you said, “how do you feel about going to the carnival?”

“Never been to one.”

“That’s not what I asked,” you said, squinting up at him, a defiant light sparking there in the yellow lights.

Arching one thin eyebrow, Crosshair couldn’t help but chuckle. “No, I don’t suppose it was.” He let the word fade, let you sit for a moment to ponder whether he would actually answer your question, before continuing, “Carnival works fine. Lead on.”

“We’ll have to take a speeder bike,” you said. Walking backwards to keep your eyes on him, he marveled at the sudden impulse to turn you around if only to avoid you hurting yourself. “It’s not far. And it’s so worth it. The fried dough is to die for.”

To die for. Every time a nat-born let that phrase slip out around him or his brothers, they always followed it up with some asinine question like, “Oh Maker, was that insensitive?” He hated it every time. And now, he tensed, expecting the faux-pity, the sympathy he never wanted. But it didn’t come. You’d since pivoted on your heel to lead him through the gathering dark without a second thought to your words.

He lengthened his stride to match your pace. “You’ve been to it before?”

“Every year since I was a youngling,” you said. “Family tradition. But my parents are gone now, so, it’s just me.”

Another reflexive tensing of his shoulders, jaw clenching around the toothpick. Parents, or any mention of families, also set nat-borns on edge around clones. But again, you didn’t offer any apologies or even showed any sign that you were privy to the way Crosshair reacted.

He simply grunted in response, not sure what to say now that his usual scathing remarks were unnecessary. You seemed content with his response. The pair of you passed through the rest of the town and came upon a secondary, smaller platform with a half dozen speeders parked on it. Moving to the farthest one down the row, you shot him a look as if to say, Coming?

“This yours?” he drawled, eyes narrowed as he focused on the way that your hands moved with practiced ease over the bike’s controls.

The engine revved to life. Swinging your leg over the main seat, you nodded. “Used to be my dad’s. C’mon, hop on.”

Somehow, it hadn’t occurred yet to Crosshair that taking a speeder bike to this carnival would entail some kind of physical contact. He’d just assumed that there would be multiple, that maybe they would race, but not this scenario.

He hesitated only for a split second, processing his options in record time, before hitching his leg over the back of the bike and perching onto the narrow passenger seat. Now faced with another decision, his hands froze in the air as he debated where to hold on.

You saved him the trouble by reaching back and, blindly groping, snagged one of his wrists to draw around your middle. Surprise thrummed through Crosshair, the feeling of your skin once again sending a thrill of excitement down his spine. He leaned against your back, settling his chin in the crook of your shoulder as his arms locked around your body.

Pressed against you like this, he felt the way your body shook with silent laughter.

“Was that a test?” he asked flatly.

Your laughter rang out as you guided the speeder off the platform and into the tall grass. “No. Maybe. Alright, yeah, it was. I can tell a lot about a person by how they react to sitting behind me.”

Cross hummed. “What can you tell about me?”

“Secure,” you said, and then all conversation ceased as you pushed the speeder to its limits.

The roar of the engine mingled with the rush of wind in his ears. Tall plains grass whipped past; he was grateful he’d chosen denim pants and a thicker leather jacket, the garments offering protection against the sting of the grass. When you leaned forward, urging the bike faster, he had no choice but to lean with you, his chest pressed to your back, warmth blooming somewhere behind his sternum. Even at this speed, whatever perfume you’d put on filled his nose, gentle and peaceful and muted.

In the rapidly gathering dark, it wasn’t long before he picked out the telltale sign of the carnival. Multicolored lights, strobing and flashing, twinkled like so many beacons in the midst of the sea of grass. You guided the speeder down to a reasonable speed, and Crosshair caught his first real glimpse of the carnival.

Red and white striped tents dotted the landscape, sprawled like childrens’ toys, clustered around large mechanical rides. He didn’t have names for most of the rides, but already knew that his favorite would be the one just ahead, with four main arms that branched down into double-seater pods. Carnival-goers already sat strapped into the ride seats as the machinery whirred to life. Engrossed, Crosshair watched as the main arms began to orbit the center spoke, and, to his surprise, the groupings of seats rotated around one another.

“That’s the Scrambler,” you explained, following his line of sight. “We can do that one first. It makes me real dizzy.”

He said nothing as you eased the bike to a stop a short distance away from the main entrance. A large, lighted arch proclaimed Welcome in stylized Basic; a short queue shuffled underneath as visitors bought tickets and darted off once inside.

He followed you, content to let you lead, as he soaked in every new sight. Children tugged on parents’ hands toward much tamer rides, spinning teacups and dancing bears; gaggles of teens giggled past as they shoved cotton candy into their mouths; other couples, young and starry eyed, traipsed toward the tallest ride, a massive metal circle. But what really caught his attention were the draped stalls. He spied a number of games, all based on aim, all promising prizes of a soft, squishy variety. A small thrill of anticipation hummed through him. How many of those could he win for you?

“Crosshair?” you asked.

Yanking his attention back, he blinked down at you. “Hm?”

“Should I get enough tickets to do everything once?”

He nodded and fished in his back pocket for the stack of credits that Hunter had shoved into his hands before he left. But you shook your head with a small smile, saying, “You get food, I’ve got tickets.”

Hesitating only a moment, he nodded once, acquiescing. In no time at all, you exchanged brief pleasantries with the gate attendant, purchased a bundle of tickets, and turned to him with a wide smile, happiness shining in your eyes.

“Shall we?”

He twitched his eyebrows up in an approximation of a ‘yes.’

You took a step forward, then turned back, a suddenly shy look on your face. “May I?” You reached as if to grab his hand.

He studied your face for the space of a heartbeat, drawing in as much visual information as he could, in only the way that he knew how, a product of his engineering. Now that he was over the initial shock of seeing you in person, his enhanced eyesight cataloged every feature of your expression that you probably weren’t even aware of. The single eyebrow hair that you’d missed while plucking, the way that your left canine was just a smidge crooked where it gleamed between your parted lips, the accrual of living a life outdoors ingrained into your skin.

Crosshair was, by nature, a visual person. He placed a lot of emphasis on both his appearance and how others presented themselves to him. He’d long since forgiven himself for honing in on the defects, the blemishes, the scars and marks and imperfections.

Looking at you now, he found that the imperfections were what made you perfect.

In silent approval, he held his hand out for you to take. Skin sliding against skin, his tongue toyed with the damp toothpick as he marveled once again at your softness. You led him directly to the Scrambler, true to your word; handing over the required number of tickets to the attendant, you shot him an expectant look as the two of you joined the short queue.

“So,” you said, leaning against the battered metal railing, “Right to Love, huh?”

Whatever warmth had taken root in his chest wilted a little. Arching one eyebrow down at you, he scoffed. “So, clones, huh?”

“I’ll tell you why if you tell me first,” you offered.

The line moved up as the ride came to a clattering halt. He used the movement as a momentary distraction, enticed and yet unsettled by your forwardness. But to his dismay, the attendant shut the gate before the two of you could go through, putting you at the front of the line.

As the ride chugged to life once again, Crosshair allowed himself to sigh. “My brothers wouldn’t let up until I set up an appointment.”

The gaze you fixed him with said you wanted to call his bantha fodder, but you just nodded slowly, digesting that.

“Your turn,” he said.

You huffed a laugh. “I have high standards.”

Crosshair felt his eyebrows creep up. “Standards.”

“Yup.” You fiddled with the fraying strap of your bag. “Always wanted more than the farm could give me. Not that there’s anything wrong with the farms here, they’re just…the same they were when I was a kid. And they’ll be the same when I’m old and dying.”

“The stability means nothing to you?” Crosshair asked. Though he supposed he understood your viewpoint: he chafed under routine, living the same days on nearly endless repeat.

Shrugging, you exhaled slowly, turning your face skyward. “I dunno, I just… I look up at the stars and know there’s entire worlds out there.”

He followed your gaze. He’d seen his fair share of those worlds; he wanted to see them again someday, under better circumstances.

“Anyways.” You laughed, sounding hollow and forced. “Um. I hope you like this ride.”

“I will,” he said.

And he did. Though it reminded him of some of the cadet training he went through with his batch, the centripetal force pinning him to the seat also smushed you alongside him, your bodies touching nearly their entire lengths. Your breathless laughs and thrilled squeals as the ride whipped around, faster and faster, set his heart ablaze. Dimly, he was confused—was this supposed to be so easy?—but the low chuckle that escaped him felt right. You felt right.

He owed Tal an apology, and a thank you.

The pair of you stumbled out of the ride, hair windswept and messy. His lips twitched into a grin as he watched you sway, his own vision tilting on its axis for a moment before righting itself.

“Where to now, trooper?” you asked, giggling.

“You pick.”

Hours later, when you’d ridden every ride and after he bought you both some overpriced, overly greasy fair food that you insisted he try (and that he silently admitted was amazing), he finally dragged you over to one of the game booths, intent on earning a souvenir, at least for you, if not for himself, too.

You groaned as he tugged you by the hand. “Crosshair, these things are always rigged—”

“That’s because you don’t have a marksman’s eye,” he drawled.

Stepping up to one that seemed like it should be simple—a wall of balloons and a pile of darts—he wordlessly passed the worker the trivial number of tickets and accepted the three darts he was allotted. He turned the darts over in his hand, feeling their balance, calculating angles and trajectories and even wind speeds on autopilot. He could do this part in his sleep. No, he was incredibly aware of the way that you openly stared at him, a smile toying with your lips, as you waited for him to prove you wrong.

“Watch and learn, doll,” he murmured, and then he threw all three darts at the same time.

Pop-pop-pop!

Three balloons exploded into tatters as the darts landed in a neat line. Pride reared its head in his chest as your mouth fell open, an admiring gleam glazing your eyes.

“You were saying?” he said, smug.

Laughing in disbelief, he couldn’t help but preen as you shook your head. “Wow. Um. That was impressive.”

“Let’s make a bet.” The words were out of his mouth before he even realized what he was saying.

Cocking your head, you grinned. “What kind of bet?”

“I bet I can win every game here.” He held up a finger at the impatient attendant who tried to interrupt.

He watched as you weighed the options for a moment; he could nearly see the gears turning in your mind, the way your brow scrunched as you thought. Then you nodded.

“What are we wagering?” you said.

“If I win, I pick our next date,” he said simply. He enjoyed the way your smile turned shy, face tilting down for a moment. “If I lose, you pick again.”

“That’s awfully presumptuous of you,” you said. But when you reached out and gently ran your fingers across the back of his hand, he knew you were just teasing.

“Hey, man, you gonna pick a prize or what?” the huffy attendant asked.

Rolling his eyes, Cross jerked his head at you. “Pick.”

“Oh!” Delight sparkled in your eyes as you quickly glanced over the options. “The little green frog, please.”

He’d lost track of time. This was the most fun he’d had…ever, and he wasn’t even sure how it was possible to feel so connected to a person he’d just met. Let alone a nat-born. He’d only experienced one fit of angst when he thought you weren’t looking, wondering if his snark was grating on you, but every time he quipped, you matched his energy. You held your own. He appreciated it.

But by now, the night was winding down. Fewer people crowded the grounds, and the sounds of screams had declined dramatically. He still had one more game to win—much more at stake, of course, than just the stuffed toy waiting for him.

“If you win this one,” you said, arms full with an assortment of squishable friends, frogs and Loth-cats and baby banthas and a number of other critters, “you’re picking the prize. I can’t carry any more.”

“Deal.” His eyes skimmed the prizes in this booth. They were the biggest ones yet, massive Loth-cats that probably stood at least half of his height. It would be so out of place in his otherwise sparse bedroom, but it would be his. All he had to do was win.

With only a couple handfuls of tickets left, he doled out the specific amount for this game. The attendant yawned their way through the explanation of the game: toss the rings over the bottlenecks without knocking any down. If he got all five, he got the big prize. As with every other game, he took a moment to feel the balance of the projectiles, assess angles, get a feel for what he had to do.

Maybe it was just the knowledge that his entire bet rode on this final game, or maybe it was something else, but a nagging doubt wriggled at the back of his brain as he held the rings.

Shrugging it off, he took one and, aiming, tossed it for the bottle directly in the center. It was a good throw—a perfect one, he knew—but he watched, horror mounting, as the ring caught the lip of the bottle and bounced.

“What?” he snarled.

Tossing the second ring, he aimed for the same bottle, and again, the ring bounced. Kark. He gritted his teeth and tried again, adjusting his stance. This one was a little better, it at least flipped over the neck of the bottle behind the one he’d aimed for. Holding his pose, he tossed the remaining two rings and got them both on.

You snorted a laugh at his side. “Technically, you won.”

“No, I didn’t,” he ground out. Throwing tickets at the attendant, he scooped up another five rings.

Taking his time, he held each individual ring to get a feel for its particular balance. Four of them sat in his hand, identical in every way; but the fifth, that traitorous little piece of plastic and rubber, was unbalanced by the tiniest margin, something he’d obviously missed in his overconfidence the first time.

He threw that one first, accounting for its unfair design, and it slotted home on exactly the bottle he aimed for. Triumph burned hot and fierce in his chest. The other four rings landed perfectly, as well, testament to his skill as a marksman. And as he clutched the giant, white-and-gray Loth-cat plush to his chest, he caught the way that your gaze softened as you studied him.

“What?” he asked.

You shook your head. “Nothing. Do we have enough tickets left for the Ferris Wheel?”

Only three tickets remained clutched in his palm. The Wheel, he saw, peering over the dwindling crowd, required two tickets per rider. His heart sank in his chest, a peculiar, unfamiliar feeling.

He saw the exact moment that your disappointment registered, and his heart squeezed. He hated the way that your face fell, eyes downcast, before you reassembled a falsely cheery mask over your expression.

“That’s alright,” you said, forcing a smile. “We did a lot tonight.”

Crosshair was already searching the ground, eyes darting around in an attempt to locate any stray or discarded tickets. He would fix this. He would make you happy.

There.

Balancing his Loth-cat on one hip, he bent to retrieve the trampled, soggy piece of paper. He held it aloft with the barest hint of a grin. “You were saying?”

Crosshair had never known a softness quite like the one in your eyes as you beamed at him.

#tcw matchmaking au #clone matchmaking au #The Bad Batch #prompt response

107 notes · View notes

eyes-that-decieve · 3 days

Note

Amelie appears in Tal's hallways,every part of them focused on finding them.

"Tal,where are you. I'm coming over to check up,want it or not, we're spirallings so I won't leave you alone."

Their voice, unusually distorted,is full of poorly hidden worry.

The hallways glitch and flicker violently as Amelie steps in. As they speak, the flickering seems to slow, Tal making a conscious effort to stabilize it. It doesn't work for very long.

Tal says nothing, but under one of the tree roots their wing moves aside a little, their eyes peering out at Amelie.

#oc: fractal #tma rp #tma oc #oc rp #tma rp blog #tma

20 notes · View notes

neobubz · 1 year

Text

Tension Release (M) Chapter 1 - The New Boy in Town

okay and welcome to the first part of this story. i hope that you made it through the prologue well and it wasn't too boring. i'm trying to tell more stories with my works. and don't worry, things will be picking up a little more in this part ^^ i had to edit the sh*t out of this part because things were happening way to fast and i want to take my time with this story and well...make it a story ^^ hope you enjoy!

PROLOGUE! <- READ FIRST

Word Count: approx. 10.9k Pairings: fem reader x husband x jeno Warning (s): mature audiences only, 18+, explicit language, fingering - sort of… (female receiving), slow paced Preview: As your hand travels down to his stomach it’s your turn to suck in a gasp of air. Feeling the definition of abs all you want to do is rip off his shirt and cover him in kisses, but that isn’t your objective. Your hand keeps traveling south and you rub over the front of his jeans. “Baby…” he whimpers. Giggling you nip the bottom of his lip. “Yes?”

✞ＴＥＮＳＩＯＮＲＥＬＥＡＳＥ✞

“We all thank you for your time and your service. Now let’s get this Habitats for Humanity project started and give this family their brand-new home!” Matthew raises his fist in the air rallying everyone around him.

“Yeah!” All the volunteers and yourself cheer after him.

“Okay you all have your duties, please head over to your designated spots and let’s get to work.”

One by one everyone disperses leaving you with your husband. Seeing a few of the other ladies heading over to get the tables, chairs, and food ready you’re about to take your leave and ask if they need any assistance – not having an actual job to do aside from overseeing the project for the time being, the ladies seem to be a safe enough choice for the first day. However, a firm grip on your hand has you halting your steps.

“We need to talk.”

“You sure you want to talk in front of your flock?” You ask venomously.

“Just follow me, okay?”

Walking away from you Matthew heads into the direction of a nearby building where you’re keeping extra supplies and tools for the project. As he walks past some of the groups who are starting to get to work everyone claps him on the back, shakes his hand, and even makes small talk about how they’re excited to get to work. Keeping up your façade you smile and wave as if you’re the former Queen of England. Following behind your husband, he opens up the side door of the building. Trudging through, arms across your chest you enter to the predominately dark room. for you.

“What did you want to tal —”

Before you can finish your sentence, you’re pushed against an icy cold wall. Matthew peering down at you with an unusual glint in his eyes. His body feeling like he’s sick with fever. It wasn’t until his pupils dilated that you got an inclination of what was going on. In that split second of realization his lips press firmly onto yours.

Taken aback you try to pull away from him but he wraps his arms around your waist keeping you in place.

“Math…thew…” you try to speak.

Like an unfamiliar beast, he attacks your mouth. Lips pressed so hard you taste metal. His tongue darts in and out of your mouth. Swirling around yours in a sensuous dance of passion. Whimpering you almost fall to your knees. This isn’t your husband. This is someone new – someone…exciting, but still not your husband. Desperate for air you push him back far enough to take in a large gasp.

“Matt…hew…” You gasp. “What…” he continues to attack your mouth. “What’s going on?”

Smirking he presses his body against yours until your flat against the wall behind you. Prying your legs open he shoves his knee against your clothed core.

“AHHHH!” You shriek. “What in the world are you do-doing~” You moan the last bit loudly when a particular thrust has you gripping the wall behind you.

“This is what you wanted isn’t it?” He asks bending down, lips dangerously close to yours. “To have me touch you…”

“Wh-What?!” You try to make sense of what’s going on but your body starts to move on its own. Chasing a high that you’ve desperately wanted for so long.

“I’m doing what you want me to do,” he grips the bottom of your chin with his fingers lifting your face to gaze into his eyes. “I’m pleasing my wife the way she wants to be pleased.”

“Th-This isn’t…” you try to suppress another moan. “Shit!”

“Does it feel good, my love?” He asks giving you a small peck on the lips.

You cry out when another thrust of his knee rubs over you just the right way. “Ah! Yes!” You wrap your arms around his shoulders. “Don’t stop…”

Leaning up and pulling him down you connect your lips. This moment this feeling is beyond your imagination. Never before would you expect Matthew to be so forceful. To push you against a wall and take the initiative. To have you moaning for more.

As your lips move across his sloppily, he continues to prod his knee against you. Heat gathering to your core, you’re shocked when his hand moves from your waist to replace his knee. Rubbing against you, Matthew’s lips move along with yours seamlessly. This is it! This is what you’ve been after for the last three months. To feel loved, needed, and desired. To have a partner who isn’t afraid to do something risky.

Icy fingers slide against your skin as Matthew slides his hand down into your pants. Rubbing gently over your panties. Hips moving along to his movements you relish in the feeling. If memory serves you right you’ve never had Matthew do this to you. Foreplay, hasn’t happened since your wedding night – back then it was a quick hip brush against the front of his pants and he was ready to go.

Right here and now is what you wish every time could be like. Kissing, touching, and hopefully… tasting…

“I’m sorry about before,” he mumbles against your lips.

Moving your hips against his hand you answer him breathlessly, “shh-shhh no talking…just kiss me…”

Smiling, Matthew continues to kiss you – to give you what you want. Just as his finger slides between your soaking folds against your panties a brilliant idea pops into your mind. Why should he be the one doing all the work? Sliding your hand down his chest you feel him suck in air against your lips. Taking your time, you go over him. Feeling the firm muscle underneath his shirt.

Matthew’s never been a muscular guy, lean is a better word to describe him. Slight definition of muscle in all the right places. As your hand travels down to his stomach it’s your turn to suck in a gasp of air. Feeling the definition of abs, all you want to do is rip off his shirt and cover him in kisses, but that isn’t your objective. Your hand keeps traveling south to where you rub over the front of his jeans.

“Baby…” he whimpers.

Giggling, you nip his bottom lip. “Yes?”

He reaches for your hand. “Stop. Please.”

And just like a pebble in a sling shot you’re bolted out of the moment. “Again?! Really?!”

“It’s not that! I swear!” He starts to stammer. “This-This is supposed to be about you!”

“About me? Why does it have to be about me?”

“Be-Because you were complaining about –”

Scoffing you move away from him. “Excuse me? Because I was complaining? Is it wrong for me to want to be held, touched, and kissed by my husband? Is it wrong that I want him to love me? To make love to me?

“I don’t want you to do this to me and for me because I was bitching about it and you feel obligated to do it. I want you to do this because you,” your lips start trembling, “because you…love me…”

“Baby!” He rushes to you wrapping you in his arms. “I do love you! But you have to realize that you were complaining and I just thought that if I did what you wanted –”

“Are you fucking kidding me right now?!” You shove him away. “Fine. I’m done.” You head for the door. “If you need time, I’ll give you time. If you need space, I’ll give you space. But just so we’re both on the same page, when you suddenly have the urge to fuck me,” you march up to him jabbing your finger into his chest. “That’s when I’ll need some time and space.”

And with that you take your leave.

✞ＴＥＮＳＩＯＮＲＥＬＥＡＳＥ✞

The moment you storm out of the building you hit something hard in front of you. Glancing up your blinded by the sun for a split second. Hands grip your shoulders as you get your bearings.

“I-I’m so sorry,” you mumble.

“No, I’m sorry. I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going.”

Squinting your eyes, a strange unfamiliar face comes into view. A man about your age with dark hair that glistens blue under the sunlight. The side of his hair shaved down into what looks like stripes under a small tuft of hair before blending into the rest of his hair. A considerably unique hairstyle for this small town. As you stare up at him, his lips curl into a gentle smile. His smile seeming oddly familiar.

“Pardon me for asking, but are you by any chance Pastor Matthew’s wife?”

“Yes, I am. I’m sorry have we met before?”

“No, we haven’t,” he steps back from you holding out his hand. “I asked around if anyone has seen you and was sent here. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. My name is Jeno. I’m Roz’s cousin.”

“You’re…” you mind goes blank.

Roz’s cousin!

Standing dumbstruck you peer at the man in front of you. Long gone is a little boy with big Harry Potter-like glasses that cover half his face. Gone is the sad but truly terrible bowl haircut and gone is the boy in extremely oversized clothing that drowned him. Before you is a very handsome young man. A little too handsome for his own good. No one that remotely resembles the boy in the picture Roz showed you.

Clad in tight black distressed denim jeans and a studded built – a white tank with a giant skull is tucked into his pants showing off his trim waistline. What really gets you however are his arm muscles. He’s smaller in overall build then the men you’ve grown up with, but he’s by far not on the weak side.

Blinking like a fool you reach out your hand. Wrapping his palm around yours you tilt your head. “Jen…o?” You whisper confirming his name.

Nodding he gives you a bright smile. “That’s me.”

As if this man was your own family you take your hand out of his and jump up wrapping your arms around him. “JENO!” You squeal. “Oh my gosh!” You squeeze him tight. “I knew you would be here but…wow!” You step away from him amazed. “So, you’re Roz’s cousin,” you look him over. “Exactly how are the two of you cousins?”

Scratching the back of his neck he chuckles. “Our dads are brothers. Her dad being from South Korea like the rest of us.”

“I had no idea Mr. Lee had a brother…”

“Well now you do! My dad’s the younger brother.”

“Wow…” You squeal again and wrap your arms around him. “I just can’t believe you’re here! She hasn’t really told me much about you so we’ll definitely need to hang out and get to know each other.”

Glancing down at you looking like a squished teddy bear his brows raise. “R-Really?”

“Mmm! I can even show you around town! I’m sure Roz won’t mind at all. What do you say?”

The apples of his cheeks start to tint to a light pink the longer you have your arms wrapped around him. “S-Sure. That sounds great.”

“Wonderful!” You give him one final squeeze. “Now, what do you say we find some work for you? Oh, and next time, wear clothes that you don’t mind getting dirty. This outfit,” you point out. “It looks like you’re about to have a rock concert or something.”

“Sorry I didn’t really pack for physical labor stuff…”

Clapping him on the back you start to move him forward. “My husband has a few clothes that can’t fit him anymore. I’m sure he won’t mind. We were going to donate them anyway. Might as well give them to you so you can work comfortably.”

“E-Eh? Are you sure he won’t mind?”

Glancing behind you, you see your husband ducking back into the building. “No. Not at all. Let’s go.”

Taking his hand into yours you yank him away from the building behind you and your husband. Not wanting to talk to him at all and certainly not in the mood to play host to a meet and greet. Plus, the look on his face was far too good to expel. A little stewing will surely teach him a valuable lesson. Is it mean? Yes. Do you care? Not. At. All.

“So, Jeno, what would you like to help out with? There is uh…digging, sawing, nailing, whatever that guy is doing,” you point to a man pushing a wheelbarrow.

Chuckling he quirks a brow, “you have no idea what’s going on, do you?”

“Nope! I’m supposed to be with the wives right now.” Clearing your throat, you show off one of your many talents, your terrible southern accent. “I’m supposed to be with the wives preparing the tables and food for all you hardworking men.” You fake gag.

“You know, Roz told me a little something about you for when I met you.”

“And what did she say? I’m drop dead gorgeous?” You wink.

Fumbling forward Jeno stumbles over a small hole. “N-No…nothing like that…” he stumbles over his words as well. “Sh-She said that you’re different around her then around the people in town. She also said that if you liked me enough you would show me who you really are.”

“Did she?” You hum. “Well,” you lean into a smirk on your face. “I guess that means I like you,” you throw in a little air kiss.

“EH?!!” He stumbles again.

Holding onto his arm before he hurts himself you sigh exasperated. “Geez! Maybe you should come with me and work with the other women. I’m afraid to leave you on your own. It was a joke, Jeno.” Holding up your left hand you show him your wedding ring. “I’m married, as you so lovely stated when we bumped into each other.”

“The man behind us at the building back there, that was your husband?”

Groaning you remove your hand from his hand and wrap your arm around his. “Let’s not talk about him. We just had a fight.”

“I’m sorry…”

Waving him off you find the perfect man to help you out. “It’s nothing for you to worry about. Mr. Smith!” You shout. “Mr. Smith over here! This is the guy you really need to talk to. He’s the true brains behind this project. He’ll find some work for you to do right away.”

Mr. Smith trudges up to you and Jeno. “Hello deary!”

Giving him a quick hug, he holds your hand in his. “I’m so glad you’re here! Honestly, I thought that you’d sit today out. It’s what? 95˚? Are you sure it’s safe?”

“Oh, don’t worry your pretty little head. I’m not actually working on anything. Just supervising these young whipper snappers. Built plenty of homes back in my younger days,” he tugs on his suspenders proudly. “So, care to introduce your friend?”

“Mr. Smith, this is Jeno Lee. He’s Rosalin Davenport’s cousin, from South Korea.”

“South Korea?” He gapes. “That’s a long way from here.” He extends his hand. “Pleasure to meet you son.”

Taking his hand Jeno starts to shake it only to be left in shock. “Th-That’s quite the grip you’ve got there sir.”

“A good handshake let’s another man know what type of guy you are! Now, my sweet,” Mr. Smith turns to you. “You better run off and help the other women. Us men have a lot of work to do.”

“Yes, sir. Jeno, Mr. Smith will take good care of you and introduce you to some of the other men here.”

“Thank you for helping me!” He calls back to you as Mr. Smith pulls him away.

Once Mr. Smith and Jeno were far enough away from you he starts to talk in a hushed tone – making Jeno lean down to hear him properly.

“My boy, I don’t know you and I’m not too familiar with Mrs. Davenport, but you better watch yourself around that young lady back there. She is the pastor’s wife. A fine respectable young lady. Now, I’ve learned throughout my years on this earth not to judge a book by its cover, so despite your choice of hairstyle and clothing I will and am trying not to judge you. So, I hope I don’t need to warn you again, but I will be keeping my eye on you.”

“Sir, with all due respect, I have no ill intensions with her. I was actually looking for her husband when I saw her. I’m aware of who she is.”

Grumbling in both satisfaction and skepticism Mr. Smith nods his head. “Glad to hear. She’s a truly special girl that one. I’m sure she and her husband will welcome you into this town nicely. Now, tell me, are you a church goer?”

Watching Mr. Smith drag Jeno away you can’t help but smile though it quickly starts to fade. Staring at Jeno’s figure disappearing into the crowd of people something inside of you starts to ache. Thinking logically its because of Matthew you head over to the designated picnic area and help the other wives set everything up for lunch.

Lunch time rolls around and you haven’t seen hide nor hair of Matthew. Not surprising from your argument. He always keeps his distance until he thinks you’ve cooled down. Still not in the mood to have that conversation with him – helping out the other wives has given you time to think on the words you said to him. Knowing full well you need to apologize you move off to the side when everyone starts to shout that lunch is ready.

One by one you watch all the men drop their tools and head over to grab some food. However, as you wait and watch as man after man walks past you, Matthew is nowhere in sight. When Mr. Smith walks up with his wife on his arm you approach them.

“Mr. and Mrs. Smith, have you seen Matthew at all?”

Thinking for a second Mr. Smith shakes his head. “No, I haven’t seen him sweetie. Have you seen him at all?” He asks his wife.

“No, I haven’t. I just got here not long ago. I’m sure he’s somewhere off working hard,” she touches your arm reassuringly. “You know Matthew.”

Giggling you nod. “I sure do. Thank you.”

Growing slightly agitated that you’re here wanting to apologize and he’s nowhere in sight you start at the front of the lot and work your back. Looking everywhere you can’t find him at all. Behind the piles wood, cement bags, and even calling his name to see if he’s inside some of machines – but nothing! He’s nowhere! If it wasn’t that the foundation hadn’t even started to be built you would have looked there, but passing around the large hole with no one inside of it you head to the far back.

What you don’t expect to find is Jeno hard at work. Skin glistening under the sunlight you watch as he continues to saw pieces of wood, his head bopping along to music. Leaning against a large pile of cement bags you watch him work.

When you found out that he would join everyone along with Bill, who you haven’t seen yet, you didn’t actually think he’d show up. Roz and Bill do everything in their willpower to stay away from most of the people in town. The terrible whispering, gossip, and damn near shunning the two of them faced when she became pregnant as a teen caused them to retreat into their beautiful hideaway. So Jeno being here, is quite fascinating.

Reaching up to wipe the sweat off his forehead you really get a chance to see his arm muscles. Choking on your saliva you cast your gaze to the ground. Cursing Roz in your head for not telling you how handsome Jeno was. Pretty boys being your weak spot, but pretty boys with muscles your true undoing. You start planning a quiet retreat when a voice startles you.

“May I help you?” Jeno asks taking out his headphones.

“Oh, um, the food…it’s ready.” You gesture to the front.

“It is?! Great! I’m starving!” Tossing his gloves down he struts up to you a smile on his face. “What’s for lunch?”

“U-Uh, sandwiches, fruit, water, or punch. Your typical picnic treats,” you move away from him.

“Is something wrong?”

Starting your withdrawal, you keep your eyes to the ground. “Nope. Nothing at all.”

Fast footsteps have you glancing up for a split second to see Jeno’s worried expression. “Did I do something wrong? If so, I’d like to apologize.”

“It’s not you, Jeno. It’s me. I’m the problem.”

“You’re the problem? Did something happen after you left? Is it about your husband? I know we just met but if you need someone to talk to –”

“Do you always stick your nose into other people’s business?” You quirk a brow.

“N-No! I just…I mean…I didn’t intend to…” he sighs defeated. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize so much. You’ve done nothing that warrants you to say you’re sorry. Thank you for offering though. It’s really sweet of you. I was looking for Matthew. I haven’t seen him since I ran into you. Have you seen him at all?”

Nodding he smiles. “Yeah, I did.”

“Wait you did?! Where?”

“Well after the older guy took me hostage and put me to work,” you giggle lightly. “I saw your husband and some lady talking. They went in that direction,” he points towards City Hall. “And that was the last I saw of him.”

“Some lady?” You look in the direction Jeno pointed. “I wonder who it was…”

“She had on a dress. Didn’t look like she was here to work at all.”

Nodding, a sickening feeling in the pit of your stomach hits you like a tidal wave. Knowing exactly who this woman is you swallow the sour taste in your mouth. “Thanks for telling me. I’ll ask him about it later.”

“Shit!” He covers his mouth. “Wait…fuck… I mean, I’m sorry for swearing. I didn’t mean too…”

“What did I say about apologizing? It’s okay. You can swear in front of me. Trust me,” you place a hand on his shoulder. “You’ll hear me say far worse soon enough.”

“Di-Did I just rat him out or something?”

“No. It’s probably his ex,” you wave a dismissive hand. “She works at City Hall. A real piece of work if you ask me. She has this delusional idea that they were truly an item back when they were in middle school.” You start laughing. “He told me they didn’t kiss, hold hands, hug or anything, and she broke up with him after a week. In her mind that still qualifies as ‘dating,’” you use air quotes to emphasize how ridiculous she is. “If I’m being honest, she’s a bitch. Can’t stand her, but we needed to get all this paperwork done for the project, so we needed her help with everything.”

“You sure?”

“Yep.” You get behind him and push him forward. “Now get your butt moving or there won’t be any food left!”

Allowing you to push him forward Jeno glances back a strange smile on his face. “That man you shipped me off too,” he starts.

“I didn’t ship you off. Mr. Smith is a nice guy. He treated you well, right?”

“Yes, he did, but he also gave me a stern warning to stay away from you.”

“What? Why would he do that?”

“Because and I quote, you ‘are the pastors wife.’”

Stopping dead in your tracks you groan. “You already knew that.”

“We know that, yes. But considering I’m the new guy in town he felt the need to put me straight. Might have been because of how close you were to me. Roz told me that people here are really weird. So, I’m guessing this was one of the weird interactions…”

“No, it’s the curse of being the pastor’s wife,” you roll your eyes. “People here,” you look toward the numerous tables with everyone sitting around talking and eating merrily. “They treat me differently. The only true friend I have is Roz. When I’m around all of them,” you point. “I’m the sweet loving dutiful wife. Someone perfect on the outside. Someone that they can’t be their truest selves around. No one gossips with me. They don’t swear in front of me. In fact, they treat me like I’m some kind of saint or something. I’ve never claimed to be a saint, so I wish that they’d treat me like they would anyone else but they don’t and won’t.”

“Have you ever thought of getting away from this town and everyone else?”

“And take Matthew away from the only home he’s ever known? No. I haven’t.”

“Does he know people treat you like this?”

Scoffing you roll your eyes again. “He’s ecstatic about it. I’m sure if he could he’d put me in a bubble where no evil would be able to touch me. Believe it or not, he hates Roz. He thinks she corrupts me.”

“Roz?” He asks shocked.

“She’s my ride or die. We know everything about each other. All the sinful things we’ve done behind this towns back,” you laugh mockingly. “We know it ALL! She’s the only person who treats me like I’m not made of porcelain.” Shaking your head, “anyway, how has it been working here? Make any friends yet?”

Starting to walk towards everyone else, Jeno thinks back on the last few hours. “Friends? No. People have treated me nicely I guess,” he shrugs. “I do have one question that maybe you can answer. When I was working all these young girls kept coming around giggling, pointing, and staring. It was a little distracting. I almost sawed off a finger! Please tell me that this isn’t going to be a reoccurring thing.”

“You’re the new guy in town. I’m sorry but this type of behavior will happen until people get bored of you.”

“How long will that take?”

“Two weeks give or take.”

“TWO WEEKS?!”

Quickly reaching out, you grab his arm moving him away from a hole he was about to step in. “Yeah, two weeks until people just see you as Jeno, Roz’s cousin. Not Jeno the hot new guy in town.”

“Hot?” He gulps. “Y-You think I’m hot?”

“Eh? We-Well…What I meant is…Aish! Give me a break!” You pout marching away. “That’s what all those teeny boppers are thinking. Take this from a year ago, this guy named Daryl moved here and he was gawked at too. Just like you, he was very attractive. It didn’t matter if the women were already married, engaged, or single – they drooled over him for what felt like years. He even had a slight stalking incident with some of the teen girls! Made it seem like we had a local celebrity.

“Sadly, most of the people here grew up together. We know each other. We’ve seen each other grow up, so nothing is new or exciting. It’s quite boring sometimes but whenever someone new moves here, the prospects of who they are and their story makes this drab town bustle with excitement.”

“And how long until you stop staring?”

His question throws you completely off guard. What the hell does he mean until you stop staring? When were you staring? Well…aside from when you found him working. But that was it! One time! That can’t qualify as a repeating offense!

“I wasn’t staring!” You growl lowly.

“Really? Because I’m certain that when I was still working you decided to lean against the cement and watch me.” He chuckles.

“You knew?! You didn’t even acknowledge that I showed up!”

“I was pretending. I wasn’t actually listening to music, so I heard you when you walked up. Plus, Roz told me to always keep an ear free in case people want to talk about you when they think you’re not listening.” He starts laughing harder. “Served me well. Some people around here are kind of assholes, sorry, but the things they were saying doesn’t make a visitor in not only their town but country feel welcomed.”

“Damn…you two really are related. And sorry about what you heard. People here are nice truly; they just judge you before they get to know you. Trust me. Give them time to get to know you and everything they said will vanish. It doesn’t get rid of the hurt but they’ll show you the truly genuine side of them once they feel comfortable around you.”

He nods in understanding. “So,” he smirks again. “Like I was asking, when will you stop staring?” He licks his lips slowly.

You watch as his tongue slides across his lips ever so gently. Your heart skipping a beat when he curls it before it disappears into his mouth. Yep. You’re definitely going to have to kill Roz for not telling you.

“I wasn’t staring. I was thinking, okay?” You lie.

“Oh, thinking?” He snickers. Not believing you at all. “Well…what were you thinking about?”

Now agitated, you quickly switch over to teasing mode. “I was just wondering how someone can be as muscular as you are but still have a baby face.”

“I don’t have a baby face!” He glares.

“You still look like your old self. Especially when you smile. Just like a wittle baby!” You pinch his cheeks.

Swatting your hands away he rubs his cheeks. “No, I don’t!” He mumbles.

“Awe, what is it, Jeno?” You skip in front of him. “You are really cute when you smile. Even back when you were young.”

“I’m cute?”

“We-Well…” this time you’re the one gulping loudly. Little did you know that your teasing would put you in such a predicament. It’s true, Jeno looks really cute when he smiles. Sort of like a puppy. No, exactly like a puppy! As if nothing is going on in his head except the fact that he’s happy about something.

“Yes, you are.”

“So,” he jogs in front of you. “You think I’m cute?”

“Yes, Jeno. I think you’re cute.”

As you make your way up towards the front of the lot you notice that Jeno has since gone silent. Glancing to your right you find him deep in thought. Cheeks red as a rose, he bites on the nail of his thumb. Was it something you said? Should you apologize?

“J-Jeno?” You reach out to him.

“I, um, I better go. I’m not feeling too well. Please tell Mr. Smith that I needed to head home early.” He rushes away from you.

“JENO!”

✞ＴＥＮＳＩＯＮＲＥＬＥＡＳＥ✞

Dragging a bag of cement across the ground you manage to pick it up just far enough to place into the wheelbarrow. For the past four days Jeno has kept his distance from you. Having gone home early, you tried to call Roz to talk to him, but she told you that everything was fine. Which gave you all the information you needed �� things weren’t fine at all. You’ve racked your brain trying to think of what you did, what you said to cause him to stay away from you.

Was it when you teased him? Is he the sensitive type? He can’t be. He teased you as well. Shuffling across the ground wheelbarrow in hand you maneuver around people while your thoughts raced. Did he get offended when you called him cute? You meant it as a term of endearment. He is cute!

He couldn’t have thought after just meeting you’d call him handsome. Hell, you didn’t call Matthew handsome until your wedding day. Dishing out compliments left and right wasn’t your thing. When you compliment someone you mean it and want them to know you mean it. Calling him cute, was a fact. Then again when a bunch of women are drooling over you it’s probably a bit of a downer when the one person you actually got to know says you’re cute.

Reaching your destination, you tug the bag out of the wheelbarrow placing it down on the ground. A sharp pain shooting up from your tailbone to your shoulders. Working like a dog the past four days you’re finally starting to feel it’s effects. For it’s not only Jeno that’s ignoring you, but Matthew as well. You didn’t expect him to keep his distance. When you got home you tried to talk to him, to apologize for how you spoke to him, but he wasn’t having it.

Even bringing up the fact that you searched for him and someone saw him when another woman. Thinking that would be the best way to get his attention you failed miserably when he just walked away ignoring you. Every day since he leaves before you and every evening he walks alongside you, to keep up appearances, but makes no effort to start a conversation. Afterwards he retires to his chair, turns on the tv and drowns you out with the volume. How you’re supposed to apologize now is beyond you.

Now, Saturday, you find yourself lonelier than ever. Of course, one simple call to Roz will clear away the fog, but you don’t want to constantly complain about Matthew to her and with Jeno…you wouldn’t even know where to start. So here you are focusing on doing something useful. Giving up the position of getting the food ready and gawking at the men like the other women — you’re putting on your big girl pants and working to help build this families home.

Surprisingly it’s a great way to turn off all the thoughts running through your mind. Well, at least until you stop working.

“Well, well, well, look what we have here. Baby cakes working with the big boys.” Turning around quickly you tense your back and twist it. Letting out a loud yelp you start to lower yourself to the ground. “Eh?! Are you okay?!”

“M-My back!” You hiss. “Why did you do that, Roz?”

“I didn’t mean too! I just wanted to see how the project was going and ask if you wanted to have a girl’s night…”

“Obviously not now!” You whine.

“I’m really sorry… Can you stand at all?”

“Yeah, I think so…” rolling onto your hands and knees your supported by Roz who helps you get back to your feet. But the moment you’re upright you want to sit back down onto the ground.

“No! No! No!” Roz holds you up. “You need to keep yourself up…”

“It hurts!” You start to sniffle. “Why is my back like this? I’m too young to have a hernia!”

Roz deadpans. “You don’t have a hernia.”

“How do you know? You’re not a doctor!”

“You twisted your back is all. Why are you doing all this heavy lifting anyway? You’re not strong!”

“Geez, thanks a lot…” You snap.

“That’s not what I meant. You’re not construction worker strong. Why not just help out with the other ladies?”

“All they do is talk about fucking the guys. For most of them being married you’d think they’d have that area of their life taken care of. As for the single ladies, they NEED someone to plow into them.” Cracking up Roz accidently dips down to far stretching your back. “SHIT!” You squeak.

“Fuck! Girl I’m sorry!”

‘Did you hear that?’ ‘That didn’t come from…no way…’ ‘It’s probably Roz who said it.’ ‘Never liked her…’ ‘Why is she here?’ ‘Eh? What’s wrong with Pastor Matthew’s wife?’

Both you and Roz hear the whispers of those around you. Growling, Roz hoists you up more so you can use her as your very own walking stick. “Where’s Jeno?” She asks.

“Why?”

“He’s taking you home.”

“I’ll be fine. I just need to find Matthew.”

“Matthew left already.”

“Wait, what?!”

“Saw him walk off with that ex of his,” she rolls her eyes. “Did I mention how much I hated her? Real bitch!”

“Yes, you have and I know. What do you mean they walked off?”

“How the hell should I know,” she huffs as you both move throughout the lot. “Now where is Jeno?”

“Towards the back, at least I think so…” your voice becomes a mere whisper.

“He still not talking to you?”

“No.”

“What happened? He’s been off ever since the first day. He doesn’t even talk to me anymore.”

“I don’t know. One minute we’re talking and laughing, the next he gets super red in the face and rushes off saying he doesn’t feel well.”

“That’s strange…he hasn’t said anything about not feeling well to me and he’s come back here every day.”

“I mean, I did…call him…cute…” you confess.

Pausing Roz looks over at you eyes wide, ears slowly perking up. “You think…he’s cute…?” she asks.

“No. I think he’s really handsome which you so politely forgot to mention you jackass! Why didn’t you tell me how good looking he is?! When I first saw him, I couldn’t even recognize him. I expected some dorky looking guy to show up here not someone who is two seconds from doing a stage dive into a group of horny fangirls!”

Trying her best to hold in her laughter she continues your journey to find Jeno. “I see. So,” she snickers. “He’s hot, huh?” She snickers again.

Groaning you hide your face into the crook of her neck. “Yes! And he caught me staring at him! Roz it was embarrassing! I’m a married woman! What is wrong with me?”

“You’re a married woman whose husband doesn’t satisfy her. You’re just horny is all.” She starts to laugh, “maybe you should fuck Jeno!”

“What?!” You yank away from her only to scream out in pain.

“Moron!” She looks around until she finds a bench. “For Christ’s sake it was a joke! Now just sit here while I go look for him.” She scans the area before heading off further to the back.

What in the hell was she thinking? Fuck Jeno… Like fucking someone other than your husband was going to solve your problems. It wasn’t the fact that you weren’t being serviced – well a big part of it was that, but the other part was the fact that it’s your husband. The only man you want to touch you in that special way. Since you started to date Matthew, there’s always been something about him that’s drawn you to him.

A moth to a flame you couldn’t get enough of him. The sweet walks along the riverfront. Going to the local diner for lunch and dinner dates. Sitting under the big oak tree not far outside of town and talking for hours. Everything with him was simple, easy, natural. You never felt that you’d be pressured to do something you didn’t want to do. Matthew being nothing but the truest of gentlemen.

But the longer the relationship lasted, something inside of you sparked and a new side of you emerged that you wanted to explore. The rough side of love. To be pushed against a wall, well, not right at this moment, but to eventually be pushed against a wall – bathed in kisses and bite marks. To be thrown this way and that way. Your partner taking the lead in moving you into whatever position they felt like – even, riding your partner. Something you’ve always wanted to do, but with Matthew…it’s highly unlikely.

Hell, getting him to let you touch his dick is already hard enough. He’d never let you do any of that stuff and he’d certainly never throw you around like a ragdoll before burying himself deep inside of you. With Matthew it’s strictly, missionary. Nothing more. Nothing less.

“Are you oaky?” You hear Jeno calling towards you.

“Uh, I kind of twisted my back. If it’s not too much trouble, could you escort me home? Matthew seems to have left already and I don’t have my phone with me.”

“Of course!” Scooping down he helps you to stand up. Wrapping a secure arm around your waist you both start walking away. “I’ve got it from here Roz,” he calls back to her.

“Make sure she gets home safe! That’s my bestie you’ve got there!”

“I’m truly sorry about this Jeno,” you whisper as more people stare the two of you down.

“Don’t worry about it,” he gives you a sweet gentle smile. “Now, which direction is your house?”

“To the left. Once we’ve passed the church, we’re half way there.”

“Okay,” he holds onto you tighter.

Finally breaking free of the construction site, the two of you head off towards your house. Silently thanking Matthew and the heavens that you in fact live within town. If you had to somehow squeeze yourself into a car and back out again, you’d most likely die on the spot. Within a few minutes you pass the church. The door closed tightly. Nope. He’s definitely not at the church…

Making your way towards some of the residential areas in town you take a quick glance towards Jeno. Roz’s words floating around rent free in your mind. However, instead of thinking about what it might be like if you kissed Jeno, your heart sinks to your feet. Standing next to you, sweat dripping down his temple, slightly out of breath from having to tote you around you see a completely different version of the young man you meant four days ago.

Eyes drooping with what looks like fatigue. Dark circles that taint his flawless glassy complexion. His hair looks messy like he didn’t even try to comb it, and his clothes…instead of looking like a rockstar they’re back to being oversized. Your promise to lend him Matthew’s old clothes having left you with the events these past couple days. He’s probably in Bill’s clothes right now. Wonderful man but with a beer belly you can bounce coins off of.

Thinking the best way to break the ice between the two of you is through comedy, you try to make light of the situation. “You look like shit.” You whisper.

“You’re one to talk, grandma.” He quips.

“Grandma?!” You gasp.

Smirking he keeps his eyes forward. “Well, when someone as young as you ends up twisting their back, one can’t help but to think about how old you’re getting.” He continues his teasing.

“Jackass!”

“Don’t start something you can’t finish.”

Silence surrounds the two of you as you continue your journey to your house. What were you supposed to talk about? You didn’t know him at all. Still not having a chance to talk to Roz about him in full you have nothing to ask him. Well, there’s always…the obvious…

“So, why did you move here?”

“Really? That’s all you can come up with?”

“Fine. Why did you ditch on the first day? Roz told me you didn’t tell her you weren’t feeling well, so why did you leave?”

Clearing his throat loudly he looks away from you before speaking. “I needed to get out of my hometown. Everyone there kept staring at me like a lame horse. I was supposed to be this big deal only to get injured near the finish line.”

Smirking you lean your head on his shoulder, “pussy.”

“EH?!!!!!” He pulls away slightly. “What the hell was that for?”

“Knew you would answer me if I brought up Monday!” Rolling his eyes, he focuses on the task of getting you home safely. “It’s not your fault you got injured.” You whisper.

“Tell that to the people of my town. Posters, flags, newspaper articles, interviews for our local news. Everyone was excited.”

“How exactly did you get injured?”

“Tackled as I was about to make a touchdown. Leg gave out and I landed wrong. Hurt like hell. Took almost six months to heal to where I could stand on it. Even had to have two surgeries to get it back to somewhat normal.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s in the past.”

“But why did you move here? Why not stay in South Korea and move to another town?”

“I needed a fresh start and since I have family here, I thought I’d take that opportunity and leave.”

“Will you ever go back?”

“Not for a long time…”

“We’re here,” you say slowing down. “Thank heavens…” Helping you up the stairs Jeno grabs the keys from underneath your doormat. “Thanks, Jeno.”

“No problem.”

“Don’t worry I’ll call Matthew right away. If you hurry and get back, you’ll make it in time for lunch.”

Quirking a brow, he leans against your doorframe. “You need help until he gets home. I’m not going to leave you here by yourself. What if you fall trying to get something?” Taking your keys, he opens up the door for you. “After you,” he gestures.

“Uh…o-okay…” you grab hold of the doorframe walking inside. “Do you want something to eat or drink?”

“No. What we need to do is get you upstairs to lay down.”

“Why?”

“Did Roz tell you what my job is here?” He takes his place at your side again.

“Yeah, a sports therapist.”

“Exactly. What you need is a good massage and then to rest. So, up we go.”

Attempting to turn back you hiss with every step. “Jeno, I don’t think that’s a good idea. I’m fine. A little Tylenol and nap will be enough.”

“Go!” He points to your staircase.

“You know this is my house, don’t you?” You ask turning to the staircase.

“Yes, I do. And you know Roz will kick my ass if I don’t try to work some of those kinks out for you, right?”

“Yeah, yeah…” you grumble taking one step at a time. As he follows up behind you, he keeps a steady hand at your waist. “And what exactly is a sports therapist?”

“Bill came up with that title. If I’m being honest, I’m just a glorified assistant. He needs some help with paperwork and if one of the guys on the team gets hurt, I can help them with some physical therapy exercises to hopefully get them back into the game quicker. He also wants me to help the team on the field since he’s getting up there in age.”

“I’m sure the team will be lucky to have you.” You groan reaching the top of the step. “We can go into the guest room,” you hold onto the walls as you take him down to the last door on the right-hand side.

“Wouldn’t you prefer to be in your own bed?”

“I’ve been sleeping here all week. So, might as well be in here.”

“Is that normal for the two of you?”

“No, it isn’t, but when your partner refuses to talk to you or look at you the best thing for you to do is give them their space.” Almost crawling through the air of the guest room you find solace the moment you can fall onto the bed. “Finally!”

“Scootch all the way up,” Jeno orders.

“I can’t even lay here for a minute?”

“The sooner we do this the sooner you can take those painkillers and have a nap.” Hitting your leg lightly he gives you the signal to crawl up to the head of the bed. “Why hasn’t he talked to you?”

“Because of our fight.”

“From Monday? What the hell…”

“My sentiments exactly. Matthew is really good at the silent treatment. When he’s in his feelings he shuts down completely. However, as I’m sure you’ve noticed he can still smile and wave to his adoring flock,” you sneer.

“May I ask what the fight was about? Also, where do you feel the most pain?”

“Lower back and the middle of my back. I guess my shoulders as well but a little Icy Hot will cure that right up. And it’s kind of a sensitive topic.”

“Oh, I’m sorry for asking. Also, is it okay if I lift up your shirt? I want to make sure I’m getting down to the muscles as best as I can.”

“Sure, go ahead. Also, I didn’t mean that it was sensitive like something bad. It’s more… bedroom stuff.”

Rubbing his hands together Jeno makes sure that his fingers aren’t cold to the touch. Turning away slightly, he raises your shirt enough for his hands to slide under. “What? He’s not good at it?” He jokes.

“More like we don’t do it enough for me to even remember if he’s good or bad at it.” You sigh feeling him work out the sore muscles of your lower back. “Now tell me, you seem to be around our age, if you were married would you abstain from sex for months at a time?”

Chuckling, Jeno adds a bit more pressure making you groan. “If I was married, I don’t think I could abstain. Especially if she was as beautiful as you,” he adds softly. “I-I mean yeah…there would be moments if we’re both tired or just have a lot of things on our plates where we wouldn’t have sex, but months…I couldn’t do it. I’d be shocked if I could make it two weeks without at least doing something...”

“Ri~ight!!!!” You yelp when he presses down right at the most tender spot.

“Sorry! Was that too hard?”

“Yes and no,” you exhale. “It hurt like hell but it feels a little better.” Using a lighter touch Jeno works out the tense muscle. “I just don’t know what to do anymore. I want us to have a normal sex life. We’re young and healthy adults but when Roz joked that her grandma is getting more action at the nursing home, well…I feel like I’m some old withered up prune.”

“Wait…Grandma Ruth is uh…damn…” he laughs. “I mean I’ve heard stories about her when she was younger. Sneaking out as a teenager and going to parties. Having plenty of boyfriends to choose from, but she fell in love with our grandpa. A farm boy from the neighboring town. Who could have seen that coming?” He starts moving up higher. “As for you, have you asked him why things are the way they are?”

“Multiple times! All he says is, ‘I love you.’ ‘It’s not what you think! I swear!’ But doesn’t give me an exact reason as to why I’ve been deprived of – and please pardon me for what I’m about to say – getting fucked into a mattress.” Slamming your head down you scream into the mattress. “Even before all this happened it was the same old thing time and time again.” You feel tears forming in your eyes.

“Considering I’m not your husband I can’t speak for him, but if you’re so unhappy, why don’t you leave? I know sex isn’t the main thing in a relationship but you can’t deny that it is indeed a big chunk of it. People want to feel the passion and desire. If he’s not satisfying you, you can always leave and find someone who will.”

“I can’t leave him… I love him…”

Sighing Jeno slides his hands all the way up your back making you gasp. “You can love him and still leave him. Why do you love him?”

“What?”

“Why do you love him so much that even though he’s not satisfying a need you have, you’re willing to stay?”

“He’s sweet and kind to people and to me. He makes me breakfast and even sets up special dates for all of our anniversaries.”

“That’s nice and all but what else? Why can’t you see yourself with anyone but him?” He tugs your shirt up higher, revealing your bra. “There has to be something about him that makes all this worthwhile. I mean you’re telling a complete stranger that you’re not getting fucked properly. To me that means he and your relationship is in the shithouse.”

“I-I don’t know…” You admit. “Ever since I first saw him, I knew that one day I wanted to marry him. It’s not a feeling I can put into words. Haven’t you met someone and for some reason you just know that you want to spend time with them? That something about them whether it be their aura, smile, or just personality in those first few minutes of speaking to them – that all you want is to be around them and only them for as long as they’ll let you?”

“Once,” he whispers.

“And how did that work out for you?” You peek over your shoulder.

He gives you a ghost of a smile before he goes back to massaging your back. “Don’t know. Didn’t act on the feeling.”

“Why not? What if they were your one true love? Wait… is it a guy?” You smirk.

Squeezing your back you scream and coil in on yourself. “I’m not into guys.”

“It was a joke…” you whimper.

“Turn over onto your back,” he barks.

“I can’t! I think you broke my back…”

“Fine,” he says close to your ear. “I’ll make you turn over.” Sliding his hands underneath you, you don’t fight him when he hoists you onto your back. “Now,” he breathes out. “No moving, please,” he hovers over you, legs straddled across your waist. “I didn’t pursue the feeling,” he states as he massages your shoulders. “Because the person was in a relationship. Seemed like she was happy,” he shrugs. “Now, if she were to come to me and say that she was unhappy and wanted to be with me, well, I might have still pursued her.”

“Even though she was still with the other guy?”

“I wouldn’t like it but people cheat for a multitude of reasons. Plus, I’m single…I mean, was single, so I could have done whatever I wanted. I don’t judge people for doing what they do. Like with you,” he leans down digging his hands into your shoulder. Your eyes getting heavy by how well he’s doing. “If you were to cheat, well, at least I’d know a pretty good reason as to why you cheated. One of your needs wasn’t being met. So, you found someone who could meet that need.”

“And what of people whose needs were being met completely?”

“They should stay single forever,” he laughs. “I don’t know about them, but with someone in your shoes – I can at least sympathize.”

Sighing you rest your head back onto your bed, giving Jeno more access to your neck. “Has anyone told you how sweet you are?”

“No, I can’t say they have.”

“You’re like the opposite of Matthew. If he heard about someone cheating, he’d spit out a million Bible verses all in regards to cheating.”

“He’d guilt trip them?”

“Yep.”

“And you approve?”

“No~” You sigh happily as the pain starts to subside. “I know what it’s like to have Bible verses hurled your way for being an imperfect human. It’s not fun and it makes you feel small. I hate it when he does that. Like I came home one night after hanging out with Roz, drunk, and the whole way up the stairs he was saying verse after verse. Lying, swearing, you name it,” a tear trickles down from your closed eyes. “That’s one thing about Matthew I hate.”

A gentle touch to your face has you opening your eyes. Sympathy and understanding from Jeno being reflected in his gaze towards you. Using the pad of his thumb he wipes away your tear. Cupping your cheek, he lowers himself to you. Heart racing you don’t move an inch. You can’t move. You’re frozen where you lie.

Ever so gently he kisses under your eye where he wiped your tear away before pulling back far enough to gaze into your eyes. “I’m sorry to say this but, your husbands an ass. To treat his wife like she’s some kind of demonic heathen is not okay,” he caresses your cheek with his thumb. “If there’s anything I can do please let me know. Day or night if you need me, I’ll be here for you. Okay?”

Your lips start to tremble. What in the hell is going on? Why did Jeno have to say that? The more you look into his eyes the more you know he’s telling you the truth. The honest to – ha, even with Matthew nowhere in sight you still can’t say it in your own home. Slowly you move your hand from your side and cup the side of his face. The moment you touch him he leans into you.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” You ask him.

“Because I –”

“BABE?! BABE WHERE ARE YOU?!” You hear Matthew’s frantic voice. “Babe are you here? Answer me?!” His footsteps roar as he charges up the stairs.

Fast as lightning Jeno moves off of you and stands off to the side. Eyes fixated on the door. Your heart rumbles like a stampeded of animals the moment Matthew bursts through the door of the guest room. “Babe!” He rushes over to the bed. “Roz called me and told me what happened. Are you okay? Why didn’t you call me?”

“S-Sir?” Jeno speaks up.

“What the hell?” Matthew spins around. “Who are you? What are you doing in our home?”

“Matthew stop!” You try to sit up.

Immediately Jeno rushes over and helps you prop yourself up with the pillows. “Thank you, Jeno.” Sighing you wait till your heart calms down a beat before continuing. “Matthew, this is Jeno Lee, Roz’s cousin. He just moved here from South Korea.”

“Wait a minute,” Matthew’s hands ball up into fists. “You’re that guy I saw her with on Monday. What do you want with my wife?! Why are you in my home alone with her?!”

“Matthew, shut up!” You yell. “For goodness sake,” you groan. “I wrenched my back at the project site today. You disappeared to I don’t know where and so Roz asked Jeno to escort me home. We had just made it upstairs before you came barreling in,” you lie. “Where exactly where you? Roz told me she saw you with Anna.”

“I was going over some documents that’s all. What do you mean you wrenched your back? What were you doing?"

"Moving the cement bags around. What documents did you need to go over?”

“Baby, please,” he motions with his eyes over to Jeno.

“If it’s nothing personal you should have no problem saying it in front of Jeno.”

“I needed to make sure that we had all the permits we needed. On Monday, Mr. Smith brought up about a permit to use some of the construction equipment. I didn’t know if we had everything signed and it turns out we didn’t. So, Anna was helping me.”

“Is that all?”

“What else would there be?”

Shrugging you wince in pain. “I don’t know…”

“And you,” Matthew looks at Jeno. “Thanks for helping her.”

“It’s really no problem, sir. I was actually trying to find you on Monday. I wanted to talk to you about volunteering, but your wife introduced me to Mr. Smith and he put me straight to work. I hope that’s okay.”

“V-Volunteering?” He looks at you which you nod. “I didn’t know you wanted to volunteer.”

“I was trying to talk to but you’ve been awfully busy sweetie,” you sneer.

“I-I see… Thank you for volunteering. We need all the help we can get. But forgive me for asking this but when did you,” he directs his attention to you, “and —”

“Jeno, sir.”

“Yes,” Matthew grins widely. “When did you and Jeno become close? You haven’t mentioned him at all.”

Scoffing you do your best to hold all the anger and rage you’ve felt these past four days inside. For Matthew’s sake, yours and Jeno’s. “Well, darling,” you hiss. “Jeno and I only really became acquainted after he escorted me home. I had only talked to him briefly on the first day. He spotted me coming out of the building where we’re keeping the supplies.”

And with that single statement Matthew starts to choke. Just mentioning what went on in the building next door to the lot has him hacking up a lung.

“R-R-Really?”

Urging Jeno to play along he nods his head. “U-Uh, yes sir. She ran out of there quickly and we almost knocked each other down. She looked like something upset her. I almost felt guilty asking for her help, but your wife is a kind woman.”

“Is that so?” He breathes heavily.

“Oh yes, she’s the nicest person I’ve met here, present company excluded. Roz has told me all about her and about you too. I’ve never personally met a pastor before but I must say your dedication to spreading the word of God is admirable.”

“Ah, Roz… Pardon me for asking this but are you a man of faith or are you following in your cousins’ footsteps?”

“I’m not religious at all. Wasn’t brought up with religion, but I would love to go to one of your services, if you don’t mind.”

“Why, that’s…” he stares at Jeno shocked. “That-That’d be wonderful.”

“It would?” You ask Matthew.

“Of course, it would! Plus, you can meet almost everyone in town.”

“I’d like that. Well, I don’t want to overstay my welcome,” Jeno bows in your direction and to your husband. “It was a pleasure to meet you, sir.”

“Wait! What about my back?”

“Oh, that’s right…” he pauses. “Sir…”

“Matthew, please.”

“Oh, okay, Matthew, if you don’t mind… I’d like to come over tomorrow and check up on your wife. She seems to have really messed up her back and will most likely need to be tended to for a couple of days. I don’t want to intrude but –”

“He’s the high school’s new sports therapist dear,” you reach out for Matthew’s hand. “Also, he’s a massage therapist as well. I don’t know how long this back pain is going to last, but there’s no way I can move from this bed right now.”

“But tomorrow…”

“Yes, I know…”

“Tomorrow?” Jeno asks.

“Tomorrow is Sunday,” you explain. “Church.”

“Oh, I see…”

“Do you really think she’ll be stuck in bed for a few days?” Matthew asks Jeno.

“Yes, she could barely make it back to your home. I did all I can for now. She requested for some Tylenol which should help with the pain. But I’d like to come over tomorrow and with your permission of course to help loosen up the tensed muscles.”

“Are you asking if it’s okay to give my wife a massage?” Matthew gapes.

Scratching the back of his neck, Jeno nods. “I just don’t want to do anything you don’t approve of, but I think a massage from a professional will be the best.”

“Well…I mean…”

“Please, sweetheart. It’ll only be for a few days.”

Shaking his head, Matthew gives in. “Okay, fine. But I want to make something perfectly clear,” he faces Jeno. “We don’t take charity from our neighbors,” he pulls out his wallet. “This should be a sufficient amount for now. We’ll work out the particulates later.”

“Matthew…I-I couldn’t…”

“You’re a professional, right?”

“Yes, but –”

“Then you’ll be paid for your services. Now, I’ll be right back with that Tylenol.”

“Thank you, sweetheart.”

“Mmm…” he nods leaving the room.

Both Jeno and yourself wait till you hear Matthew downstairs in the kitchen before letting out a long sigh. “What the fuck was that?!” He whispers. “I thought he’d throw my ass out of here!”

“Me too! And what is up with all that sir crap?”

“I wanted to be respectful,” he walks up to you handing you the money. “I’m not taking this.”

“Yes, you are,” you hold it back out to him. “Matthew won’t sleep a wink if he knows you gave this back.”

“I can’t keep this money.” He grabs your hand shoving it back into it.

“Why not?”

“I have a job.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Look I can’t accept it…it’s wrong…”

“How is it wrong?” You try not to shout.

“Because I can’t take money from a man of God when I just imagined fucking the shit out of his wife!”

CH 2

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smalls-words · 1 year

Text

Chapter Nine: You Ready to Go to Church?

Summary: Whilst working, Natasha makes a few discoveries about herself. 1 - she's lonely. 2 - people come from all walks of life.

Pairings: Devil!Natasha x Fem!Detective!Reader, Natasha x Wanda, Reader x Steve (exes, co-parents), Yelena x Natasha (sisters).

Warnings: Blood, guns, drugs, death, mourning, therapy. Please let me know if I've missed anything!

A/N: This episode was quite a trek to write but semi-important. I won't be writing every episode of Lucifer for this series but I do seriously recommend watching it.

Series Masterlist

*not my gif*

The partying devil lay flat on the therapist’s couch, explaining the events of last night in great sensual detail. A pizza delivery boy getting his first experience on the job in a lingerie party, the party itself having three Brittanys, or Brittanies if you wish, and drugs, sex and alcohol of course.

“But I didn’t join them. Three Brittanies in a jacuzzi, three! And I didn’t join them.” Natasha grumbled, dressed in one of her more flattering suits that had a black, lace-hemmed corset top beneath her suit jacket, the buttons undone and tempting the doctor on the other side of the coffee table.

“Why do you think you didn’t join them?” Kate asked, sitting up straight in her chair with a neat pair of jeans and a long-sleeve shirt, her raven locks tied back in a bun.

“I don't know, Doctor. That's what I pay you to figure out, isn't it?” Natasha huffed, sitting up.

“Have you ever considered that all of this… excessive partying… may be your attempt to fill a void?” Kate offered. “‘Attempt’? I filled five voids last night.” The devil smirked, folding one knee over the other.

The doctor sighed. “That’s not what I mean.” When Natasha looked at her with a confused expression, Kate further explained. “A void in your emotional life. You sound… lonely, Natasha.”

The redhead almost cocked her head to the side like a confused puppy. “‘Lonely’? Have... have you been listening to a word I've said? I am never alone, I'm constantly surrounded by people, you know? I party whenever I desire, my bed is never cold.” She said with an exasperated sigh.

“Natasha, being alone and being lonely are two entirely different things.”

“Are they?”

“Of course. You may be surrounded by others, but… do you truly consider any of those people your friend? A peer you respect, someone you like to spend time with. Someone… with whom you share a meaningful connection.” Kate softened her voice, seeing how this was new territory for Natasha.

In classic devil nature, Natasha smirked. “Well, you and I connect quite well.”

Kate immediately shut it down. “I'm talking personally. …What about Wanda?”

Natasha’s smirk fell flat. “No. She and I are on the outs, I'm afraid. Long story filled with betrayal. You actually make a cameo in it.”

“How about Detective Valeria? Do you consider her your friend?” The doctor replied, staying calm despite the frustrated woman in front of her.

“Well, quite honestly, I... I'm not sure what we are.” She murmured.

Kate smiled gently. “Why don’t you try finding out?”

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After her therapy session, Natasha made her way back to Lux to enjoy a glass of her newest scotch ordered from Scotland, though it didn’t help that someone was already there. As she walked along the corridor, Wanda came running up the stairs in a strapless dress and thigh-high fishnet stockings. “Natasha? Listen, can we tal-?”

“I don't have time for traitors.” Natasha cut her off, her words almost a hiss.

“Look, I get that you don't want to talk to me. But someone else is here to see you for a favour.”

“Not in the mood, Wanda.”

“Trust me.You don't want to miss this one.”

When Natasha finally looked down at Wanda, there was a flash of demonic happiness in her eyes. Her irises glowed their swirling red, and she gently turned Natasha’s head by her chin to see a man waiting for her in the main club area.

“Be gone.” Natasha muttered to Wanda, a simple wave of her hand before Wanda made herself scarce.

Natasha slowly came down the stairs, tying up her hair whilst she buttoned up her suit jacket. If this was official business, she’d look official for it.

“You wanted to speak with me?” She declared herself known to the man.

As he stood, his bald head and dark skin tone reminded her of someone she knew by blood. He wore a suit, much like her own, though far more formal - and she didn’t wear a clerical collar either.

“Natasha Romanoff. I’m Father Frank Lawrence.” He introduced himself politely, a smooth slick to his baritone voice as he held out his hand to shake.

She didn’t shake it, instead chuckling. “A priest walks into a bar. I've heard this one before. Never seen it, though. At least, not here.”

She dawdled around to the other side of the bar, pouring herself some whiskey since the scotch had yet to be unpacked. “Padre, how did you of all people find me?”

“Don't let the collar fool you.” He gestured to it minutely. “I have friends from all walks of life. And some of these friends tell me you're the woman to see when you run out of options.”

“Ooh, what kind of nasty trouble have you gotten yourself into then? Pinched too much from the collection basket?” She teased.

“I'm here about a neighbourhood youth center.” Father Frank explained.

“Sounds dreadful.” Natasha grumbled, sipping the whiskey.

“It is... especially when you realise it's being used as a front for an illegal drug operation. The center's director, Lenny Arietta, is recruiting kids from my church to move his product.”

She tsked. “Ah, so this is about young boys, of course it is.”

“One in particular. A kid named Connor. He's had it rough. Lost both his parents at six. Bounced from home to home, some juvie. But deep down, a good kid.” He paused and pulled out his cell phone, a picture already loaded once unlocked.

The devil put down her whiskey and studied the image. A white young male, no more than 16 or 17. A blue beanie covered blonde hair, a grey shirt with a skull on it and blue collar hems, whilst he had a black zip-up hoodie with white drawstrings.

“So, diddling this one, are you?” She asked, handing the phone back.

He chuckled dryly, taking the phone back. “How about I not dignify that with an answer, and instead ask my favour?”

“Thank fuck, I was wondering when you'd get to it.” She grumbled, pouring another glass of whiskey.

“I want you to talk to Arietta before Connor gets involved.”

“And why not go to the police? Got something to hide, do you?”

“They were useless. Couldn't find anything on Arietta.”

Natasha felt a bit protective when he said that the police were useless. She knew that if you had been given this case, you would have tried your damned hardest to solve it. She just knew it.

“Why not ask your boss then, hey? The Almighty Himself.” She smirked, pointing at the ceiling but not looking at it.

“I already have.” He answered.

“Oh, no luck?”

“On the contrary - I believe he led me to you.”

She chuckled heartily. “Oh, I highly doubt that. So that's it, is it? Stop a drug ring to help some kid get out of trouble.”

Father Frank sat down as Natasha rounded the bar again, coming closer to him before she grinned lightly. “What's in it for you? What is it you really want? That dirty dark desire I can see you struggling to hold in.”

She watched with glee as her mojo worked on the priest, his eyes glazing over slightly. “What I really want… is to put my fist through Arietta's face.”

“Ha! And there it is. Wrath.” She grinned deviously, pleased with herself. “Ooh, not so high and mighty now, are you?”

“We all have demons inside.” He murmured, like he was shamefully admitting that fact.

She shrugged. “My demon tends the bar. So come on, what else are you hiding? Hypocrites like you always have something.”

“You don't know anything about me.”

“Oh, I know plenty. You and I are natural sworn enemies.”

He sighed. “Let’s cut to the chase - you gonna help me or not?”

“My answer to you, Father, is a big fat no. Handle it yourself.” She said, mocking his title before she walked off. “Wanda?! Are the Brittanies still here?!”

“No - but Valeria called.” Wanda echoed through the halls.

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“You're lucky I don't have any active cases, or else I'd send this to Narcotics.” You grumbled as you walked with Natasha up the ramp of the youth centre, dressed in your black jeans, jacket, a blue-black striped long sleeve with your badge and gun in its holster.

“Narcotics? No, no, no, no. I don't give a damn about the drug dealer. We're here to investigate the priest.” Natasha clarified.

“Priest? I thought we were here to talk to the youth director.” You raised an eyebrow at her, questioning her motive for this case.

“We are. To get dirt on the priest. He must be hiding something. And what better way to stick it to dear old Dad than prove that those who speak on His behalf aren't as virtuous as they pretend to be?” She grinned.

You sighed as you approached the youth director’s office. “You thought it'd be a good idea to rope me into your imaginary family feud? Great.”

“Look, am I mistaken or do you catch bad guys? Now, this priest is up to something. Something nefarious... I can feel it.” Natasha said, looking at the passing children with a slightly disgusted expression.

“Last I checked, your feelings don't count as probable cause.” You remarked, knocking on the double doors to the office.

“Well, isn't the fact that he came to me probable cause enough? Or I could just interrogate this youth director by myself.” Natasha shrugged, knocking the door before you could stop her.

“No, just let me do the talking. Mr. Arietta?” You called through the door, checking the handle to find it locked.

“Hmm. Well, if I were trapped in here with these vile children, I'd lock my door as well.” She smirked. You bent down and looked through the small glass gap of the door, scattered papers littering the floor as well as some knocked over science glassware. But just when you were about to pull away, you spotted a pair of legs lying face down on the floor.

“Back up.” You muttered to Natasha before you raised your foot and kicked in the door, the lock snapping on its way open.

“Well, Detective.” Natasha grinned before following you inside, momentarily staring at your legs and wondering about the strength they held.

“Look.” You said, alarmed at the sight of Arietta’s limp form on the ground.

You knelt down, stunned at the pool of blood by his head, and pressed two fingers to his carotid artery. “He's dead.” You uttered before pulling out your phone and calling it in.

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“M.E. puts the time of Arietta's death between 11:30 and 12:00 this morning.” You said to Natasha as she stood by you, crime techs working the scene methodically.

“Cause was multiple hits with a baseball bat. There are some abrasions on his face, so it looks like he struggled before he died. And I found this.”

“Ooh, what's that?” Natasha cooed like a pirate finding treasure, taking the small device but being careful to keep her fingers on the latex glove around it.

“It's a voice modulator. Hey, can you not do that?” You grumbled as she spoke into it.

“Detective, I am your father.” Her voice came out deeper and incredibly modulated, her chuckle afterwards making you shake your head.

“It's not a toy, Natasha. It could be evidence.”

“Well, I'm impressed. Looks like the priest handled it himself after all.”

“We don't know if the priest did this.”

“Well, maybe you don't.”

“Detective Valeria?” A crime tech called for you at the door just as you were about to get annoyed with Natasha.

You handed off the voice modulator to a crime tech and went to the door, a person waiting for you yet you didn’t wait for Natasha to follow.

“Hey, you're the head counsellor, right?” You said just as Natasha went under the tape.

“Uh, yeah. I’m Eric Doyle.” The man introduced himself, an overweight yet ‘gentle giant’ nature to his stature with a cropped haircut, a grey polo and jeans on whilst a clean watch was clasped on his wrist.

“Any idea who might've done this?” You asked him, folding your arms.

“No. I mean, everyone liked Lenny. He was a good boss.” He replied.

“So, he had no enemies whatsoever, no? Especially any who wear clerical collars?” Natasha snickered lightly at her obvious meaning.

Doyle’s face showed that he recognised the name. “So you know about the priest.”

“Oh, yes.” The devilish woman nodded, excited now that there was another lead in her favour.

“Yeah, that guy's always coming around here and getting into arguments with Lenny. But he's a priest, so… not much I can do about it.”

“Right. Mr. Doyle, where were you between 11:30 and 12:00 this morning?” You questioned, getting on with it.

“Uh... here. In counselling sessions with, uh, Nikki and Connor.”

“Connor? That's the altar boy from the priest's photo.” Natasha murmured.

Behind you, two officers were keeping away two teenagers. As you approached, you relinquished the officers and asked them for their names. Funnily enough, they were Nikki and Connor.

“So, is it, is it true Mr. Arietta's dead?” Connor asked slowly.

“Well, duh, dumbass.” Nikki scoffed, dressed in very emo-esque clothes, particularly the ‘SKATE OR DIE’ on her shirt next to a Dia de Los Muertos skull.

“It is. Yeah. Did you know him well?” You asked, trying to be gentle.

“A little, I guess. He- he- I mean, he ran the place.” Connor shrugged.

“Do you know if Mr. Arietta was involved in any drug activity?”

“Drugs?” Nikki laughed. “I mean, I wish he was. That would've made him more interesting.”

Natasha chuckled. “Okay. Enough about the dead guy. Tell me everything you know about Padre Pederast.” She pointed at Connor.

“Who?”

“Father Frank. Did you see him do this? Do you think he's capable?” She sighed, annoyed at his young teenage boy's mind for not catching up.

“Father Frank? Kill Mr. Arietta? No. No way.”

Nikki scoffed. “What do you mean "no way"? The guy's a creeper and totally obsessed with you.”

“He's just overprotective. Ever since my parents died, he feels like he's got to watch out for me or something. But he's a good guy. He's just a little... just a little annoying.” Connor shrugged.

“See? Annoying.” Natasha looked at you.

“Mm-hmm.” You lazily answered her. “When was the last time you saw him?”

“Uh, he... Here this morning.” Connor stuttered.

“Yeah, preacher seemed pretty pissed.” Nikki added.

You sighed, thanking the two before you went with Natasha to the station to look up the preacher, using the devil to help ID him visually.

“That's him. Frank Lawrence. The most evil of people have the most normal names, I've experienced. Beware anyone named Keith.” Natasha warned you, to which you nodded sceptically.

“Well, his criminal record's pretty extensive. assault and battery, disorderly conduct, drug charges.”

“See? Not very priest-like.”

“But nothing in the past ten years.” You added, searching the screen to find a very important document. “Ah, a restraining order filed by Lenny Arietta last week.”

“Ah, well, it's funny how Padre Punchy failed to mention a restraining order.” Natasha snickered. “Please tell me now we have enough to bring this priest down.”

“We have enough to bring him in. You ready to go to church?” You grinned, grabbing your jacket.

“Bringing down a priest is the only reason I ever would.”

“In. Bring him in.”

Natasha rolled her eyes lightly. “Yes, bring him in so we can bring him down. You’re no fun sometimes.”

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In the underground police parking lot, Malcolm stood and waited impatiently for his visitor. “I know you're there. What, are you watching over me? Like my own guardian angel.”

From the shadows, Yelena appeared, expressionless, in a neat blue suit with a white corset top, along with a few simple-banded gold rings on her fingers.

“Yeah. Grumpy guardian angel.” Malcolm mumbled.

“Forgotten about our deal, Malcolm? Because I brought you back from the dead for a single purpose.” She said, her accent making the man uneasy.

“Yeah, about that, I've... been meaning to ask. Why me?”

She raised a single eyebrow. “Why you?”

“Yeah. I mean, uh, I must be something special for you to go to all that trouble.” He grinned.

She chuckled darkly. “Don't flatter yourself. You're simply… in a unique position to do what I need done.”

His ego deflated at her words. “'Cause I'm a cop.”

“That, yeah.” She nodded, circling him. “And because… I know you'll do anything to avoid going back to Hell.”

When she stopped behind him, he stiffened at her breath on his neck. “Now, stop bothering me with these questions and just finish the task I've given you.”

Malcolm stepped forward to get away from her, turning whilst chuckling sheepishly. “Don't you worry your pretty little head. I'm already on it, all right? Everything's going according to plan.”

Yelena began to walk away before she stopped and looked over her shoulder at him. “Don't keep me waiting. Patience…” She chuckled. “She is not one of my virtues.”

Malcolm sighed, closing his eyes. “I promise you, I... I got this.” He stuttered because when he opened his eyes…

Yelena was gone.

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“Miss Valeria, Miss Romanoff, surprised to see you again.”

“Oh, I wouldn't miss this for the world.” Natasha grinned deviously at the priest.

“Father Frank, when was the last time you saw Lenny Arietta?” You asked him, ignoring Natasha’s jokes.

“This morning.”

“Despite the restraining order.”

“I answer to a higher authority.” He argued slightly.

“Not today you don't.” Natasha sang teasingly.

You gave her one glance and she rolled her eyes, putting her hands in her pockets as she let you question the priest. “What happened when you saw him?”

“We exchanged words. Things got a little heated.”

“What were you fighting about?”

“That altar boy of his, of course.” Natasha chuckled.

You ignored Natasha again. “Why were you fighting over Connor?”

“Because I'm worried that Arietta's gonna pull Connor into his drug ring.” He said, the words suspiciously identical to his last reasoning.

“So, what, you give him a right hook?” Natasha smirked, pointing at his bandaged hand.

Father Frank lowered his head. “Sadly, I did.”

“And then what?” You asked, folding your arms.

“And then I left.”

“Ooh, no, no, no, I think you skipped a part, didn't you?” Natasha chimed in. “You know, the part where you beat him to death with a baseball bat?”

“He's dead?” Father Frank asked, shocked. “Oh, Heavenly Father.” He murmured, painting the cross on his chest.

Natasha rolled her eyes (it seems she likes doing that). “Oh, come on. How gullible do you think we are?”

Father Frank shook his head. “I had troubles with the man, but he didn't deserve to die. And I certainly didn't kill him.”

You sighed, trying to de-escalate the situation. “Can you account for your whereabouts between 11:30 and 12:00 this morning?”

Father Frank thought for a moment. “Uh, I was here. Taking confessions. Mrs. Madison had a lot to say, took up the whole hour.”

Natasha sighed. “By chance, does Mrs. Madison have a limo driver?”

The priest looked at her, confused at how she knew that. “She does.”

“Damn. Just spoke to his alibi.” Natasha said to you.

“You- What?” You muttered.

“The MILF in confession.” She added, pointing to the confession box where a woman stepped out, fixing her ruffled hair and dress as well as her lipstick.

You sighed, poking your finger on the bridge of your nose three times in frustration. “Oh, great. Yeah, as much as I'm sure that followed protocol, I'm still gonna have to question her myself.”

You turned to the priest. “Father, I'm gonna need you to come into the station for a statement.”

After Father Frank collected his jacket and valuables, you and Natasha walked with him outside of the church to your cars. However, your head perked up at the sound of screeching tires, and you spotted a handgun being pointed out of a car window.

“Get down!” You called out, shoving Natasha and Father Frank to the ground before getting down yourself.

A full round unloaded from the gun, a stray bullet hitting the bus stop shelter glass before the driver took off. You jumped up, and though you tried, you could not get a full plate number off of the speeding car.

“And you wonder why I don't go to church.” Natasha sighed, readjusting her suit and corset top.

After three police vehicles turned up and cornered off the church main entrance as a crime scene, you went inside to talk to some people. You sent a crime tech to search the partial of the plate you had, along with the model of the car before finding Natasha by the pews.

“So I spoke to Father Frank's alibi. Checks out. He was in confession with Mrs. Madison from 11:00 to 12:00. He's not our guy.”

Natasha sighed. “Well, maybe she's lying. I mean, you know the sort of people that go to church. Sinners.” She tried to joke, but you didn’t seem to be in the mood.

“Lab results from the voice modulator came back empty. No prints, no DNA. Whoever did this is good.”

“What, so you think this shooting and the youth director's death are connected?”

“We know they have at least one thing in common.” You said calmly, walking up to Father Frank as he sat in the front pew.

“Father, you will be relieved to know that no one was injured.”

“Oh, thank God.” He sighed in relief.

Natasha grumbled. “Please don't.”

You looked sternly at the priest. “Now, Father… this wasn't a random attack. They were shooting at you. But you don't seem surprised. What aren't you telling us?”

He stood whilst pulling out his phone, holding it out and putting it on speaker. “Keep your nose out of our business or else.” A distorted voice came through before the voicemail ended.

“The voice modulator from Arietta's office. You should have gone to the police with this.” You scolded lightly.

“I assumed it was Arietta, and I'm not afraid of him. But if it's The Spider…” Father Frank trailed off.

“Spider?”

“I've heard whispers of another dealer trying to take over Arietta's business. People call him ‘The Spider.’ Scary, violent reputation.”

“Do you know who this Spider is?”

“I don't.”

You studied him for a moment. His eyes couldn’t meet yours and his shaking head showed fear. “You're holding something back, Father. I can tell.”

“I have a confession to make.” He hurried out.

“Finally!” Natasha cheered. “Well, the truth will set you free... isn't that what your beloved book says?”

“I lied when I said Connor was in danger of becoming involved. He already is. Dealing for Arietta.”

“What, that's it? Oh, please don't tell me that's what you've been holding back all this time.” The redhead looked disappointed.

“Wait. If Connor's already in deep, why go to all this trouble to protect him?” You asked.

“He's had it rough. Thinks he can only rely on himself. He's a good kid, Detective. There's still hope for him.”

You shook your head. “Father, you were today's target. We need to worry about your safety first. Do you have a place to stay? We can offer police protection.”

“I'm fine right here. This... is my sanctuary.” He sighed, sitting back down.

“Well, your sanctuary just got shot to high heaven, Padre.” Natasha chuckled. “But if you're looking to lay low, I believe I know just the place.”

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Natasha smirked at Father Frank as he sat in the same booth he met the devil in, strippers dancing in front of them dressed as nuns… initially. They had kept the veils and coifs on, but underneath was nothing but dark red lingerie as they danced to Do Ya Thang Girl by DJ Jubilee.

“Thought this might make you feel more at home, you know.” Natasha smirked at the priest as she sipped on her scotch.

“Sure you did.” Father Frank chuckled.

You walked past the strippers and into the booth, sliding in next to Natasha. “Hey.” You greeted her, to which she gave you a gentle smile.

“Malyshka.” She greeted you back.

“So, partial plates from the shooter's SUV came back with a couple matches. But this is interesting, one of them was recently reported stolen outside the youth center.”

“Oh, so you think someone inside's responsible.”

“I think it's too much of a coincidence not to be, but I ordered traffic cam footage, so hopefully it'll show us who was driving.”

“Hopefully.” Natasha grinned, her eyes falling onto the stripper in front of her.

Your eyes even had a little wander before returning to the task at hand. “Couldn't resist, huh?”

“Well, the man deserves some fun.” The devil grinned.

“Or you still want to prove he's a hypocrite.

“Well, what can I say? Temptation's in my nature.”

Natasha’s eyes fell onto yours and you held her gaze for a moment. In that moment, you felt safe, like being in this lustful partying bar was the safest place on Earth purely because Natasha was there.

“Hmm. And how's that working out for you?” You grinned, looking at Father Frank.

His head was nodding along to the music, his hand tapping on his thigh. Natasha seemed confused by his clear delight at the sensual song. “Padre, does this not bother you?”

“What can I say? I love this song.” Father Frank chuckled.

As the night dragged on, the three of you were having a wonderful time. You even had a drink with them, Natasha ‘accidentally’ making herself sit on your right whilst Father Frank was on your left, keeping you safe.

“You sure you're gonna be okay in here, Father?” You asked, the case coming to the forefront of your mind.

“This? Oh, absolutely. I grew up in places like this.” He excused.

“Oh, I find that hard to believe.” Natasha snickered, sipping on a new whiskey flavour.

He shook his head at her before his posture looked like he was starting a story. “No one's born a priest. Before the cloth, I was just Frank Lawrence, a touring musician.”

“Really? Let me guess... cowbell.” She replied.

“Close. Piano. Good old rock and roll. Opened for Dylan, Bowie, the Stones…”

“The Rolling Stones?”

“Yep. It was a crazy time, let me tell you.” Father Frank chuckled. “I was a lot like you, really.”

As Natasha finished her whiskey, she shook her head with a wry smile. “That's literally impossible.”

“Thought the fun would never stop.” He sighed, a sad expression filling his eyes. “Then, uh…”

“Father, you don't have to…” You murmured, putting a comforting hand on top of his injured hand’s wrist.

“No, no, no, no. Go on.” Natasha interjected.

The priest nodded, giving you a comforting smile. “Car accident. Ten years ago. I was travelling with Connor and his family. Uh, Connor's dad was a drummer, we used to play together. Another car swerved into our lane and, uh… Connor lost both his parents that night.”

Your expression fell into a remorseful one. You couldn’t imagine losing someone like that.

“My daughter was with us, too. She didn't make it, either.”

Let alone your child.

“Thought I'd seen some dark days. Nothing compared to losing my little girl. My heart just... cracked right open.”

His whole body went still. His eyes didn’t blink, his chest barely moved. The memories were as fresh as yesterday’s breakfast for him, even if they were a decade ago.

“That pain…” You muttered, shaking your head. “I’m so sorry, Father.”

“Well, you must have been awfully angry at your beloved God.” Natasha said, a slight anger to her tone but not directed at Father Frank.

“I was so... untethered. Lost. Turning to Him is what saved me.” He replied, wearing a fake but gentle smile.

“So... hold on. God stole your spawn and then you decided to worship Him?”

“I can't really explain it, but somehow it made me feel that she was safe. That's when I discovered my faith. The church gave me purpose. It was there that I crossed paths with Connor again. Me, a parent without a child; him, a child without a parent.”

You smiled softly. “You connected with him.”

He nodded. “We might not always understand it, but God has a plan.”

Natasha sighed. “Yes. I know. But why does everybody always think it's a good plan?”

Suddenly, your phone began to ring and you cleared your throat from the emotion that Father Frank’s story had brought up. “Please excuse me, Father.”

He nodded, though you didn’t need his permission, and you left to take the phone call.

“So, can we just go back to this absurd notion that you and I are in any way similar?” Natasha asked.

“You're right. We're not.”

“Thank you!”

“I'm probably a much better piano player than you are.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow before she looked around the club. Her piano was in the centre of the floor but it was too packed and loud for the two. She turned to the human bartender and told him that she’d be upstairs if you needed her.

“Well come on then, Padre. Let’s test your silly theory.” She smirked, leading him up to the penthouse.

Of course, she let Father Frank play first, his fingers dancing over the keys with the practised grace of an experienced player; though, Knocking on Heaven’s Door wasn’t wonderful for her ears.

“D-Do you know anything that doesn't make me want to, you know, impale myself? Like, uh... Something more upbeat. Something a bit, um... I mean, like, uh…” She shrugged, sitting down on the top side of the piano seat.

Immediately, she grinned as a song came to mind, playing a wilder melody of Mess Around by Ray Charles.

“Oh. I think I know what you mean.” Father Frank matched her grin, beginning to play the bottom side of the song in a similar jive and rhythm.

“Something like that?”

“Yeah.” She smirked.

“Okay.”

As they played, Natasha was impressed. “Father has got soul.”

“You ain't seen nothing yet.”

“Oh? Would you like to take the top?”

“Why not? Excuse me.”

As they swiftly swapped places, with Father Frank playing a glissando up the keys whilst Natasha spun around him to sit on the bottom side, she laughed heartily.

Though she wouldn’t admit it aloud, she was having fun with this soulful priest.

It was then that you appeared in the elevator, though neither of them noticed. You were happily surprised by the sight before you, tapping your finger in your pocket to the rhythm as you came to lean on the bar beside the piano. After a few more seconds of playing, Natasha noticed you out of the corner of her eye and immediately stopped playing.

“Oh.” Father Frank chuckled, looking between the two of you.

“Hi.” Natasha said after clearing her throat, putting her stoic face back on.

“Hi.” You greeted softly, giving her a knowing warm smile as if to say ‘I caught you having fun with the priest, hypocrite’.

Natasha cleared the air with her shrug. “Yeah, well, I suppose that wasn't completely terrible.” She directed at Father Frank.

“Not completely.” He laughed, patting her shoulder gently.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, but Father Frank's story about The Spider checks out, and I got a lead so we should go.” You said, looking at Natasha.

She nodded and grabbed her jacket, patting Father Frank’s shoulder. “Well, you stay here. You need the practice.”

And the two of you left with the priest’s hearty laugh echoing in the penthouse.

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Upon exit of your car into a hidden skate park, you walked beside Natasha and mentally noted how she scanned the premises. “I talked to Narcotics and one of their CI's said The Spider's rumoured to hang out here.”

“Well, I don't know why you had to bring me along.” She said.

“What, are you anxious to get back to your new friend?” You teased.

She scoffed. “Please. The Devil friends with a priest? That's absurd.”

“It's absurdly adorable. You know, it's okay to admit you like the guy.”

“He's everything that I stand against, Detective.”

“Yeah, well, sometimes we get along best with the people we're most different from.” You shrugged.

As you scanned the place, Natasha observed you. You looked tired, a bit frazzled even. when she saw a man looking at your ass, she took a step towards you, glaring at him with the fury of a thousand suns.

If only her eyes were glowing. That would shock him into being a decent member of society.

“Look.” You said, pulling her out of her glare to look through the crowd.

“Oh. Little Miss Sunshine from the youth center.” She chuckling.

“Yeah, Nikki.”

“What's that she's doing?”

You watched her hands move swiftly between people before sighing. “Drug deal. And a smooth one. Maybe she's The Spider.”

“Ooh, black widow, then. Lovely.” Natasha grinned, about to stride forward and confront her but you held her back.

“Wait. She's giving it to someone else.” You muttered, pulling her back.

You pressed up against her chest, trying to minimise your visibility from Nikki. Natasha looked down at you, perplexed, her cheeks a little red as she tried to keep it down.

“To Connor.” You realised, seeing the boy accept the money from Nikki.

Then his eyes fell on you. With fear or rage or something in his eyes, he pulled out a gun and shot into the ceiling, sending the crowd into a frenzy.

“Get down!” You yelled, pulling out your own.

Though the crowd was working against you as you tried to squeeze through a gap between the people rushing out of the fenced skate ramp and the fence itself. You raced through the back door where Nikki and Connor went through, but the alley was empty.

“Gone. Great.” You sighed, putting your gun back in your holster.

“Why was the black widow giving her cash to altar boy?” Natasha asked, checking the alleyway with her glowing eyes as you checked your ringing phone.

“You never want to carry dr*gs and money on you at the same time. Makes you a target.” You opened your phone. “Or because Connor's The Spider.”

Natasha stopped glowing her eyes, satisfied that nobody was nearby, and looked back at you.

“Traffic cam footage.” You showed her your phone, a clear photo of Connor in the driver’s seat with a gun in hand.

“Ah, from the church shooting. So the boy the priest was trying to protect is the one who tried to kill him? Well, isn't that an ironic kick in the cassock?”

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When you returned to Lux, Father Frank was evidently shocked at the news by the way his hands shook whilst he held your tablet in his hands. “This doesn't prove Connor's The Spider.” He said firmly, giving you back the tablet which had Connor’s photos on it.

“It's pretty damning, Father. And it's enough for the APB that just went out. Connor's been declared armed and dangerous.”

“Armed and dangerous? The boy needs to be helped, convinced to turn himself in.”

“Father, he shot at you. He fired into a room full of kids.”

“Yes, but he shot up, didn't he?”

You sighed, knowing he felt for this kid as if he was his son. “We'll do everything we can to bring him in peacefully. I promise you that.”

Father Frank sighed too. “If you'll excuse me, I... need some air.”

Natasha wandered over with three drinks of whiskey in her hands, offering to the priest but denied. She then turned to you, smiling gently. “Drink, malyshka?”

You shook your head. “I have some digging to do. Will you watch over him until I get back?”

“What?” She huffed. “You want me to babysit the priest?”

You smirked as you retreated into the elevator. “I babysit you all the time.”

Natasha mumbled grumpily to herself as she walked towards her balcony, standing right next to Father Frank as he held a cigarette in the other hand.

“Need a light?” She offered.

He chuckled dryly. “No, thanks. Quit years ago. Still enjoy the ritual, though. Always keep one on me.”

She nodded, putting her lighter back in her pocket. “Please tell me you didn't come out here to talk to Him.”

“God? Why not? This is as good a spot as any.”

Natasha laughed, shaking her head. “Right.” She did pause though, looking at him with curiosity. “Does He, uh... does He ever talk back?”

He was quiet before answering. “I don't need to hear Him to... hear Him. If you know what I mean.”

“Well, yes, He never talks to me, either. Listen, um…” She said to quickly change topics. “Sorry about the altar boy. Surely you know you're not to blame. I mean, some people are just... beyond saving.”

“That's where you're wrong. There's still hope for him.”

She sipped on her drink, giving him a doubtful expression. “He shot up your church, he's most likely running a drug ring behind your back, and, oh, yes, killed a man.”

“I don't believe that.” Father Frank countered.

“Look, what if it's true?”

“Then he needs me even more.”

She scoffed, looking at him like he was a freak. “How can you still have faith in this boy?”

“God has faith in him. In all of us. Even in our darkest moments.”

“Oh, you really believe that.”

“I do.” He answered back quickly. “Why don't you?”

Her face fell stoic once again. “Because He didn't have faith in me.”

“Hmm.I felt that way once, too. But now I know, deep in my heart, God has a plan for me.”

“Oh, His plan for me was quite clear.” She scoffed, glaring at the cloudy sky for a moment.

“How do you know it's finished?” The priest chuckled.

Natasha stood there in silence, pondering his words and views. In her head, it possibly made sense that the plan for her wasn’t over. But the hatred and betrayal in her heart threw that thought into the garbage disposal, hoping that it could be as easily forgotten as it was learned.

“Excuse me. One of my parishioners, uh, a lot of them are still upset about the shooting.” Father Frank held up his phone.

Yeah. Don’t… Don’t worry about it.” She muttered, leaning on the balcony as he entered the elevator to take the phone call.

Pressing the ground button with determination on his face.

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After finding out Father Frank was no longer in Natasha’s custody, you quickly drove to the club and found Natasha.

“Why would he do that? Why would he just run away?” You scoffed, collecting the devil to the bar.

“Wanda, the priest, have you seen him?” Natasha asked the demon at the bar doing stocktake.

“So you're talking to me now?” She said bitterly.

Natasha glanced at you before glaring her glowing eyes at Wanda. “Have you seen him?!”

Wanda relinquished and bowed her head slightly, just enough for Natasha to be pleased and stop glowing her eyes. “He was down here on his phone. Heard him talking to someone named Connor. He left to go meet him.”

“He left? Where to?” You asked, though Wanda ignored you.

“Maybe he's trying to convince Connor to turn himself in.” You said to Natasha.

“No. He's probably trying to hide the little miscreant. Put his faith in God, not the police.” She scoffed.

“Why do you care about a priest?” Wanda sneered.

“I don't.” Natasha bit back, tempted to glow her eyes again.

“Where would he hide him? Where would he hide Connor?” You muttered to yourself.

“Somewhere he considers safe, I assume.” The devil shrugged.

It clicked in your head. “Sanctuary.”

You stormed out to your car, thankful that the valet hadn’t moved it, and jumped into the driver’s seat. You kept your lights and sirens off, and drove quietly along the street to the church.

“Malysh.” Natasha said quietly, trying to steady your shaking hand by putting hers on top. “Are you sure it’s a good idea for you to get involved with a shooting again? Jimmy did a number on your shoulder.”

You looked over at her briefly before driving, though not moving her hand from yours. “I’ll be okay. I did some extra exercises at the department.”

“Okay.” She said, though still worried.

As you stepped out of the car, you stormed up the stairs and pulled Natasha in behind you. “Behind me, always. You are not getting shot on my watch.”

You leaned in by the window of the front entrance door, seeing Father Frank with his hands in the air, with Connor pointing a gun at him. You snuck in quietly through the door, crouching to the floor so that you were no higher than the pews.

“You don't want to do this. I know you. This isn't you.” Father Frank reasoned with Connor.

“Sorry, I don't have a choice, okay? I have to do this.”

“I get it. You don't think you can rely on anyone else to survive... but you're not alone. I'm here for you, whenever you need me, son.”

“I don't need you! Okay? I don't need anybody!” He said, with a strained tone to his voice.

“Go on, then, shoot the altar boy.” Natasha murmured in your ear. “In the leg or something, obviously.” She added after you shushed her.

“Just do it, Connor. Pull the damn trigger already.” A voice said before a familiar face came from the right side of the church.

“That's Eric Doyle. That's our Spider.” You realised.

“The counsellor.” Natasha muttered.

“You know, Nikki… I trust her. But you? I think you're too attached to this preacher. You're gonna have to show me that you're not.” Doyle spoke to Connor, like a devil on his shoulders.

“No shot from here.” You told Natasha, moving closer to the scene.

“I know you, Connor. That drive-by, you intentionally missed me, didn't you?” Father Frank asked calmly.

“Stop talking. Please.” Connor whimpered, his hand shaking around the gun.

Doyle sighed. “Make him stop talking. It's really easy.”

“You couldn't do it then, and you don't want to do it now. God's giving you a second chance right here.” The priest whispered, trying to coax the boy towards him.

“E-Enough with the sermon, preacher! Connor, just shoot this son-of-a-bitch already.” The Spider huffed.

“Just follow your heart, son. I have faith in you.”

You slowly crept behind the front pew, gun in hand and eyes lasered onto Connor’s gun.

With a few trembling breaths and shaky hands, Connor lowered it and faced Eric. “I can't do it, Doyle. I'm sorry.” He said, dropping the gun.

Doyle sighed. “I'm sorry, too, kid. I can't allow weakness, not when I've just taken control.”

As he pulled out a gun, Father Frank pulled Connor backwards and behind him, stepping in front.

“No!” He yelled as Doyle fired the gun.

Straight into his heart.

You shot Doyle in the stomach, rendering him useless as you kicked away his gun. He wouldn’t die, though he would hurt.

“Hands up. Get down on the ground.” You told Connor, trying to be firm but gentle as he did exactly as you asked.

“Father!” Natasha yelled, rushing to his side. “No, no, no, you idiot! The bloody hell were you thinking?!”

“This is Unit 831 at St. Morgan's Church. We need two ambos, code 4.” You called into your phone, putting the phone down but letting it continue.

“Don't go anywhere, you moron!” Natasha growled at Father Frank, his suit quickly becoming sticky with blood as she put pressure on the front and back of his chest.

“It's okay. I'm not afraid of dying.” Father Frank muttered, spitting out some blood.

“Well, you should be. It's really boring where you're headed.” She said, pulling off her jacket and pressing it against his chest.

“I hope so. I've had enough excitement for one life.” He chuckled.

“Stop talking like that. You've got more to do here. You've got more people to annoy.” She said, her voice becoming shaky.

“Pressure on the wound, Natasha.” You told her, keeping your gun facing Doyle.

“I am!” She growled. “Just come on, Frank, stay with me, stay with me.”

He groaned as she adjusted him in her grip, time ticking by as all they could do was wait for an ambulance. Natasha had no first aid experience, and you didn’t have any equipment necessary for such a wound.

“Oh, uh... at first… I didn't understand why God put you in my path. But then it hit me.” He chuckled, blood spilling onto the cuffs of Natasha’s long sleeve shirt.

“Maybe... He put me in yours.”

“I… highly doubt it. He gave up on me a long time ago.”

“You're wrong, Natasha. Remember… your father... ha-has- has a plan.”

“My father?” She asked, confused.

“Yeah.”

She realised what he meant. “You know?”

Lightning flashed and thunder clapped above the church as she looked at the blood spilling beneath Father Frank. Though when she went to speak to him again, his eyes were in the back of his head, lying limply.

“Frank? Frank!” She yelled, still keeping pressure on the wound.

Though it was futile.

“Frank.” She whispered, lying him down on the ground.

Tears pricked her eyes as she closed his, looking up at the ceiling briefly before her sadness became anger. Frank was a good man, a loving father figure to Connor, but someone preyed on him.

“Natasha…” You murmured, trying to get her attention.

She looked over her shoulder at Doyle, blood seeping into his shirt and zip-up hoodie. “Time to pull the legs off The Spider.” She seethed as she walked over, picked him up and held him two feet off the ground by her hand around his neck.

“Natasha, stop!” You yelled as Doyle choked.

“Why did you do this?”

“I don't know.”

“Why?”

“He was bringing too much heat!”

“Why?! WHY?!”

Doyle’s choking began to grow quiet, his hands weakly scratching at Natasha’s hand on his neck.

Natasha, stop. Father Frank wouldn't want this.” You said, your breath shaky as you saw the scorned woman.

“Stop.”

She yelled out in anguish and let Doyle drop to the floor, not caring for his safety as his legs crumpled beneath him and he gasped for air.

You quickly came to her, holstering your gun as ambulance and police arrived outside. “Natasha…”

Her whole body went still. Her eyes didn’t blink, and her chest barely moved.

You watched her retreat out of the church towards the crime techs, speaking her part of the scene before you did the same. After what seemed like half an hour, you watched Natasha leave the scene in her car, with one of her valets at the wheel.

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Resting at home with Steve on the couch beside you, you turned the TV off and sighed. Steve, I know I wanted to talk, but, um... my mind, it's just…”

“Somewhere else?” He murmured, looking at you with a small smile.

“Yeah.”

He sighed. “Yeah, mine, too.”

“Can we do this another time?” You asked, smiling softly.

“Yeah. No problem, Y/N.” He answered, gently kissing your forehead.

He agreed to stay at the house to watch Peggy whilst you drove to Lux. You had seen the emotion in Natasha’s face, how hard her heart had shattered when Frank died.

As you entered the club, you smiled at the security guards who knew you by memory now. You casually made your way to the elevator, dressed in your work clothes but jacket in hand. As it opened, you smiled gently as the keys to Knocking On Heaven’s Door played from the piano.

You watched her for a moment, listening to how she played. The liquor in her glass told you she’d been there either for a moment or for hours, since there was a bottle beside the glass.

You were tempted to hum along but instead put your jacket down and walked over to her, leaning over her shoulder to get her attention.

She immediately stopped playing and looked at you - with every ounce of attention she had.

“Hi.” You said softly, your hair hanging down like a beautiful waterfall for the redhead to admire.

She didn’t know what to say for a little while, but when you sat beside her on the piano chair she spoke. “Bit late for a new case, isn't it?”

You laughed quietly, shaking your head. “I'm not here for a case. I'm here for you.”

“Oh. Really?” She smirked, leaning slightly towards you as she tried to use her mojo.

“Yeah. Thought you could use a friend.” You murmured, gently brushing some hair out of her face with a focused expression before looking at her again.

She exhaled softly before clearing her throat. “Do you play?”

“Mm. No. No, I don't.” You replied with a light smirk.

“Come on, you must know something.” She insisted.

“No. Uh... All right, well... let me see. I had three years of lessons… and this is all I remember.” You said, beginning to play the melody to Heart and Soul.

Natasha laughed heartily. “Surely, you must be joking.”

You stopped, shaking your head at her with a cheeky grin before playing again. To Natasha, you had the funniest little expression of focus, your eyes carefully looking at the keys to remember.

“Alright, then.” She muttered, beginning to play the accompaniment to it.

Through the night, you sipped on her drink and she gladly refilled it when necessary. Fatigued and warm from both the alcohol and Natasha, she took you to her bed and let you rest in it for the night.

“Goodnight, malyshka.” She gently kissed your forehead, heading out to her balcony for a smoke.

She looked out onto the marvellous landscape of the city, lifting her lighter to the end of her cigarette but it would not light. In frustration, she threw the lighter off of the balcony, not caring who or what it hit when it landed.

She glared up at the sky. "You... you cruel, manipulative bastard! Was this all part of Your plan? It's all just a game to You, isn't it? Well, I know punishment, and he did not deserve this." She gestured to her sleeves and the bottom of her shirt, covered in blotches of Father Frank's blood.

"He followed Your stupid rules and it still wasn't fucking good enough! So what does it take to please You? Break Your rules and you fall! Follow them and you still lose?! Doesn't matter whether you're a sinner! Doesn't matter whether you're a saint! Nobody can win, so what's the point?!"

She leaned her elbows on the balcony railing, her head folding down into her chest. "What's the fucking point?"

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As midnight struck across town in a 24/7 diner, Malcolm sat with six plates of food around him and two empty milkshake glasses, another only half-full.

“Enjoying the life I gave you?” Yelena’s deep voice popped up from next to him, giving him a fright.

“Hey... did food taste this good before I died? ‘Cause I don't remember it being this friggin' delicious.” He chuckled, the angel beside him looking him straight in the eye.

“I don't care what you're doing with your new life, Malcolm... except for what I've asked of you. What's taking so long?” She questioned lightly, like she was his friend.

“Come on, come on, chill out, Yelenalady. Here, have some waffles.” He smirked, sliding over a plate of three waffles with strawberries and cream piled on top, though slightly melted.

After a flash of lightning outside, she was whispering right in his ear in a taunting voice. “Do you want to go back, Malcolm? Because I can make that happen.”

She watched the fear in his posture grow, his appetite slowing as he held a burger up to his mouth but didn’t bite it. “Yes… you're remembering it now, aren't you? I bet your 30 seconds in Hell felt like 30 years.”

Her voice became stern. “Imagine what eternity would feel like.”

“I'm sorry. Okay? Sorry. Look… I got it. An untraceable gun. It won't come back to me. I'm ready now.” He stammered out, showing a small pistol that had been removed from evidence, still in its bag.

“Good.” She smiled, patting his shoulder gently.

He cleared his throat. “So who do you want me to kill again?”

“Her name... is Natasha Romanoff.”

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