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notroosterbradshaw · 6 months

Text

slow dancing in a burning room - seven

word count: 6k

warnings: nsfw 18+, language.

part of: The Boyfriend Experience universe

a/n: no man's land. I hope you enjoy it. thanks to those who read, reblogged and commented on previous chapters. you’re doing god’s work. I truly appreciate your effort to show your support and if you like it… please comment and reblog it! x

You’d be lying to say you hadn’t been distracted all morning… not in the best frame of mind, half heartedly urging young teens, “Just another 50m, you got this”, because God knew, you certainly did not have this.

But you were just so tired. You hadn’t been sleeping well, you were just eating enough to say you were eating. You just felt average and it made you so angry how much you’d tangled yourself with Bradley. Self-care had taken a backseat to bury yourself in the pool’s redevelopment, you weren’t bothering with your morning ocean swim - and of course, it had nothing to do with bumping into Bradley on his morning run.

Nothing at all.

Annie was on your case to pull yourself from your funk where you continually reminded her you were not in. You were in fact quite productive. Between the work, pool and constantly moving things around the apartment (you wished you'd never started to be honest because you just couldn’t make things work as well as they did before you nearly moved), your days were pretty full and you went to bed exhausted.

You’d just finished the early session when the first text came in. Shivering at your desk and wrapped in a sopping towel, just wanting to release the wet, tangled bun on top of your head and a hot shower to dechlorinate your irritated skin after teaching all morning, you knew protecting your peace was going to be difficult today.

Today, Bradley was to be arraigned.

It had been a beast of a process for him. The last year his life had been so tumultuous - from deciding to move back to California, the highs of falling in love with each other, deciding to take that ridiculously quick step of moving in together. He gets the keys to his parents' villa and renovates it to build a life and a family. Everything he’d wanted for so long, to Maverick’s return. The only family he had that had destroyed all his hopes and dreams, was the Dagger mission… and subsequent crashes. His injuries, forced leave, and his mental health shattered to you leaving a man who didn’t know how to cope and not giving him the benefit of the doubt to try and help more. Your guilt crushed you in ways you’d never imagined you could ever put on another person.

You bent in every direction for him, and it still wasn’t enough.

But the hidden truths. Your trust in him was shattered, and protecting yourself, something you were always taught, what we’re all taught but sometimes unable to walk away from someone who can’t change… but Bradley needed more help than you. And when he was put on forced leave, that was the final straw because…

Because he almost died and when you found out through all the mistruths, he broke you. Maybe he didn’t mean to, maybe he wanted to protect you, protect what you had, but the world was bigger than what is redacted at the end of the day.

But without honesty, what the fuck did you have together? Very little, it turned out. Sex wasn’t going to save you, nor the way your heart found a new rhythm when Bradley was with you. Or how safe you felt in his arms, the way his big hands snuck under your shirt and wrapped around your soft tummy to pull you closer to his strong chest -

Natasha Trace: He has been found not guilty. Don’t ask me what miracle or deity is on his shoulder, but to be released on Article 92 is wild!

And you were so relieved and not just because you couldn’t compartmentalise didn’t mean those who were overseeing his case couldn’t. That was their job. Their job wasn’t to love Bradley unconditionally and feel the hurt you did for him… with him. Alone.

It must have felt revolutionary. Your fingers found the characters to reply somehow. You were shaking, your phone trembled in your hand. Where were your glasses?!

You: How is he? Is he okay?

Natasha Trace: Disbelief. Absolute disbelief. Relief. He’s okay.

You: Thank God, thank you for letting me know, Nat.

Natasha Trace: Of course. We’re going for a celebratory drink. Do you wanna join us, or is that still the stupidest question in the world?

You: The dumbest.

You: But thank you.

Natasha Trace: Can I tell him I told you?

You: I don’t think he will care, but ok. Tell him I’m happy for him and hope he’s excited to get in the air again.

Natasha Trace: I think he will get orders pretty quickly…

It sure seemed like a hint. Talk to him now before you lose him for months on end again.

You: I’m sure he’s very excited about that. MEDHOLD?

Natasha Trace: Awaiting TBI and psych assessment but he thinks he’s pretty close.

You: Don’t tell him I’m crossing my fingers for him.

Natasha Trace: …no, never 😉

After showering and dressing with a little more pep in your step thanks to Bradley’s good news, your brain got the best of you and you thought maybe it’d be nice to send him a small, “I’m really happy for you. I hope you enjoy getting back up in the skies” message.

Retrieving his number that was no longer your ICE, no longer the top of your Favourites, and unblocking it made your body quake, and like it was a warning, the barrage of texts you’d not received overwhelmed you.

One by one, begging, pleading for your notice, the raw, the anger, the language.

He had given you a few days of quiet before the texts started.

Bradley 🐓: Love, are you sure this is what you need? I can give you anything, let’s just please try and make this work. I’ll give you some time, whatever you want x

Bradley 🐓: I got a Not Delivered back. You’ve blocked me?

Bradley 🐓: You’ve blocked me. Shit.

Bradley 🐓: Okay, I get it, you want space, I’ll give it to you.

Bradley 🐓: Hey you… checking if I’m still blocked.

Bradley 🐓: YEP.

Bradley 🐓: Gotta say, I didn’t think you’d ever block me.

The thing is, you never thought you’d ever have to block Bradley and as you eased back in your chair, your inherent need to nip something irritating to him made your fingers itch.

Bradley 🐓: Okay, if this is what you want, I’ll leave it to you to come back to me.

Bradley 🐓: I’m so fucking sorry about tonight. I hope the door didn’t hurt you too badly.

Bradley 🐓: Still fucking blocked. Ok. I won’t bother again. You've made your point. On me for stupidly not believing we are at this place.

You had to wonder if it was even worth sending one of your own. You couldn’t match his tone, his anger and disappointment. The congratulations text just didn’t seem to cut it but before you knew it, the “Natasha told me you’ve been acquitted. I am happy for you, Rooster. Enjoy getting back to work, I know you’ve missed it” text had written itself but it didn’t mean it was as easy to hit the send button.

And it felt colder than it sounded. You hoped he was sitting on his phone and ready to respond but when you were still waiting the next day, you had to admit you weren’t very surprised. Like he cared that you were happy for him, he deserved to move on and not deal with you and your bullshit in his life anymore.

You desperately wanted to block him just like before, heart not prepared to see his name in your notifications again.

You hit send before you could think anymore and hoped maybe you were blocked on his end too.

“Knock, knock. Favourite granddaughter is here,” you announced, the tiresomeness in your voice evident after the barrage of Bradley’s texts weighed heavily on you as you walked into your grandparents' home for a cheeky late lunch later that day. Washed and primped (washed and in your activewear, naturally. You were a swimming teacher, not a goddamn office drone), you wandered past the photo wall to find Grandpa and… Maverick in the kitchen. Well, fuck. Your luck was the worst.

There wasn’t a midlife crisis motorbike parked out the front… this would teach you to turn up unannounced.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Grandpa smiled, raising his arm for you to fall under with a hug in greeting. “Whatcha doing here?”

“I, uh…” you tried not to stammer. “Lunch. Thought I’d come over and say hi.”

“Do you wanna sandwich or something?” Viper said, jumping into gear. “Can make a tuna melt - ”

“That’s okay, I’ll go,” you started making excuses. You didn’t want to be around Mav and your brain didn’t have the tolerance to try and fight anymore today. “I didn’t realise you had company…”

Viper caught the gist and nodded slowly. “You gotta eat.”

“I have food at home,” you told him but kind of waited for Maverick to take the goddamn hint to get the fuck out. This was your safe place; you didn’t need it tainted by Pete Mitchell.

“I should probably make a move anyway,” Maverick said, knowing fully well that the discomfort in the kitchen was all because of him. How self-aware, you thought glumly.

“No, you stay,” you tried so hard to be polite, but the tension that bubbled in your bloodstream sort of made you kind of want to curse the day the Navy dragged him yours and Bradley’s way again.

“No, it’s ok – ”

“Don’t Mav. I’ll leave. You stay,” you tried to bite back your exasperation but it certainly didn’t appear that way.

“Hey,” Viper warned you. He wouldn’t expect you to talk to anyone like that.

“Look. I’m real sorry, kid,” Maverick tried, and gee, age had worn him.

You tried to remain passive, but the frown seemed to speak volumes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Why were you so angry at him? Did Mav even know the impact he’d had on your relationship? How Breadley would come home like a bear with a headache, angry, snide. And for that, you just couldn’t seem to disconnect your past from the present and it only made you seethe further.

“I know I should have done this before because I know I'm the catalyst of a lot of Bradley’s problems. And in part, that burden fell on you.”

You wanted to tell him you didn’t know what he was talking about, to forget it, but as every emotion you had bubbled under the surface, you hissed back, “Well, it’s all very convenient now, I suppose. You get your kid back; you both get back up in the air and live happily ever after.”

“That’s fair,” Maverick just seemed to take the lash of your tongue in his stride. How pathetic.

“Hey,” Viper said again, a little more warning in his voice.

“Grandpa, Mav almost got Bradley killed,” you said finally.

Viper’s gaze drifted to Mav. “I know the whole story, sweetheart.”

Taken aback, you look at your grandpa. “What?”

“Bradley came and told me the whole thing.”

You were slow to respond, probably because your brain was overprocessing Grandpa’s reply and the sting it caused. Because Bradley came here when he couldn’t come to you? Because even though he loved you, he felt he couldn’t share this, so he came to Grandpa.

And he couldn’t come to you?!

“Jesus, what did you do so right to get some honesty out of him?” you retorted.

“He was scared, kid. Bradley has already lost everything. He’d lost you. He thought his career was gone too. He needed someone to talk to.”

“I was right there, taking care of him when no one else was able to,” you could feel the rage build within you. “I was right there and he didn’t tell me until he was told - ”

“Because you were the hardest to tell, sweetheart,” Viper told you, the evenness in his voice riling you more. Why wasn’t your blood as furious as you were?! “The person who means the most in the world, who may or may not already have a vendetta against the Navy. How was he going to tell you?”

“How was he going to keep it a secret? When he wakes up screaming with nightmares every night?” you demanded, and Viper nodded slowly because he knew – you remembered vividly the nights you heard Grandpa wake screaming and Nana begged him to calm for your sake. “He’s had PTSD from the Navy since he was four and he still thinks it’s the only place he belongs.”

He belongs with me, you wanted to scream but thankfully managed to bite back.

“He will always have something to prove. With you, without you,” Maverick said your name evenly. “Regardless of anything that ever happened. He barely knew his old man and for a while, he got away with no one knowing Goose Bradshaw was his old man - ”

“So, what… now he’s got more to fight against?” you muttered.

“In a way, yes.”

Oh, you could fucking punch him and resisting it was becoming futile. You turned to him. “Please don’t say another word,” and there was so much threat in your cautioning. You felt feral, every emotion you’d been pushing down since everything exploded was waiting precariously on your tongue and in range was the one who it all centred around.

Maverick nodded and for a minute, you thought he’d respect your decision… but nope. “I know him so well. It’s what he hates most about me. I knew his father better than he ever did and Rooster is just like Goose. Always bred for more. Always striving for that next part.”

“If you never came back, he’d still be with me, and we’d be happy. Since you walked back into his life, you unapologetically ruined him again after he fought for everything he has now. And I was there. Trying to fix him when he didn’t know how to fix it himself. But it fell on deaf ears because he didn’t trust me enough to tell me - ”

“He trusts you, kid,” Maverick told you evenly. “You are the only one he trusts and that is what makes it worse for him.”

It was like a car accident. Bradley’s hand was so close to knocking on the weatherboard of the Metcalfe residence and hearing you, the absolute venom in your tone as you lashed Maverick inside. Bradley had never heard you like this, even when you fought with him, your voice was never as cool and callous.

“I loved him. I wanted my future with him, and it was taken from us.”

“There’s still time - ” Mav tried and for a moment, Bradley stopped breathing because if what came next from your lips gave him the slightest piece of hope, he was going to walk inside and take you in his arms, right where you belonged and make you see reason if it was the last thing he ever did.

“There isn’t - he doesn’t want me. He doesn’t want anything to do with me. He’s got plenty of other options out there, Mav,” you hissed. “You think I’m stupid enough to think he hasn’t moved on? When I saw him at the bar a few weeks ago, he looked right through me. Then his date - whatever she was - followed him out. Trust me, I’m aware Bradley has moved on.”

The men remained quiet, because they knew Bradley hadn’t moved on. Bradley was not thinking about moving on. Bradley was only thinking about you.

“You didn’t get to Viper’s and invite him for a drink?” Maverick asked a while later, cold beer in hand and sliding another across the bar to Bradley, free Bradley, Bradley who was ready to get up in the air again and get his life back on track after one of the worst periods of his life.

And shit, he’d had a lot of them in his short time on the planet to compare.

He gave Mav a wary side-eye. “No, by the time I got back from the gym, I thought it was rude to pop over around dinner time,” Bradley lied spectacularly, and he knew Mav could see right through him. He'd watched his godson from the moment he walked in, rigid, terse and for a guy who had the world at his feet again, Mav knew something was still troubling him.

“Talk to me, Bradley.”

“Mav, I heard her.”

“Heard who?” Mav was clueless to Bradley’s less-than-subtle hints. Who else was she?

Bradley sighed, easing against the sticky bar as Javy came past, shaking his shoulders happily. “Congrats, brother. So fuckin' happy for you!” he exclaimed as Bradley gave a sheepish grin in reply and Javy said he’d be back with drinks shortly.

“Bradley,” Mav got his attention again.

He sighed, sipping his beer to wet his throat. “I heard her yell at you, at Viper and I almost didn’t recognise her voice because of the anger laced in it. And it was because of me she was that heated.”

Of course. Bradley had come to invite Viper for a drink and caught your vitriol instead. Mav sighed, contemplating his next words. Because even though he’d just got him back in his life, he knew his fractured relationship with Bradley was going to take time to heal fully. Knowing what he knew about Bradley, if he pushed too hard, he would resist. He was so headstrong, and at times, unable to see the forest for the trees, but Mav persisted carefully anyway. “Something tells me, like you, Bradley… she’s had this vendetta lined up for a while. Viper, her old man, now you, and probably me because of my involvement in the last few months... years, I suppose.”

“Doesn’t give her the right to take it out on anyone,” Bradley reminded him.

“She probably never has, and that’s why this smarts so much. You’re more alike than you think. Allathis,” Mav motioned around them at the Naval paraphernalia hanging around the bar. “It’s all you both know. She hasn’t felt the joy from it you do. She lost her faith a long time ago. And for now, you are collateral damage from years of turmoil.

When did this motherfucker get so smart? It left a bitter taste in Bradley's mouth he could be receiving such frank advise from MAv after everything they'd been through.

"But if it told me anything, son, it's that woman loves you and that’s what is making everything so much harder for her.”

Staring hard at the older man, Bradley guzzled the cool beer down his throat and for once, didn’t know what to say, so Maverick continued, “If anything, have faith that she is still crazy about you. And it’s not over, but it will take time. And it’ll need to be the right time.”

“When’d you start dishing out all this maturity?” it was all Bradley could find himself saying as Mav broke into a smirk that was almost permanent on his face as a younger, much more careless man. The years had matured him. Gone was the flashy, wide unbeatable grin that was constantly in competition with Ice for the biggest ego and accolades, replaced with a softer version, one that had listened and learned from the auxiliary noise around him.

One of Mav’s biggest regrets was never settling down and having a family. When it didn’t work with Charlie all those years ago, and it took so long for him and Penny to see eye to eye on where they wanted to be in life, he knew he had to step back and re-evaluate how to get where he needed to. And that didn’t always mean fighting for it, it sometimes meant to take that step back and let fate take its course.

When Goose died, Mav tried to step in to be the father that Bradley had lost, and for a long time, Bradley let him try and fill that void of a father figure. But it only took one betrayal on Mav’s behalf to become Bradley’s enemy and the resentment that Bradley had for him shook Mav to his core. It wasn't a risk he was willing to take again. He knew better and would do what was needed to support his family the way they needed it. This time, he was going to be everything Bradley needed even if it was to his detriment.

It was only a few days later after your showdown with Mav that you’d gotten word Bradley had flown out, and you were free as a bird to leave the house and see what the outside world had turned into while you’d turned your back on it. Why, you wondered at this time, you’d bothered, was another thing.

“So, if you don’t have a boyfriend, why can’t I buy you a drink?” the young officer asked as you chewed your tongue and could swear, you tasted blood. What was it with these Navy fuckboys who thought anyone was fair game after a few drinks? Not all that much had changed, not even the quiet seething Bob displayed a few seats up, prepping himself to step in.

What was wrong with you to think coming here was a good idea… at any time… anymore?

“Because I have a drink,” you explained quietly again, showing he couldn't take no for an answer, your glass. “I don’t need another. I appreciate the gesture, but no.”

“Come on, just one.”

“Holy shit – ” you finally snapped but you felt his body heat behind you before you could get the words out. You’d know it anywhere. When did he walk in? …how much had he seen? He wasn't supposed to be here!

You stiffened and maybe more agitated than you were before.

“Lieutenant,” the young pilot straightened, and it all but confirmed you knew Bradley Bradshaw, who was supposed to be on a boat somewhere in the middle of the big blue was behind you. You were going to kill Hangman. Kill him.

“Nice to see you, Rhodes. Heard you got blown out of the sky today…” Bradley said, the amusement in his voice paramount but you didn’t once let your guard down. You didn’t need him to fight your battles for you.

“Uh, yeah…” the meekness in the young officer’s voice was obvious. You didn’t always realise the command Bradley had over others. Of course, you knew how people were drawn to him, but seeing him with a subordinate was infatuating, to say the least. You didn’t often see him in a position of real power, and it would be shameful to admit, it was sexy.

“And by Hangman no less,” Bradley laughed quietly, that amused chuckle that you knew had a whole other hidden meaning. “Would probably be a good idea to stop drowning your sorrows and prepare for tomorrow, huh?”

“Guess so…”

“And apologise.”

“Look, I didn’t think you guys were dating anymore – ” Rhodes tried but didn’t offer an apology.

“What difference does that make?” you snapped, confidence growing in Bradley’s presence. You felt him stand a little closer, his heat prickling your back, behind you you wondered if he noticed it too.

“If you think that is what this is about, your ego is more outta check than you’re letting on."

You heard Rhodes mutter, “I’m sorry,” while he skulked away, and you finally breathed as Bradley stayed quiet behind you. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ…” you heard him mutter as he joined his other friends.

“You okay?” Bradley asked gently.

“I’m fine,” you reassured him, the slight snipe still in your voice. But you didn’t dare turn to face him, because if you looked up at him, that would make this whole thing real - that he was right there with you. You weren’t surprised when your stool was slowly spun towards him and his friendly, impish smile graced his handsome face… his beard was well grown in and manicured to the navy’s specification, his sun-kissed curls a lot longer than you’d ever seen on him and you swear, he’d never looked more handsome. “Hi.” you managed and God, he looked desperate to be kissed. You missed those plump, beautiful lips.

“Hello,” he replied, holding your gaze. Not hard, just… tender.

“Thanks. You didn’t need to… do that.”

“I know I didn’t. And I know you’re perfectly capable of standing up for yourself. I just wanted to make sure that little pissant knew what he was getting himself into if he went ten rounds with you.”

And you couldn’t help it as you bit back a giggle, hiding your burgeoning laughter behind your hand. Because if he knew one thing about you… it was that you were the dirtiest fucking fighter around and that poor kid would have been laid out with your lash of the tongue alone. “Well, you’d know…” you admitted as he licked back a smirk of his own and hummed. “Can I buy you a drink to say thanks?” you offered softly, and you weren’t sure he’d even heard you in the commotion of a Friday night. You barely heard the sound of your voice from the raging heartbeat in your ears.

He scratched the back of his neck, looking back at the fellas… all of whom were keenly watching on. Unabashed and gawking. Fuck those guys, he rolled his eyes and came back to you. “I shouldn’t…”

“Get her a drink, you goddamn pussy!” Hangman mouthed viciously and Bradley pretended he couldn’t read his wingman’s lips. He wished he couldn't.

“Yeah, okay. The least you can do is buy me a beer.”

“Hangman has a tab,” you informed him, that devious glint in your eyes shining.

“Top-shelf whiskey,” Bradley replied confidently.

You gave the order and times it by two, Bradley raising an interested eyebrow. You stayed together in a strange silence for a while, both waiting for your drinks to whet your palette and bring up the courage to say something that was simply… kind… to the other. God knows your last conversation was anything but.

Taking your first thankful sips, you both laughed as the exact same line came out to the other, “How have you been?” you both dropped your eyes bashfully, uncomfortably and you tried asking him again.

“Not too bad,” he admitted.

“I was told you had shipped out.” You would still kill Hangman.

“Checking up on me?” his upper lip twitched as you ducked your head. “Phoenix?”

“Hangman,” you corrected him as he chuckled quietly.

“Dick,” he muttered shortly. “They extended my medical leave just another few days. Paperwork.”

You looked at him, he looked right as rain.

“And you were right about the shitty shrink stuff,” he pointed to his head while he read yours. “PTSD.”

Well, yeah, you wanted to say it was the least shocking thing he could tell you. “Oh. Oh, Bradley,” you said delicately.

He nodded and shrugged. “Please don’t feel sorry for me. I’ve seen that whole look my whole fuckin’ life, I just can’t stand you looking at me like that too. This is what I’ve been trying to avoid from the get-go.”

“Then you’re gonna really hate me after this,” you gently touched his ribs, knowing their previous injury and left your hands to skim his cotton tee before wrapping him in your grasp, the muscles tense under your touch. “I’m sorry, Bradley,” you murmured into his chest, and he sighed, his breath against you shuddered. Your shampoo invaded his nostrils, and goddamn, if he didn’t miss that fuckin’ perfect scent and how it lingered.

He couldn’t fight it if he tried and he wrapped his arms around you, trying to desperately not lose it and do all he really wanted to do – cry. Cry for him, cry for you, cry for how badly you’d both fucked up. And he’d be lying to say that being in your arms felt so good. He missed the warmth of your curves, maybe a little less than he remembered, and he breathed you in, his love. And the hardest thing he ever had to get over.

Because, unlike his other losses, who left his life, wholly? You were there every day while he tried to make it without you. That sting of trying to get over you in every facet of his life and he just couldn’t move on from you. And that made it worse.

“It’s not all bad,” he said, lips so close to your ear. “A long story short, I did get clearance and I’m out in 48 hours. Just for the record. The counselling has to continue weekly.”

“Just like me,” you said, a little sing-song.

Bradley scoffed, humoured. “Yeah… just like you. A pair a’ damaged goods.”

“Jesus Christ,” you exclaimed, breaking the revelry as Bradley’s arms were covered in cool liquid and he figured, so was your back.

“What the fuck?” he pulled back, alarmed as he looked at some of the younger officers getting into each other’s faces, glasses hitting the floor, drinks flying. It was broken up as quickly as it escalated, Bradley pushing you gently behind him to avoid getting caught in the fracas. “You okay?” he asked over his shoulder as you were reaching for the napkins on the bar just out of your reach. He moved before you and retrieved them, helping you dab away whatever had - yep, drenched you, the back of your hair dripping and the back of your dress sopping.

“Yeah, just a drink or something,” you sighed.

“Lemme help,” he said, carefully turning you around and tenderly mopping up the bare skin on your back. And he’d be lying to say that if he just reached a little lower, he’d be able to kiss that freckle behind your ear, but blinking that image away, he knew this was not the time to be fantasising about the woman whom he fantasised about every night.

He sighed and removed his shirt, white V-neck underneath. “Take this,” he said your name a few times over the commotion in the bar after the almost fight.

Raising your hands, you told him not to worry. You’d just take off and get a shower. “It was a bad idea coming out tonight. You know when you feel it’s not the time?”

“Well, you did think I had already flown out, so you probably should have trusted your intuition.”

And you stared up at him, watching him biting back a grin and as he wrapped his shirt over your shoulders, watching you slip your arms into the sleeves, all he wanted to do was pull you in tight again, kiss your hair and tell you how he was still so in love with you that it was keeping him awake at night, that it was you that he still jerked off and willingly spilling into his hand and all over his stomach to. He imagined you riding him, giving him the messiest head like only you knew how, kissing him while he made love to you, and he held your arms trapped above your head as you trembled beneath him, as you came around him.

“You sure you’re okay, kid?” he asked, chewing his lip, and fixing the collar on the shirt. But you were so swept up in his smell that lingered, and as you tightened it around yourself, your eyes changed just for that flash that told Bradley that maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t just him who was feeling the way he was. “Can I drive you home?”

You shook your head. “It’s okay. I know you have things to do tomorrow - ”

“Come on,” he offered gently, nudging his head towards the door and as he collected your bag and urged you to wander out before him, you knew it was going to take all your strength to just allow this to happen. “Lemme get you outta here.”

And who were you to argue? Because honestly. You’d follow him anywhere. The man you loved, the man you’d hurt so badly. Nodding gently and seeing that sweet gentleness in his honey-coloured eyes, you let him usher you ahead, his strong hand easy on your lower back, just like it was any other night, the way he’d guide you through the masses, softly, securely, protectively.

You wriggled as the cool alcohol pressed into your back, and Bradley flinched, thinking you wanted his hands off you – when it couldn’t be any further from the truth. He took his palm away and opened the door as you exited. “You really don’t have to drop me home,” you told him. “I’ll just grab an Uber.”

“It’s fine, really. I had, like, two drinks. Probably best I call it a night and make sure I’m organised anyway,” he replied, leading you to the Bronco. He unlocked your side and naturally opened the door, offering his hand to help you step in.

“Thanks,” you said quietly, taking his offered warm palm and he helped hoist you in with the slightest of assistance. Buckling up, your eyes followed him to the driver’s side, and he just looked so handsome. You were surrounded by him with his shirt and cologne filling your senses. It all felt too familiar and that scared you terribly. He was fiddling with the keys before popping in and hopping into the seat. He gave you a small smile as he buckled up and gunned the engine, unsurprisingly Al Green low through the stereo.

It was a quiet trip towards your apartment, keeping your eyes on the passing coastline, scared if you looked at him, you’d do something stupid and just revelling in being the closest you’d been to him in months.

“You see they demolished that old villa near Penny’s place?” he mumbled.

“Yeah, how ridiculous,” you said to him. “It was such a gorgeous home. I think they’re dozing it for apartments or something,” you continued the small talk as you passed his villa. You noticed the ladder out front and scaffolding around the roof. “How’s it all going here?”

“Ahh, okay,” he shrugged, trying to focus on the road. “You know, a lot to be done still.”

“I can imagine,” you agreed, studying his face. His profile was completely different with his neat beard, but the rest of him was bigger and stronger. He’d laid countless hours into the gym while on leave and you could see the proof. Your eyes travelled over his tanned biceps and the way the white tee sleeve strained over them, following the vein to his inner elbow and wrist, hand clutching the gear shirt, long fingers wrapped around it. “Thanks for the lift home.”

“Anytime,” he replied, peeking a look back at you and a small smile crept to his handsome features, knowing he was sprung. But alas, so were you. “What?”

You shook your head gently, mortified inside that he caught you checking him out. But what were you to do? He was always so incredibly handsome, and you just missed being near him, being around his warmth, even if it wasn’t something you could bathe in like you used to.

As much as he made you nervous to be in this proximity again… you felt incredibly content just being with him. His quiet calm always had a way of reassuring you, even before you started dating.

A few more moments in relative silence aside from the stereo, Bradley pulled into the apartment carpark and put the car in park.

Ask him in, your brain screamed.

Kiss him, it added.

Fix this, your brain had officially melted down.

And when all you muttered was a “thanks” for driving you home, for giving up his shirt, for being the bigger person to be able to do both… you sunk into a funk that you just weren’t expecting tonight. Because even though the night was a happy accident, there was so much unsaid.

“No problem,” he said, hands gripping the steering wheel like if you tried to kiss him, he would let you, like if you asked him in, he’d willingly follow. He was anticipating your next move but you didn’t know what it was.

“Bye,” you unbuckled and opened the door, scooting out before you made more of a mess of everything than you had to now.

“Night,” he said, sadly lips pursed together as you gently closed the door over and refused to look back as you went to the stairs and forced one foot then the next to continue climbing the flights until you were safely at your door.

With one last glance back, you weren’t surprised to still see Bradley’s Bronco parked and you waved timidly, not willing to see if he returned the gesture before finding solace in your apartment.

You tossed your bag on the bench and made a beeline for your bedroom, spent. Mentally, your brain was fried. Physically, all you could think about was Bradley and how he could amp you up with very little attempt on his behalf. You wrapped his shirt tightly around you, taking in the Acqua di Gio that lingered.

You missed the way the scent drifted around the apartment and how much it truly reminded you of him. You carefully slipped it off and folded it just like he would have if it were him removing it before unzipping your damp dress, the alcohol stinging gently against your skin and discarded the dress in a pile at your feet.

Needing a hot shower, you rinsed yourself of the mess of the evening but as you hung your towel up after your evening skincare, Bradley’s cologne wasn’t lost on you in the small room. His smell overwhelmed you and as you moved towards the shirt again, bringing the collar to your nose, you knew the time had come to fix this.

To fix you.

To fix him.

And to fix you back together.

masterlist.

Big thanks as always to @sometimesanalice for helping me get this fic over this line when this chapter really needed it! x

A/N: the tag list no longer exists. To keep up to date, give @notroosterbradshaw-library a follow x

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daddy-dins-girl · 4 months

Text

Playdate - Chapter 5

Main Masterlist Series Masterlist

AO3 link

pairing: Marcus Pike x f! Reader x Dave York

Word Count: 6k

Chapter 5 Summary: Your husband has every intention of making this your most memorable birthday yet… And he was never one to disappoint.

Notes: This chapter will be split over a couple of parts. It was getting long (and unhinged) and I wanted to get something out sooner than later. There will be at least one follow-up chapter to this one that will be a straight continuation from where we leave off here.

Chapter Warnings (minor spoilers in the tags...): 18+ MDNI. F/M/M threesome. Cucking/Wife sharing. Semi-public sex acts (you're in the back of a car but the driver can't see or hear you). Derogatory Language. Praise kink. Soft!Dave York. Dom!Dave York. PerfectHusband!Marcus Pike. Oral sex (m and f receiving). Rough oral sex. Sensory deprivation. Use of restraints. Traffic light system. If I missed anything else lmk!

Thank you to my mutuals for talking things out with me and helping me out on a few things, you know who you are! Dedicating this chapter to @janaispunk, I hope it gives you a smile or two :)

Page dividers by the generous and talented @saradika-graphics

You twirl your pasta around your fork as you glance across the candlelit table to Marcus on the other side, your heart warming as his gaze settles on you and a smile pulls at his lips. He’s brought you to your favorite restaurant for your birthday. Or rather, your birthday weekend, as he called it. Today was Friday and your birthday wasn’t technically until tomorrow but Marcus did always like to make a fuss.

Soft jazz music plays in the background while an opened bottle of champagne sits in an ice bucket next to your table, both of you already on your second glass.

“How’s your carbonara?” He asks, nodding his head in the direction of your plate.

“To die for” you roll your eyes dramatically before taking another bite. He smiles again before digging back into his steak and you both settle back into a comfortable silence as you continue to enjoy your dinner. He has yet to tell you what his plans are for the rest of the evening, despite you desperately begging to get it out of him. He wants it to be a surprise, as usual.

You chat in hushed voices as you near the end of your meals, Marcus holding your hand in his as you tell him again how much you love him and how lucky you are that he’s yours. Your brow raises slightly in surprise when he orders another round of drinks and as the server disappears he’s quick to let you know not to worry, that he’s not driving tonight and has already made other arrangements. Of course he has. Marcus had always been meticulous in planning your birthdays.

With half a bottle of champagne already under your belts each, your next drink - your favourite wine - goes down just as easily as Marcus’ Old Fashioned does. You’re not drunk, but you’re certainly feeling good and playful enough that you stretch your right leg out under the table and gently run your foot up Marcus’ calf.

“Ready to get out of here?” He smirks at you from across the table, quickly throwing back the last swallow of amber liquid in his glass. You bite your lip and nod your head. You don’t know where you’re off to next, but at the very least maybe you can make out a little in the back of the cab.

Marcus gets your server’s attention and within minutes the bill is paid and he’s guiding you out of the restaurant, his palm a warming presence on the small of your back.

You step out into the cool night air and your eyes nearly bug out of your head when you see what’s waiting for you. A black sleek, stretched Lincoln Town Car is idling at the curb with a well dressed driver standing dutifully at the back passenger door, white gloved hands folded in front of him as he tips his head to you both in greeting.

“Mr. and Mrs. Pike,” he greets as he moves slightly from the door and pulls it open, gesturing you inside with a sweep of his arm towards the open door.

“What have you done?” You giggle, looking back at your husband who just shrugs his shoulders. “I thought you meant a cab”

“Only the best for my baby on her birthday” he smiles and ushers you towards the car, gently pushing on the small of your back and you let him guide you inside before he climbs in after you and the driver gently shuts the door.

You settle into the plush interior and take in your surroundings. There are soft tiny lights all across the ceiling, giving the darkened interior a soft warm glow, small dark red velvet throw pillows on the black leather upholstered seating and another bottle of champagne chills in a bucket of ice in the middle of the floor between the two facing bench seats on either side.

The driver gets into his seat, you can see through the open car and he gives you a small nod and a smile through his rearview mirror before he clicks a button and the partition in front of you begins to raise, sealing you and Marcus away to yourselves.

“More champagne?” Marcus asks as you snuggle closer into his side.

“No” you breathe out before you’re on him, the car having barely just pulled away from the curb. Your hands on either side of his face and one leg slots in between his as you push yourself up to capture his mouth. His hand goes to your waist immediately, brushing up and down your side as you lick into his mouth and he swallows back a moan.

“How much time do we have?” You ask between desperate kisses, your hands fisting into his dress shirt now and pulling his body towards you until he’s pressing your back into the plush leather behind you.

He lets out a laugh at your eagerness. “Not that much”.

You begin to pout but it’s short lived when you feel his hand go under your dress, warm palm inching up your thigh.

“Marcus” you whimper against his lips when his fingertips ghost over your panties. You’re already wet and you know he can feel it by how he smirks against your lips.

“I’ve got you honey” he promises and then gently pulls the front of your underwear aside and presses his fingers against you.

You let out a little whine and then press your mouth to his again, letting him swallow all your little moans while his fingers make delicate work of pulling you apart. He lets them glide through your slick folds and presses one digit inside of you to gather more of your arousal before he spreads it around your lips and up to circle at your clit and your hips cant off the seat, pressing into his hand.

“Oh my god,” you whimper, mouth pulling off of him so your head can fall back against the seat. “Feels so good” you tell him, hand coming up to wrap around the back of his head as he buries his face in your throat and begins to lick and suck at your pulse point.

His fingers relent from teasing at your clit and slide lower until he’s pushing two into you and curling them just as he reaches that spongy spot deep inside that causes a low moan to spill from your lips. Within minutes he already has you on the edge and the firm press of his palm to your throbbing little bundle of nerves while his fingers crook back and forth inside you is enough to tip you over. You lurch forward and let out a strangled sob as you cum around his fingers, your hands desperately clutching and clawing at his shoulders as wave after wave of your orgasm washes over you. You feel him chuckle into your throat as his fingers slow to long, languid thrusts inside of you before he finally pulls them out and teases them around your folds and clit and your body gently jerks at how sensitive you are.

“All better?” he asks, smirking into the side of your throat before he rights your underwear again and his hand goes back to gently smoothing up and down your thigh.

“Oh my god” you breathe, wrapping your arms around his neck and clinging to him. “Thank you baby” you murmur, pressing a kiss to his hair. The car begins to slowly roll to a stop and you gently push away from each other, Marcus fixing your dress back down from where he’d pushed it up your hips before his hand goes to his own crotch and he slightly adjusts himself in the now tight fabric of his pants. You don’t know how far you drove but the ride seemed to be over far too quickly for your liking. You desperately wanted to take Marcus in your mouth while you kneeled before him on the carpeted floor of the limo, making sure he knew how much you appreciated everything he does for you but it seems the driver and, presumably, Marcus’ predetermined destination, had other plans for you.

Marcus notices the little pout on your lips and gently grasps at your chin before pulling you towards him for a quick kiss. “Plenty time for more of that later, baby” he promises.

You hear the driver's door open and close and a moment later there’s a tap against your window and Marcus slides over across the seat to open the door and you follow right behind him.

“Marcus!” You giggle when you step outside and realize where you are, at one of the fanciest - and not to mention most expensive - hotels in the city. You didn’t know what he had in store for tonight but now that you’re here you’re very glad he’s whisked you away to a hotel room so you can get right back to where you left off in the limo.

“I did good?” He asks, looking at you with a grin and you quickly nod your head.

“You did very good baby” you smile, wrapping your arms around his neck and giving him a quick kiss.

“Your bag sir” the Driver is suddenly at your side again, handing Marcus an overnight bag that you realize he must have gotten out of the trunk and you give Marcus a curious look. Clearly he had this all mapped out and had even packed you both some essentials and given it to the Driver in advance.

Marcus thanks the driver and holds his free arm out to you which you happily accept, thanking the driver yourself and wishing him a goodnight as Marcus whisks you away into the hotel. You don’t even stop at the concierge, Marcus letting you know he’s already taken care of checking in and has the keycard in his pocket. You don’t even know when he’d had time to do all this. As far as you knew he came straight home from work and quickly showered and changed and you were out the door for dinner. Your husband never failed to surprise you.

You clutch a little tighter to his arm as the elevator carries you to one of the highest floors and an excited energy thrums through your veins. You can’t wait to get him inside and show him just how grateful you are for not only tonight, but everything this man does for you.

He slides the keycard at the electronic pass at the door once the elevator has deposited you on your floor and your breath catches in your throat the moment he swings the door open. It’s just the front entry to what is apparently a multi-room suite but it’s already beautiful. The lights are dimmed and there are red rose petals on the floor leading down a narrow hallway on your right that turns off to another section of the room that you aren’t able to see yet beyond the walls. Immediately on your left is a simple bathroom complete with a large glass walk-in shower.

“C’mon” he laughs at your little gasp. “You haven’t even seen the best part yet”

He takes your hand and leads you inside, following the path of the rose petals and you turn into the next area. It’s a living room area furnished with an already lit fireplace, a couch, armchair and coffee table, as well as a small desk. On a far wall there are two sets of double french doors, one of which is opened to showcase an enormous built-in jacuzzi tub, the second set of doors still firmly closed.

“Oh my god that bathtub” you sigh. You’ve always wanted one like it at home. “Is that the best part?” You ask your husband who simply smirks but shakes his head.

“Not even close” he laughs and nods his head for you to follow his line of sight back to the rose petals still trailing across the floor that lead to the second set of closed doors.

“Oooh, and what’s behind door number two?” You ask giddily like you’re on some game show and Marcus simply shrugs, feigning ignorance.

“Go find out”

You don’t need to be told twice, your excitement barely containable, not having any idea what else he could possibly surprise you with tonight. But when you reach the doors and swing them open, he’s done it. Your husband has absolutely outdone himself yet again and given you the biggest surprise yet. You practically shriek when you see ‘your surprise’ standing there, dressed smartly in a sharp black suit with the jacket buttons open and crisp white collared shirt but no tie, holding a single long stemmed red rose in front of him.

It’s Dave.

“Oh my god!” You gasp before your feet take off, you’re practically sprinting across the room towards him and leap into his arms. He catches you easily as your legs wrap around his waist and your arms around his neck and hug him tightly.

“Happy birthday baby” he murmurs into your hair as he holds you firmly to his body and after a good long moment you finally pull back enough to press a kiss to his waiting lips.

“I can’t believe you’re here” you whisper against his mouth before capturing his lips again with your own. Not allowing the kiss to get too heated, yet, you gently extract yourself from him and he helps you back down to your feet where you run back over to Marcus and throw your arms around him next.

“You did this for me?” You whisper into his neck, unable to help the couple of tears that slip out as you hug him tighter and his arms come up to wrap around your back. Of all the possibilities that ran through your head for this evening, this one never crossed your mind and you’re so happy you literally have tears in your eyes.

“Have I ever let you down on your birthday honey?” he chuckles and that gets a little laugh out of you as well, sniffling back your tears before you pull away from him and place both hands on his face, your teary eyed gaze locked on his.

“I love you Marcus” you tell him before you surge forward and let your lips and tongue express the rest of your emotions as they collide with his. He moans into the kiss, his hands smoothing down your back to rest on your ass while yours slide up to push the jacket from his shoulders, neither of you caring that it lands in a crumpled heap on the floor at your feet and the moment his arms are free again his hands are back where they started. You're lost in the kiss for long moments until you feel another set of hands suddenly at your waist and a hot, wet mouth at the side of your throat.

“Ohhhh,” you let out a little whimper, breaking away from Marcus’ mouth as your head lolls back to rest on Dave’s shoulder where he stands behind you, his lips still sealed to your throat. Marcus leans back in, kissing and nipping at the side of your face, down your jaw and the opposite side of your neck from Dave and you let out another moan. You’ve never been sandwiched between the two of them like this before and it’s driving you insane, despite the fact that they’re barely doing anything other than kissing you. You’re not sure how you’re supposed to survive the rest of the night if it keeps going anything like this.

Your husband's large palms grope and grab at your ass while Dave’s slide up to your tits, gently kneading and palming them in his grasp and your whole body tingles with anticipation and an unprecedented excitement while the two of them focus all of their attention on worshiping your body.

“Mmmm, should we get you more comfortable baby?” Dave eventually hums into your throat, his hands leaving your breasts and fingertips now teasing up and down your sides and you can do little but nod your head. Neither of their mouths let up, but Dave’s hands do come around to your back where he gently tugs on the zipper of your dress, sliding it all the way down and only when you go to step out of it do both men finally release you and take a slight step back. The fabric pools at your feet forgotten, leaving you in only your bra and panties and Marcus smiles at you before taking your hand and leading you over to the bed.

You hadn’t noticed everything else when you first opened the doors, all coherent thought leaving your brain the moment you saw Dave standing in the middle of the room, but you see it now. There are dozens of tiny lit candles everywhere and more rose petals laid out in the shape of a heart on the King sized bed.

Everything is perfect. Truly perfect, now that you had Dave here to share it with both of you.

“On the bed honey” Marcus gestures towards the headboard with a nod of his head and you quickly clamber up onto the mattress to the middle of the bed and rest your back against the pillows at the headboard. Marcus kneels onto the bed and crawls up after you while Dave rounds to the other side and then does the same until you’re flanked by both of them as they lie on their sides next to you and both immediately bring their mouths to your throat again. They’re kissing, licking and sucking their way across and down your neck as they both bring a hand up and squeeze a breast and your back arches, pressing yourself further into their touch as they both devour you with their mouths. Daves free hand reaches behind you, unclasping your bra so they can both hastily tug either side’s strap down until you’re free from its confines and it’s tossed carelessly aside before their hands resume their earlier task; squeezing, kneading and teasing your tits with their large hands and expert fingers. They’re slowly driving you mad with their equal attentiveness and you can do little about it other than lie back and enjoy everything they give you, your hands wrapping around either of their heads and pushing through their hair as they continue to assault your throat with hungry kisses. You’re certain you’re going to be marked up to all hell come tomorrow morning but you don’t care. You’ll wear a turtleneck to work next week and try not to blush any time a coworker questions your choice of wardrobe given the time of year. Or hell, maybe you’ll show them off as badges of honour and let them gossip all they want.

It’s Marcus’ hand that eventually retreats from your chest first, leaving your breast to trail down your stomach and going between your legs to palm your sex overtop of your underwear and you can’t help but lift your hips to grind into his hand. Your panties are already soaked from your little makeout session in the limo and every brush of Marcus’ deft fingers over your lips has you aching to feel more of him, wishing he’d take them off of you.

“Oh fuck” you whine when Dave’s hand suddenly leaves your chest and is overtop of Marcus’ pressing it further into your clothed cunt. You try to lift your head a little higher so you can see their hands moving together against you but their mouths still have you basically pinned down against the headboard.

“Fucking soaked baby” Dave chuckles into your throat. “Somebody started without me”

“Couldn’t… Resist” Marcus breathes out in between kisses. “Fuck, look at her”

“Gettin Marcus here all riled up baby?” Dave tuts, his hand leaving your sex to trail upwards and gently pinch and pull at a taut nipple, causing you to bite your lip to keep the whimper of pleasant pain at bay. “Being naughty, hmmm?” he breathes into the side of your face.

“You know what we do to naughty girls, don’t you?” He asks, breath hot against your ear and you quickly shake your head.

“Show me” you breathe out, heart hammering in your chest, and the ‘be careful what you wish for’ is implied in the dark little chuckle Dave lets out at your brazen response.

His hands leave you entirely and he’s up out of the bed and your eyes trail him as he walks over and bends down to grab a small black duffel bag that was sitting next to the armchair in the room. Even Marcus seems to be distracted by Dave, his kisses and movements slowing as he watches him from his peripheral, curious to see what all Dave has in his bag of tricks this evening. He was rarely one to disappoint.

Your breath catches in your throat when you recognize what’s in his hands and he smirks as he saunters back up to you, dangling the restraints from his strong fingers.

“Been dying to do this for ages baby” he confesses and you hear a tiny whimpered ‘oh fuck’ from Marcus when he turns his head fully to see what’s going on. His hard cock twitches against your hip and you’re not sure which one of you is most excited to see you tied up; Dave, yourself, or Marcus.

The mattress dips under his weight as Dave kneels on the bed next to you and begins securing one of the restraints around the nearest bedpost. Once he’s got it looped around he lifts your hand and feeds it through the small opening at the opposite end and then wraps the velcro fastener around your wrist and tests it by giving your arm a small tug.

Satisfied that it's secure he gets up and walks around to the other side, next to Marcus and repeats the same process for your other arm and pats the back of your imprisoned hand once you’re completely subdued. Your heart is hammering in your chest with a nervous excitement and the way both men are staring at you like you are something to be devoured isn’t helping the aching throb between your legs one bit.

“Just missing one final piece” Dave muses before he turns his head towards Marcus and gestures at him with a nod of his head.

“Mind if I borrow this?” He asks, and not giving Marcus a chance to respond, brings his hands to your husbands neck and starts tugging his tie loose until he’s able to slip it over his head. “Much obliged” Dave smirks before his attention turns back towards you and suddenly your vision goes black (literally) as Dave slips the silken material over your head to cover your eyes and pulls the knot tight again.

“You know the traffic light system now, don’t you baby?” He asks, hand coming down to grip at your chin and raising your face to him, despite the fact that he knows you can’t see him, to ensure you hear him and understand. Your heart is racing and your breaths come out shallow but you dutifully nod your head.

“Let me hear it” he insists firmly.

“Green for keep going, yellow to slow down, red means stop” you recite for him and he seems pleased with your answer as he lightly shucks your chin with his knuckle and releases you.

“That’s my good girl,” he praises. “What colour are we now?”

“Green!” You let out maybe a little too enthusiastically and he chuckles.

“That’s good baby, really good” he says, rewarding you by leaning down and placing a soft kiss to your lips. “You cum for us enough times and we’ll let you loose, how’s that sound?”

“Mmmhmm” you quickly nod, not quite trusting your voice and that earns a little chuckle from Dave.

You hear the distinct snap of fingers and can only assume that’s Dave, gesturing something to Marcus and your hips wiggle slightly, your body still desperate for attention and waiting for what will come next. There’s a pair of hands at your waist, gently tugging at your panties and you lift your hips, eager to help get them off.

“Oh wait, almost forgot” Dave says suddenly and you truly don’t know what’s left that he could have in store for you at this point, already having you completely naked, chained to the bed and blindfolded. The mattress moves slightly as he moves off of it again and you wait for several agonizing seconds until it dips under his weight again and you feel the fabric of his shirt brush against your side. “The final, final piece” he amends from earlier as you feel soft foam pads rest against your ears before music immediately starts pouring in from them.

Noise canceling headphones. Of course. Dave is apparently adamant on depriving you of most of your senses this evening it would seem.

“Still green baby?” He asks, lifting one ear off momentarily for you to hear him and you nod your head.

“Still green” you affirm, knowing he needs to hear the words. He begins to re affix the headphones on your head when you suddenly blurt out “wait!”

Dave says nothing, but also doesn’t put the headphone back down on your ear so he’s apparently waiting for whatever you’re going to say.

“Do I get to make a request?” You ask bravely and you hear a little huff of laughter from Dave, but then a soft reassuring hand lands on your thigh (Marcus, you presume).

“From where I’m standing you don’t look like you’re in any position to be making requests sweetheart, but go ahead, give your request and maybe I’ll consider it”

“I want you both naked” you breathe out, wishing you could see whether or not Dave was humouring your request whatsoever as the room stays silent for several seconds.

“You can’t even see us” Dave laughs at you and you don’t need to see him to know he’s shaking his head.

“But I can… feel you” you reason, albeit weakly. “I like to feel all of you. Both of you”

You hear Dave’s sigh and your hopes are just a little up.

“What do you think, Pike?” He asks of your husband who’s hand at your thigh now gives a comforting squeeze.

“It is her birthday” he argues and a smile pulls at your lips.

Dave doesn’t verbally agree but you hear him grunt as he begins shucking off clothing and when the hand leaves your thigh you know Marcus has begun his own task of ridding himself of his suit and dress shirt. You hear articles of clothing being tossed around to different parts of the room, the metal clang of two separate belt buckles and four thuds from shoes hitting the carpeted floor next to you and you grin appreciatively at their acquiescence.

“Much better” you sigh, even though you can’t see them or even currently feel them as neither of them are touching you.

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t get used to calling any more of the shots around here” Dave tuts and a gasp leaves your lips when you feel a sudden sharp little tug at one of your nipples. “I don’t wanna hear ‘it’s my birthday Dave’ every two seconds when you want something” he says mockingly. “Only thing we wanna hear you begging for are our cocks, you understand?”

“Yes sir” you say, a teasing lilt to your tone.

The headphone closes around your ear again and you’re submerged in the sound of some heavy rock music. You’re not sure if Dave picked it or if it’s just on some random playlist station from his phone because he wanted to drown you in the loudest music possible, but you don’t care enough to ask, you just need them back on task.

Their task being, of course, you.

Thankfully you don’t wait long. Moments later there’s a mouth devouring each of your nipples at the same time and Dave is even sporting a bit of a five o’clock shadow this evening so it’s almost imperceptible to tell who is who at this point without your vision to rely on. It somehow turns you on even more, if that were possible.

A tiny whimpered ‘fuck’ leaves your lips when you feel fingers between your legs. Far too many fingers to belong to one hand. There’s one set playing with your clit while another prods their digits at your entrance which your cunt greedily sucks in with how wet and ready you are. A third hand is suddenly at your throat, lightly grasping around it while you’re being fucked and teased by their fingers below and you feel your first orgasm coming along like a freight train. You’re not only overstimulated, but with so many of your senses deprived from you it has the remaining ones so heightened that it feels like you’re experiencing every touch ten-fold.

“Oh God, oh fuck, fuck, fuck,” you cry out as your orgasm fastly approaches. The hand at your throat tightens and the three fingers currently plunging into you speed up as both mouths continue to suck and nip and lick at your breasts. Within seconds your back and hips arch upwards and you cum, long and hard with a strangled moan as the hand at your throat finally releases and allows you to quickly gulp down some air. The fingers between your legs thankfully slow but don’t leave you entirely. The ones inside you continue fucking into you with a torturously slow pace while the the ones at your clit draw gentle circles, easing you down from your high.

“That’s one” you hear Dave suddenly at your ear as the hand that was presumably around your throat moves to shove one side of the headphones off the side of your head. “What do you want off first baby?” He asks and it’s suddenly the hardest question you’ve ever faced in your lifetime. Part of you wants to be able to hear them, but then you think about how desperately you need to touch and feel any part of them.

“A hand!” You blurt out suddenly. By your count you only need 3 more orgasms to be completely free and at the rate you’re going, you doubt it will take long.

“Greedy” Dave chuckles but pops the earphone back against your head and gets to work untying your right hand. You grin enthusiastically the moment your hand is free and reach out blindly for one of them. Either of them. But instead you feel the mattress move slightly under you and your hand doesn’t reach anyone and you think they’ve both gotten up, maybe to move places. A moment later the bed dips again and you feel your legs being spread wider apart and shoulders brush the insides of your thighs as they settle between them and a smile graces your lips as someone’s hand captures yours that’s still extended outwards. You feel the mattress move again directly beside you on your right and the hand holding yours pulls it a little closer to them until you feel it. Your small hand instinctively wraps around the warm, hard cock and your grin widens as you give it a few practiced strokes.

“Oh fuck” you whimper when two fingers part your lower lips and a skilled tongue flicks against your still sensitive and swollen clit. You’re not given a chance to utter any further praise for the wet muscle inflicting torturous pleasure however because a strong hand suddenly grips at your cheeks, forcing your mouth open and the cock that your hand was wrapped around is suddenly shoved unceremoniously to the back of your throat. If you had to guess, it was Dave in your mouth and Marcus between your legs. The duality between your two lovers was easily perceptible, even without the use of half of your senses. Dave fucked into your throat the way he always did, with purpose and force. He knew what you could take and always pushed you to your limits but never overstepped them. A hand grips your hair to hold it away from your face as more of the hard length is shoved to the back of your throat and you’re held in position until you start to sputter and gag and he releases you, only momentarily, just to begin fucking back into your mouth again as drool dribbles down your chin. Dave likes it messy and sloppy, and if you had your hearing right now you’re certain you would be listening to him tell you how well you take him and what a good little slut you are for his cock.

You think you’ll ask for the headphones off next…

Thank god that Dave (presumably) was doing most of the work for you with your mouth because the tongue between your legs was driving you so crazy that you couldn’t possibly concentrate on anything else, only the feeling of the geyser that is your arousal about to erupt.

“Oh my god, fuck fuck fuck!” You cry out, managing to rip your mouth off of the cock in your throat as three fingers are shoved inside your needy cunt and the tongue continues its assault until you’re coming, long and hard and with a muffled cry as the dick is forced back inside your mouth to quiet your screams.

The tongue lazily swirls your clit and laps at your folds while fingers gently fuck you through the aftershocks of your orgasm and your free hand is hastily grabbing for the cock in your mouth, wrapping around it and pumping it while your tongue greedily licks away at the precum oozing from the tip, anything to distract you as your legs and thighs tremble with the attention your cunt is receiving.

Finally the mouth and fingers leave you and regretfully the cock slips from the wet heat of your mouth and you’re left for a moment to catch your breath. There’s a lot of shuffling around again as both bodies pull away and then the headphone is shoved away from your ear again.

“Such a good girl” Dave’s warm voice floods your senses immediately as he places a kiss just behind your ear. “That’s two”

To be honest, you lose count after two. You’re pretty sure by the end of the night you blacked out from the amount of orgasms both Marcus and Dave had given you with their mouths, hands and cocks. The two of them working in tandem to give your body more pleasure than you’ve literally ever experienced in your lifetime was enough to have you passed out before you even managed to mutter a ‘good night’ or a ‘thank you’ to either of them. Even both men had managed to orgasm, rally, and then orgasm a second time before all three of you passed out in a messy pile of sweaty limbs just a couple of hours before the sun was set to rise.

A content, happy little sigh escapes you as you fall asleep for the first time with both Marcus and Dave at your sides, each with a hand draped possessively over you as they too succumb to the sleep desperately calling them.

Despite all the mind-blowing orgasms that turned your brain into a pile of complete mush unable to compose even a single further coherent thought, there was one thing you were sure of. This was the best birthday you’ve ever had.

And as you faintly recall Marcus telling you earlier, “Baby, we’re just getting started”

Next Chapter

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#pedro pascal cinematic universe #dave york #marcus pike #pedro pascal character fanfiction #dave york x reader #marcus pike x reader #dave york x marcus pike x reader #ppcu #ppcu fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction

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oftenwantedafton · 3 months

Text

Kismet - Dave Miller/William Afton x Female Reader

Chapter 2

Rating - Explicit

Word Count - 6k

CW - none for this chapter

Also available on AO3

Dave Miller sinks lower into the bathtub.

Contemplating. Reminiscing. Thinking about the events that have led him to collide with you not once, but twice now. Seeming coincidences. But he doesn’t really believe things are that incidental. Everything has purpose. The challenge was figuring out what that purpose was. Taking advantage of it.

The first encounter had been after he’d taken care of the security guard.

A useless employee from the start. Bothersome. Woefully inept. He’d been pitifully easy to dispatch. But messy. So much blood. An industrial level washer was needed to take care of things. He hadn’t thought anyone would be at the laundromat at that hour.

But there you were. Catching him off guard. Only for a moment. Your eyes on him. Not paying any attention to what he’d been carrying. And why would you? What reason would you have to suspect the laundry he was carting around so casually was in fact saturated with another man’s lifeforce? Simply watching him. Trying to be surreptitious and subtle about it and failing miserably. Amusing. You’d bolted like a frightened rabbit when he’d finally spoken, bidding you goodnight.

The Kawasaki Ninja is a newer purchase. A reward for himself. Not something he would have imagined himself operating even a year ago. But times are changing. He’s changing. Entering the next phase. Camouflage. Difficult to detect. Blending chameleon-like. It’s how he’s managed to avoid getting caught for any of his crimes. Elusive and stealthy.

Except when he’d literally almost run smack into you. Distracted. A lapse in judgment and a last minute decision. The weakness for animals forcing him to maneuver away. The scratches on his hands are already mending. He looks at them beneath the surface of the water. Thinks about you on the back of his bike. He’s never allowed anyone onto it before. An impulsive decision he can’t explain. He’d enjoyed it. Feeling your arms wrapped around him. Clinging. It’s not like him to let anyone get close. Yet there he had been, encouraging it.

He slides down further until he’s submerged. Holds his breath. Waits until the burning pressure borne of desperation for air becomes unbearable and then breaks through the surface. Slicking back dark tendrils of hair as the water tracks down his cheeks. He’ll visit you again soon. And then he’ll just let fate take its course.

It hasn’t failed him yet.

***

You step into the darkroom and switch on the safe light, bathing the small, confined space in a red glow.

You’d spent most of the morning taking pictures around your college campus. There aren’t nearly as many people around in the summer, but you kind of like that solitude. Summer classes aren’t bad either. Accelerated, yes, but less work in the long run. A good way to get some required electives out of the way. General Anatomy and Introduction to Psychology are the two you’re currently tackling. At least the first is helpful for drawing. The other, well. It’s easy enough. You’d already taken it in high school. This version was even easier. No exams. Just a paper due at the end of the semester. You have a bad habit of procrastinating, but you’re good at achieving something impressive in the eleventh hour. Working better when you’re under pressure.

This film you’re about to develop, though; this is nothing like a chore. Your true passion. You like digital photography well enough, but there was something about old school picture developing. The hands on feeling of creation. Waiting for the result to develop. More rewarding for the additional effort, you think.

You place the first negative on the enlarger tray. Focus until the depth of field is altered. Photographic paper now laid on the baseboard. Set the timer. Exposure. Covering more and more of the picture as the seconds tick by in increments of ten. You’re creating a test strip to determine what length of exposure works best. Now bathing the paper in the trays of chemicals. Developer, stop bath, fixer. You make sure the box of photographic paper is sealed before switching on the regular light. Clear demarcations on the test image ranging from bright light and a fainter print to the final column that’s deeply shadowed and darkly printed. Eighty seconds seems to be the best of the lot, somewhere in the middle range. You repeat the process again, adjusting the timer countdown and letting the entire sheet of photographic paper be exposed. Studying the result. Perfect. Rinsed and hung up to dry. That’s your first image done. Safely set aside as you begin again. The afternoon wanes. You glance at the clock. Time for a quick bite to eat and then you’re due back at the shelter.

Your university is mentioned on the five ‘o clock news you switch on for background noise when you return home. You’d heard some girls talking about it during class earlier. Someone attacking women. You’ve got mace and a concealed self defense weapon on your keyring. You’re not quite as worried since all of your classes are during the day, but still. You suppose that doesn’t give you immunity. Anything could happen.

Case in point, your run in with that strange man Dave Miller. Two run ins, no less.

You’d trusted him enough to go for a ride on his bike. After he’d nearly run you down on it. Maybe not your sanest idea. You’d intially felt like he was dangerous. Just something in the way he’d carried himself. After actually holding a conversation with the stranger, you’d found that feeling dissolving. Maybe not really dangerous. Just aloof. A little odd. Intriguing, though. Difficult to explain. You hadn’t really spoken all that much. He’d invited you to ride with him again. You’d accepted. Now you were just in limbo. Waiting for another visit. Or a chance encounter. Another late night rendezvous at the laundromat, maybe. You really should be more careful. Maybe going out alone in the wee hours wasn’t the best idea, even if it was so close to home. Who’s to say the campus stalker wouldn’t broaden his target range? Or some other psycho. Either way. You should be more careful.

No new animals for the intake today. The kittens are growing rapidly. You make sure the back door is always firmly shut now, lesson learned. Sweating inside the building. Making sure the animals have plenty of fresh water. You’re getting used to the routine. It’s much earlier when you leave. You might have time to get some homework done before attempting sleep.

You find yourself driving in the opposite direction of your apartment. Heading to Freddy Fazbear’s Pizzeria.

It’s a dumb idea, admittedly. There’s no guarantee that Dave will be there. And even if he is. He’ll be working. Hardly free to entertain you. But you’re kind of curious about returning even without the security guard’s presence. It’s been so many years since your last visit to the establishment. It would be an interesting site to take pictures of.

Pulling into the parking lot, you realize just how run down the place has become.

No effort made to clear the lot of the weeds and other vegetation that have reclaimed their territory. The exterior of the building in disrepair. Smashed lights. Pieces of the wall tiling missing. Graffiti spray painted all over every surface. A far cry from the cheerful, colorful pizzeria you remember from your childhood.

You don’t see the motorcycle anywhere but you suppose the employee might have parked elsewhere. There’s a buzzer by the front door. You press it, waiting. It’s difficult to see inside the building. Minimal lighting. Now something moving in the shadowed interior. Someone. Walking forward. Tall, slim. It’s Miller.

You hear the sound of a lock turning before he pushes the heavy glass door open. “What a pleasant surprise.”

“Sorry, I know I wasn’t invited. I just was heading home and I thought…” Well, what could you say, really? That you’d decided to head in the complete opposite direction on a whim, on the off chance that he’d be there? You had no idea how many different employees guarded the building. Maybe he was the only one? Did anyone safeguard during the day? You somehow doubted it.

“I was actually planning on visiting you soon. So this worked out well. Welcome back to Freddy’s.” The older man smirks and you feel something flutter inside you. He was attractive, you had to admit. Maybe slightly harsh features, but they were growing on you the more you looked at them.

He doesn’t move from his position holding the door open and you’re forced to squeeze by, brushing against him. Deliberate? There’s a strange smell inside the restaurant that assaults you as soon as you enter the dining room. Chemicals. Strong. You bring your hand to your face to cover your nose and mouth.

“Floors were washed recently,” he offers, letting the door swing shut before he pulls a heavy keyring off his belt and fits one into the lock. “It’s not as potent by the offices.”

You nod, looking around. Another cascade of deja vu spilling over you. There’s the prize counter, next to the arcade. The infamous ball pit. A small curtained stage and its much larger counterpart. “Are they still up there?”

“Yes. You can have a look, if you want.”

Morbid curiosity gets the better of you. You ascend the short set of stairs to the raised platform. A place you weren’t allowed to go as a child, for employees only.

The drapes are heavy. It takes a lot of effort to shift them. A hand on your shoulder makes you jump.

“Sorry. Want a flashlight? It’s dark back there.”

You accept the offering, switching it on. Nearly jump again when the beam falls on a large blue rabbit right in front of you. Bonnie. Still clutching his red electric guitar. A little dirtier than you remember, but surprisingly intact otherwise. You pan the light around. Freddy front and center with microphone in hand. Chica with her bib and oversized cupcake companion sitting on a plate. You remember the pirate fox occupying the smaller stage nearby.

“Did you have a favorite?”

You duck around the curtain again, handing the flashlight back to Dave. “Not in particular. I just remember having fun. Until, you know.”

“Such a shame.” He thumbs the switch off and slots it back in his belt.

“This place would be amazing to photograph.”

“You’re a photographer?” He sounds surprised.

You nod. “It’s what I’m studying at the university.”

“What do you take pictures of?”

“Anything, really. Whatever inspires me. I love prints still. Physical media. Black and white especially. There’s something special about images captured that way. People dismiss it so readily now. But there are so many levels to it. It’s not just black and white. There are colors in between that. Degrees of darkness and light that you’d never notice otherwise. I’m rambling, aren’t I?”

“A bit. But I don’t mind. You’re passionate about this.” He tips his head to one side thoughtfully. “Do you have your camera with you now?”

“In the car, yeah.”

“You want to take some pictures?”

“Am I allowed to? I’m not even sure I should be in here. I kind of feel like I’m trespassing a bit.”

“Of course. I wouldn’t have invited you in otherwise. I don’t think the owner would appreciate just anyone in here snooping around, but…you’re not one of those people looking to exploit this establishment’s remains. There’s a genuine kind of reverence. Nostalgia. I know for a fact he appreciates that kind of sentimentality.”

“Do you know the owner well?”

A faint smirk. “You could say that.”

“What’s he doing now that this place is shut down?”

A heavy sigh. “As you’re probably aware, the media did not paint him in the kindest light after the allegations. Even though he was cleared, the damage was already done. Name tarnished. Reputation demolished. Difficult to come back from in a small town like this. So he’s just trying to lead a quiet life now. Trying out a new existence. Not quite willing to let the past go…” His voice trails off.

“I’m going to go get my camera, then.”

Dave’s gaze sharpens, whatever odd reminiscing he’d found himself lost in dissipating. “I’ll unlock the door for you.”

You return with a fresh roll of film loaded into the camera, another tucked into the pocket of your jeans. You’d been glad to get a little fresh air. That chemical smell really hits you as soon as you enter the building. Your initial enthusiasm to begin taking pictures wavers a bit when you realize a fundamental problem.

The security guard sees you hesitating as he finishes locking the door again. “What’s wrong?”

“The lighting.”

“Is that all? Easily fixed. Give me a moment.”

The tall man disappears back through the employee restricted area. Nothing. Then, everything happens all at once. The center stage curtains slide back. Rows of luminaires suddenly glow. A blossoming rainbow of bright primary colors. Neon signs on the checkerboard patterned walls humming. The arcade games switched back on. Digital music. Bright red scoreboard displays on skeeball lanes. A wave of nostalgia washes over you. This was more like what you remembered from your childhood. Staring open mouthed. Your gaze finally landing on Dave, leaning against the wall near the stage with his arms folded across his chest. Looking almost smug. Proud. Something.

“It all still works?”

“For the most part, yes.”

“It’s amazing.” You’re genuinely impressed. It takes you no time at all to fill the roll. Part of another. You’re excited. Wondering how they’ll look.

You settle into a booth near the stage across from Miller. Pop music from the eighties playing. The animatronics moving jerkily in time to the sound. You’re still taking it all in. Feeling your male companion’s eyes on you. Maybe it’s not impressive when you’re surrounded by it every day. You just think you’d be awfully tempted to play in the arcade if you worked here.

You glance down at the camera. Several shots left. You lift it to your face, focusing on Dave’s. He immediately blocks his features with his hand. “No. Not me.”

“Why not you? You have an interesting face.”

“I don’t like having my picture taken.”

“But you’re so photogenic,” you protest, lowering the camera. “They’re just for me, anyway. It’s not like I’m showing anyone else.”

He lowers his hand, scowling. “Fine.”

“Really?”

“Hurry, before I change my mind.”

“Okay, can you just turn your face. There. Like that. Lean back a little.” You can feel his impatience wafting across the table. You’ll have to rush it a bit. “And…done.”

“I need to shut things down. Get back to the security office.”

“Awww. Okay, I get it.” Of course he was here to work. Guarding the property. Still, you wouldn’t have minded a little more time basking in the glory of retro Freddy’s.

“Are you coming with me?”

“To the security office?” He nods. “Am I allowed to go back there?”

“I won’t tell if you don’t.” That little secret smile again. You follow him back into the restricted area.

“Let me finish giving you the grand tour.”

The security guard leads you to a panel with the controls for all of the lighting and equipment, switching them all off. Past this there are several offices. Storage rooms. One massive section labeled Parts and Service that’s cluttered with equipment. Broken animatronics. Shapes that are hard to make out in the dim lighting and the older man makes no offer to brighten your view any further.

The tour ends in the security office itself.

Dated looking technology. Several monitors stacked on a battered desk. Yellowing plastic controls. Something about the flame retardant they’d used in old computers and other electronic devices, you remember reading somewhere. A poster of the lead animatronics and some children’s drawings tacked to the wall, including a trio of animals created out of construction paper and paper plates. A steel filing cabinet. A large clock that reminds you of the kind in your elementary school. A hardbacked chair tucked into the corner that he drags closer to the swivel one in front of the desk for you to sit on. A desk fan hums as it attempts to circulate the stale warm air around. He’d been right, you couldn’t really smell the cleaning solution back here. But the place was cramped, dreary. You can’t imagine spending eight hours stuck in this room. He sits in the office chair, that lean figure draping over the structure, spinning the chair slightly. Clearly waiting for you to sit.

You find yourself doing so stiffly. Close to the edge, as if you aren’t intending on staying long. Ready to bolt. You have this strong feeling that you don’t belong here. You’re definitely intruding. Trespassing, no matter what Dave says.

“So. Now you’ve seen what most visitors never get to. A behind the scenes peek.”

“It’s cool.” The nylon strap of your camera pulls at your neck. You’d never been overly fond of keeping it there.

“You know, it’s interesting. When we first met, I thought the animals were your vocation.”

“Oh, you mean the shelter? No, that’s just a part time gig I enjoy doing.”

“How is the rabbit?” The guard lifts a paper cup bearing the logo of a local fast food joint off the desk and takes a sip from the straw. Grimacing a bit. Probably watered down by now.

“Still there. Doing fine. We haven’t gotten anyone new. No one’s found a home, either.”

“How far along in your studies are you?”

“I’ve finished my first year, taking summer classes before heading into sophomore.”

Dave sets the cup back down. Looking at you. That perpetual look of amusement tugging his lips into a not quite smile. You don’t know what to make of it.

“You don’t look comfortable. You can sit back, you know. Nothing’s going to reach out and grab you.”

“I know.” You push back further into the chair. The movement makes the metal legs scrape the floor and you wince at the harsh sound. “How long have you worked here?”

“Not long. This place has a bit of a high turnover. I had to fill in rather last minute.” A more defined smirk now. Almost sinister looking. Deep shadows under his ash gray eyes. He really is an insomniac like yourself.

“What did you do before this?”

“Oh, this and that,” Miller replies vaguely, stretching. First his long legs straight out in front of him. Then each arm, twisting to rotate both shoulders. Finally his neck, which cracks loudly.

“Do you get bored? I mean, I can’t imagine there’s that much excitement just staring at the monitors. Doing rounds in the dark. Unless you switch things on regularly…”

“No. That was a special occassion. Normally things are…yes, I guess they are quiet.” He’s hiding something. Changing what he’d been about to say. You’re certain of it.

“Must be lonely.”

Dave leans forward slightly, his hands clasping together. “That problem’s been solved, though, hasn’t it?”

A little somersault in your stomach. Not once since you’ve entered the restaurant has it occurred to you that you’re locked inside a building with a virtual stranger. In an establishment that had been shuttered because children had gone missing. Yet here you were, chatting it up in a restricted area. The man seated very close to you. “I can’t stay all night,” you say quickly. “Just so you know. I only stopped by to say hi.”

“Sure, sure.” He waves a hand in the air breezily, leaning back again. He really had such elegant hands. Speaking of which.

“How are your hands, by the way?”

“Oh, they’re fine. Healing quickly.” Holding up a palm for you to see the red lines that are already fading. “What’s your schedule like? We should go for another ride soon. Maybe get something to eat.”

“I don’t work at the shelter on the weekends. I do have a class on Saturday mornings, so…”

“Perfect. Anywhere in particular you want to be picked up? I know these days people tend to be…restrictive about revealing where they reside.”

“You have to be careful. There’s a man stalking women at my school.” Not that you were really being careful right now. But honestly, if he was going to try anything unsavory, wouldn’t he have done it already?

Dave frowns. “Really? What about campus security?”

“It’s not the greatest. I can tell you for a fact that…well, maybe it’s just them turning a blind eye,” you amend hurriedly. You’d been about to say you’d heard more than one person brag about getting lucky in the parking lots.

Miller’s not letting you off the hook that easily. “Tell me what for a fact?”

You feel your cheeks flush. “Nothing. Just…kids messing around and no one stops it.”

“Ah.” He folds his arm across his chest. “Well, it’s difficult when you’re young. Troublesome curfews. Nosy adults. Limited places to…engage in activities.”

“Yeah.” You squirm in your chair, wishing he’d change the subject.

“You live on campus or off?”

“Off. Apartment.”

“Hmm. So you don’t really have those concerns to worry about anymore, do you?”

Was he flirting? Suggesting something? It was so difficult to tell. “I guess not,” you mumble.

“Well, figure out what day and where to meet you and let me know. Easy enough since you know where to find me.”

It suddenly clicks that he hasn’t looked at the monitors even once since you’ve entered the room. You glance at them now and he seems to see the direction of your gaze. “Don’t worry. I’m well aware of what’s going on.”

“How? Do you have eyes in the back of your head?”

“Something like that.” Another one of those grins you don’t know how to interpret.

You stand finally, willing some feeling back into legs that were going numb from your awkward positioning. Dave escorts you back to the main entrance. “I’ll stop by again to let you know when I can go out.”

“I look forward to it. And bring the photographs with you. I’m curious to see how they turn out.” You nod, once again forced to press close to the guard when you exit the building. Maybe it was unintentional, but you’re fairly certain he knows exactly what he’s doing.

The question is, do you like it? Do you like him enough to come back again? To go out with him, spend more time together?

You feel his eyes on you the entire walk back to your car.

***

You should be studying anatomy. There’s an exam on the skeletal and muscular system on Wednesday.

Instead you’re back in the darkroom. Developing those film rolls from Freddy’s. The results are not what you’d expected.

The pictures of the restaurant came out fine—great, even. It’s just the ones of the animatronics that are wonky. A strange blurry effect on each that you can’t account for. It’s on every single image of the mascots, directly over their faces, and appears no where else. You just can’t make sense of it, disappointed that the iconic figures weren’t properly captured.

You’re holding a picture of Dave now, the print nearly completely dry. Eyes piercing right through the paper at you. Everything contrasting sharply. Pale skin. Almost as white as a ghost in the photograph. Dark messy hair. Those sooty smudged undereyes. The way his body is positioned, it looks as if he’s recoiling from the stage illumination nearby. Hunching into the shadowed recesses of the booth. The elegant line of his hands resting on the table. Tracking back up over the skinny black tie and silver badge to the epaulets bridging long neck and wide shoulders. Pouting lips. Those eyes demanding attention again.

It’s hot in the room suddenly. Pricks of perspiration on the back of your neck. You gather your things and step outside, squinting against the suddenly bright illumination of the hallway and the sun outdoors.

Back home you’ve got your textbook open. Over two hundred bones to learn. Fingers creeping repeatedly towards the folder beside your backpack. You tell yourself to focus. You keep seeing the blurred mascots. Dave’s eyes.

You’re going back tonight.

***

Dave Miller senses there’s a different energy in the air tonight.

That feeling one gets before the start of a thunderstorm. A charged sort of anticipation. Hairs lifting. A certain scent. One of Hurricane’s rare rain storms approaching. Bringing you with it.

He doesn’t waste his time in the security office. He’s outside by the entrance. Leaning against crumbling mortar. Listening to the hum of insects. The first muttered rumble from the heavens.

Your car engine. Twin lights in the darkness. Your approach slowing when you realize he’s standing there.

“Hi. Is everything okay?” Surprised to see him outdoors, he thinks.

“Yes. Just enjoying the weather.”

“Oh. Yeah, I love thunderstorms.” You halt when you’re still a good distance away.

“What’s that you’ve got there?” As if he doesn’t know. A slim folder that must contain the photos you’d taken the other day. He admits he’s curious to see them. It had been so long since anyone had captured images of the restaurant. Not since the disappearances. Interested to see what you think of them. What the establishment looks like through the lens of your camera. Through the focus of your eye.

“I’ve got the pictures. Um, some of them came out kind of weird.”

“Weird how?” He pushes off from the edge of the building. More thunder now, and a brief flash of lightning. The storm was drawing closer. “You should come inside before you get drenched and ruin those. It’s going to hit any second now.”

You finish your journey to his side. He holds the door open. The first drops of rain fall, sinking into his shirt, his hair. A kiss on one cheek. You hurry inside.

He relocks the door and leads you back to the security office. The sound of the rain is muted here.

You lay the folder on one of the few empty spaces on the cluttered desk.

“Have a seat.” He pushes the swivel office chair and you sink into it. The hardbacked one still hasn’t been returned to its former location. He neglects it, remaining standing. Looking over your seated form.

“The majority of them came out great. But the animatronics…” You withdraw a photograph and hand it to the security guard.

Miller studies the picture for a long time. He knows instantly what the strange hazy effect is. Fascinating that it had been captured on film.

He can hardly reveal what it truly is to you, though. So he shrugs and hands it back. “Something with the film itself, maybe. A defect. The lighting, perhaps. Maybe the motion—”

“—There’s nothing wrong with the film,” you say firmly. “Every other picture is fine. And it’s not the lighting or the movement, either.”

“So what do you think it is, then?”

You sigh and set them back inside the folder face down. “I don’t know.”

“May I see the rest?”

“Yeah, sure.” You hand the stack to him.

He’s certainly not an expert on photography, but he can see you’ve got a good eye for it. It’s not simply a collection of random snapshots. There’s a variety in terms of focus. Attention to detail. Instead of an entire arcade machine, a close up of the joystick controller, the lit screen adding a hazy pop of color to the background. A close study of the artwork on a pinball machine between the levers. The way the lighting shines through a long vacant glass sitting forgotten on one of the tables. A kind of eerie beauty to it. Haunting. And it was haunted. You’d captured it. You just didn’t know it.

The images of himself are at the end of the pile. These he doesn’t linger on. He’s thinking of the press. Nosy journalists invading his privacy. He’d looked different then. Heavier. Known for being cheerful, friendly, approachable. Until he’d lost his youngest son. Until the disappearances. Losing the joy from life. Food tasting like ash. No longer comforting. The smile evolving into what it is today. A smirk over a private joke only he can enjoy.

Dave hands the photographs back to you. “What will you do with them?”

“I don’t know. Put them in a binder, I guess.”

“You’re talented. Gifted, I dare say.”

“I guess.” You seem discouraged. Disappointed that the pictures weren’t what you’d hoped they’d be.

“Nothing is ever as clear as a memory. Nor as deceiving,” he murmurs.

“What?”

“Nothing.” He glances at his wristwatch. “You’re here very late. It’s nearly four.”

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“You struggle with that a lot.”

“So do you.”

“When do you want me to take you out? If you don’t mind hanging around for a couple more hours, my shift will be over. We can go out to breakfast if you’d like.”

“Okay.” You’re nervous. He can feel the energy of it, not unlike that tension that had preceded the storm outside. “What are we going to do for two hours?” This said softly, as if you’re reluctant to voice the query.

“That’s entirely up to you.”

You start to rise from your seat. “You can sit here if you’d rather…”

“No. Stay.” The guard slouches into the empty chair next to yours and hooks one foot underneath the wheeled bar at the bottom, dragging you closer in one smooth motion. A little gasp from you at the abrupt shift in your position. “You spent a long time looking at that picture of me.”

“What?” You’re blushing. “No, I didn’t.”

“You did. You know how I know? Because your fingerprints are all over it. Only that one. Not even your…interesting captures of Freddy and the gang have that much attention on them.”

“I just…I just think your face is interesting,” you murmur defensively.

“Interesting how?”

“I don’t know.” Your eyes evade his.

“Suddenly shy when you’ve been bold enough to come here not once, but twice. Why do you think that is?” You shrug, shaking your head. “This is going to be a very long two hours if the conversation continues to be one sided.”

“Maybe I should go.”

His lips press into a thin line. Not the reaction he’d been expecting. “If that’s what you want.” Your eyes finally meet his. “What, did you think I was holding you prisoner? Come. Go. Entirely your decision.”

“I need you to unlock the door.”

“Of course.” He shoves the chair back roughly, watching you hesitate over the folder sitting on the desk. “Keep them. You wanted them.”

“The rain…”

“Fine. I’ll drop them off some other time when you’re working. Or you can come collect them.”

You exit the office empty handed and he walks behind you. You have no trouble finding your way back to the entrance now.

Through the glass doors he can see the rain is torrential. Sheets of moisture that cascade down, the sky weeping furiously. You’re staring at the deluge, wide eyed.

“You’re sure you want to go out in that?”

“Yes.” Your voice wavers but you’re already reaching for the handle.

“The driving could be dangerous,” he cautions.

“I’ll manage.” You shove the door open. The scent of petrichor. Warm, wet air. You inhale deeply. Bracing yourself. Darting into the downpour.

You nearly make it to your car. Turn to look back in his direction and stumble, going down. An arc of lightning illuminates your soaked form.

Dave curses, exiting the building. Instantly drenched, clothing plastered to skin. Lifting you to your feet. A deep, jagged tear in the asphalt nearby causes you to lose your footing again, but he holds you upright.

“My ankle, I think I…”

It’s difficult to hear you, forced to compete with the sound of the storm. Rainwater runs into his eyes. He impatiently shoves at the damp tendrils of hair plastered against his face, scooping you up into his arms before you can even react, carrying you back to the restaurant.

You wince when he sets you down to open the door.

“Can you walk at all? Bear weight?”

You bite your lip, nodding. Limping inside, leaning heavily on the older man’s shoulder. The door hisses shut. The sound of water pattering on the linoleum. He crouches down, moving the hem of your damp jeans and peeling down the wet ankle sock. Gently probing. “Sprain, most likely. Come sit down.” He drags one of the chairs from the nearby tables for you to sit on.

“How can you tell?”

“Because my eldest son had a knack for getting sports injuries.”

“You have a child?”

“Three.”

“Are you married?”

“Was.” He yanks another chair over and sits next to you. “What?”

“I didn’t know you had kids.”

“They don’t live with me. They’re…grown now. Gone. Why do you look so surprised?”

“I just…I didn’t know.”

“You didn’t ask.”

“I don’t really know anything about you.”

“You could have started learning. You know, over breakfast today, for example. Except that idea seemed unacceptable to you, so, here we are.” He rakes a hand through his damp tresses again. “Why were you in such a hurry to leave?”

“I got scared.”

He scoffs. “Of what? Of me? What did I do?”

He watches you tentatively stretch your injured foot out, grimacing. “Nothing. I just…I don’t know. I got nervous all of a sudden. I don’t really know you,” you repeat again.

“So get to know me, then.”

“Alright. I’m sorry you got wet.”

“Wet is putting it mildly,” he mutters.

“Okay. Drenched.”

“Mmm-hmm. Let me go grab the first aid kit. I can wrap your ankle, stabilize it. Get some ice from the freezer. I always keep some made. And you should keep that leg elevated,” he adds, standing and moving his chair so you can rest your foot on it.

Miller returns shortly with the supplies. Kneeling down. Unlacing your canvas sneaker. Pulling off the shoe and sock as gently as he can. Winding the elastic compression around the swollen joint, then setting a plastic bag full of ice chips on top of it.

“Thank you. You’re good at that. Gentle.”

“Like I said, a lot of practice. It’s the exact treatment you’d get if you went to urgent care.” He straightens.

“Are you close with your kids still?”

A long pause. “No. Not by choice, just…it’s complicated.” He notices you staring again. This time at his arms. The single layer of the shirt can’t conceal the scars beneath, the red patterns peeking through the damp material. “There’s a lot to unpack. With me. It’s going to be an investment. A commitment. This isn’t some teenage romance. You’re with an adult. An entirely different playing field. So you should be certain that’s what you want.”

He sees you swallow. Hears it, even. “Okay.” Your voice cracks a little. “Okay,” you repeat more firmly.

“Not going to run again?” Shifting some of your damp strands of hair now. Grazing your cheek. Your gaze still holding steady.

“No.”

“You know if you hadn’t looked back, you probably wouldn’t have tripped and fallen. But you couldn’t help yourself, could you?”

“I felt bad.”

“Why?”

“For leaving you behind.”

“You’re not going to make that mistake again, though, are you?” His thumb drags against your lower lip. “Because you want to stay. You want this.” You nod slightly, your face moving against his fingers.

Dave smiles.

#william afton x reader #william afton x you #dave miller x you #dave miller x reader

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pursuitseternal · 7 months

Text

“Loathing:” Chapter 2 to the ETL Astarion X Tav fic “Our Blood is Thicker”

Astarion x F!Tav (OC) | E | 6k of angst / longing

Summary: He is darker, different, and for Cordehlia he is a constant reminder of what was. As their journey continues, truths come to light in the dark, and blood will be shed. Willingly and unwillingly.

Stargazing scene, Bite Scene, finding the Gur hunter

CW: blood, biting, jealousy and angst, manipulation and memories, slow burn feelings (that Astarion is bad with), bloodlust and regular lust, OC gets defensive of her newly found again love/hate interest

Previous Chapter | Read on AO3 | Master List

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Restless. The night was restless. Well, not wholly. She did meditate deeply, enough to regain her strength, to rest her mind. But, as always, it was the dreams, plaguing her mind. For Cordehlia, it was probably more rife with ghosts than usual.

Every night is restless when you hear the echoes of battle and nurse the wounds of your heart.

All night, all she could feel was the cold, all she could see was crimson eyes and toothsome smiles. Her ears were filled with his voice, muffled, muted. He had whispered in her mind all night, words she remembered him offering her ages long ago… sweet, words like nectar, lapping at her wounded heart, promising himself to her, hers forever, until they found one another again in their next life… words that purred of her beauty, poetry that likened her hair as brighter than the flames, her eyes more captivating than the stars, her sex sweeter than honey from the comb…

That was when her eyes had flashed opened at last, waking to the grey light of dawn and a dying fire in the camp. Waking to find herself the first one stirring.

Nearly.

Except for him… where he perched outside his tent, looking over the pages of a book. His bright eyes ringed in shadows, as he stared at her, watching her eyes open, her body stretching and shifting.

His lip twitched slightly, a knowing smile as their eyes locked. Did he know how restless he made her… did he know how real her dreams were…

That’s when he stood. So graceful, so balanced. A true fighter, a true rogue. And, by the hells, so beautiful in the dawn. It was what he was made for, she always thought, to shine like the stars that still break the morning light. But that hardness still stiffened his face, his eyes still exacting and harsh. For a moment, Cordehlia thought he would approach, thought he would saunter over and wish her a good morning… but he stalked away to the treeline, the noises of the other companions catching her ear as they also woke in the dawn.

They each began to rise, the Wizard grabbing some of the goods collected, making a rough breakfast for everyone. He grunted as he lifted the pot to hang over the fire Karlach had stoked back up.

The backache of sleeping on the ground was nothing unfamiliar to Cordehlia, but still… unpleasant. She huffed as she stood, and while her body moved towards the rest of the group, her eyes kept scanning for Astarion.

Always in her thoughts, even when she wanted him out.

She sighed, folding her arms and nodding as Gale spoke about the Emerald Grove, a good next place to seek out cures and allies perhaps.

As the meager porridge was ladled into the various, mismatched bowls that made up the camp’s dishes, she couldn’t help but notice that he had not returned. Even for food.

“Looking for your old friend?” Gale asked, his voice quiet and soft as he sat next to her by the fire.

“He’s no friend,” she commented, blowing the steam from her food before trying it.

“He needs to be one now,” he replied, doing the same over his breakfast. “I suspect there is more to him than he wishes anyone to know, maybe even especially you, given your… history.”

She swallowed loudly, trying to lose herself in the pain of the hot food down her gullet than the ache in her heart that came from such matters. “History is often rife with pain and loss, Wizard,” she hissed. “I should know, I’ve lived centuries watching it… committing it.” She felt his eyes focus on the side of her face, but she would not give an inch as she spoke. “The long memory of the elves is their greatest joy and their deepest sorrow, Gale.”

“Mortals may not know hundreds of years at a time, but I do know of joy and sorrow too, my friend,” he whispered. “And if we have any hope of finding a cure, a way forward, we need him.”

A heavy sigh came from her little frame. “I know,” she muttered.

“And maybe, just maybe, you will find your way back to one another. Don’t you elves feel yourselves bound by blood?”

“Pfft, hardly,” she scoffed, turning an amused if skeptical glance at the mortal. “At least not with him.” She looked away quickly, hoping it was fast enough not to show the pricking tear in her eye. “That connection forged when we trothed beneath the stars was severed centuries ago.” Another sigh, so heavy her shoulders drooped. “Washed away by grief and spite like the rain waters.”

“Hmm,” Gale gave a considerate pause. Thinking. The man was always thinking. “It is a phrase humans have, that blood is thicker than water, not sure you’ve heard that one.”

Cordehlia arched one brow. “At my age, I’ve heard it all.” A wry smile teased at her lips at last. “But I appreciate the timely, apropos application, dear Wizard.”

“Happy to be of service, my lady,” he bowed his head.

But the She-elf instantly bristled.

“O-oh…” Gale sputtered. “I meant no disrespect, I…”

“Just… Cordehlia,” she muttered back. “No titles, no accolades. You can just use my name.” Her voice was flat, her muscles clenched, even as she smiled.

“It’s a beautiful name,” Gale nodded, eyes wide and soft. Relieved.

“Yes…” a voice chimed in from behind them both, where they sat side by side. “I thought so too, once it came creeping back to my memory.”

Astarion.

He perched behind, grinning that knowing, half-twisted smile as they both spun their heads. “At least… I’ll always be your first, darling,” he purred.

Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly, just a twitch. Enough of a tell to goad him on, she realized.

“The first to know your true name, that is…” he added, sweeping down to sit beside the She-elf in that fluid and elegant motion of his.

“Knowing one’s name is not the same as knowledge of the person,” Cordehlia snapped, her hackles raised as Astarion reached across her lap to help himself to the bowl of piping hot porridge she had set down the second he appeared.

“Smells atrocious, Gale…” he raised the spoon, sticking out his tongue to give the tan gloop a lick, one far too sensual for its own good. “Tastes horrible,” he added before setting it back down. “Couldn't you have magicked something better?”

Gale just stared back, wry and disbelieving at his arrogance. “You’re welcome to try your luck at cooking for the camp next time, Astarion.”

“And possibly singe these perfect hands? Get food under my nails?” He gagged as he finished his whining. “I’d rather eat something raw…”

Something about the way he replied made Cordehlia stare at him just a little harder. His lip turned at the corner of his mouth. As if he thought himself terribly witty. The same glint shined in his eyes, a sparkle of mischief and self-indulgent humor. Just like it always had when he was up to something.

“Well,” Gale stood, clearly done with the Elf’s presence. “Since I’ve had my fill, I think I’ll get my things ready for our journey. Emerald Grove isn’t going to explore itself for a cure, you know.”

She could feel his look still on her as the wizard stood, trying to read her inscrutable expression. With a sigh, he relented trying to puzzle out his companion and left.

“Good riddance,” Astarion hummed, sliding his lithe body just a hint closer to where she still sat. “Let’s hope he’s better at magic than his cooking, my dear.”

“Would it kill you to try to be kind, Astarion?” She snapped, turning her head to face him at last.

“I am being kind,” he crooned, leaning just a bit closer, “you tasted that gruel, I could have said so many more dreadful things, you know.”

She snorted, her own dark humor tickled as he elbowed her in the arm. And even as he smiled back with those strange, red eyes squinting at her, it was the same shine, the same glint and the same creases that had always warmed her heart.

Dammit.

Then, his hand came to rest atop of hers. Where she had it splayed into the dirt beside her.

Just like he always used to.

For a second she closed her eyes, the shine of those happy days giving the chill in her heart a warmth of happiness. Of connectedness.

But it was a lie.

At least something was a lie, she realized as she ripped her hand out from the heavy, cold weight of his touch.

“What’s wrong, darling?” He hummed, “I thought you were all for getting to know one another again.”

Her voice was direct, steady and calm. “Then you can start by telling me the truth of what happened, when you’re ready of course. Until then,” she stood, brushing the pine needles from her breeches. “Until then, you’ll excuse me if I bide my time trusting you with more than watching my back in battle.”

“Fair enough,” he replied, politely, but through gritted teeth.

“And I hope, personally, our next adventure leads us to looting a pair of gloves for you, if you’re going to insist on touching me. Hells below, Astarion, the chill of ice seems to always be on your hands.”

“A wise idea,” he smirked slightly. Darkly. “Such insight for a seasoned fighter such as yourself.”

Cordehlia shook her head, leaving him at her feet. Feeling his gaze on her as she moved quickly away.

That gaze stayed on her all day. She could feel it. Observing. Assessing. Scanning her strengths and weaknesses. Gleaning details of how she fought, how she persuaded aid from any strangers they met, how she could leap and tumble and sneak with an ease remarkable even for her kind.

He followed in her wake all day, covering her back in battle just as she had asked.

And she knew it was his intention. The little ways he caught her eye during their fights, nodding as he removed obstacles behind them… ahead of them… dealing the heaviest, most damaging blows of any of their party.

If he was one of her men, she would have promoted him. Would have gone weak in the knees at his prowess. Gifted him with all her favors at his brutality, his vigor.

But he was not hers to command.

He was not hers… at all.

Her mind swirled with such memories and dreams, fighting to keep the most lustfilled ones as far from her mind as possible.

Which was only harder and harder to do as they all prepared the camp at nightfall again. Especially when she stumbled on him near his tent, lounging back on a bedroll, gazing with such wonder at the burst of stars that speckled the sky.

Cordehlia tiptoed closer, drawn by his relaxation. Remembering so many nights of doing the same, together.

“Coming to join me?” he purred, just a glance of his eyes to where she stood before they trained back into the heavens.

“I…” she began, but the way he scooted himself to make room on the leather and blankets, it was just… too much to resist.

Gods help me, she prayed. Nestling down alongside him, not so close they touched. But still too close for her to ignore that scent that clung around him now. Sharp and aromatic. Citrus and herbs.

Swallowing, she dismissed how it made her mouth water.

“Glad to see you come to your senses, darling,” he spoke just loud enough for her to hear without straining.

“You looked comfortable,” she offered as a reply. “I didn’t want to disturb you.”

“You do more than just disturb me,” he sneered. “I have never felt more… unsettled. Confused. I have never felt freer, unchained from my enslavement, and yet…” he rolled on his side, narrowing his gaze at where she laid beside him. Her silver eyes like stars themselves as she stared into the lights above. Those heavenly mirrors her brightness. “What I… suffered… it made it impossible to remember things… about me from before. I have endured horrors. Torture. Centuries of darkest anguish. It was simply easier to find peace in feeling numb than clinging to… anything from before.”

He meant her. Easier than remembering her.

He scoffed softly, watching as she just kept her eyes above. But he could feel her breath burning in her lungs as she held it. Frightened to hear what more he might say. Frightened to scare him away.

“I would hate for us to part ways so soon, you know. Once we find the next… solution… to our parasite friends, will this all be over? Is this it?”

She breathed at last. “It doesn’t have to be, I suppose,” her voice was shaking. Gentle.

“Good,” he smirked before reaching to brush a single strand of her fiery red hair off her cheek. “Because you are quite the ally, quite the commander. You’ve survived so much, just like me, traversing Avernus, surviving the crash, surviving everything that has followed.”

His fingers brushed her cheek one more time, making her turn to finally meet his suggestive stare. And then he smiled, that half smirk that just pulled his face a little sharper, that made his eyes glow and glint with the passion inside him. “You are quite impressive too, you know…” he murmured as they locked eyes.

Her throat bobbed as she swallowed, her belly rising and falling beneath her resting hands just a bit quicker. “You’re assuming I think you’re impressive as well, Astarion…”

“I have no need to assume, darling. I know,” he preened, that arrogance coloring his words, making them drip with pride. With seduction. “I know I’m impressive. And I know you already think it, darling. No one smiles that much in battle when your eyes lock into mine. No one’s heart beats so quickly at the slightest touch of my fingers over their skin if they don’t think I’m at least a tinge… impressive.”

And just to prove his point, he reached for her neck, ghosting his fingertips over it, her pulse pounding in her veins so hard, it must deafen her.

Her brow raised slightly, eyes sharp as she scanned his face. “You’re staring,” she murmured.

“Of course I am,” he eased into a smile. “Why wouldn’t I?” He stood to his feet gracefully and quickly. “But after gazing at such beauty, I think I’ll get some air, clear my head so as not to forget completely about the horrible parasite that swims in my mind.” He waved his long, elegant fingers at her where she still laid at his feet. “I’ll see you later I’m sure…”

“I’m sure,” she called after him, still staring into the sky, refusing to watch him tread into the forest. But she couldn’t help but add a little something more. Something sharper than those soft words he tried to whisper into her ear. “You look horrible, Astarion, don’t miss dinner later. You look like you need a good meal and a good rest.”

He stopped in his tracks, glancing over his broad and sloping shoulder. “Maybe I do…” he seemed to bristle as she refused to look at him. “Thank you for being so observant, my friend,” he chimed, if a bit sarcastically.

“Here to help,” she turned at last.

“Don’t make promises you don’t intend to keep, darling,” he flashed her the fullness of his smirk, his canted brows and shining eyes.

She shrugged, a muted smile in return. “Thank you,” she added just before he began to turn. “For telling me a bit more of… what happened. I can see the pain when you speak of it, but I do not want you to think me.. ungrateful for the truth.”

He nodded his head, just once, before turning on his heel and heading for the trees.

Dinner came and went. Conversation turned unavoidably towards the fact that the mercurial rogue of the group still hadn’t returned.

Shadowheart laughed. “Well, didn’t he say he would rather eat something raw than suffer Gale’s cooking once more?” She sniffed a laugh through her little nose. “I wouldn’t put it past him with just how… vicious… he seems…”

Karlach gave her burst of a belly laugh in reply. “Sounds like someone has taken a fancy to the pale pretty boy!”

Gale’s eyes widened, his head snapping to check on Cordehlia. Her face was gaunt, even as she gave a laugh and made her full, pink lips smile. “You know,” he cleared his throat, “our leader, Cordehlia has a history with the Elf, isn’t that right?”

“Ancient history,” she added, a musical tone in her voice. One that seemed unnatural and forced. “But that is most of how time is measured for the Elves…”

“Oh,” Shadowheart stopped her mirth for a moment, “I am sorry. I didn’t know…”

“It is no matter,” the She-elf shook her head, the picture of reassurance.

Someone settled down in the circle of light. Tossing his silver hair, Astarion looked so very pleased with himself, sitting himself right between the cleric and Cordehlia, throwing them each a glance that bled conceit and oozed flirtation. “Don’t you worry,” he leaned back on his hand, lounging as if all eyes weren’t staring at him… amused, or jealous, or irritated, “I am a man of tremendous appetites. There’s enough of me to go around…”

The wizard gave an uncomfortable cough, as if he cleared his throat. “Umm, well, I’m turning in for the night,” Gale stood, dumping out the rest of his stew into the fire before leaving. But not without a concerned glance at the She-elf… not before he watched her face stiffen with all due stoicism, her eyelids fluttering rapidly as if she wasn’t thinking about reaching for her weapon to inflict some equal pain.

He sniffed, angrily… dismissively… before he left.

“I’m turning in too,” the She-elf followed the same procedure, remnants of her meal on the fire before she retreated to her bedroll nearby.

She tried not to look behind her.. tried to ignore the way he looked at her. The way that cleric seemed to give him a flirtatious if taunting smile. Dismissing the knots in her stomach and the enraged rapping of her pulse.

Second time today he made her heart feel like it would burst. And not for the same cause.

He was aggravating. Unbearable. So soft and yet provoking. Making her angry and aroused all at once. Perhaps that was the same as before between them. But that darkness, that delight he seemed to get from making her suffer, that twisted joy from forcing her feelings to ebb and flow at his will… it made every hair on her head tingle with suspicion, with dread. A reminder he was not as he always was.

She grit her teeth, trying to keep her mouth soft and her eyes open, even as all she wanted to do was scream and shove them both face first in the dirt. That lascivious rake of an elf and that powerful, if vapid, cleric.

But her body relented, drawn by the comfort of her bedroll. Maybe a little extra rest would help calm this bile that rose in her throat, she thought. Tucked int, she tried to chase away the memories of the past, turning over all the hints and clues to cures that came up over these last days.

At last, once all she could hear was the hiss and pop of the fire, her mind drifted away, thinking of the stars… of how they shined like his eyes once did… deep violet like the night, those gold and silver flecks in them like the lights themselves….

It made her hand search for a little something she had stowed away under her sheets.

As her fingers wrapped around her weapon, she breathed easier. Rest finally taking her under. Letting her soar. Until… something broke into her peace, a shadow that blocked the starlight.

And that’s when she woke.

His mouth hung above her, bearing down on her with fangs glinting in the fire. The second she stirred, he froze. Caught.

“Shit,” he hissed, he kept his arms framed over her head, his body still dangerously close. “Well, I was sure you’d figure out the truth sooner or later…” he purred, rubbing the tip of his tongue over his fang points.

That’s when he noticed something prodding into his ribs. The point of a stake in her hand, she smiled brightly up at him. “Sooner was the safer bet, old friend. Vampire. You never were skilled at being subtle… or planning ahead.”

“Or keeping your hands off pointy sticks,” he chuckled, grabbing her hand where she fisted the stake. “You’re more insightful than I gave you credit for, and I already admire you a lot, darling…”

“Oh please, it doesn’t take centuries of a life and years of battle to piece out your mysterious disappearance or why your eyes are crimson…why you’re colder than death or why you have yet to sit and eat a full meal with the rest of us.”

“Beautiful and brilliant,” he purred, still unrelenting as he caged her body. “It’s not what you think, however. I’m not a monster. I only feed on animals, boars and the like… but with all this fighting you've made me do, I’m just too slow… too weak. I haven’t been able to catch a decent meal for days because of how much you’ve pushed me.”

He was pouting. Eyes wide and wet, the perfect image of pleading innocence.

“Since it’s your demanding nature that has made me so hungry, I thought it only fair to come to you for a… solution. If I just had a little blood, I could think clearer… fight better…”

“So you decide to lay the blame at my feet? To creep into my bed, deciding that I will just say yes to you because of our history?” Her eyes are wide and shining. Bright with rage. “You promise to make the effort to get to know one another as we are… you make absolute certain I find your every attack, every parry in battle utterly perfect… you touch me… flirting… then trying unsuccessfully to turn me green with envy by casting your attentions on the cleric…”

She snapped the last word, making him flash those fangs at her again.

“Well…” he breathed, “can you blame me? You are being rather stubborn… as you always have been, darling Cordehlia…”

Her hand struggled against his grip on her weapon, fighting as he pried it from her fingers, tossing it into the fire with a hiss of flame. Her breathing grew rough and ragged, that empty hand closing into a balled up fist. She pummeled it against his chest. “You say you’re not a monster,” she hissed, “you’re not giving me a lot of grounds otherwise.”

“Some females like monsters,” he lowered himself on her a little more. “Some crave the danger, the thrill of the hunt, the excitement of being devoured…” he softened his mouth. “Not that I have tasted anything other than vermin.”

“Save your breath,” she hissed. “I hate everything that you’ve become, Astarion.”

He gave a chilling smirk. All honey and sweetness in his voice, even as his eyes seemed to catch the fire to glow a brilliant red. “So be it, but I’m not going hungry tonight. I will be quenching my thirst one way or another.” He purred, lowering his mouth beside her straining neck, licking the curve of her pointed ear. “And don’t you want it to be from you, after everything we've been through?”

He felt so heavy, even with all his danger and threat… even if he could rip her throat out and drink her dry. Part of her heart was beating in her chest that he wouldn’t, couldn’t do that. But her mind raced. The reality of his words, his sweet lies shrouding that history between them. Loathing did burn bright inside her. But her body still melted into his. “Why do you keep referring to what was ours? Our past, our history… our love… You can’t even recall it…”

His hand wound behind her neck, those long fingers tangling into those fiery strands of her head. “I’m beginning to… I’d like to remember everything, but I won’t if I’m so hungry, I can’t think… I’ll never remember you if I die in a fight because you didn’t let me feed.” His eyes softened, his icy touch making shivers run up her spine. “I may not recall everything, but you, darling, you can. And I think it would break that poor starlight-kissed soul of yours if it was a certain cleric that I drank from tonight in your place… darling.”

Her chest heaved. Her own teeth gritted and bared as she struggled to decide. “Fine,” she sneered. “Fuck you, Astarion.”

“Now that was more in line with my thinking,” he rasped, placing a kiss on the ivory skin of her neck. “I’ll stash that suggestion away for later consideration, darling, but first things first.”

It was colder than ice. Sharper. Deadlier. The piercing of her flesh made her shiver but not in fear.

In ecstasy.

His lips sucked on her wounds, gentle and loud, deafening as he took swallow after swallow from her body. She could almost see it, feeling it as her blood filled him. Feeding him. Strengthening him. Making him full and hard and virile.

“That’s enough,” she snapped, hiding the moan in her voice as a grunt. Faking the pain to hide her pleasure.

The commanding tone made him slide right off, the vampire shuffled to his feet. His fingers dabbed the corner of his mouth, keeping most of that trickle of her blood for her to savor its sight as it cut down the pale skin of his chin. “My mind is clear. I feel strong, I feel… happy…”

“I feel bitten and bloodletted,” she hissed, getting to her feet too, chest rising and falling as she panted.

“You’re fine, darling,” he purred, contented like a cat bathing in sunshine. “Now, as delectable as you were, I’ll need something more substantial than your blood.” He trod towards the treeline, pausing to speak softly over his shoulder. “This is a gift, dearest Cordehlia. This, I won’t forget…. for all I have forgotten.”

He crept into the woods, somehow more silently, feral and strong. The predator out to hunt.

And as Cordehlia settled back down in her bed, she knew sleep would not come the rest of the night.

Not with how her thighs shook and her neck stung. But at least she could rest.

And try not to remember the way his kiss caressed her neck, even if it was while drinking from her veins.

As dawn began to seep its light over the trees, she heard him return. A deep sigh in his sated throat as Astarion returned to his tent.

Cordehlia fought through the woozy haze to stand. His eyes found her easily in the dim light as she slowly approached him. “Good morning,” he smiled politely, as if he hadn’t just hours ago snuck into her bed and sliced her with his fangs. “How do you feel?”

“What do you think?” She sneered softly. “Lightheaded from the literal pain in the neck you’ve given me.”

“Tch,” he grinned and sucked his teeth, conceited and rife with his pride. “It’ll pass. Just be glad I’m but a weak little spawn and not a true vampire. A bite from one of them might kill you… if you’re lucky.”

Her brows furrowed. “Spawn you might be, but not weak.” She corrected him, even before she realized the kind affect her words would have on him.

“Well…” he coughed, hiding how he was taken aback. “I appreciate the sentiment, even if in reality all I have of a vampire’s experience is their unquenchable hunger, and precious few of their powers.”

“Then why haven’t you done me the favor, then, of bursting into flames when the sunlight hits your flawless skin?” She taunted, a laugh in her voice, even as she needled him.

Her humor did not go unnoticed by the vampire. “Oh, I should be cinders in this light, you’re right. These… parasites… someone, or something, has changed the rules. I shouldn’t be surprised if I can wade through rivers and sneak into houses uninvited.” His eyes flashed with that glint of seduction. “And as for my other… quirks… we can figure those out in time.” He bared his pointed fangs in the rising sun as he drew a bit closer to her. “A little… trial and error… I’m sure I could use some more of your help with…”

Her mouth flattened into a line, unamused outwardly, even if her eyes had just a hint of laughter as she looked up into his smirking face. “Perhaps, if you remain on your best behavior. That means, dear vampire, you feed on what you can hunt…”

His face drooped. “But…” he grimaced, more pain on his face than she had expected.

“But what?” she pushed. Just a tinge aggressively.

“Well, it’s just… my master did the same,” his reply eked out through clenched teeth. “I’ve spent two centuries barely fed, living on the vermin, the rats and mice and bugs he would allow me to eat. And now that I’m free, now that I’m basking in the sun, surrounded by friends and those who wish to help me…”

He turned those wide, soft, crimson eyes down on her. They brimmed with pain. And while she knew what he wanted, that he was using it to manipulate her, get her to agree to something more between them… She paused, searching into his face. He was lean, strong but small. But for once, his face looked full, those shadows beneath his eyes vanished, that gaunt, sickly edge to his cheeks and jaw rounded out.

The effects of her blood, she knew.

“Alright,” she relented, narrowing her eyes, commanding even in compromise. “Animals you hunt, and, if it truly makes a difference to your strength, your health…”

His head cocked slightly. Waiting.

“…you may feed on me. But only in secret, and only if you ask, and I accept you.”

“Of course,” he smiled. Truly smiled. “I’ll be gentle with you in the future, my darling,” he purred again. That rakish smirk twisting his handsome features. “I’m just glad you’re being so very sensible and thoughtful about these revelations. I feared stakes and torches and pitchforks, to be sure.”

As if on cue, the rest of the party, obviously woken by the conversation, approached.

“A vampire? Of course we are traveling with a vampire,” Gale chimed in, “Word of warning, I taste disgusting.”

“I’ll make you catch on fire, pretty boy,” Karlach added with a laugh. “Not joking.”

“I—” Shadowheart started with a chilling smile.

“None of you need worry,” Cordehlia interrupted before anything more came from the cleric’s mouth. “Astarion knows his rules, and if he wishes to keep himself in the good graces of the group, he will abide by them.”

“Oh my honor,” he placed a hand on his dead heart and bowed. “Now, who wants to see how many enemies I can decimate today? Since, after all, I can fight with all my weapons, teeth included…”

______________________

High sun found them creeping in the Grove, mists swirling as they searched for some wise woman… someone who might know how to remove these parasites before they took hold.

But something stank, and Cordehlia wrinkled her nose as they spotted a stranger in their path. Tall and scarred.

“Greetings, and pardon the smell,” he waved kindly. “Powdered iron vine,”

The metallic, sour stink was so strong, she could taste it on her tongue.

“It’s an old hunter’s trick...” he grinned and patted his leather vest. “Monsters usually give me a wide berth of comfort even as I pursue them.”

Astarion crept forward, sidling right behind Cordehlia, every muscle in his lean and lithe frame clenched and throbbed. “You're a monster hunter? I thought all Gur were vagrant cutthroats.”

He rippled with tension, Cordehlia could feel it, sense it swirling under his skin. Muscles bundled with tension, Astarion’s long and lithe fingers slowly creeping for the hilt of his blades at his back.

“What are you searching for, friend?” she smiled softly, flashing her bright elven eyes at the Gur, tucking her fiery hair behind her pointed ears.

She could feel Astarion lean in behind her ear. “Yes, work that elven charm… make him trust you.”

“Nothing so fearsome. Just a vampire spawn,” the stagger waved his hand. Dismissive. Underestimating.

The tips of her ears grew hot. That veil of red began to draw over her eyes. “When you’ve been in these realms as long as I have, you learn not to underestimate anything created out of malice and subjected to horrors.” She paused a moment, reaching behind her quickly, pressing her palm against Astarion’s rigid arm. “I’m sure a spawn could rip out your throat if he wanted to…”

“And he does want to, mind you,” he whispered into the back of her head.

“True,” the Gur nodded appreciatively, “spawn are only weak when compared to their masters.” He looked only at Cordehlia, who certainly looked the part of a helpful, curious hero. Batting her eyes and nodding her head encouragingly.

“I have not heard of many vampire spawn in the woods,” she giggled. Giggled. “And besides, you would be hard pressed to find one in the daylight. Near impossible,” she rounded to look at her band, her bell-like, merry laughter peeling among them all. Even as she gave a look to her rogue. Warning.

“To true again, lady of the fair folk,” the hunter added his own laugh. “But this one, Astarion, he is special. I’m to find him and bring him back to my people. I’m hoping the hag of these lands can help me flush him out…”

“He must be special if you are hoping to cut a deal of blood price just to find him,” she added. That laughter in her voice turned. It chilled the spine. “But if he is but a spawn as you say, why go to such effort? After all, are not monsters only creatures we perhaps do not understand, some are not born to the dark.” Her shoulders went rigid. Her voice beginning to turn sharper. Harsher. “Some are made into the monsters they become, and not of their own choosing.”

“I assure you,” the hunter began to match her tone. “A monster is far simpler than that. Unthinking, unfeeling, driven by the dark and fed by evil.”

Astarion held his breath, watching as her hand flexed and twitched behind her back.

“If that were true, it would sound like quite the threat,” now her teeth were gritted.

Astarion could hear her blood in her veins. Pounding. Beating. Raging for action. She turned towards him. “Hmm,” he met those piercing silver eyes, they swirled with lights, her skin flushed and hot as she stared. As if he could read her thoughts. “Maybe we should do something about this threat?”

The corner of her lip quirked slightly. Only for a moment. “My thoughts exactly. So glad you are so sensible, Astarion.”

“That’s…?” The Gur looked into the sky, the bright sun still filtering through the forest enough to turn a vampire to ash. “It can’t be. It’s…”

“Impossible?” Cordehlia gave another chilling giggle. “Maybe you judge your so-called monsters too harshly…”

“As the so-called monster, may I?” the vampire asked so prettily.

“No,” she replied, pulling her own blade from her hip. “Together?”

“Oh I think I see what I liked about you before…” a feral, wild smirk darkened his face. That smirk deepened at the glint that he caught in her eyes. That look of bloodlust, of twinkling aggression. A kindred spirit, he thought for the slightest second before his favorite part. Launching at the enemy, blades shining. Hearts racing. Most satisfying thing he thinks they could do side by side.

Most satisfying thing, for now.

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startrekfangirl2233-writes · 1 year

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I Really, Really Wanna Love You (But I can't say the word I want to, cause they won’t play it on the radio)

Part 3 of Sometimes All You Need (A Getaway Car)

Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Reader

Description: You've been dating Jake Seresin for three months and while they've been fantastic, you can't help feeling a bit unsatisfied with how intimate you are with each other. Jake's the consummate gentleman, always opening the door for you, pulling your chair out, and walking you places with his hand at the small of your back. And the kisses? The kisses make you weak, literally, at the knees. But he always stops you before it can get any further. When he asks you to put on something special for a fancy dinner, you plot to get him exactly where you want him; in your bed and in your arms, all night long.

Disclaimer: Insecurities on the part of Gorgeous Girl, Miscommunication, Smut, Blow Jobs, P-in-V Sex, Smut,

Warnings: afab!reader

Word Count: 6063

A/N: This is the third chapter to Sometimes All You Need (A Getaway Car). It picks up three months after Gorgeous Girl and Jake first meet and have their first date together. This is officially when we make the jump from kissing to smut, so I'm going to say it once again. MINORS DNI. ANY BLANK OR AGELESS BLOGS INTERACTING WITH THIS BLOG WILL BE BLOCKED. 18+ ONLY. This chapter is a lot of smut with some plot involved. There is some mis-communication going on between Jake and GG, but as expected from the sweetest, sexiest man in existence he makes it all better. This chapter is sponsored by the song LOVE U by Monsta X (who I pull the title from) and Glen Powell in the black-on-black suit he wore for one of the Devotion Premiere events late last year. He's honestly the best muse a girl could ask for. I have a billion kisses for the amazing @pumpkinfairybun, my bestie and loml for proofreading 6k of smut for me!

AO3: Cross-posted here! My Masterlist

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You’ve officially been dating Jake Seresin for three months, and they’ve been fantastic, except for one thing. He’s the consummate gentleman who’s always opening the door for you, pulling your chair out, and walking you places with his hand at the small of your back. And the kisses? The kisses make you weak, literally, at the knees. But he always stops you before it can get any further. You’ve had to work your way up to touch his bare chest, and the only time you managed that was when you were out on the beach, and he hefted you up to throw you in the water. You had clutched at him as he swooped you into the cool ocean water in the heat of a typical San Diego summer and squealed when a wave had nearly swept your feet out from under you. He’d pulled you against his chest, kissing you as the wave dissipated before setting you down on your feet. That had been your fourth date, a picnic on the beach complete with sunscreen, swimsuits, and sunglasses.

You had been on many dates after that, and each night you’d ended up alone in your bed, fingers furiously working at your clit while wishing he was there with you, that it was his hands and mouth getting you off. You’d dropped all of the hints. Inviting Jake in for coffee had worked to get him as far as the sofa in your living room. Make-out sessions resulted in you in his lap, moaning into his mouth while trying desperately to get his hands under your top, dress, or skirt, all to no avail. He always stopped you, carefully pushing you away from the tent in his pants while his eyes darkened with arousal. He wanted you, and he couldn’t hide that from you. But he refused to do anything about it. And you had finally had enough. You wanted Jake Seresin in every way possible, and you’d go to any means to get him exactly how you wanted him, too.

He’d told you to wear something fancy for a dinner date, and that was when you’d begun plotting. You started by shopping with Callie and her new girlfriend, another aviator in the squadron, Natasha. They were both the sexiest women you knew and exuded sex appeal even while surrounded by men all day long. Thanks to Callie, Natasha also knew every salacious detail, or lack thereof, about your relationship with Jake. She also had the benefit of knowing Jake through her career with the Navy as well. So as far as you were concerned, you had an inside woman into ways to make Jake drool. Or at least, that was your rationale a few days before your date when you met Callie and Natasha at a boutique downtown to shop for your dress, lingerie, and shoes. Lingerie shopping was about as you expected. You must have tried on a dozen different sets and then stood shivering in the shop A/C, half-naked, twirling inanely in circles as Callie and Nat, as she’d asked you to call her, analyzed each set. They’d vetoed each set you’d tried on in your size, and you were starting to get frustrated. At least until Callie had tossed you one final set over the top of the fitting room door.

It was a strappy, black lace push-up bra and lacy panties. They felt buttery soft on your skin, and you looked and felt amazing in them. When you walked out, the wolf whistles you got from Callie and Nat sealed the decision. Even the price tag didn’t detract from your choice. The tiny little bag holding your purchase made you smile as you picked out the perfect dress and shoes. Nat and Callie also talked you into getting your hair and nails done. So you were primped, primed, and shaved all over on the night you hoped would be the date. You do your hair first, sticking with simple curls that glisten in the light, followed by natural makeup. You then carefully slip into the lingerie, pulling at it until it lays perfectly flat against your skin. You look incredible if you do say so yourself. The shoes make your legs look miles long, and you’ve just slipped into the dress and zipped it up halfway when the doorbell rings. You carefully step down the stairs in the sky-high heels you’d picked and open the door to Jake, looking the most handsome you’ve seen him yet in fitted black slacks, a crisp black button-down shirt, and a blazer. He is coiffed without a hair out of place, and a polished watch gleams on his wrist.

“Hi, Jake!” you’re smiling as you gesture to him to come in. “Give me two minutes to put on my lipstick and grab my clutch and jacket, as well as a hand zipping up this dress, and I’m ready to go.”

“Sure, beautiful,” he’s smiling too, that soft grin he only uses with you as you turn to grab your clutch and slip your phone into it. What you aren’t expecting as you face the small table in your foyer is the hands carefully pushing your hair over your shoulder. They linger on your skin, sending trails of heat over you as they smooth over the lacy garments under the dress.

“Fuck, gorgeous,” he’s groaning, hands hot against your skin, eyes darkening in the mirror in your foyer as he looms over you.

“What’s this little thing you’re wearing under this dress?”

You shrug with a mischievous grin as you stare into his eyes in the reflection. “It could be lingerie. I guess you’ll have to find out.”

Now it’s your turn to gasp as he presses a kiss against the base of your neck while zipping the dress up. You can feel his smile against your skin as he kisses you in the same spot again. You turn in his arms and peck his lips, purposefully keeping the press of lips chaste.

“Dinner? I’m ready to go if you are Jake!” You’re grinning at the betrayed look on his face as you step away, pursing your lips in the mirror as you swipe your preferred burgundy shade on, and shrug on your jacket.

“Dinner, gorgeous girl.” His eyes promise something special after dinner, which is what you want.

You’re laughing and chatting happily with him as he opens the door to his truck and helps you into the passenger seat. The only indication that he’s still keyed up from the glimpse of your lingerie is the hand on your bare thigh through the slit of your dress, achingly close to where you want him but not quite there. His chivalrous mask is cracking already, and you cannot wait to see what happens when it finally crumbles off.

Jake’s managed to get reservations at Nobu, and you’re impressed by his chopstick etiquette as you both enjoy the sumptuous omakase meal. Partway through the meal, with a sip of sake, you push the game's stakes higher and slide your heel up his thigh. He nearly chokes on his sake as you teasingly massage his cock with your foot. You’re pleased to see the heat in his eyes. But you’re more insulted at the feeling of his hand on your foot, stopping you and carefully setting your foot back down. You can feel your smile flagging, chest aching at the thought of all the effort you’d made to make him want you like you wanted him. That one action dampens the mood for the rest of the meal, and though you’re trying to smile at him and participate in the conversation, you’re sure he can tell how frustrated and stupid you feel. It isn’t until Jake has paid, for once without your protests, and you’re back in the truck, that the tension boils over.

“Jake?” Your voice is calm, calmer than you expected when you start talking. “At dinner, when I tried to play footsie with you, did I do something wrong?” You can feel your voice quivering as you continue.

“I wanted to show you that I want you. I love that you’re a gentleman, but I also want you to desire me. I’ve wanted you to desire me for a long time now!” You’re sniffling, trying to keep from sobbing completely.

“And it hurts so badly that you push me away when we start to get intimate. I bought lingerie for you! I shaved everything, bought this dress and these heels, all for you, and it’s still not enough! When will I be enough for you? Will I ever be enough for you?”

It’s silent in the car. You’re blinking back tears while staring out the window. Even the radio isn’t on to punctuate the hush. You glance sideways every once in a while to see his eyes only on the road. His jaw is clenched on another one of his toothpicks, knuckles white against the steering wheel, biceps bulging in the fitted blazer as he continues to drive you home. This is the end of this relationship, the best one you’ve ever had. And you tanked it by being too horny, too needy. He’s livid, and you can tell. He pulls the truck into your driveway, exits, and yanks your door open. He’s an ominous presence looming over your shoulder as you unlock the door and step in, letting him through after you.

“Goodnight, Jake.” Your voice is thick with tears as you collapse onto the bench in your foyer and struggle to undo the straps on your shoes. You can feel his sigh across the top of your foot as he kneels before you and frees each foot from its heel. He then stands and carefully pulls you into his arms. Crushed against his chest and surrounded by the scent of his cologne, you can’t help the sobs that shake your body. He’s tender, soothingly massaging your back as your tears finally taper off. Thankfully you’d managed to keep your makeup from smearing all over in your crying fit.

“Now that you’ve gotten all your tears out, can I talk to you, beautiful?” His voice is soft. You can feel the hourglass run out on this relationship. You can only nod like you’re expecting the oncoming train wreck to plow through you. You both strip off your outerwear, laying the garments on the bench you were just sitting on. Jake takes your hand and pulls you into your living room, pushing you to sit on your sofa. You watch him as he fills a glass of water and makes you drink it. He doesn’t speak until you’ve set the empty glass on the coffee table and finished patting your tears away with a tissue.

“What, sweetheart, makes you think that I don’t want you?” His brow is furrowed as he speaks, settling onto the sofa. “I don’t want to pressure you into doing anything you’re not ready for.”

“And what about tonight? I pulled out all of the stops. I bought everything I’m wearing for you to take off!” you huff.

“Sweets, I had to stop you at the restaurant because if I hadn’t, I would’ve cum in my pants like a teenager. I never meant to hurt you. I should’ve told you the truth. I want you so much.” His smile is sheepish as he musses up his hair. “I just wanted you to make the first move. And then when that move came, it was too much for me to handle.”

“Jake,” You’re sheepishly grinning yourself, “I should’ve told you how I felt too. We could have been incandescently happy if I had just told you what I wanted. I feel so stupid.” You settle back against the cushions and intertwine your fingers with his. All the anger and embarrassment fade as you sit slumped against each other and unwind. It feels comfortable sitting in silence with Jake.

“Sweetheart, I’m sorry.” He sounds exhausted. “I’d understand if you don’t want to see me again.” His words send a jolt of unease through you. You don’t want to stop seeing him. You never want to stop seeing him. You never expected your insecurities to make him feel so bad, so unsure about what you feel for him. It aches in your chest, the thought of seeing him with someone else, making someone else feel as happy as he makes you.

“Jake, I don’t want to stop seeing you.” Your words fail you, and instead of trying to express the jumbled mess that is your emotions and feelings for Jake, you settle for kissing him. You pull away, staring into his eyes, “I know it’s probably too soon to say it, but I’m fairly sure I am falling in love with you.”

His eyes widen, mouth slackening in shock, before clearing his throat. “Gorgeous, it’s not too soon. I’ve wanted to tell you I love you for a while too.”

At his smile, you kiss him again, using just enough teeth and tongue to deepen the kiss into make-out territory. You’re gratified to feel him pull you closer when you slip into his lap. You’re both grinning as you kiss each other, teeth clashing. But before long, the kisses you're sharing have left chaste behind and become filthy wet hot things that send heat ricocheting to the apex of your thighs. Jake is similarly affected if the groan he lets out as you grind your core over his bulge is an indication.

He drags you into one more filthy kiss, one arm wrapped around your waist while the other pulls the zip on your dress down to the base of your spine. His mouth sends goosebumps over your skin, making you moan his name. Jake pushes the straps of your dress off your shoulders while lavishing kisses down the column of your throat. His sigh of appreciation is like music to your ears when he finally catches the sight of your soft skin framed in obsidian lace.

"Fuck, gorgeous girl." His mouth is wet against the swell of your breasts as he peppers kisses over them, sucking gently to place hickeys against your decolletage. "You look so beautiful in this lingerie. If I'd known this is what you were wearing under your dress, I would've never let you out of the house." He tugs you back into another kiss but groans when you drag your fingers through his hair and pull him away using your grip on the golden strands.

He's a vision sitting on your sofa when you step out of reach of his hands and let your dress pool to the ground around your feet. His hair is mussed, his lips spit slicked and wet, and traces of your lipstick are smeared over his mouth. He looks claimed, marked as yours. The arousal in his eyes strengthens when you drape his discarded blazer around your shoulders and beckon for him to follow you as you pad your way up the stairs to your bedroom. He catches up outside your bedroom door and turns you to face him again. He pushes the jacket off your shoulders and smashes his mouth to yours.

"Jump." He growls against your mouth, and you feel even more arousal seep, sickly sweet, through your veins when he catches you and presses you against the wall. You shudder against him as he kisses down your throat, hands working in tandem at your back to free your breasts from their lace prison. After he's flung the bra away, he drags his tongue over your breasts, drawing one into his mouth. His mouth feels incredible against your peaked, hard nipples; the licking, biting, and sucking sending frissons of pleasure down your spine. You're so consumed by Jake and the wet heat of his tongue that you don't notice you're in your room until he places you on your bed with a kiss to your sternum.

"Sweetheart," his voice is rough with arousal, "I'm feeling a bit overdressed. Would you help me take off my clothes?"

You scramble up to your knees and off the bed. Now it's your turn to touch and worship his skin. You undo each button of his shirt, shoving it off his shoulders while peppering kisses across his pecs and letting your teeth and tongue catch on the ridges of his abs. Jake’s eyes are blown wide, only the thinnest ring of emerald left when you fall to your knees and undo the button for his slacks. He steps out of them and groans when you press kisses against the wet spot in his boxers. You slip your hand in and gasp at the feeling of him. He's thick and hot, skin velvety as you free him from the constricting fabric and lick a stripe up his length. There are already pearls of pre-cum drooling from the tip, bursting bitter and salty-sweet on your tongue as you lick at his flushed length and stroke him with both hands wrapped around him. Your mouth floods with saliva at the thought of him in your mouth. You start slowly, enveloping just the tip. You drag your tongue gently across the underside of his cock and flick it languidly over the ridge under the head.

“Sweet girl, don’t tease,” he groans when you pull away, a string of saliva connecting your mouth to the tip of his dick. The groan transitions into a full moan when you blow cool air over his flushed cock and draw him back into your mouth deeper than before. The muscles of his thighs twitch as you set a frantic pace, throat relaxing as you suck on his dick. The final straw for his control is when you peer up through your eyelashes at him with your mouth stretched obscenely around his cock.

“Gorgeous,” he’s panting, chest heaving, and muscles tense, looking down at you, “can I fuck your mouth?”

At your nod, he pulls you up into a filthy kiss, during which he drags the sopping lace of your panties off before pulling your hair into a loose ponytail at the base of your neck, keeping his hand cradled against your skull. You drop back to your knees in front of him, mouth open and glistening with saliva as he feeds you his cock. He starts slow, pistoning his hips gently, only speeding up and deepening his thrusts when you cradle his balls with your hands. Soon he’s fucking your mouth in earnest. A burn sets into your jaw at the strain, but you don’t even notice, consumed by Jake and your growing arousal.

“Baby …… sweetheart…… gonna come,” he’s grunting, the words barely clear. “Can I come in your mouth?” He’s still trying to be courteous, asking you for permission like that. Your only response is to suckle rougher at the mushroom tip of his cock. With a choked-off moan, he’s coming down your throat, cock twitching with the force of his release. His eyes are heavy-lidded as he slowly pulls his still-hard length from your mouth and drags you into a kiss. He doesn’t mind the taste of his cum still on your tongue if the moan that rumbles through his chest is proof.

“Jake,” your voice is rough, “I want you.” Your arms are wrapped around his neck, caressing the short hairs at the base of his neck as you breathe into his mouth, lips slanted against each other. His hands are pressed against your ass and across your back. You breathe in the scent of his cologne mixed with his musk as your heart rate slows, and you grow accustomed to feeling his skin against yours.

“Bed, sweetheart,” he murmurs, feathering one last kiss against your lips before tossing you onto the bed and covering your body with his. You let him take control, peppering your skin with wet hot kisses as he likes, tasting every inch as he goes. He lavishes more attention against your breasts, rolling a pebbled nipple with his calloused fingers while lapping at the other. Each caress sends heat shooting to your core. It seems both forever and too soon until he’s finally settled between your thighs, leaving the marks of his love across your skin, his broad shoulders holding your thighs apart as he gazes adoringly at your wet folds.

“Oh, you’re so beautiful, my gorgeous girl.” That damned Texan drawl is back in full force as he speaks, drawing a finger through your slick folds and flicking his tongue out to taste.

“And you taste so sweet.” You can’t respond when he’s dipped his head to lick a stripe over your folds. The sensations make you moan, grasping at his hair with one of your hands while clutching at his rock-hard forearm wrapped around your hips with the other. He sets upon eating you out like a man starved. His fingers dip into you, massaging your tight walls until he finds the spongy spot that makes you tug at his hair and see stars. The wet heat of his tongue as he traces figure eights over your clit doesn’t help either. He’s only been making you moan his name for a few minutes when you feel the coil in your gut tighten. You’re only moments from cumming, harder than you ever have.

“Jake … Jake … Jake!” You chant his name as you tug on his hair to get his attention. He pulls away from your weeping cunt with a wet kiss on your mound before sliding up to face you. His mouth and chin are coated in your arousal.

“What is it, sweets? Did something not make you feel good?” He’s still your gentleman, even buck-naked with his hard cock pressing against you. You tug him into a kiss, moaning at the taste of yourself on his tongue.

“No, Jay,” your voice is soft as you drape your arms around his neck. “Was gonna come. Wanted to give you a warning.” He presses his fingers back into your wet cunt, grinning at how you moan under him. You drag his mouth back to yours in a messy kiss that is all teeth, tongue, and saliva. He scissors his fingers in you, making you moan and arch your back until your hard nipples brush against his chest.

“Baby,” his voice is velvet soft as he fucks you mercilessly with his fingers. You’re writhing under him, hips chasing his hand as he pumps it in and out of you, “cum for me. My beautiful girlfriend. Wanna make you cum. Wanna see you cum.”

“Jake!” Your breathy moans fill the air as he draws your orgasm closer.

“Jake!” You’re screaming his name with each press of his fingers, rapidly crashing toward your orgasm. Your fingers dig into his shoulders as you come with a silent scream. He finger-fucks you through the entirety of your release, stopping only when you begin to push at the hand between your legs. He’s trying to kill you, is all you can think when he pulls his hand away and licks your slick from his fingers.

“Jay?”

He grins that panty-dropping heart-stopping grin when you call his name.

“Hiya, gorgeous. How do you feel? Are you hurting? Do you need anything?” He’s beside himself, trying to make sure you’re okay.

You chuckle, pressing a kiss against his jaw, “I’m fine, Jay. Better than. You could even say that I’m good. Very good.”

He’s chuckling, too, as he turns the both of you over until your head is pillowed against his chest. His hands trail lazy circles across your back as you feel sweat cool against your skin.

“Jay?” He asks once you’ve both caught your breath.

“Yeah,” you smile, pressing a kiss over his heart, “a nickname for you. I hope you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind at all, darlin’.” You can feel the rumble of his voice in his chest from your spot draped over him. He’s still hard against your thigh, and the feeling of his cock against your skin sends a low level of arousal shooting through you. You slide over him, straddling his waist and pushing his hands up, intertwining your fingers with his own.

“Now, what are you doing, sweetheart?”

You kiss the smirk off of his face and stroke his cock gently.

“Well, Cowboy, I was thinking of giving you a ride. You game?” Your smirk rivals his own as you sit perched against his chest. His big hands rest on your waist, thumbs rubbing circles on your skin.

“I guess I could oblige if a little lady wanted to go for a ride.” His voice is all southern charm as he looks up into your face. “Do you have a condom, baby doll? Cause I have a few in my wallet.”

You kiss him before finding his discarded slacks and pulling out his wallet and the condoms he mentioned. He’s posed alluringly amongst the mussed sheets of your bed when you turn back to the bed.

“Who’re you trying to charm, huh?” You ask Jake, leaving the condoms at the head of the bed as you try to get him onto his back again. He’s tickling you now, your laughter leaving you breathless as you try desperately to escape his fingers.

“Jake! I thought you promised me a ride, handsome?”

He finally lets you manhandle him onto his back with your fingers intertwined. Now, he’s eager to comply, especially when, as you reach for the condoms, it leaves your breasts against his face. Right in range for him to get his mouth on them. You let Jake mouth at your skin for a moment before pulling away, condoms in hand.

“Jay…” You carefully run your fingers through his hair, tipping his jaw to slant your mouth down to his. “Let me take control. Can I make you feel good? Please let me make you feel good?”

“Doll, you can do whatever you want with me. I promise I’ll like it all.” God, his voice sounds like pure sex — throaty and gorgeous. You kiss him just for those sweet words and rip a condom open. He groans as you carefully roll the condom down his flushed length. You slowly pump your hand over him twice more before guiding him into you. You’ve only got his tip in you, and he already makes you feel so full. He’s so thick!

“Take it slow, beautiful. We’ve got all the time in the world.” He’s massaging your hips again, big calloused hands tender on your skin. You kiss him until you can feel the stretch ease, glad you’re wetter than ever. Setting your hands on his stomach, you start bouncing on his cock. You’re slow, enjoying the drag of his length in you and the look on his face. He’s blushing, and you can see the blush going down his chest as you pick up the pace. You can already feel the pressure in your core, your second orgasm building faster and harder than the first. Jake’s got his head thrown back, babbling praises and how much he loves you as you tip forward and leave your own marks against his neck. You can feel sweat trickle down your neck and between your breasts as you bounce, your thighs tensing and aching with each subsequent thrust. Jake sits up and cradles you against his chest, kissing you first and then sharing breaths as he helps you bounce on his length. The last straw for you is when he uses his fingers to gather some of your mixed arousals at the base of his cock and rubs your clit. You cum hard, seeing stars, cunt clenching tight on his length. Only a few stuttering thrusts of his hips later, you feel him follow you over the cliff into his orgasm after you.

You return to yourself slowly. A warm washcloth runs over your skin and your tender core.

“Jake,” Your voice is hoarse. He brushes your sweat-damp hair out of your face before kissing you. He’s already wearing his boxers, which is a crying shame, even if your sexual appetite is fully sated.

“Doll, you are a vision.” His voice is gentle as he finishes wiping both of your mixed arousals from your skin. “How do you feel?”

“I’m a little sore.” You stretch before crawling into his lap and kissing his throat. He cradles you to his chest. “I like when you call me Doll, by the way.”

“Doll just seemed like the perfect thing to call you at the moment,” he’s grinning, loose and relaxed, “Especially with how you looked bouncing on my dick like that.” He kisses the crown of your head before continuing, “I took the liberty of drawing you a bath and can help you get into it.”

“Jay, you might have to carry me.” Your smile is rueful. “You fucked all the strength out of my legs. And I need a few moments in the bathroom alone. After, though, that bath sounds amazing, especially if you’ll join me?”

“I’ve got you, beautiful. You won’t get a UTI on my watch.”

He stands easily, shuffling you until you’re in a bridal carry in his arms. You peck his jaw as he carefully sets you down at the threshold of the bathroom door and closes the door, leaving just a crack.

“Call for me when you need me, doll.”

You feel as weak as a newborn colt as you carefully take care of business and tie your hair into a bun. The bathtub is full of a mountain of bubbles, steam rising from the hot water in waves. You can’t stifle your pleased gasp as you settle into the water, letting it soothe every muscle in your body. You can feel every limb grow heavy, and your eyes close.

“Hey, sweetheart, feel good?” Jake’s voice sounds amused, and so does his face when you force your eyes open. You must have been dozing in the hot water, but thankfully, it hasn’t been too long since the water is still hot.

“Sorry, Jay,” you murmur, yawning so hard your jaw cracks, “I guess I fell asleep.”

“It’s alright, doll. You still want me in there with you?”

He chuckles when you make grabby hands at him but complies, taking his boxers off and stepping into the tub behind you. His hands gently trace your thighs, stomach, and breasts, drawing you to sit comfortably against his chest. You tip your head back, eyes fluttering closed, and wrap your arms around the hand he has against your breast.

“Don’t fall asleep on me again, sweetheart!” Jake’s voice is a pleasant rumble against your skin as you lazily press a kiss against his jaw.

“Not sleeping. Just resting my eyes.” Your voice is whisper soft as he turns you so you’re slumped over his lap and against his chest.

“Doll, you gotta help me get us all cleaned up and in bed.” His voice is tender and cajoling as he kisses you. Your limbs feel heavy and sluggish, but you do your best to move for him. It’s obvious to you both that you won’t do more than paw clumsily at his chest in your sleepy haze. Jake takes matters into his own hands and wakes you up, though, when his fingers trail teasingly through your sensitive folds. He's grinning wickedly as you jolt in his arms at the sudden overstimulation.

"Jay!" Your voice is all petulant whine as you tug his hands away from your tender core. "I'm awake. I'm awake." He's unrepentant, pulling you flush until you are chest to chest. The both of you relax in the hot bath water, muscles loosening as time passes. The water's just getting cold when you peck his smirking lips and murmur, "Shall we take this to the shower instead?"

"Only if you promise you can stand on your own two feet for me, Baby Doll. Gotta get my messy girl all clean before bed."

Getting called 'his' sends a silly fond grin to your mouth as you pull the plug and carefully step out. You're setting the shower to your liking, hair in loose waves down your back when he steps in after you, the water hot as it beats a tattoo on your skin.

"God, sweetheart." His voice is quietly amused, "You're one of those crazy girls who like their shower hotter than the surface of the sun, aren't you?"

You shrug one shoulder in response and set to lathering yourself up with your favorite citrus body wash. A thick arm knocks your hands away, taking their place on your skin. Jake squeezes you close tenderly before turning the water temperature down and pushing you gently under the spray. He massages shampoo into your hair and soap over your skin; the pressure and feeling of his hands are perfect when combined with the warm water.

"I've got you, sweets." Jake presses a kiss against your shoulder before taking his turn under the spray while your conditioner soaks in. Now it’s your turn to touch, tracing the streams of water as they cascade over his muscular chest and rigid abs with your soap-covered hands. His eyes flutter closed as you shampoo his hair, blunt nails scratching at his scalp as he lifts you so you can reach. Jake kisses your sternum softly, but there is no heat or intention behind the caress. You're too lazy and sated for more than chaste kisses, loving words, and skin-to-skin contact as you rinse off. After you're clean, you stand in the stream of hot water, holding each other. Several long moments pass before you step out, exhaustion fogging every movement. Jake gently towels your skin and hair dry before helping you into a fresh pair of cotton panties. At your pout, he lifts you onto the counter so you can return the favor, drying his hair just as gently as he'd dried yours.

The atmosphere is syrupy sweet as the two of you weave around your bathroom like you've been doing it all your lives. It's a coordinated dance of smiles and gentle caresses as you fetch a toothbrush for Jake to use. He smiles tenderly at you, toothpaste staining the corner of his mouth as you stand side by side at the sink and brush your teeth. The quiet domesticity of the moment sinks like a sip of hot tea into your chest, warming every inch of you. He feels right in your house and life like he belongs with you. That belonging feeling intensifies when you flop gracelessly onto the clean sheets Jake had changed as you were dozing in the tub. They feel heavenly against your skin when Jake lies down next to you, manhandles you to curl into him, and draws the covers up to surround you. You fall asleep to the steady beat of his heart, dreams sweet, and thoughts sweeter.

Love is waking up in the morning to the smell of coffee and Fleetwood Mac drifting through the house. Love is wearing your boyfriend’s shirt and walking into the kitchen to see him singing and dancing to the music blaring from the speakers on the kitchen counter in his boxers, bedhead on full display, using a spatula as a microphone while breakfast sizzles on the stove. Love is the sound of his voice, deep and smooth in the morning when you've both just woken up. Love is the grin on his face as he hands you a mug of coffee prepared just how you like. Love is kissing him in thanks and again because you want to.

It’s in how he has breakfast ready for you moments after you walk downstairs. It’s in how he feeds you all the blueberries on his plate because they’re your favorite fruit. It’s in the slow kisses you share that taste of sweet maple syrup, smokey bacon, and dark, rich coffee. It’s how you sit with your legs sprawled over his lap, chatting at the kitchen table long after all the food is gone. But above all, love for you is Jake Seresin on a Sunday morning in the fall when he’s golden in the weak sunshine and golden in your heart.

I DO NOT CONSENT TO HAVE MY WORK POSTED, TRANSLATED, OR PUBLISHED ON ANY SITES OTHER THAN HERE OR ON AO3 BY ME. IF YOU SEE MY WORKS ANYWHERE OTHER THAN HERE OR AO3, THEN THEY HAVE BEEN POSTED WITHOUT MY PERMISSION AND I WILL BE WORKING TO TAKE THEM DOWN.

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alltheirdamn · 5 months

Text

A Bounty for Reward (Mando x f!reader)

CHAPTER 7

Summary: Sometimes, the past comes back to haunt us. Warnings: so much fucking angst it HURTS, rough sex (bordering on hate sex??), edging, orgasm denial, jealous f!reader, language, mentions of past trauma, mentions of past SA Word Count: 6k A/N: Listen, I love a good, vulnerable moment. Mix it with some rough sex & a mad sprinkling of angst, and I am a happy girl.

Sorgan was the last place Mando wanted to be; he would rather be in any other place in the galaxy. He knew, though, that if they wished for quiet safety, this would need to be their home until Bo Katan was ready to attack Oba Diah.

Mando wanted to remain in the deeper parts of the forested planet, but he was reminded that the carbonite chamber was running on borrowed time. He had checked on the valve a few times during their flight, only to realize her brief solution of the problem wasn’t withstanding time. She had told him they needed to buy a new part, and he acquiesced, flying the Crest into the village that hid all his ghosts.

They hadn’t spoken much since Trask, leaving one another to their usual routine. Occasionally, Mando left the cockpit to check on her. She spent most of the travel either curled up in the bed or sorting through the tools around the hull. He had thought of a million different things to say to her, yet not a single thing managed its way out. Everything inside of him ached to be near her. He wanted to see the familiar furrow in her brow or hear the sharpness in her words. Even if she was angry, at least she was regarding him in some way. He would take anything she gave him because he was a desperate man, and she was slowly painting over every thought in his mind.

Mando’s throat constricted as he landed the Crest near the village, the outline of the huts coming into view. It had been nearly ten years since he stepped foot in this village—ten years since he saw her. Omera. The one woman who almost broke his loyalty to the Creed. Sorgan was once a sanctuary for him, but now it left an ashen taste on his tongue.

“Will the village have what we need?” She asked, breaking his train of thought.

They had been working shoulder-to-shoulder on the valve for an hour, more or less to distract Mando from making the decision to walk into town. She was a salve on the wound, slowly reopening under the armor he wore. If he could just focus on her…then it wouldn’t hurt as bad.

He couldn’t form any response other than a simple huff of breath, letting the silence between them linger longer. She worked with deft hands on the valve, twisting it until the panel lit up again. The system would last a bit longer, but Mando? He didn’t know how long he would last without breaking from the inside out.

“All good?”

She gave him a soft nudge, her hair disheveled from running her hands through it in frustration. It still shocked him every time she stared at him with those big doe eyes, as if nothing else around them existed. That wound inside him started bleeding slowly, now filling his chest with unchecked emotions. If he barely escaped those emotions last time, how would he do it now?

“I’m fine,” he said, but it came out harsher than he wanted.

She flinched at his tone, her brows furrowing together. A question was on her tongue, dangling between them, but she collected herself with resolve and brushed past him. Mando’s eyes trailed her movements, watching her grab her vest off the bed and wrench it over her shirt. Even in the dim lights, he could see her composure slipping. They had agreed on trusting one another, but trusting her with his pain was something he could not do.

Not yet.

“Did I do something?” She snapped. She secured her blade to her thigh before sulking towards him, going toe to toe with a wild look in her eyes. Maker, her rage was intoxicating in the best way.

“No,” he exhaled. “Let’s just go and get this over with.”

Mando left no room for her to respond, turning to the ramp to let it lower down. This was it. This was facing the past.

Each step through the damp soil was another sharp pain inside him, shooting through his chest and daggering into his heart. The clouds overhead must have shown up to complement the storm brewing in his chest because they loomed heavy and dark in the sky. As they neared the village, she wrapped her fingers around his bicep, forcing him to halt his slow steps.

“What’s wrong, Mando? Really?”

“Nothing,” he sighed.

Her fingers squeezed the muscles in his arm, her eyes searching for his beneath the helmet. Even though she couldn’t see it, he diverted his eyes away, looking anywhere but at her sad eyes.

“Do you trust me?” She echoed the words he had said to her days ago.

“Yes.” He was all too quick to answer.

“Then tell me why you’re so on edge.”

Was it that obvious? Or was she just that good at reading him?

“I just don’t—.” He drew in a heavy breath. “I just don’t like being here.”

She loosened her grip on his arm, shifting to turn back toward the village. Mando followed her like his bones were tethered to her gravity, letting her shift his world on its axle. So long as he was with her, he felt okay. He could keep the past at bay with her beside him. At least he hoped as much.

The village was just as he remembered it: docile and mundane. Children ran through the streets in herds, shrieking with laughter as they chased one another. Mando veered around them, their tiny legs shuffling around the heavy boots on his feet. A young girl knocked into his leg, squeaking an apology in the wind as she danced away.

“You’d think with all that shiny metal, they’d be able to see you,” she huffed a laugh.

Mando bit back a chuckle, that sour taste filling his mouth again as they neared the village’s mechanic shop. They were greeted by a middle-aged man and his wife, both mulling over a pile of credits on the counter. Mando’s footsteps sent both their gazes flying upwards with a startled gasp.

“Oh!” The woman plastered on a welcoming smile. “How can we help you?”

“Freezer valve,” Mando grunted. He couldn’t even form a coherent sentence while he stood in the village. Pathetic.

“We’re in need of a new freezer valve,” a small voice beside him explained.

The woman gave a weary glance back at Mando, then turned her attention back to the girl beside him.

“We’ve got a few in stock,” the woman said. “Come take a look and see what would work best.”

“You go look,” Mando nudged her. “I’ll be outside.”

“I’ll need credits,” she grumbled. “Bounty, remember?”

Mando dug into his pilot suit, dropping a handful into her open palm. With one last concerned look, she turned and followed the woman through the shop.

He couldn’t escape faster, finding himself wandering aimlessly through the village. The townspeople eyed him cautiously, some nodding a simple hello as he paced, others shrinking back into their hut. He wasn’t there on a mission like he had been last time, and most villagers probably didn’t even remember what he had done for their village or planet.

Slipping away into the village cantina, Mando sulked alone at the bar's edge. The bartender tried to hide his unease as he continued to clean glasses, and Mando shifted his body toward the door to try to relieve some of that tension. The last thing he wanted was to draw more attention to himself—well, any more than usual.

After a few minutes, she walked through the entrance, freezer valve in hand, dropping the remaining credits on the bartop without a word. Mando’s helmet tilted, inviting her to speak up. With a roll of her eyes, she leaned against the bar, tapping her fingers quickly against the bar.

“Ready to leave?” She prompted.

“Do you want a drink?” Mando countered.

She smirked, flicking her eyes toward the bartender. “That your way of thanking me, Mando?”

“Something like that.”

She waved her hand at the bartender, ordering a drink with a grin—one he never got enough of. Guilt crept in slowly, overtaking his already worsening mood. As she sipped the drink, now in her hands, Mando wondered if letting her go would be something he could do. Freedom was beckoning her, and who was he to deny her what she deserved?

He watched as her cheeks slowly flushed from the alcohol coursing through her veins, reminding him of the way her body bled in rich colors of pink and red when he was deep inside her. Drowning that nagging dread in his body with sex wouldn’t solve his problems, but maybe it would satiate it, even only for a short moment. His hand roamed up her thigh, settling at her waist. He noticed the tension tighten the muscles in her body, reminding him that just a simple touch could either debilitate her or ignite her. He hoped for the latter.

“Finish your drink,” he growled, leaning into the warmth of her body.

Her breath hitched, and she obediently downed the last of the liquor in the glass. Mando’s gaze caught onto the wetness of her lips, and he groaned internally at the thought of them wrapped around his cock.

They needed to leave. Now.

With a firm hand on her back, Mando guided her out of the cantina and back toward the Crest. She gave him a quick glance over her shoulder, the look of desire amplified by the drink no doubt clouding her mind. He flexed his hand on her back, urging her to move quicker through the village. But as they neared the edge of the village, Mando caught a glimpse of dark hair and tanned skin, completely paralyzing him in place. She was blissfully unaware of his inability to move, her legs moving twice the speed towards the Crest. He wanted to call out and tell her to stop, but not a single syllable left his lips.

Omera was crouched before a young girl, engaged in a soft conversation. As if she felt his presence, Omera turned her head, catching him a heavy stare. Mando couldn’t breathe. She stood slowly, her grey dress falling past her knees. The young girl beside her widened her eyes as she followed Omera’s direction of vision. Before he could escape, she walked toward him, her mouth set in a soft smile.

“You’re back,” Omera smiled.

Mando swallowed thickly, only responding with a simple nod.

“For how long?” She asked.

As he was about to answer, the young girl ran up and clung to the fabric of Omera’s dress. He noticed the similarities in their features, and something inside him died.

“This is Winta,” Omera spoke slowly, testing the waters. “My daughter.”

The wound inside him gushed open, bleeding out and seeping through the cracks of his armor. Mando reeled in any emotion that threatened his composure, his helmet glancing from Winta to Omera. He cleared his throat, saying hello in a hollow voice.

“I never thought you’d be back,” Omera said. Though her expression was soft, sadness was swimming in her dark eyes.

“I—” Mando stuttered over his words. “I wasn’t planning on it.”

Her face fell, crestfallen.

“Another mission?”

“No.”

“Well, I hope you stay a while. I’ve missed you.”

Mando clenched his jaw, biting back words of anger. She missed him? She nearly broke him the last time he was here. The hole she had burrowed within him had threatened everything he had sworn to protect: his creed, his Clan, his loyalty. Now, she stood before him, shamelessly reminding him of the mistakes he almost made.

“I’ve never seen a Mandalorian before,” Winta marveled, stepping out of her mother’s shadow.

Omera crouched beside her, running soft fingers through the waves of brown hair that framed Winta’s face. Looking up at Mando, she gave him another soft smile enough to churn his stomach. What once was a smile he couldn’t stop dreaming of was now something he couldn’t bear to look at longer than a moment.

“He saved our village,” Omera explained. “Many, many years ago. Before you were born.”

“Wow!” Winta exclaimed, eyes growing into saucers.

“I’m sure he’d love to tell you about it,” Omera nuzzled her face into Winta’s shoulder, eliciting a small giggle from the young girl. “Why don’t you meet us for dinner, Mando?”

“Sorry,” Mando faltered. “I can’t.”

Mando couldn’t stand it any longer. He said a soft goodbye to Omera and Winta, rushing to the Crest. Each step away from Omera was another stab at his heart, too reminiscent of the last time he saw her, and the closer he got to the ship, the closer he was to falling apart. Once his foot hit the edge of the ramp, he was nearly running into the hull, quick to close out the world that suffocated him.

“Who was that?”

Mando whipped his head around to see that familiar figure looming in the shadows of the hull. She emerged slowly, her lips curled up in a scowl. Even drenched in darkness, he knew there was a fire lit behind her eyes.

“Don’t,” he warned.

“No,” she argued, stomping toward him. “Tell me.”

Mando growled her name, taking a step back. He didn’t trust himself not to come undone entirely if she pushed him any further. But he knew better; he knew she wouldn’t relent.

“If she’s someone special—” she spat the words, hardly getting them out before Mando shoved her against the metal wall.

“She’s not!” He raged.

“It didn’t fucking look like it!” She yelled, her face an inch away from his visor.

“Leave it. Now.” The slice of his words were deadly.

But he knew better.

She wouldn’t let it go.

“Should I go ask her myself?” She threatened, her chest brushing against his. He was on the cusp of snapping and dragging her down with him.

“Omera is none of your business.”

She looked at him incredulously, her lips turned up into a snarl. Mando caught onto her movements, catching her wrist before the blade hit his cowl-covered throat. She kept the edge steady against him, knuckles turning white on the handle.

“You want my business to be yours, but I can’t know a damn thing about yours?” Her voice rattled around the empty ship, bouncing off the walls and reverberating through his helmet.

She pressed the blade further into his cowl, despite his grip on her wrist, another threat dangling on her tongue.

Mando couldn’t stand it any longer. His other hand shot up, knocking the blade loose and letting it clatter onto the floor. Pinning her wrists against her chest, Mando pushed her further into the wall.

“I swear to the Maker,” Mando hissed.

“What’re you going to do, Mando?” She threatened.

All Mando wanted to do right now was fuck her until she couldn’t walk, fuck her until every memory of Omera was erased from his mind. Spinning her around, he pinned her to the wall, holding her wrists above her head. Her body writhed against his, not in protest but in need. She gave into his desperation, needing as much of this release as he did. If fucking out their anger made it better, then Mando would give in to that burning desire.

With one hand enclosing her wrists, Mando used the other to strip her pants down, barely letting them hit the top of her knees before he freed his cock and buried it inside her. Fuck, she was drenched and fluttering around him, crying out when he hit that sweet spot inside her. Mando drove into her harder, a cry erupting from her mouth, ragged and uninhibited. He was starved for those noises, spurring him on with each rough thrust into her. Her cunt clenched hard around his cock, and Mando wound an arm around her stomach to leverage his strength as he pistoned into her.

“Fuck!” She mewled, nails scraping at the wall under his grasp.

In this position, she could do nothing but surrender to his dominance, taking everything he gave her.

Mando was relentless with each snap of his hips, her whines echoing around them. He kept his pace aggressive until he could feel her body seize up with an oncoming orgasm. He was desperate for it, feeding into the way her body responded to him, and with a final deep thrust, she let out a wracked cry and squeezed around his cock tight.

“Get… off… me…” she panted through the shudders coursing through her body.

Mando felt her words like a punch to the stomach, his mind reeling with an onslaught of guilt. Had he hurt her? Was everything wrong with what he did?

But before he could even process the emotions swirling inside him, she yanked her pants back up her body and turned to him with a wild look in her eyes.

Dropping to her knees in front of him, she grabbed his cock and stared up at him with rage behind her eyes.

“What—?” Mando could barely form a word.

“Shut the fuck up.”

Her mouth wrapped around the head of his cock before he could object or reason with her, shooting shocks up through his nerves. The groan he let out was embarrassingly loud, but maker, her mouth felt so fucking good. She took him deeper, letting her tongue draw against the underside of cock. Her eyes never left his helmet, watching with rapt desire as she hollowed her cheeks.

Mando was right at the cusp of release, clenching his fists to refrain from grabbing her hair and fucking her throat. He could feel the muscles in his body coil up, his balls tightening for release… and she stopped.

She pulled his cock from her mouth, a string of saliva falling from it, and looked at him with the most intense expression.

“That is for lying to me,” she hissed. “I know she means something to you, Mando and your distrust in me isn’t fair.”

Her hand started to work him slowly, that oncoming urge to explode coursing through Mando at an alarming rate. Right at the cusp of it, she pulled her hand away, granting him a satisfied grin as she denied him for a second time.

Mando fisted her hair, forcing her neck to crane further back as he leaned his helmet close. The rage overpowered him, his vision turning red around the edges. She was so fucking wrong about everything. Omera wasn’t special. Not anymore, at least.

She was special.

“She means nothing to me. Not like you do.”

Mando’s voice was stern and uninviting to any more arguing. “You’re a pain in my ass, and I am so fucking addicted to you. I can’t—I can’t think straight around you.”

She licked her lips, a retort just a breath away, but Mando continued.

“How much more do I have to prove to you how special you are to me?” He was practically begging.

“Maybe be fucking honest.”

His fingers gripped at the hair at the base of her neck, and her face twisted up in pain.

“Honesty goes both ways, angel.”

“I’m not a fucking angel.”

“You are to me.”

Her mouth gaped open, finally at an impasse on what to say or do. Mando’s body was radiating with a deep, consuming need to claim her, to prove everything he said. He’d explain it all to her. He’d bear all his emotions to her so long as she understood the severity of her presence in his life. He still couldn’t understand why she meant this much to him, why he was allowing his heart to attach itself again to someone. She was nothing like Omera; she was strong and thick-skinned. She had been through hell and back, as much as he could imagine, and she reminded him so much of himself. He wanted to show her that the world could be kind and forgiving. That he could be that for her if she let him.

“Swear to me you’ll be honest,” she begged.

“On my life,” he breathed.

And her mouth was back on him, enraptured and desperate to make him cum. As much as he wanted to bathe in the luxury of the warmth of her mouth, he wouldn’t fucking last. It barely took thirty seconds, and he was coating her tongue with his release. Mando’s body slumped, the weight and tension slipping off his shoulders as he let the wave of his orgasm pass through and returned to the present with a clear mind.

Her fingers worked his cock back into his flight suit, zipping it up slowly and rocking back onto her heels.

Mando slid a crate behind him, slowly sitting, and studied her intently before speaking. Honesty. He could give her that.

“I was here on a mission ten years ago when I met Omera,” he began. “It hadn’t intended to be an extended stay, but the pirates that raided and attacked their village were brutal. I had someone from Nevarro helping me, but we two weren’t enough. Omera was kind enough to open her home to me, allowing me to stay and rest when I needed it. We grew… close. She was quiet amidst the chaos around here.

When the mission was done, I had plans to leave and return to Nevarro to continue hunting for the Guild. Despite how close we had gotten, I had no intentions of staying, but I promised her I would return when I could. After a few months, I did. I considered settling down and living an easier life with much less danger and killing. When I returned, she was with another man from the village.”

Her eyes softened as he talked, misted over with tears that went unshed.

“She broke your heart,” she sighed.

“She has a daughter now. I met her before I came back here to you.”

She reached out to hold his hand, squeezing her fingers around his. “I’m so sorry, Mando.”

“I swore I would never get attached again. I was so close to abandoning my Creed.”

“Why would you come here if you knew what was waiting?”

Mando raised his free hand to cup her face, smoothing lines over her cheekbone.

“Your safety matters more than the past,” he said.

The tears streamed freely over her cheeks, dampening his gloves and turning her eyes red under the dim lights. Seeing her hurt for him unraveled a new string of emotions winding around that gaping wound inside him.

“What did she say back there to you?” She asked, sniffling.

“She invited me to join her and her daughter for dinner,” Mando noted, not telling her that Omera had said she missed him.

“Is that something you want?” She could barely get the words out.

Mando knew the situation wasn’t settling well with her and that the thought of him with Omera might be something she opposed. Truthfully, he didn’t want to see Omera. Today exhausted him despite the lack of hunting or chaos, and his entire body ached with fatigue and simmering frustration. He didn’t know how to act around Omera or how to face her.

“No.”

“You could get the closure you need,” she insisted.

She was trying to be understanding and attentive to Mando’s feelings. He didn’t deserve her.

“I’ll think about it.”

She nodded, gingerly moving to stand. Mando noted the way her thighs quaked still, the ripple of her muscles apparent under her pants. He had been so rough with her, taking what he wanted without a second thought. But she had taken what she wanted just as quickly. There was a symmetry between them, a stark reminder that their pasts had jaded who they had become. Maybe she could do the same if he could open up in this way with her. He could help her navigate her past and tear through the walls she built.

“You fucked the shit outta me, Mando,” she chuckled, a slight change in her gait as she walked towards the refresher. “Gonna feel you for days.”

Fuck. Mando had to focus on not getting hard again, but the thought of her body aching from him had his cock straining against his pants. Even after such a moment of vulnerability, she found a way to lighten the mood and change the course of their conversation. He was more than grateful for it. He welcomed the distraction.

The refresher door slid close behind her, a trail of silence left in its wake. Mando’s helmet fell into his hands as he drew in a ragged breath. He swore he would never get attached again, but it was proving to be so much harder this time around.

You had spent far longer than intended in the refresher, slumped against the tiles as the water poured over you. You weren’t angry at Mando, not anymore, at least. When you saw him with Omera, something fractured inside you, splintering into a million pieces. You couldn’t explain it. Mando wasn’t yours; no clear lines were drawn in the sand to prove he was. He was caring for you, keeping you safe, occasionally fucking you senseless. You were trying so hard not to attach yourself and focus on the freedom and future you had so desperately worked for. You stole for your freedom, risking your life until you made it on that passage to Coruscant. Nothing was going to stand in the way of going back. Yet, Mando always found a way to invade your thoughts and crush those hopes. You had found a comfortable place beside him the last few weeks, settling into a rhythm that made sense. There was silence. There was understanding. There was protection.

How could you leave it?

Mando’s honesty and vulnerability shocked you. You had asked for the truth, and he gave it tenfold. You ached for the person he had been ten years ago and the heartbreak he had endured. You had been involved with someone in your teen years back in Mos Eisley, Tylo. He was an apprentice to your father, always lurking around the junkyard, stealing glances at you and making small talk. Within a standard year, you both became infatuated with each other, sneaking away into the desert at night and fucking until the suns peaked over the dunes. But he left. Like everyone did. He had made enough money from your father to buy passage to Coruscant and never returned. Maybe that’s why you chose the planet when you ran away, hoping to rekindle that connection. But you never sought him out. You were broken beyond comparison, and the thought of letting someone close to you again filled you with so much fear.

Everyone you loved had died or left you.

You’d be damned if you let that happen again.

If Mando were the binary suns, you were the sand in the dunes burning in his wake.

No matter how desperately you clung to his every move and word, you couldn't allow it.

It took you some time before you left the refresher, piecing yourself back together on tender legs. You shoved down the emotions curling in your stomach, swallowing the words you wanted to share. You wanted to come clean to Mando and tell him everything. He deserved as much. But that meant you’d have to let the ghosts of your past wander through your mind, and you weren’t strong enough to fight them off. Not even Mando could fight them off. It was a battle you had to endure alone.

Returning to the cargo hold, you found it empty. Mando had laid your knife on the bed beside a folded blanket, and you wrapped yourself in its warmth. You climbed up to the cockpit on shaky legs, finding Mando hunched over the nav panel with twisted wires between his hands. Whenever things were strained at home, you turned to fixing things. Mando wasn’t much different.

“Need help?” You piped up, making your way to the passenger seat beside him.

With the blanket still folded around you, you analyzed the spectacle in front of Mando, seeing a slew of problems in his wiring. He had a toolbox propped up on the flight panel, a litter of tools scattered around him. His helmet turned to the side to acknowledge you, only for him to resume the task without a word.

“I used to do this, too,” you admitted. “Back home in the junkyard. Whenever we had run-ins with bad traders, or if it was just a bad day, I would tear apart speeders just to put them back together again.”

“Did it help?” He asked as deft fingers untangled two wires.

You settled into the seat, watching as the sun faded behind the tall trees of the planet.

“Sometimes. Is it helping you?”

Mando laid down his tools, reclining in the seat to enjoy the view with you. You tilted your head towards him, watching the colors of the sunset reflect off his armor. Maker, you wished you could see what he looked like underneath. There was no doubt in your mind he was beautiful, rugged as his exterior, and seemingly soft. It was the first time the thought even drifted through your mind. You hadn’t dwelled on the idea of the man beneath the layers, but the more of himself that he gave to you, the greedier you became. You wanted more, and you knew it was wrong.

“I don’t think I’ll meet Omera for dinner,” he said, startling you from your thoughts. “She’s moved on now. She has a daughter. There’s no sense in digging up the past when she’s already moved forward with her life.”

“Are you sure?”

His helmet rolled toward you, trapping you in a silent stare that you were becoming all too familiar with. Once, it had scared you, but now you craved the faceless stare of the person you had grown accustomed to. You enjoyed that he regarded you even in the simplest ways.

“I’d rather be here,” he exhaled. “Once I put the nav back together, I’ll fly us somewhere more secluded. I can train you some more if you’d like.”

“With weapons?” You teased, a grin tugging at the corners of your mouth.

“With weapons,” he agreed.

You hummed quietly to yourself, your eyes fading shut as you listened to the sounds of the ships around you. Faintly, you could hear Mando resume his work on the panel, though his movements were quiet enough not to disturb you. You welcomed sleep and let your mind drift away.

Hands were all over you, touching your skin in colors of black and blue. Every one of your senses was muffled, your eyes refusing to open, your ears deaf to any sound. Someone was pinning down your body with a heaviness so great your bones felt like they could crack. Not even your hands functioned to fight back. They were on you, all over you, inside you. Something wet pressed against your mouth, feeding poison into your body until you went numb. Nothing felt real, yet everything was so consuming you had no choice but to give in to the reality that you were trapped within.

This was your life.

This is what you deserve.

Because you failed. You failed your parents. You failed yourself.

You opened your mouth to scream, to cry, to say anything, but you were paralyzed in an endless cycle of abuse. No one cared. You heard nothing yet felt that heaviness above you quake with laughter. You knew it was laughter in the way they shook, the way their body rattled against yours. But you were so tired. You had no fight left to give.

All you could do was lay immobilized and stripped apart for everyone to use.

“Angel.”

The word traveled through the stream of memories, slicing into them like a blade through a tree. Each syllable came down with a heavy force, knocking down the barriers of that paralysis that entrapped you. It took an exhausting effort to crack open your eyes and settle on the outline of Mando leaning over you.

“I’m—I’m okay,” you choked, the rush of air to your lungs happening all too quickly.

Your muscles contracted and flexed inside your arms and legs, and you unraveled yourself from the cocoon you had burrowed into against the seat. It happened again. The nightmares had crippled you beyond amends, leaving you vulnerable and raw as you fully regained consciousness.

Mando’s hand reached to touch you, but instinct forced your body to flinch away. He retracted it just as fast, letting it close into a fist at his side. Through bleary eyes, you tried to hold onto the grasp of reality and remind yourself where you were.

You were in the Crest, with Mando, on Sorgan.

You were safe.

“How bad?” You winced. How bad was it this time?

“I couldn’t get you to wake up.” His voice was agonized. “Scared the fucking shit outta me.”

“I’m sorry,” you muttered, squeezing the blanket tighter around your shoulders.

The day had seemingly disappeared behind the curtain of nightfall, his silhouette cloaked in a spattering of stars that twinkled in the windshield. Mando was here. You were safe.

“You were screaming,” Mando explained.

“It happens sometimes,” you whispered. You swallowed a lump in your throat, trying to force those memories behind a metal door in your mind. Why was it when you were at your most vulnerable that they escaped and ran wild?

“Talk to me,” he begged. “Help me understand.”

You shook your head, too afraid of what would happen if you did tell him. You couldn’t control the memories that tortured you when you slept; how would being awake be any different?

“I can’t,” you said, the tears welling up again.

Maker, you cried so much lately. You weren’t as tough as you used to be.

“Whatever happened to you, whatever Kesi has done… I swear to the Maker that he will suffer in his death,” Mando promised. “No one will ever hurt you again.”

You stifled the sob, begging to escape, choosing to instead fall into his weight and wrap your arms around his torso. He pulled you tight against his body, his hands rubbing your back slowly. Just being in his embrace made the pain inside you subside; it waned back into the corner of your mind you kept it hidden within.

“I just want to be free, Mando,” you whimpered. “From all of it.”

“I know, angel,” he crooned into your ear. “I promise to give you that.”

Against his chest, you let the cries erupt from you, saturating his armor and wetting your cheeks. You don’t know how long he held you, but as the crying subsided, you couldn’t find the strength to pull away. Mando guided you to your feet, walking you down the ladder as you leaned your weight into him. As if you weighed nothing, he lifted you into his arms, cradling your neck on one arm while the other stabilized your legs. Lying you onto the bed, Mando took a moment to let you curl into a ball, watching silently as you pulled the blanket above your head. The cot beneath you dipped, and only then did you realize he was joining you. It was a tight squeeze for both of you, especially with him fully armored, but you basked in the warmth of his body as it wrapped around you.

You fought off the urge to sleep, too scared to revisit the past that awaited you behind tired eyes. Instead, you focused on the rise and fall of his chest, listening to the hum of the cargo hold as it floated through the silence. Mando didn’t speak but didn’t have to—he was there.

And that proved to be enough.

#mando x reader #mando x f!reader #the mandalorian #din djarin #din djarin x reader #mando #fluff and angst #so much fucking angst it HURTS

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smolvenger · 10 months

Text

A Court of Mischief and Purpose Chapter Five (Loki x fem! Reader, Hiddlesverse A Court of Thorns and Roses AU)

Chapter Summary: As you get to know the different variants of Loki, his purpose of uniting them is revealed. There is a crucial threat to your worlds...and you make a decision regarding Will.

Chapter Warnings: Discussions of cheating, and violence. Odin being Odin (tm). Some angst and some fluff/comfort.

Chapter Word Count: 6K

A03//My Ko-Fi//My Etsy Shop//Masterlist//Wattpad

Taglist: @evelyn-kingsley @jennyggggrrr @five-miles-over @fictive-sl0th @ladycamillewrites @villainousshakespeare @holdmytesseract @eleniblue @twhxhck @lokisgoodgirl @lovelysizzlingbluebird @raqnarokr @holymultiplefandomsbatman @michelleleewise @wolfsmom1 @cheekyscamp @mochie85 @muddyorbsblr

Chapter One//Chapter Two//Chapter Three//Chapter Four

“Now, to our purpose!” Loki announced.

The last servant passed by the food. For breakfast, you learned that Norse Gods enjoyed foods similar to your own- only very hot and hearty. Eggs and thick slices of bread and butter. Not like the overcooked burnt bits your mother tended to make. You began to enjoy some. Though one servant did bring some coffee, especially for you. You smiled up at her and then she bowed and left.

Robert turned his head watching the door close. Then he turned back.

“Are the rumors…true?” Loki asked.

Robert sighed, “Only one of us can confirm that. It’s not my job to snoop around.” He picked up a piece of bread and munched at it.

He turned to Jonathan. Jonathan crossed his arms. He let out a deep sigh, retaining his frown.

“Yes, it is true as far as I can tell. Grendel and his mother have made an alliance with the Dark Elves.”

You nearly dropped your cup as you were lifting to have a drink.

“Grendel?! That’s the same name as…do you mean from Beowolf?” you cut in.

Jonathan turned to you with a nod.

“One and the same!”

You leaned forward, your eyes widening to Loki.

“Are you telling me that Grendel is real?! And still alive?! I thought Beowolf killed him and his mother!” you cried.

“You actually believe that poem? Hm, you’re a bookish girl, aren’t you?” Robert commented.

“Well, my lady, Grendel, and his mother turned out to be real…I was as surprised as you,” Hal said. He picked up another orange and began to peel it with his dagger.

Loki gave a wide smile and leaned toward you.

“I’ll be the one to explain, my dear. Long ago, Beowolf lost to Grendel in a fight. Beowulf fled with his tail between his legs and a few broken bones. He used his time recuperating from his injuries to write an entire poem about how he completely defeated Grendel easily. He spread it through his kingdom- so they all believed him! Why else would he write a whole, long poem boasting about how wonderful he is?”

Loki turned to Jonathan. He kept his fork and knife politely on the plate, cutting up his food and taking small bites. You could smell Hal’s orange as he set the discarded peel on the plate.

“In the taverns, those drinking and caroling sometimes mention Grendel. Only briefly. Most laugh and shrug it aside. But only a wise few are genuinely fearful. As they should be…”

Loki looked at all of them. The forks and knives stopped with the gravity of his voice.

“Grendel is a powerful being. Far more than the poem wrote. And far smarter. Gets it from his mother. Between the two of them, he’s determined to do what it takes to invade and rule all of us…and he is looking for ways to do it easily.”

“There is…another rumor…” Jonathan began. “But it’s something.”

Heads turned over.

“Well-what is it?” Robert pressed. He lifted his own drink and took a long sip.

Jonathan then set down his hands and folded them across the table. He looked seriously at every person there.

“They say there is a prophet…he resides in Jotenheim. He is one of the Frost Giants. But he has ancient knowledge. Of things that are, will be, and might be. I heard he might have…information. That Grendel has a weakness. Now- all that are rumors. But the prophet knows what it is. If we give him something, he will return the favor and tell us.”

“What sort of something?” Robert asked, arching an eyebrow.

“He accepts offers of food, of warmth.”

“Warmth? Ironic for a Frost Giant!” Loki commented.

You leaned forward. “But… and let's assume the worst-if Grendel has an alliance with these Dark Elves, whoever they are, I assume it means he has an army… How will any of you stand against an army?” you asked.

Loki tilted to you. He rested an elbow on the table and looked at you, resting his hand to rub on his chin.

“You are far from wrong. And do you think I would let these mortals near an army and ask them to defeat them all? No! We knew Grendel had a weak spot. If we located what it is and asked this prophet. That is our mission. To discover this weakness of his and take care of it. We get the weak spot, I doubt that the army will be behind him.

Loki turned to Jonathan.

“Do you have anything else to report from your spying?”

Robert Laing took out a cigarette. You could smell the smoke where he was. Hal then turned to Loki.

“I heard one thing. Now, I a spy? No! But I do hear that Odin plans on naming his heir. Perhaps going during the day of the ceremony will keep him distracted.” Loki froze. The corners of his lips twitched. He stared and blinked once. Then he frowned gently.

“That is…a good idea…I will be expected to go but…the rest of you may.

He swallowed. Something in his eyes dimmed - a sadness. Then he blinked rapidly and threw a hand up.

“Now, enough! Please, let us move on…where is Thomas?”

“Thomas? Yes- you mentioned another? Is he staying here too?” you asked.

In answer, in walked another gentleman. His clothes were not too far off from what men of your time wore. He looked a lot like Loki- an uncommonly handsome man with curly dark hair blue eyes and pale skin. In his arms were several contraptions.

“Please forgive the delay. A gear was spinning the wrong way!” he said.

He went over and sat down on the table. He flourished out a napkin and set it on his lap.

“Loki, we have been going and going…but if I’m going to find something to track him, I will need some magic to my devices, as you promised. I have been working at it all mo-”

His voice cut off. His eyes went to you. You gave him a smile and he gave a beautiful one back to you.

“Oh…we have a new guest?” he crooned.

Loki nodded.

“Thomas, this is the ever-charming Y/N- she hails from a small town in Essex. She’s another guest in the palace.” Loki introduced.

He nodded to you with his head, his eyes were so bright you felt something flutter inside you. He was a natural charmer.

“Why- Miss Y/L/N, the pleasure is mine. I am Sir Thomas Sharpe, esquire.”

“Sir?” you asked. “Are you a lord?”

“A baronet,” he answered.

“A Baronet! Then it should be mine! I am so honored- I never met a Baronet before!”

“Well, now you have, Miss Y/L/N,” he answered.

You curtsied excitedly and he smiled. You saw Loki frown at him. Something glimmering in his eyes. He began to fork at some eggs and eat. After he smiled, you turned to the baronet.

“What brings you to Loki?” you asked.

“I’m working on an invention for him. A contraption to find Grendel. He tends to hide a lot. I am sure that Loki’s magic could help. As well as anything to help with training,” Thomas explained.

You looked around.

“Training? For fighting?” you asked.

Loki nodded.

“It is a requirement of my little circle. We train to know how to fight. I do have my beloved daggers.”

With his magic, a dagger-long and sharp- appeared in his hand.

“But one must know how to wield them. Thomas and Robert must especially practice. Hal knows of battling with swords…”

Hal smirked.

“I was raised to be a warrior. Shrewsberry changed me.”

“And it is Jonathan who teaches sparring and the like. Far less elegant in my opinion. But it strengthens the body and gets the job done,” Loki added.

“You have…fought before, Mr. Pine?” you asked.

Jonathan sighed.

“Yes. I was a soldier. I’ve seen battles. Been part of many, in fact,” he replied calmly.

Robert tipped off the burning end of his cigarette.

“Just go to our time, Loki. Find a gun and just shoot Grendel!” he suggested.

Loki let out a laugh in spite of himself.

“If it was that easy, I would have done it! But Grendel has survived many years for a reason. I doubt a mortal bullet would scratch him.”

“I will say- training is an excellent workout. Far more exciting than any gym I’ve been to,” Robert replied.

You thought about it. You were…weak. You could see her again. See Cora again. Leaping about and running. Even with no bloody corset to prove how superior she was to the other women. But…strong. Getting dirty and going about in the muck and through forests and beaches. And was that why Will…lost interest in you? Betrayed you for a “stronger” woman? You felt a tear curl up on your face.

Robert turned his head.

“Y/N…are you alright?” he asked.

You wiped off the stray tear with your napkin and then asked on impulse.

“Could I join? Just for one?! I would like to train to fight too,’ you announced.

They all looked at you. You folded your hands back in your lap.

“I would like to train with you…to be…be strong. Please teach me how to fight like the rest of you!”

If you said such things back home, it would very, very, very likely be immediately shut down. You prepared for it. The verbal rejections. The rolling of eyes. Sighing. Even laughter.

There was nothing like that here. Loki then blinked and smiled.

“Oh…of course…if you would like to, you shall! I’m sure any help concerning Grendel would be appreciated, my dear.” Loki replied.

Your eyebrows shot up. Hal did squint a little, and then he relaxed. Jonathan was smiling and he nodded at you.

“Really? Do none of you have anything against women warriors?” you asked.

“No, not at all!” Jonathan assured you.

“There is one- Lady Sif! We must alert her- won’t she be thrilled! She fights alongside all of us!” Loki replied.

“Yes! Maybe…she could teach me too! We could use Thor’s help!” you suggested. You took a bite of a thick slice of bread.

But Loki shook his dark curls. His smile was melted. His jaw looked tight and his pale face turned slightly red. His voice came out as a slight snarl.

“No. Only as a last resort, I supposed. But you underestimate how much of a brute and dunce my brother is…”

You nearly choked out what you were eating.

“Thor a Brute?! Dunce?! Loki, you’re being very harsh on him!” you chided.

“Just wait and see-you will understand what he is really like!” Loki declared.

“Thor has been nothing but kind to me. What has he done to deserve these words?” you asked.

“You only just met him- I knew him all his life,” Loki argued.

“My fiancee is twice the brute Thor could ever be!” you impulsive declared.

There was such silence in the room one could hear a bug crawl. Robert tightened his lips. Jonathan ate his food quietly. Hal began rubbing a hand over his mouth as if hesitant to comment something. Then Loki relaxed.

“Well…we’re not here to discuss my brother…we’re here to discuss Grendel and replenish ourselves, let us move on, please.”

But Thor had been so kind, so friendly- A blonde Great Dane in human form. What would Loki have against him? But…wasn’t something about an heir mentioned earlier? Was that the great grudge Loki held against him? Yes, they were brothers. But sibling rivalry was always a thing. Thor never seemed to bully or belittle Loki. But that was only the few times you saw them interact.

Jonathan wiped his mouth with a napkin and then looked around.

“I hope all of you have enough to eat-we should resume training today right after breakfast…and Y/N, you will be with me. I’ll show you the basics of sparring,” he declared.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“So then! Let us begin!” Hal announced.

The training grounds were a courtyard. The sun shone warmly that day and there were leafy green trees fluttering in the wind. They provided ample shade. Loki and Hal were still in their normal clothes, though Jonathan’s look was far more casual. A simple shirt and pants that allowed movement (even if they did look a little odd to you). Thomas simply rolled up his sleeves. Then there was Robert’s outfit- a white shirt and very short pants. It was everything in you to hold yourself from staring at the exposure of his legs.

You were changed out of your normal dress into the athletic wear of your day. A shorter dark skirt that merely went a couple of inches above your ankles and a white shirt. You wore comfortable boots that would allow quick movement.

It began with warming up. You had to stretch and do jumping jacks. Robert grunted but did so easily. He had been doing this for a while. You were getting used to it. Robert could easily do several push-ups ups quickly. You could not. Your arms screamed as you tried to push yourself up and down from the ground.

Prince Hal went up to Robert, handing him the end of a practice sword. Loki stood by to observe them. Jonathan then went up to you.

“Would you like to know the basics of punching, Y/N?” he asked.

“Oh- yes, please! Please, Mr. Pine! I’ve…I’ve been weak all my life- but I’ll try!” you cried.

Jonathan shook his head.

“I don’t think you’re weak, Y/N,” he said.

“I’ve never…punched before….I bet it must be…”

“It’s not a matter of physical strength, it’s how you do it.,” Jonathan advised.

After he practiced a parry, Robert turned his head towards you two.

“Oh, Jonathan- we have to spar again! I will defeat you this time. Easily,” he bragged.

“Good luck,” Jonathan bit back.

In his distraction, the practice sword tapped his shoulder. Robert’s eyes turned big and he twirled around to Hal and Loki laughing at them. Jonathan rolled up his sleeves. He then went to you.

“Y/N, open your stance-like so,” he stood so his legs were a couple of inches apart. “Your dominant foot leads and the other goes to the back.

You did so. Just one little step. If you made them all little steps, it wouldn’t feel as bad.

“Now bend your knees a little-very good. Now make two fists. You put them to your face. If it’s quick-it’s a jab.”

Jonathan opened up his hand.

“Hit me very quick with your dominant hand-try it.”

Lightly as a tap, you tried a jab onto his hand. Jonathan smiled and nodded his head.

“Very nice! That’s one way to punch. Let me show you a way to defend yourself. Crough a little beneath your fists- it makes you a smaller target for them.”

You did as much as your corset would allow you. You couldn’t slouch, but you could bend your knees and lower your head with good posture. You peeked out at him from between.

“Now, throw twenty jabs with your leading hand, Y/N,” Jonathan instructed.

You punched his hand.

“Now harder,” he pressed.

You jabbed with more force. You felt the smack of skin against skin. You exhaled quickly and as quickly as you did.

“Now bounce between your feet…there…there you go-not punch my hand again- hard as you possibly can. ”

You thought of Will again. In your mind like a flash. The field. If their kiss was a picture printed on Pine’s hand. You punched harder. With such force, Jonathan took a few steps back.

“Excellent, Y/N he praised.

“I did good!?”

“Yes- see? You’re a natural,” Jonathan praised.

“A natural fighter?” you asked.

“I think you are-you just had to learn how. But it’s only your first day-it will take time, but if you want to, you’ll learn.”

You spent the two hours learning about about crossing. About hooks. He taught you combinations and you moved the punches with focus. It was a matter of repetition- doing it over and over again. But with the sun beating down and the demand of the exercise you sweated so much. You wanted to guzzle water. You wondered if you were going to pass out (again). The pain of your muscles being worked hard as you moved, begging you to stop.

But you pushed through and survived. More than survived- your body buzzed with life, with newfound soreness and strength. Though your hands were stinky and sweaty, tight from being in fists, you had done it. You had learned the basics of throwing a punch. You never felt so…powerful before. You couldn’t recall the last time you felt so.

Going back to your room. You saw that on the desk was the engagement ring. Still glittering. You merely sat in your chair to stare at it. Looking down at your sweaty hands, you noticed a mark on your finger from how often you wore it. It felt a little bit like your finger was naked. But here you were doing well without it. Could you have learned to punch with it on? No.

But there it was. Staring at you. Mocking you. You pushed it aside to see your beloved journal.

You had used it to write diary entries, but it was filled with so much more. You pressed flowers and photos and scraps of paper with recipes and doodles and memories-often happy ones. There was one photo on the first page that kept a special place in your heart. You and a few of the local women your age sitting on the beach for a picnic among friends. Everyone’s hair was swept by the wind and several of you kept a hand to keep your hats on. But everyone was smiling-big, genuine, happy smiles. Smiles such as the one caught when one was going to have a big, full-belly laugh. In the center was Stella, becoming as ever with her blonde braid draped to the side of her right shoulder and her bright eyes beaming full of life. It was the smile she made right before she was going to laugh. You had looked at the camera at the side and everyone had linked arms or shown off their plates of cake slices. The sand looked as light as snow and the sun was gentle that day. You put a hand over it to trace the edges and the inside, your fingers lightly touching down it as if to feel the happy memory on your skin.

You deliberately did not look at anything regarding Will. There was a page you had pressed the red rose he gave to you and a lock of his hair you both exchanged with each other when you got engaged. You gaped at it, your stomach dropping as you took it in along with his small photograph. Your eyes shot down to the white edges of the pages as if you could not have it in you to even look at him. You then forced the page to close to the next one.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You all were invited to dine with the royal couple the next day. You were thrilled. You never imagined being in the same room as Queen Victoria herself. Godhood was a different matter altogether.

Dressed in a dinner dress from your time in a rich blue with a bow on the breastline, you placed your napkin on your lap as you sat down. All of you all sat at that golden table. Pine was in his nice blue suit, Robert his grey one, and Hal in some dark satin with gold buttons. Everyone rose up to their seat as the royal family walked in. Odin was a man with long, white hair and a white beard. Frigga was always graceful, smiling, and comforting as always. Thor followed afterward, lumbering into his seat. Everyone took note and returned to their own. Servants filled goblets of wine and served large legs of chicken and more side dishes than you could count.

“How are you, lady Y/N? I heard you were here but I never saw you around. There was a rumor you were unwell, my dear-is it true?” Frigga asked, her voice soft with genuine concern.

“I have had…a recent difficulty…” you started.

Robert took a deep drink of his wine. Loki leaned forward, putting an elbow on the table and a hand over his lip. He watched you intently-willing himself not to speak.

“Oh dear- are you ready to speak of it or would you rather not?” Frigga asked, she leaned forward. The warm, full plate of her food was forgotten. Odin meanwhile immediately dug into his meat.

You nodded, bunching up the napkin on your lap like a handkerchief.

“I can speak about it... My betrothed was…he…uh, he betrayed me for another. I found their letters. Then saw them embrace.” you explained.

A hand flew to Frigga’s heart and her mouth formed a small O. Right as the words were about to get out of her, the AllFather cut in.

“Oh, slighted by a beloved?” Odin asked.

You swallowed back the impulse to yell at him.

Slight?! Slight?! Slight like it was nothing. Slight like you were overreacting. Slighting was when you looked at someone and they turned the other way. Slight was when someone said, “no, I do not feel the same about you.” Adultery was not slight. It was not little. If it was little, you would be over it by now. You knew that. Odin should know that!

But yet -this was this world’s king! You couldn’t chide him or rebel. Even if you were a guest, it would create bad tensions. And between a king and some mortal peasant woman, you knew who held the upper hand.

You turned your head down. But a clearing of a throat nearby you made you look up.

“If that is how you put it, Father-but Y/N darling deeply loved him. She still does. It was a betrayal, nevertheless,” Loki informed.

He shot you a look and a nod. An acknowledgment. An understanding.

“Oh, you poor dear! That must be very hard! No wonder the rumors flew!” Frigga sighed.

She reached over and offered her hand. You took it and she rubbed one over in comfort. You gave her a smile.

Thor nodded. He picked up a leg of chicken and knawed at it. Robert took another sip of his wine.

“Yes, he was full of faith. He just couldn’t be faithful.” Robert commented.

“Indeed, lady- that is a miserable situation- Have you considered meeting him on a battlefield and ramming a sword through his gut?” he asked with his deep voice.

You gave him a bigger smile that was met with a half chuckle. You saw Hal beam at the idea. But then you tensed up again as you answered.

“I’ve been tempted to!”

“Then by all means, Lady Y/N, do it!” Thor encouraged.

“It’s easier said than done,” Robert commented.

Thomas was cutting his meat with his knife and fork into bits. Suddenly he set down the fork with food on it. Jonathan watched intently, not saying a word.

“If I break the engagement…I will be considered…. Damaged. Embarrassed. Even unmarriageable…”

“Unmarriageable? Why?!” Thor cried.

Thomas leaned in and politely put in.

“It is true but… usually, Miss Y/L/N, it is more severe for the gentleman to break it than the lady. But yes-I can confirm. From our time, it can risk a lady's reputation.”

“It would mean…ruin…” you added.

Loki’s eyes gave an angry glint and his frown was hard at Thomas.

“Are you implying that Y/N is defective? Do you agree with them, Sir Sharpe? She has done nothing to be ashamed of!” he hissed.

Thomas shook his head, his eyes wide and losing his sudden grace.

“Oh! No! I’m so sorry! I’ve heard it…but…Miss Y/L/N…”

Thomas leaned closer to you.

“The advice given is to write a letter. A calm one. Send it to him. Return the gifts, no matter how expensive-especially if there is a ring. Was there?”

A lump was in your throat as you nodded.

“I…I’m so scared to…to…to do it,” you confessed.

A whole future you were so looking forward to. A man you loved. The promise of a peaceful life in a nice small town married to a handsome, faithful vicar. You still wanted it. But that was never to be. On top of the humiliation of a broken engagement, you knew you had to let go of wanting things to be an ideal instead of what it was. But holding onto it never made you feel any better. And the idea of going back home and walking down the aisle of that brown church and being brought to his brown house knowing what he did seemed impossible.

“My dear, you have good reason to….if you want to. It is your decision,” Frigga encouraged.

She looked at Odin and he nodded as if on cue before drinking his goblet.

“My worth, my future…will be gone…” you mumbled.

“For letting go of an engagement?! Of course, it won’t!” Robert added on. You turned to him.

He began to shrug. “Where I come from, there are hundreds of breakups like this-hundreds of divorces. They’re normal in the future.”

Loki made a gesture to the blonde man politely cutting his meat into strips.

“Better than being stuck with something miserable. Jonathan here is divorced! But he’s not some ruined good with no future- if his own life moved on, and so could yours!”

Jonathan nodded.

“It is true…but it doesn’t make it any less painful, Y/N,” he said.

Thor smiled and raised up a goblet to you.

“Warriors have scars on the battlefield. And this is just another battle for you, Y/N. But you will win it, no doubt..”

You gave all of them a smile. Then continue your meal. Odin turned to his elder son.

“Speaking of battles…I heard there was a duel between you and a warrior of Jotenheim- how did you do son?”

Thor curled his fingers into a fist with a proud grin.

“Crushed him, easily!” he boasted.

Odin applauded with a laugh. He reached a hand and touched his arm.

“There you go, there’s my boy!” But as you turned, Loki’s face drained of its color. He ate the rest of his meal in a hurry and then excused himself. Once it was finished, you found him on the balcony.

“Loki…you don’t like Thor…though he’s your brother and he’s kind to you…how come?” you asked. No matter beating around the bush.

You followed him over. You both were looking out the balcony onto the evening sky. The Asgard city sparkled in its lights before you. Loki turned around to you. His voice was quiet.

“Do you remember what Jonathan said at the meeting? About Thor?”

“Odin’s going to name Thor as his heir?” you recalled.

“Yes…Odin’s going to name Thor as his heir. Not me. Him. And you saw him at dinner-lauding over every little thing he does.”

He looked out. He began to mourn softly-the words fresh out of him. Losing the cool confidence he kept as a god.

“All of my life. I have been second to Thor. Thor the Great. The Mighty Thor. He’s always been Father’s clear favorite. He’s gotten everything to him on a silver platter. Me…not so much.”

You placed yourself closer to him. You saw his hands grip the railing. A small tear ran down his face despite his angry frown.

“Oh…dear, Loki-that is miserable…your father shouldn’t treat you like this…no father should,” you consoled.

“You only need to understand what it is to have Father’s favorite in front of your face paraded all of your life.”

You arched an eyebrow.

“Do you think I don’t understand what it is for someone I love to prefer another person over me?” you asked.

There was silence. Then Loki looked down. He then noticed your hands.

“They haven’t come off since the bargain…I wonder…how much do you know about the spell?” you questioned.

“I only know how to perform it and what it does. But as to the after effects…I’ll have to ask my mother. She is the one who taught me magic, after all.” he explained.

Both of you looked at the small marks across your skin. Then turning up, you met Loki. How relaxed he seemed here. No formal dinner. No swaggering display of power. Just…just himself.

“So…you keep Thor out of this quest…so you can get all the glory?” you asked.

He placed both of his hands on his hips and tilted his head a bit.

“Is there anything wrong with that?”

“No..it’s just…it’s a complicated scheme. Perhaps you should just sit down and tell your father how you feel?”

He turned to the balcony and looked at the city again. Down one could see people going in and out of places-joyful and smiling and laughing. As if a celebration was going on down there.

“I have other matters. Bigger ones. We have a threat to our planet. Our world. To Asgard And yours and the others. If we’re going to keep anyone we love safe, we have to go through. We began and we will see this to the end,” Loki answered.

You looked down, then back up.

“Alright..then count me in…” you said.

Loki turned to you.

“What…what do you mean?” he asked, tilting his head.

“Loki…what if I stayed here? Trained every day? Stayed here and helped you?”

“You…want to stay here? You have someone waiting back home to marry you…” Loki mumbled, blinking rapidly.

“If I go now…I will be pressured to marry him at once and I…I…I don’t want to…not after what he did…Loki…don’t send me back there and leave me there…I…I don’t want to marry Will. I want to stay here. Don’t send me back to Aldwinter, please.” Your voice became pleading.

He looked at you. His blue eyes became shiny, and then his posture relaxed.

“Then I won’t force you…you are free to come and go from here, but stay as long as you like. We’ll make it a second home…” he answered.

You stepped forward and hugged him. In honest gratitude. He nestled into you, nuzzling tight.

“Thank you…I wish Odin could see this side of you- the generous side…” you muttered.

“And your priest could see your bravery,” Loki replied.

You squeezed him tighter. As if you could squeeze out the air from him. But he took it. He held you. And he didn’t release until you were the one to let go.

“I’ll ask Jonathan to escort you back to your room.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You sat down at the desk the next morning. You put out a piece of paper and began writing. This first letter would be an easy one.

“Dearest Mama and Papa, I was never abducted. I am not Loki’s whore. I am safe and cared for in Asgard. I plan on staying there a while but I will stop down and visit you. I do not know when I will be returning, but they treat me like part of their family. There is something there that requires my assistance. I will write to you soon with more details- but I am very much alive and well and unharmed with all of my needs met. You have nothing to worry about with me. I will write to you as often as I can. And visit when time allows. All of my love, Your daughter, Y/N.”

You stared at the piece of paper. Your pen hung in the air. One piece of paper- and it would determine your fate. Your future. A whole future you had set up that you were now going to throw away… No…it was nothing you did to ruin it.

“Will,

I have written to my parents to say this, but I will tell you. I am in Asgard. I am safe there. All of my needs are being cared for. I am no one’s whore as some might say. I plan to stay there for some time…”

You paused. This was hard. It was very hard. But you knew it had to be done, tears brimming in your eyes. You recalled the evening you danced together at a party, not too long before he proposed. A happy memory made sad and bitter.

The letters. The tan coat. The red dress. Cora. The kiss.

It curled up in your stomach and made the inside of your bowels feel like it was full of fluids. And not in a pleasant way. The people in Aldwinter will chide you for this. But the people in Asgard… said you would still have worth.

No matter what I have worth. And I will survive this and move on, you thought. After all, it was not you who was ruined. It was not you who did any wrong, you had to remind yourself. And if this means I am ruined because I know what I want in my husband, so be it. With a deep breath to calm yourself, you continued writing.

“Our agreement was made when we were in love but we truly did not know each other. We did not understand marriage- neither of us. When I did not understand what it meant to be your wife. And you did not understand what it meant to be my husband. Now we do. You have hurt me. Deeply. And one day you will answer to your God for what you have done as much as you answered to me. May you be prepared. I remember Proverbs- “the man who commits adultery is an utter fool, for he destroys himself. He will be wounded and disgraced. His shame will never be erased.” William, I cannot marry an adulterous man. There are women out there perhaps more forgiving than I am. I hope you meet one. Be loyal to her forever. May she never suffer the cruelty you have done to me. May you be willing to die for her, be a mere slave at her feet. May she never be shattered at the expense of your pleasure. For this, I release you from our contract. You are free now. Do not ask me to marry you again, I will say no. Do not look for me in your blind congregation. Do not go out and seek me. Do not speak to me. Do not do anything for me. And do not beg me to be kind to her. She knew you were not free. And it did not stop her. She is as guilty, as selfish, as unkind as you. No wonder you both were drawn to each other. I release you, with a heart full of both love and grief for who we were and who we might have become. You may visit my house for I would like to have the gifts you gave me returned to you. You are no longer mine as I was never truly yours. Goodbye, Father Ransome.

Sincerely, Miss Y/L/N.”

You folded it and tucked it into an envelope. You turned to your journal. You took out the page with his flower, strand of hair and picture. You put a finger through it to feel it. Tears ran down your cheeks, but your determination steeled you forward. You placed them in the envelope. Then, finally, you placed in the engagement ring and sealed the envelope shut.

You then walked over and found Loki in the dining hall with Thomas. Thomas was looking at a small music box, fiddling with the gears.

“I need this letter delivered to my home- to Essex, to Aldwinter. First this one to my home, and then…then this one to the church…” you said.

Thomas stood up.

“I think I would be the most suited- I think your time is close to mine. I dress a decade early already.” he sighed.

He put on his top hat and cloak and Loki’s magic whisked him away and then back. Thomas merely took off his top hat and brushed off the dirt of the town.

“There! Delivered efficiently! Now, Y/N, Loki-come here- this little box can play a different tune than it had at first! Come have a look…”

That night, you slept. Free from your betrothal. Free from your home. Free from living with the judgment of others. Yet you had an odd dream. You saw the sea- it looked like the sea back home.

Then images began flashing. A boat. A boy with brown hair. Flowers in the water. Spools of thread in the water. Little bottles in the water. Shells in the water. Then a glimpse-you saw threads of blonde hair floating in the water…someone was in it…perhaps swimming…but you could not make out a face, a person, yet you felt a presence…you saw a white hand reach outstretched towards the surface, where the sun glimmered through the sea. Then it went down, down, down…

When you woke up, somehow, the dream stuck with you.

50 notes · View notes

vampyboys · 6 months

Text

Sonder (Ch 1-3)

Miguel O'Hara x Trans-Masc Reader (Boss & Employee Relationship)

__________________________________________

MASTERLIST🌿

Tags: Fluff, Slow-Burn (Maybe), Eventual Smut, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Soft Miguel, Boss/Employee Relationship, 2nd person POV

Word Count: 6k

Summary: You’ve been working at the Spider-Society for a year now as a Scientist to conduct technological improvements, experiments, and paperwork. Despite the high pay you’ve basically thrown your life away and work 72 hours a week.

Recently a small incident caused you to get closer to your boss, Miguel O’Hara whom you hate. Despite your feelings for him, you find that you’re oddly similar, both major workaholics who are attached to their work. Wanting to regain some of your life back you’ve decided to help each other and maybe fall in love with the process.

Aka,

Two Overworked Idiots who hate each other become friends with benefits then lovers at some point. *evil chipmunk laugh*

__________________________________________

CHAPTER 1

You've been working at the Spider Society for about a year now. Helping Spider people from different dimensions to fix these so-called anomalies which are fractures in some random universe fucking up its environment. You’re still shocked to this day wondering how you managed to even land this job. Constantly being surrounded by people who are far more knowledgeable about tech than you and they’re superhuman beings on top of that. Despite how cool that is, you are heavily overworked constantly working long hours past your shift. Spending countless hours revisioning experiments, devices, and oh god the endless paperwork on hundreds of anomalies that pass through each day. There are many days you want to quit but in this economy, living in Nueva York and with your degree this was the only thing offered to you that paid well. The realization of why it had a high pay started to dawn on you as you typed away the last remaining paragraphs of your report of a recent anomaly that landed this place.

Finally, pressing the remaining letters you’ve finished your report, stretching your arms letting out a relieved yawn celebrating being free from your paperwork. You open up a new window going to your email and send it to your boss, he’d reply with a quick email on revisions you need to make but lately, it’s been dead silent. You’re starting to wonder if he’s even getting your emails, there has to be some sort of malfunction on your end or his. The last thing you wanted was to hear constant complaints from your boss, so you needed to visit his office to make sure everything was going smoothly; realizing that made you click your tongue in annoyance. You were in such a good mood too, the thought of talking with your boss filled your body with dread, and streams of memories started pouring through your mind of the times he’d talk down to you.

Before your departure, you stretch once more before heading to his laboratory aka his office, if you could even call it that. Each time you visited him he always had some sort of new tech or experiment scattered around and keep in mind his lab was MASSIVE, almost the same size as a theater. To have a room filled to the brim with your creation is incredibly impressive but also concerning at the same time. You were immediately pulled out of your thoughts as some Spider-People would swing by greeting you with a quick hello dashing away to go do their missions.

Navigating the Spider-Society was a bit tough for someone without powers, unlike the rest of your co-workers. At times they’d offer to swing you to your destination but you stubbornly refused wanting to somehow find a way to get there by yourself, most of them were pretty successful attempts but there were certain days where you’d nearly fall to your death. Luckily, being constantly surrounded by superheroes of every dimension has its perks so death hasn’t happened yet...

After what seems like an eternity of a never-ending hallway with caged villains of a random dimension threatening to skin you, you’ve made it to his lab. Metal doors open as you get closer to it revealing Miguel O’Hara standing engrossed in his work with some videos playing on the side; assuming it’s footage from other universes keeping a constant eye on them. One in particular caught your eye, a video of him playing soccer with a girl who has similar features as he does. He immediately flicks the video away once he takes notice of your arrival and opens up a command to lower the platform he is standing on.

Miguel O’Hara was your universe’s Spider-Man and also your boss. You’ve only ever seen him in his mask until working here, he was surprisingly very handsome. His broad shoulders, tall figure, and if you were fortunate enough he’d turn to look at you with his dark brown eyes that would glow a reddish hue depending on his mood. Miguel had very sharp angular features, a strong jaw, high cheekbones, plush lips, and heavy eyebags from work. Yet, you hated him with every fiber of your being. At first, you admired him, duh, he’s Spider-Man for fucks sake! But the moment he opened his mouth, oh lord. He’d critique you on the smallest things, and yell at you for the littlest mistake, he was a hard man to please. Aside from that, he’s the person who assigns you piles of work having to constantly work overtime just to finish it promptly. Every moment with him was a battle not to strangle your boss to death even though he’d probably pin you down the moment you set your hands on him. Oh, and that stupid platform of his that he puts so unreasonably high up in the air taking years just for him to get down. Your co-workers would joke about how ‘it’s his way to look intimidating because he’s the big mean boss man’ and you’d giggle. When the platform got down to your level he hopped down looking down at you with a heated stare and his arms crossed.

“What do you want?” He asked, lifting his brows and tilting his head in curiosity.

“You haven’t been replying to my emails. I came here to check if you’ve received them.”

You chewed the insides of your cheek awaiting his response. Talking to this man was like Russian Roulette. On some days he’d reply in small nods, gestures, and a simple yes or no which was rare. On other days he argues with you yapping on about how you’re wasting his time and the state of the multiverse is at stake. But today, he goes to his holographic monitor to check his emails before turning to you,

“They’re here, I guess I’ve been too busy to check them.” He pauses, “Thanks for letting me know.”

“Of course,” you nodded, walking back to the entrance with the doors closing behind you. That was surprisingly the most nicest conversation you’ve had! You even pinched yourself to make sure you weren’t in some sort of lucid dream or one of the villains somehow polluted the air with some sort of hallucinogen on your way here. But it was all very much real! You hopped around throwing your fists up in the air grateful that your boss didn’t tear your entire ego to shreds.

Walking back to your office, you had a certain glow about you that made your co-workers turn. Normally you’d walk around like you’ve experienced all 7 layers of hell with a coffee in hand that’s probably your 5th cup of the day. It’s gotten so bad that people would often ask you if everything is okay, other than the endless work you’d have to deal with on a daily basis; genuinely deep down you were fine. But, your face conveyed the complete opposite looking like your childhood dog was killed in a tragic accident. So imagine their shock seeing you strut the walkways wearing the biggest grin they’ve ever seen in their life. They didn’t think it was possible, and neither did you. Of course, you still have some work to finish nevertheless a glimmer of hope twinkled in your chest that you might leave your shift on time.

____________

Shutting off your holographic computer you peeked at the clock hovering above the corner of your office showcasing the time, it was 9:03 PM! Not exactly at 9 PM like you wanted, but it’s still astonishing how you’ve managed to finish earlier than you normally would. With work finally behind you, it was time to celebrate for not only such a productive day but for finishing your work (almost) on time. A lightbulb goes off as you’re wondering of ways to celebrate, nothing hits better than going to a bar after a long day. It’s been a while since you last drank alcohol; it was perfect; exactly what you needed after everything. You quickly clean up your office, turn off the lights, and lock the door skipping out of the building to meet with a car awaiting your arrival to take you to your favorite bar.

Adalhard’s Hideaway was a bar hidden in an alleyway somewhere in Nueva York, it was a pretty small place where people like you would drown their sorrows away after a long day of being holed up at their job or just hanging out with friends. It was a pretty calm atmosphere, and that’s what you loved about it. Not only that the place had a vintage, industrial look about it. There were random animals and photographs of the owner all framed and dotted around the place with thick bronze pipes that allowed some sort of ventilation. It offered comfy couches, tables holding napkins, potted plants, and high seats.

You always opted to go hang around the bar not because it was easier to get drinks but because there was a small jukebox near it that would play relaxing jazz as you’d drink your margarita. This was truly the first time you’ve felt peace in a long time, you inhale and exhale the scent of strawberry exuding from your drink as you take another sip. As time went by, you tried as many fruity drinks as they could conjure until the bartender had to intervene telling you they couldn’t serve you any more drinks. The bartender takes the empty glass from your hands and goes to attend to the person sitting next to you. Everything was starting to get blurry, despite being disappointed you couldn’t indulge in any more sweet booze they were right; it was probably for the best anyway.

You lay your head against the bar top desperately needing something to rest your head against something, you happen to glance over to the person next to you who is quietly sipping their drink. They wore a simple grey sweater that covered his neck and the palms of his hands, you felt a little creepy adjusting your glasses that were close to falling off your nose just to have a closer look at this stranger. Even though your vision was a bit hazy from drinking a lot you recognized those swept-back brown waves anywhere, although it was a bit messier with strands of hair peeking out of his forehead the last time you saw him. You drunkenly lift your hand and point an accusing finger at him,

“Y-You! Why are you here?!” Miguel side-eyes you for a moment then goes back to drinking his tequila acting like he doesn’t know you.

“Hey! Miguel!” You continue to call out to him but nothing works. Some people start staring in your direction while Miguel looks at them like ‘Who is this crazy guy?’.

“Hey, I know you can hear me..” You furrowed at him starting to get annoyed. Frustrated, you began to stand up but the moment you did, you felt your stomach churn spewing all those drinks you had to the floor. It was an ugly sight leaving many people gasping and screaming in disgust. Before you can apologize for such an embarrassing scene, and for throwing up all over their carpet your vision starts to fade away. You couldn’t see or feel anything but all you could hear was muffled voices along with a loud ringing in your right ear that soon fades away.

____________

Suddenly light leaks through your eyelids, the sunlight kissing your cheek and urging you to wake up. You jerk awake doused in sweat with your heart palpitating out of your chest, while you scan your surroundings. This was not your apartment, it was a bit more modern and chic compared to yours which was filled with random objects you’ve taken a liking to, hanging lights, and plants galore.

“Have I been kidnapped?” You whispered to yourself, slowly breaking into a panic. Scanning around the area, you were placed in a king-sized bed covered with a grey soft blanket and wearing nothing but an oversized black shirt with your boxers. Everything that happened last night was a blur, you tried to recall everything but it was hard to focus with a throbbing headache that was wrenching your brain.

You thought of the only thing with the evidence laid out in front of you, gasping in the process. “Did I sleep with someone?!” Just as you say that, the bathroom door flies open, and through the steam is a shirtless Miguel O’Hara with grey sweatpants. The feeling of horror washes over you, now you REALLY fucked up! You begin throwing pillows at him as if he were the problem, knowing you were the one who decided to drink irresponsibly that night.

“Why are you throwing things at me?!” He asked confused, hiding behind the bathroom door shielding himself from the things being thrown at him.

“You pervert! How dare you!”

“Wait– it’s not what you think!” As much as you wanted to keep throwing objects at him, you ran out of things to launch at him.

He sighs sitting down across the other side of the bed, you lean back keeping your distance away from him. He sees that, and you watch his brows and lips twitch in response.

“I don’t know if you remember but after your little scene, you fainted.” Miguel stands up walking over to his closet pulling out a shirt and putting it on. Your eyes were glued onto him, as he went to get dressed you couldn’t help but gaze at the way his muscles flexed along with his movements, your face warmed up at the sight of it, you immediately shrugged off the feeling and then returned your focus to his face.

“Not only did you throw up everywhere, but I had to pay the bartender extra for YOUR behavior and clean up your shocking mess mind you.” You lean back against the headboard with your arms crossed avoiding eye contact with him as much as you can while Miguel does the complete opposite keeping his glowing red stare on you.

“I was kind enough to let you stay at my apartment and let you borrow MY clothes. What do I get in return?” Regret started to swallow your heart hole piecing together the events that happened last night.

“You throw MY things and completely trash MY room!” Miguel was pacing around with his hands around his waist trying to calm himself, watching him move back and forth. You felt like you needed to do something to repay for not only taking care of you but to apologize for your actions.

“Is there anything I can do to make up for it? I-I can clean the mess I’ve made.”

You get up from the bed quickly organizing all the things you’ve thrown at him and Miguel watches you frantically trying to clean up his room.

He rubs the creases between his brows, “Ay, dios mío, just.. Clean up your mess and get to work on time.”

You smile nodding your head in a fast pace not wanting to piss him off anymore, he leaves the room as his Spider-Suit started to form back in place.

Before departing he looks back at you, “I’ve left some painkillers and water on the counter. Don’t forget to take it before you leave.”

You watch him glide out of the balcony swinging back to the Spider-Society.

CHAPTER 2

That was the last time you’re ever drinking again, memories of last night would come pouring down replaying every single excruciating detail. The facial expression on Miguel’s face as you puked your guts out, the cartoonish gasp that would echo across the bar. You face plant into the your table with a loud thud, hoping these thoughts would somehow magically pop out of your head. Even the floral fumes radiating from your coat reminded you that he took the time to wash your clothes which were covered in puke. Imagining Miguel squeezing a bile soaked fabric makes your body curl in shame wanting to move to a far-away state, maybe Oregon? Fuck it, how about just moving to a whole different country.

You sigh, bringing your coffee cup to your lips taking a quick sip. Having to apologize to Miguel was your only option, besides you owe him after that shitshow in Adalhard’s Hideaway. As you scanned the cafe looking for something else to focus on, you spot a chalkboard in bold letters decorated with little stars on the side and a smile drawn at the bottom as if it were a sign from God himself.

“NOW SELLING CREPES!” The plan of gaining Miguel’s forgiveness and your pride back was starting to develop. Inspired, you start packing your things strutting up to the cashier in the front.

“Hi! Is there anything else I can do for you?” They greet you with a big smile, fiddling with the screen to prepare your order.

“Hi yes! What are the popular ones? For Crepes please?”

__________

The taste of eggs, avocado, garlic, and salmon coats your mouth, the perfect combination of a nostalgic flavor taking you back to mornings when you used to cook. One thing you loved was making something similar to what you have. A whole wheat bagel combined with eggs and garlic powder on top, adding some tomatoes or salmon if you’re feeling fancy. Now with what little time you have in the mornings, cafe visits are frequent, or whatever food you can get hold of; a single piece of bread, a banana, maybe an apple?

You glance over at the last 2 remaining crepes stored neatly in a brown paper bag for Miguel. One was a banana crepe glazed with Nutella and whipped cream, the other was the same one you ordered. Choosing something Miguel would like was hard. He seems like a guy who would prefer savory foods but who knows? He might have a weakness for sweets too. A thought pops up in your head, what is Miguel O’Hara like? Based on what you’ve gathered from purely visiting his lab from time to time. There’s very little you know about him within the span of knowing each other for a year. He’s very reserved, usually holed up in the office all day. The only time you’ve ever seen him out of his lab was when he was done with a mission or one of the Spider-People would create a mess in the halls. Seeing him at the bar yesterday made you wonder if there’s more to that brooding face of his.

Your brain starts brewing many clones of Miguel each depicting a different personality. Looking over at the crepes once again as you take a final bite of your food. Is he a tough guy who secretly has a soft side? Well, that part you cannot deny; he did recruit a cat and a Lego to the team after all. Images of him saving a small kitty stuck up a tree, or helping an elderly person cross the street pop up in your mind, making your heart flutter at the thought. That feeling instantly dissipates, reminding yourself that this is Miguel O’Hara we are talking about. He has to be a simple guy, enjoying the simple things in life, sitting down to read a novel sipping a cup of coffee watching the sunrise, and long walks on the beach. You don’t know why but it made your face scrunch up, cringing at the entire concept.

__________

The Spider Society building stands tall and proud looking over the city, it’s one of the tallest buildings here in Nueva York. Its metallic pristine exterior illuminates the sun giving it an elegant, powerful feel. Along with the advanced tech flying around the building with portals of Spider-People from many dimensions popping up around the entrance swinging around or chatting with their co-workers. You sit on one of the benches near a fountain located in the front to check the time. Sighing in relief you were right on schedule. Just as you were about to head to the building, a man about the same height, dirty blonde hair with some white streaks on the side, brown eyes, and recently shaved stubble. He wore a pink fluffy coat with his spider-suit underneath and a red-haired baby? You giggle, stretching your arms to greet them.

“Peter!” You squealed wrapping both the child and man in a warm embrace. The Red-Headed baby uses this opportunity to latch onto your chest returning the hug as well.

“And Mayday! How are both of you?” Peter B. Parker is one of your co-workers who you’re pretty close to mainly because of Mayday. Whenever Peter had to do one of his missions, he’d send Mayday your way to babysit since you’re one of the only people in this workplace who could take care of her. He’s tried asking other people but either they were too busy or ended up losing her in the process which his wife wasn’t happy of.

“Oh, we are doing great! Mayday here just wanted to come over and say Hi.” You look over to her whose hair is bundled up in a Spider-Man beanie, glimmering at you with a gap-toothed smile. Your heart melts, hugging her once more making the baby throw a fit of giggles.

“I’m more worried about you!” He says surveying around you in a circle pointing at your bloodshot eyes, and the whisps of hair ready to fly off.

“Jeez, you look like you’ve been run over by a bus on your way here.” You roll your eyes at him giving him a light swat at his hand.

“Ow! Okay, okay, I deserved that. That was very rude of me.” He chuckled nervously rubbing the stinging pain over the area where you smacked him.

“Why don’t we sit down for a moment.” Peter yawns, stretching on-top of the benches. He looks over, giving you a sly look urging to take a seat right next to him.

“Do.. you wanna talk about it?”

“Are you serious right now?”

“Yes! What’s wrong with venting out your feelings? Everyone needs it at times!”

“You know what, fine.” You groaned, defeated sliding over to a spot next to Peter. Mayday was still perched on your lap. This conversation probably isn’t the best to tell around a child. So, you cupped her ears as tight as you could. Making your hands as some sort of barrier to prevent her from hearing what you’re about to say.

“I might have had a little too much to drink last night..” Peter nods, letting out a simple mhm indicating that he’s listening.

“It happens to the best of us. Trust me, I’ve been there.” “I’m not finished.” You snap, focusing his attention back to you. “Miguel was there and he might’ve been involved.” He juts his head back, eyes widening.

Your brain flashes images of the horrific events last night. Every word that comes out of your mouth feels like you’re being repeatedly stabbed in the chest. Your face starts to feel warm, heat rising on your neck, cheeks then ears attempting to pry the words out of your mouth. After sometime, you were able to blur it out in one quick sentence, “I threw up on him!” Saying it out loud made your heart explode, if it were possible you’d turn into liquid seeping through the benches, turning into a small puddle that would evaporate the moment it touched the ground. In the mists of questioning your life choices, there were felt tiny tugs on your lab coat. Removing your hands shielding your face, you’d spot Mayday with a concerned look. Of course, not wanting to worry her, you scruffle her hair gesturing that you’ll be okay.

“Oh wow! That’s-uh.. Something.”

“I know!” You paused, making sure to cup the small child’s ears before you talk, “I really screwed up, bad.”

“Well, did Miguel say anything about it?” He asked with his back hunched over, interested in what you’re about to say.

“Of course, he scolded me for it, but only because I threw his stuff at him–”

“You THREW stuff at him?!

“Only because I thought we hooked up!”

“YOU WHAT?!” Peter adds his hands on top of yours, as an extra measure to make sure Mayday wasn’t hearing any of this. Meanwhile, the baby just eyed them having no clue what was going on.

“Hold on, pause. Pause! Tell me everything..” And you did, every detail from you trying to consume as many fruity drinks as you can to how Miguel took care of you after puking in his face. All that could come out of his mouth is,

“Wow, just wow!” He sits there in silence trying to process the information you just told him.

“Well, are you planning on talking to him about it?

“Yes, actually, and, I bought these crepes for him on the way here.” You opened up your bag showing him a brown bag of a cafe’s logo.

“Do you think he’ll forgive me?” Peter doesn’t reply immediately, his lips turn moving side to side trying to evaluate the proper words to say.

“Hmm, knowing Miguel. Yeah, I think he would.” Your jaw drops upon hearing that, stuttering in shock.

“There’s no way he would, come on Peter!”

He laughs slinging a hand over your shoulder, “Trust me, he may be rough around the edges but he’s not cruel! Sometimes..”

You lay your head back letting out an annoyed groan while Peter pats you on the back, “I assure you, he’s uh- forgiving guy.”

All you could do was stare at him with a blank face and he’d respond to you with an awkward smile. “Fine, I trust you. But if I get torn to shreds-”

“You won’t, Y/N.” He looks at you with a determined look, confident that everything will work out.

You feel somewhat conflicted about the whole thing but that talk felt surprisingly helpful. Your shift was starting soon, it’s best to call it here.

“Well then, I better get going y’know, get this whole thing over with.” Before heading off to work, Peter stops you in your tracks gently pushing you back down on the bench.

“Wait, let me take a photo of you and Mayday. She looks so adorable here!” Mayday lets out an infectious laughter, making you giggle in return. Peter whips out his phone stepping a couple of steps back to capture the moment with the camera flashing at the two of you. He flips the phone showing you the picture with a big, happy, dad grin. It was a beautiful photo of you looking up at Mayday sitting on your shoulder beaming a bright smile at you.

“Aw, that’s so cute. Can you send that to me?”

__________

After your talk with Peter, you’ve somewhat gained some confidence about your plan. But, anxiety would eat away at every positive thought telling you that everything will all backfire and you’ll leave the building unemployed. You can imagine it now, Miguel's voice would echo across the building making mountains split, the world shake,

“YOU’RE FIRED!” He’d yell on the top of his lungs, hurling an empty box at you to pack your things. Then it’d cut to a scene of an elderly version of you with a beard reaching your toes begging for a scrap of bread. You dust away the thoughts shaking your hands, telling them to go away.

Finally you’ve made it. The metal doors loom over you upon its menacing presence. This was the moment that would make or break your future. You prepare yourself to take a couple of deep breaths before charging to the door ready to finally face Miguel!

Until your body subconsciously turns the other way.

“Yup, I think that’s it. That was a clear sign that you shouldn't be doing this.” As you were about to leave like the coward you are. The doors open slowly revealing Miguel standing on the platform with light leaking in his direction, as if the spotlight is on him telling you to go speak to him NOW. Oh, right automatic doors.

You have no other option but to face him. Shuffling your way closer to Miguel straightening your posture and glasses. Luckily his platform was already lowered to your level if you had to wait for that stupid thing to go down. You’d probably flee halfway down to its descent.

“Uh, hey.” You were inside the dragon’s layer, every part of your body wanted to scream, run, hide under a table. OH GOD, YOU’RE DEAD!

He turns around only letting half of his face show, “Hm?”

“I- Uh, I wanted to..” There was a moment of silence before continuing to talk,

“I bought you some Crepes.” You flashed him a plastic smile wiggling your fingers showcasing the bag hoping he’d just take the damn thing. He nods, tapping the only open spot at his desk amongst the empty coffee cups which probably are new and some are a couple days old. You waddle over gently placing it next to him.

“Thanks,” he says before returning to work expecting you to leave. You couldn’t, at least not yet. You clutched onto the fabrics of your lab coat holding a stare at the back of his head,

“I also wanted to properly apologize.” He didn’t show it but you felt like his ears started to perk up in response. “You helped me when I needed it the most and I appreciate it, I do. But I clearly didn’t express it correctly. So, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for throwing your things at you and belittling your kindness, that was such a wrong thing for me to do.”

”Did you take the painkillers before you left?” Miguel doesn’t face you, he even pauses whatever he’s doing awaiting your reply.

”Um.. yes, I did. Thanks.” He hums in approval continuing back to his work.

Oh-kay, is he not gonna acknowledge what you said earlier? You awkwardly stand there awaiting his response, but nothing. He was just tapping away at his holographic screen. The silence was so loud you even started to hear crickets around the corner of the room. Panic starts to flow through you, then anger, sadness, and regret all at once. Though you accepted his answer nevertheless nodding in understanding with his final answer laid out to you. Turning to leave, he tilts his head glancing over to you.

“I forgive you. You owe me a drink though.”

The unsettling silence between you two was like hours of torture awaiting for something, ANYTHING! But with him finally replying at the last minute, just when you were about to leave feeling humiliated. It did not give you any sense of relief however it did make you furious! Was this some type of joke you weren’t in on for you to treat you like this? To play with your feelings like food on a platter?

You puffed your chest out at him rolling your eyes, “Fine, tomorrow then.”

Stomping out of the building, something glimmered at the corner of your eye you see the bastard smirk!

“God, I’d do anything for a chance to strangle him.” Mumbling under your breath as the doors close behind you.

CHAPTER 3

Here you are sitting in the corner of the room quietly listening to music as you enjoy your drinks. At least one of us is enjoying it. You glance over at Miguel, who is sipping on the whiskey you paid for, with his arms slinging across the booth. The tips of his fingertips hover over your left shoulder. He wasn’t exactly touching you, but with his finger levitating above your clavicle, it felt like the shadow was prickling your skin. You slowly scoot away, shooting a hot stare in his direction. Miguel was in his own world, watching the people around chatting and reading old albums ranging from 2000s to 2050s sprayed across the walls of the pub.

This time you chose to go to Venandi Coven, a well-known pub around Nueva York that’s close to your apartment. It had a similar vibe to Adalhard’s Hideaway, a calm, relaxing place. Unlike Adalhard’s more people were hanging about in the bar and booths. You eyed the group of young adults that Miguel was looking over, chatting about how stressful exams are, and would sometimes spill some gossip that you were also shamelessly interested in. Looking at them would bring back the old days when you’d laugh, chat, and drink with your friends being up to no good. Maybe Miguel is feeling that way too.

You hate to admit it, but you share a lot of similarities with Miguel. From being extreme workaholics, being perfectionists, and not socializing with a lot of people. Did he crave the affection of other people like you do? Do you want a place to just relax without your work interfering with your life? A place to get away from it all.

Swirling your glass, watching the liquid move in circular motions, admiring how the candlelight on your table would reflect with the ice. After you promised Miguel that you’d buy him a drink, you couldn’t help but play out scenarios of what to do. This could be an opportunity to woo your boss, get a raise, or a promotion. Having fun, and just relaxing was also an option too. But with the atmosphere so thick, barely even allowing you to breathe, these goals seem impossible. Maybe some liquid courage should help? You throw your head back, taking a swig of tequila and slamming your glass onto the table, catching Miguel’s attention.

“Maybe you should hold off on alcohol for today,” eyeing you through his glass.

“Oh, shut up.” Okay, maybe adding alcohol to the mix wasn’t a great idea.

Your face reddens, realizing the harsh tone in your words.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

He sets his tequila down, leaning back with his arms folded.

“I know it might not seem like it, but, I’m looking out for you.”

“Hm, are you now? How so?”

“Every scolding, every lecture, it’s for your own good. It’s for you to improve, get better, y’know? The state of the multi—”

“Yeah, yeah. I get it.” You lowered your pitch matching Miguel’s voice, “The state of the multiverse is at stake, and we need to make sure everything goes as smoothly as possible."

Throwing him a quick smirk. "But yelling at a simple mistake isn’t exactly helping, boss.”

He leans forward, observing the way you’re fiddling with your hands. It’s a habit he’s picked up on whenever you’re nervous or anxious.

“I know my temper can be… a lot. But my reasoning is still justified.”

“Uh-huh, like that silent treatment you gave me yesterday.”

“Oh, come on. You deserved it.”

“So you admit you did it on purpose?”

He chuckles. You admit it was a little strange seeing Miguel break out of his usual pokerface. But it wasn’t an unwelcome sight.

“You. Threw. My. Stuff. At. Me.”

He said each word with a tone that was a bit playful.

“I already apologized for it, what more do you want from me…” You huffed, slinging your leg over the other.

“Anyway, what I’m trying to say is… Our work in the Spider-Society isn’t exactly easy, especially for someone who isn’t like us.”

Miguel hovers his hands over yours as if he wants to comfort you, but he quickly pulls back, placing his hand next to you.

“It’s imperative we make sure you are in tip-top shape.” You laugh at the irony of it all.

“Miguel, one thing we have in common is that we are burrowed in our work. We practically live at the Spider-Society at this point.”

“I know but, I’m the leader—“

“Are you listening to yourself? How about this, we both need to learn how to take care of ourselves.”

He grumbles, averting his eyes away from you. There’s the Miguel O’Hara you know.

“If we both want to approve our work life. Let’s do it together. It’s nice to have someone with the same struggles as you, right?”

He nods, and you smile in return, coming into some sort of agreement.

“Let’s exchange numbers, if that’s okay with you. Let me grab my phone—“

“Wait, I got this. Don’t worry.” A holographic screen appears through the Gizmo, you watch him press a couple of buttons before your phone vibrates showing a notification to add a number on the screen.

Clicking the green accept button gives you a bubble saying the number has successfully been added.

“There you go.”

“You Spiders and your fancy tech.”

Miguel goes on a rant about how important technology is in his work, missions, and other personal stuff. Even though you were rolling your eyes the whole time, it was the first time you didn’t have the urge to rip his head out.

You’d talk about the crazy things you experienced, complaining about the grueling tasks he’d give you. Instead of his daily scolding, Miguel would listen. Returning the same energy complaining about how many Peters he has to deal with every day and the mess your co-workers would make. You were starting to understand why he’s so grumpy all the time. By the end of the night, you thought.

Maybe Miguel is alright.

End Notes:

I hope you all enjoy the story! I'm unsure if I'll continue this but we'll see. I'm open to any sort of criticism as long as you're nice and respectful. 💞

#spiderverse #spiderman2099 #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara fanfiction

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bomberqueen17 · 10 months

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aw poop

Last night as I was lying on the couch trying to get the energy to go to bed I remembered that it was Saturday and Friday comes before Saturday and I'd been trying to post fic updates on Fridays. so that's how long it took me to notice the passage of linear time.

Update schedules are for the birds. I think I proofread the chapter? I was doing it one at a time so I'd have time to go back in and make my decisions about the final chapter and write that, and I have in all these weeks made about ten words of progress on that. I've thought about it a lot! But I've written thousands of words on other projects instead, lollll. That's how this goes; the words will come when I have thought of them enough, and also when other stuff stops being shiny for a moment.

The one where Ciri goes to Vergen and Does Not Meet Saskia is nearly complete except that I got to the climax and halfassed it in the interests of getting it done, which is great but now I have to like. You know. Rewrite it to be good. It's structurally there! I just basically have placeholder paragraphs. Little wooden blobs of sentences that approximately convey the action beats and have zero actual description or immediacy or poignancy of any kind. They exist! The story is technically complete! But they are terrible. Fortunately @bittylildragon has annotated them and i just have to muster my strength to figure out how to work those annotations plus my lumpy rough clay into some kind of finished polished thing worthy of all the goddamned setup I did.

(This is largely how pantsing works, btw, of the plotting-vs-pantsing procedural divide. I could not have outlined that, I had to write it. It might be easier for you to expand an outline than revise a terrible draft, but that is not the case for me, and I have learned this through a great deal of experimentation. You can plot all you want, I am apparently contractually obligated to pants or the words no worky.)

So anyway I have a day crammed chock-full of All Of My Weekend so I'm not sure when I'll get to the update but I will! It exists and is ready probably!! It just always takes me like half an hour at least of concentrated effort to put up even a well-proofread final version of a chapter because it involves switching between multiple tabs and even in a perfect scenario that's pretty high-stakes for my rabid ferret of an attention span, and this course of Ditzifying Antibiotics has multiplied those risk factors by like a million. (I am so dumb y'all.)

Anyway at some point there will be a torrent of words posted but idk when. Probably tomorrow there will be a tidy 6k or so words posted, about the one with the dogs.

#about the author #not fic updates lol

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yiga-hellhole · 7 months

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TFTK Extended Cut: CHAPTER 3: SYNCYTIUM SANCTUM

HIIII EVERYONE I'M BACK! i couldn't help myself but make Yuganon real. i've been teasing the ship in-fic but it's time to stop beating around the bush and give those old men their own chapter.

this time, it's another bathhouse chapter, but yuga meets a little someone else than his other bathmates... old feelings from a previous life come bubbling back to the surface, and Lorule's diva has no choice but to shoot his shot. 6k words under the cut!

ao3 mirror

masterpost

It was a late night. Yuga was taking the evening off… What was left of it, at least. As usual, his co-lieutenant, Ghirahim, seemed eager to burn nearly all his candles in posing before his canvas. The young man was so ethereally beautiful, he hadn’t even minded all the time he was taking up in his schedule. On the contrary; he’d grown so obsessed with the demon’s finely polished features, he simply couldn’t get enough of him. This premature severing of their arrangement was only in concern for his health, really. His back and shoulders were killing him, bringing about the kind of ache that only being dunked in hot water could relieve.

Moonlight nearly bounced off his pearly skin as he passed through the corridors. He had his satchel of various grooming implements slung over his shoulder and a towel wrapped around his body. He was expecting privacy, as the baths were usually empty at this hour. At least, he hadn’t encountered anyone when rinsing the paint stains off. He didn’t mind the occasional witness. His form was immaculate, after all! But the attendants remained flustered around his appearance. Somewhere, they must have recognized him as another male Gerudo and never were two at once supposed to occur. He preferred they thought him an odd, flat-chested lady, instead.

Humming a cheerful tune, the sounds of his approach bounced off the stone walls. In his time here, he’d already put together a routine of all his little favorite spots, and he was finally heading towards the pinnacle of it.

He passed under blue mosaic lanterns, making the already cool light ever colder. Sheer drapes covering the windows to the courtyard brushed his skin as he walked by. Finally, he turned the last corner he needed to get to the baths.

Only to find, after stumbling upon nobody at all the entire evening, that the pool was thoroughly occupied. Seated inside, with massive arms resting upon the edge of the bath, was none other than Ganondorf. From the way he looked up at him from behind fuzzy eyebrows and heavy lids, he’d long heard him coming.

“I do beg your pardon, Milord,” Yuga stammered, adjusting the towel wrapped around his chest in a fluster. “I wasn’t aware this bath was occupied. I will be taking my leave-“

In an instant, he was silenced by the Demon King’s hand, as it rose from the water as he spoke. “The palatial bathhouse accommodates far more than one man at a time, Lord Yuga. I don’t demand otherwise,” he rumbled. “Your presence does not displease me. Come, sit.”

Yuga hesitated for but a moment, eyes wide and hands clasped before his chest. In that split second of nerves, his painter’s eye drew in far more detail than he would normally allow himself. Ganondorf’s hand, now free of its gauntlet, sported sandstone-hued skin on the palm that bled into bronze. Richly calloused was its surface, patterned with grooves and padded muscle. His gaze wandered from his hand to his arm, with muscles like cannonballs under his skin even when relaxed. Straying ever further, he spotted little water droplets caught in the coarse, red hair that adorned his skin, like dew upon the morning grass. A hulking chest nearly the size of a wine barrel protruded from the water, each breath sending soft ripples out into the rest of the bath.

But what drew him far quicker were the Gerudo’s eyes. Their piercing gold snagged his attention. His gaze could no longer stray further than the skin around those eyes, wrinkled by age, sun, and decades of turmoil. He was truly a King of all kings, the paragon of all that had ever sat upon a throne. Yuga was powerless to move, much less look away.

At least, not until Ganondorf turned his hand, and beckoned him gently. As if tugged by the collar, he stumbled slightly forward and made his way to the edge of the bath. The slapping of his slippers echoed across the water. He came to a halt next to the King, whose massive arms were now leaning casually on the edge of the bath.

Dared he sit next to him?

Never was he one to be in any measure insecure about his figure, but in the presence of a man whose arm alone could rival his entire torso in size, he found himself a bit hesitant to get into his usual routine. Ganondorf was his counterpart, in a way, yet he felt awfully outmatched in his presence.

Hesitation faded quickly. The mass of vibrant orange hair at his feet shifted. Ganondorf tipped his head back, one of his furrowed-shut eyes cracking open to look up at him. He didn’t need to speak to get his words across; Yuga understood perfectly. It was about time he stopped dilly-dallying restlessly behind him, and joined at his side.

And so, he sat beside him, just a hand’s breadth or two between his thigh and the Gerudo’s elbow that rested nearby. Yuga’s decision to only as much as dip his feet in the water seemed to puzzle him, but he paid it no mind. He was just a touch too apprehensive about joining him in the water still, finding the prospect of bathing together too bold to suggest. Finally, he undid the tie of his towel around his chest, and let it drop on the tiles below him.

The towel on his head was next. Still damp from his earlier bath, his hair dropped heavily on his now bare shoulders, long enough to drape past his chest and cover him in nymph-like fashion. He peeked past the crack of his eyelids, only to find Ganondorf paying him no heed. In some ways, it irked him, but overwhelmingly, it relieved him of the pressure to put up appearances. So instead, he began to hum softly and retrieved a ceramic jar from his satchel. Fingers bundled together, he retrieved a thick scoop from its insides. The sharp, yet milky scent of the globby cream tingled his nostrils once he rubbed it between his hands. Those same greased, slippery fingers now dragged their way through his hair, squeezing the wet strands between them. By the time he opened his second container, Ganondorf perked up.

“More coconut?” he asked, a brow raised but his eyes remaining closed in leisure.

Yuga laughed, rinsing his hands in the water before massaging the next cosmetics onto his cheeks. “Indeed. The other stuff is far too greasy on my skin.”

Ganondorf grunted, now turning his head to look at him. “I was under the assumption you’d already washed up before you came here. Your hair was wet when you arrived.”

“Oh, I did,” he proclaimed, deftly rubbing the lotion into the negligible bags under his eyes. “My routine is just a little on the intensive side. I’m getting on in age, after all, and I’d much prefer to do so in good health and appearance.”

Ganondorf’s curiosity warmed up into amusement. The corners of his mouth tugged into a grin, baring his magnificently white teeth just a touch. “You sound just like the governesses. Why you choose to visit the bathhouse in their absence is beyond me. They would make for fine company for you.”

He snickered a little, unable to think of a retort, but quickly latched on to the opportunity to learn more about his companion. “Not for you, then, Milord? I assume you, too, came tonight looking for peace.”

“Perhaps, but I don’t mind the company. My Sisters are too shy about bathing with me, and I find myself reluctant to join my other lieutenants. They are far too rambunctious for this place of calm.”

Yuga cackled in response. “Oh, I do so know what you mean. I join them on occasion, but… The spirit of youth, it makes them too wild.”

A hum rumbled out from Ganondorf, followed by a somewhat exasperated nod. He looked out over the water again, allowing a silence to fall. The sound of running water had barely settled in his ears before he spoke again, regaining that dominant tone he always carried. “How do you fare with your fellow commanders?”

“I fare with them swimmingly, Sire. They are beautiful and strong. I’ve grown quite fond of them, over time,” he said, smiling fondly. “In the future, I do hope you will station me with them.”

He nodded again, thoughtfully this time, fiddling with his fingers dipped in the water. “I see. I will have to consider it.”

As he sat lathering himself in scented oils, Ganondorf simply lounged beside him, resting against the edge of the bath and lavishing in the hot water. Soon, he would come to find that calm infectious. He leaned back, propping himself up with his hands behind him, and swished his legs idly in the water. Steam rose from the turquoise water in a haze. Droplets from the moisture coursed down the brightly tiled walls around them, and Yuga found some sticking to his oiled skin, too. A single sigh loosened them, letting them run down his chest and pool down into his lap. His eyes wandered back to the man who sat next to him, as they were bound to do in the presence of such splendor.

Something stirred in him. He wasn’t sure if it was the dampness of the air that tightened his chest, or something else that clouded his judgment, as he was once again overcome with the need to fuss over him. That beautiful, fiery mane was washed, certainly, but its tips hung carelessly behind him and dipped into the water. Just the thought of split tips on such a well-groomed, noble man was enough to make his skin crawl. He couldn’t stand for it. Not after all that time he spent admiring it, hoping to comb his fingers through!

He cleared his throat softly. “… Milord, if I may be so bold…”

Ganondorf didn’t turn to look at him. “Speak.”

There truly was no subtle way to put this, so he chose the other pathway that always led him right to the King’s favor. Flattery. “Your magnificent locks have drawn my eye for months now, and now that we’re already washing up together… Might I take it upon myself to care for it?”

Ganondorf laughed softly, a mere whisper compared to his usual booming voice, but even this resounded enough for Yuga to feel it deep in his chest. “Care for it?”

He nodded. “Indeed, Milord. I would be honored if you let me braid it.”

For a moment, Ganondorf hummed, weighing his words. “An intriguing offer. Very well, do what you will,” he decided, but not without turning his head ever so slightly to look at him from a side-eye. “But do not let this get out of hand, Yuga. I am aware of your penchant for getting lost in your craft, and I cannot linger too long.”

Yuga deigned to comment with a bit of a giggle and scooted over to sit behind him. A sea of vibrant red hair puffed out before him, ever so slightly relaxed by dampness. Truly, the world was at his fingertips here, and he didn’t waste another second. He ran his fingers through his hair, testing it for knots, but was pleasantly surprised to find that Ganondorf had already taken care of the worst of it when washing it. Fortunately so, as he wasn’t exactly keen on the thought of annoying his King by getting caught in his hair.

The dreaded Demon King uncharacteristically relaxed under his touch as he kneaded into his hair with a towel, trying to get most of the moisture out from his waving locks. The last thing he wanted was to end up damaging that which he sought to cherish, he thought to himself, parting the mass into sections, comb in hand. His Master didn’t speak, but Yuga didn’t mind it. The room was quiet, save for the sound of running water, or the gentle scrape of sand being whisked across the courtyard tiles outside by the desert winds. But above it all, tantalizingly subtle, and only heard through his will to listen to it, was the soughing of Ganondorf’s breath. Slow, deep, and rhythmic. If Yuga didn’t know any better, he would almost think he felt comfortable around him.

Thick strands, soft and slippery as silk weaved into twists between his fingers, leaving his hands damp and smelling faintly of orange blossom and sandalwood. The realization almost made him shiver — this Ganon was a refined man. He was strong, merciless, and relished in carnage, but wasted no time after his return to groom himself back to perfection. The blood of the Hyruleans stained his hands, certainly, but never would it besmirch his armor.

And here sat Yuga, tending to that very being of glory. The mere inches between Ganondorf’s back and his own bare torso were by far not enough to diminish the heat radiating off of the massive man. His skin felt warm, and they needn’t even touch. It mattered not; he preferred it like this. He preferred the opportunity to watch his handiwork, thick hair flowing through his fingers like liquid fire. Bit by bit, the braiding of his hair parted the curtain on the dark bronze skin of the Demon King’s back, and he had to stifle a gasp. So finely sculpted! Such beautiful musculature, packed with shining, nourished skin! Were he not warm, moving, and breathing right before him, he would have mistaken his back for a statue. Further down that back, he was elegantly furred by wispy red, the same shade of vermillion as his hair.

How long he must have paused to gawk at him, he didn’t know. He similarly didn’t notice when one of his hands left its braiding duty and reached out to him with quivering fingers. Oh, how indeed, he longed to trace his fingers along the contours of his back! But the subject of his fancies turned his head ever so slightly, likely puzzled by the sudden freezing of his attendant.

“Is there a problem?” he inquired, his tone impossible to discern beyond its strength.

Yuga chuckled a little nervously, quickly busying himself again with the central braid. “On the contrary, Milord,” he tittered, hoping his touch of playfulness would grant him mercy.

And grant him, it did, indeed. Ganondorf exhaled an amused hum, before looking out in front of him again. Shoulders braced against the edge of the bath, he sighed a satisfied breath, before sinking further down into the bath. Yuga could see the top of his head now, with the hints of his bushy eyebrows and his angular, aquiline nose peeking into view. It made him a little flustered. He’d spent so long committing that face to memory, that to be this close to it now made him childishly giddy.

He quickly cast his excitement aside. His King was letting his guard down around him, trusting him not to disturb their peace. He ought not to ruin it with his eagerness to ogle. So comfortably, he lounged with him. Certainly, he couldn’t pose a threat to Ganondorf if he wanted to, and that knowledge was mutual. Still, to be allowed to groom him in this way, and to find the man’s eyes gently shut with his back turned to him… It was terribly familiar. Did he trust the other lieutenants like this? Or did perhaps, somewhere inside him, a chime of recognition ring out..?

He didn’t dare be so bold as to ask, though. For the time being, he was privileged enough to be able to touch him and weave his soft, wild locks into the most beautiful braids. with the right and central braids now finished, he moved to the last one on his left. “I’m almost finished,” he hummed, hoping to catch his attention.

Ganondorf breathed steadily, tilting his head obediently at his mechanisms. Long he dawdled, leaving Yuga in the agonizing, awaiting silence of dwelling in his thoughts. He wanted to confer with him.

The first steps to his wish being fulfilled were taken. A heat spread to the Demon King’s ears. “Something about you is familiar, Yuga.”

Yuga let out an inquisitive ‘oh’, prompting him to continue. Was this it? The moment he finally recognized him, and everything their bond entailed?

“This must not be the first time you’ve tended to me like this.”

Twisting the final strands into place, Yuga smiled, his chest puffing at the churning of his heart. “No, Milord, it certainly is not.”

His breath left him in a wistful sigh. He seized this moment, and all his self-control melted before him like snow in the early spring sun. “Is my touch familiar? I do hope I’ve left an impression. Though, for you, it must have been centuries, and many lives in-between. For me… It has been mere months.”

He took all three braids into his hands now, beholding them fondly. With the delicacy of handling embroidered silks, he felt himself getting a little lost in his admiration as he rolled the thick braids into a bun at the back of Ganondorf’s head. Though he’d brought them with the intent of using them in his own hair, he retrieved a handful of shining brass pins and stuck them into the heavy mass to hold it together. It couldn’t be anything less than perfection.

“You look and act much different, but it changes nothing in the ways I care for you. Perhaps I can jog your memory…”

Fingers tickled past his hairline and ‘round his neck, delicately gliding past smooth tendon and muscle. The contact finally shook Ganondorf out of his statuesque poise, and he craned his head back. Eyes wide, brows raised incredulously, and ears and nose flushed dark, the Gerudo’s composure had been shattered.

Yuga’s thumbs strayed, stroking through his King’s beard. The drops of water that caught there now rolled down his hands, following his trajectory down to rest his palms on his shoulders. "Do you remember our time together, my King? How we lingered conjoined, much like this?"

Ganondorf could only blink in response, his lips stiffening as he held back a swallow.

Never could Yuga think that he’d exert such control over him, to be the one capturing his fancy. He had to dig deeper, starting with tenderly squeezing the skin at the nape of his neck. “My voice, my hands, my eyes? How our bodies pressed together before we became one?”

That stare was intoxicating, addictive. It made the air around him thick enough to carve through. All timidness, all apprehension he once had, left him at once. Yuga spread his fingers, eager to touch as much of him as he could, as his hands slipped forward. Coarse, wet hair that sprawled over Ganondorf’s torso caught between his fingers and he sucked a gasp in with a shudder. The Gerudo did not break eye contact, but there was tension in him that only increased the further Yuga’s hands wandered. They crossed the threshold of his collarbone, until finally, he could lean over him, his palms rested on his chest. The muscles of his pectorals were firm, bulky, and softly wrapped around what may as well have been solid stone. No matter how his wet skin glistened in the candlelight, or how the red hair on his chest curled pleasingly around his fingers, or how charming piercings looked on him, nothing could rip his eyes away from the Demon King’s face. Nothing could match the red that crept up on his cheeks, how his fluster widened his eyes to show more pale white sclera than he’d ever seen on them. His blush darkened his skin, but showed most notably on his ears and the skin stretched taut over his curved nose. Yuga’s chest caved as his breath caught in his throat, and he couldn’t help himself but lean closer. Greed of the eyes overtook him. He wanted to see more of it, to watch that hue deepen the richness of his skin, to watch as his red lashes fluttered shut and —

Suddenly, a palm lay over one of his hands, its heat distracting him from his spiral of admiration. Ganondorf was scrambling to regain his composure. “Your hands are frigid. Join me in the water.”

“Milord, I-“

A soft cry escaped him as Ganondorf’s gargantuan hand wrapped around his arm and dragged him to the edge of the bath. Another hand hooked its way around his armpit, and with the ease as one would handle a burlap doll, he was seated next to him in the bath.

He sat there, somewhat flabbergasted by how he’d just been manhandled. Water lapped at his chin; the seating was more accommodating to the much taller Gerudo, and not built for petite wizards such as himself. Hands curled sheepishly in his lap, he rose somewhat to instead sit on his knees, hoping to raise himself at a bit more dignified height above the water.

Yuga cleared his throat, eyes darting at his reflection. Curses! His facial cream only made his fluster that much more shiny and obvious. "... Forgive me, I must have crossed a boundary."

Ganondorf cleaned his throat, seemingly pointedly leaving his arm to brush past his’ underwater. "Nonsense. If it is intimacy you desire, then I only ask you to engage it with hands that aren't so frightfully cold."

He paused, lingering on the implications of his words. Admittedly, he got a bit carried away, and to find his admiration not only appreciated, but reciprocated… Ganondorf may not have answered the questions that burned so brightly in his mind, but his actions spoke volumes. Where the man’s mind failed him, his body and soul filled in. Had Yuga been any other person, he did not doubt that he would have been brutally dismissed for his advances. The tether that connected them had gained another string, and he found himself playfully plucking at it.

Still, he ought to exercise some care. The last thing he wanted was for this new connection to be forged with nerves, and he’d already pushed his buttons a bit too much.

“Of course, how inconsiderate of me,” he muttered, eyes continuously downcast. Uncertain of how to proceed, he momentarily excused himself. He arrived at these baths for a reason, after all, and so he stood up, a final bottle of soap in hand, and waded his way to the center of the bath.

Mid-thigh height to most of the bath’s attendees, the water level offered Yuga significantly more concealment. It rose to his upper abdomen, right at the tender skin below his sternum, and hid the rest of him in the green-tinted water. He was thankful for it, really. It kept the eyes from wandering.

He dipped his head down once, dipping his locks in the water. He ran his fingers through the well-oiled strands until they flared back out, floating gently on the surface like tendrils. A sigh escaped him as he rose, water rushing down from his hair and across his torso. Brushing the long, darkened mass away from his face, he got a bit of an inkling that he was being watched.

Indeed, Ganondorf appeared to have been mulling over the events of just earlier. He needn’t even look to confirm it. He could hear it from the way he breathed, but most of all, he felt it in the tension that tended to swallow the room whole when the King was the slightest bit troubled. An amused smirk stretched across his lips, thankfully hidden behind the curtain of his hair. He resigned to simply waiting out the moment Ganondorf wished to confide in him.

That time came sooner than he could get the soap to fizz.

Ganondorf cut through the silence with such striking boldness, it caused Yuga to freeze up. “Were we wed?”

Oh, only the Demon King himself could stomach such a topic with such nonchalance! A spot of admiration overtook him again, as he found himself marveling at the simultaneous flaw and virtue of his practicality.

“Wed? Ahah, I would argue we were something far more,” he teased, but not without finding himself once again flabbergasted. Even as he stood there, his kayfabe left far behind in the dressing room and his lithe form bared to him, Ganondorf seemingly found the idea of being his spouse perfectly feasible. He wasn’t sure what to think of it.

His counterpart, on the other hand, directed his confusion someplace else. “I ask you not to speak in riddles.”

“We… Became the same being, Milord. As physically as we did symbolically. We had the entirety of Lorule under our clawed thumb. Our thoughts, desires, sensations… All shared, to the point of it feeling strange to be but one man again.”

Yuga stroked his fingers through his curls, massaging the scent of lotus and vanilla blossom into them with soapy bubbles. Head tipped back, he relished in its luxury, but above all, the joy of being admired. The fog of hot water obscured him, embraced him in its warmth, but not enough to break the line of sight between him and his Lord. He ought not to keep him waiting. Soap now settled, he dipped down to rinse himself off, casting the suds away.

Ganondorf crossed his arms, thoughtfully staring into the rippling of the water and the soapy clouds that drifted toward him. “I see.”

“Of course, such a strategy will not hold when I am needed elsewhere in the war. I’ve long given up on sharing that bond with you again, but,” he paused, hesitating for just a moment. Was he being too forward? Oh, out with it. He stood back up. “It brings me joy to see you again, and talk intimately.”

Ganondorf’s expression turned back to his usual scowl, though something contemplative, or possibly even nervous, tugged at his laugh lines. “… If you wish to rekindle this romance, you must allow me time to consider.”

Yuga gasped, whipping his head around quickly enough to send water flying off the ends of his curls in a spiral. “A romance? Oh, no! Nothing ever so drastic,” he assured, his hands clasped at his chest. “If that is what you worry about, you needn’t fret over it. I’ve no desire for such commitment.”

He looked at him a touch puzzled. To Yuga’s relief, the crease on his forehead softened some. The man shifted in his seat, sending ripples through the water. “Then what is it that you want?”

Yuga shivered as the gentle waves in the water lapped at the edge of his ribcage. What did he want? He looked at the man in front of him, as if he’d been doing anything but gaze at him ever since he first entered this room. Ganondorf was a stranger, yet he was not. Somewhere within him, the beast he’d known still lurked, but instead of a hulking boar, with tusks like scythes and skin like steel, there sat by all means a Human. One that had lived a life much like his own, a mortal being before his sealing, whose years of glory and turmoil were chronicled on his aging yet sculpted body. When he last saw him in that previous life, it had been through their combined eyes, and now, they were apart. Agonizingly so, almost, but not irreversibly. The water around him was a conduit, a tether for him to hold onto that bound him to his King.

He turned to face him, carefully combing the last soap from his hair, before wading towards him. The closer he got to him, with his frail form, the more miniscule he felt before the towering Demon King. “… I wish to be close to you, enough to admire you, to understand you, as I once did.”

And yet, despite that immense size, and the power that surged through his veins, it was his humanity that brought them peerdom. Ganondorf gazed at him wordlessly, too prideful to avert his gaze but too flustered to sit unchallenged. “You are quite forward in your answers, Yuga,” he rumbled, scratching at the edge of his beard.

“When you ask me questions, King Dragmire, I feel compelled to answer them in truth,” he smiled, folding his arms. “Of course, if it displeases you, I could be more reserved.”

Ganondorf raised his hand in response. “There is no need. It is quite becoming on you,” he laughed in admittance. To Yuga’s joy, something playful crossed his expression. “I suppose I have simply become accustomed to court officials dancing around what they actually wish to convey.”

What Ganondorf didn’t know was that he, too, was one such competitively vague court advisor by trade. He simply could never lie to him if he tried. Bashfully, he brought a hand to his face, yet he felt not as small as he once did, standing so close before him. “Your praise humbles me.”

Ganondorf cocked his head with a wry smile and propped himself against the edge of the tub. “Somehow, I find that hard to believe.”

Oh, how that grin emboldened him. So quickly they understood each other again and dropped them back into familiar comfort. Had he truly known this iteration for mere months? Thinking about it, he’d moved far quicker with his last incarnation. Just the thought of it made him itch to glue himself to him again.

“… Milord, may I?” he asked, his hand gingerly reaching out to the Gerudo’s arm.

Ganondorf looked somewhat skeptically at where he was pointing and furrowed his brows in thought. Still, he seemed to think it was harmless enough. “By all means.”

Yuga smiled in return, immediately wading his way over to take his seat next to him. Ganondorf looked on in perturbed fascination as frail arms hooked their way around his elbow. He was already being much too bold, but the Lorian found he didn’t quite care. His manicured fingers found their way up his arm either way and squeezed adoringly at the bicep.

“Your past self never let me do this,” he laughed, playfully scooting in. “He would scold me.”

Ganondorf blinked down at him, before turning away with a subtle smirk, his ears tinging just the slightest red. “I wonder why.”

Yuga paid his teasing no mind. As fondly as studiously, his fingers traced along the grooves of his muscles, catching on every little detail to carefully rub the pad of his fingers on it. He could see it now — this arm, no, his entire physique, would come to haunt the pages of his sketchbook for weeks. But he had to do so accurately, he couldn’t settle for anything less than perfection for his Master. He would have to commit everything to memory, from his tattoos, to his scars, to his veins to his birthmarks, everything, everything —

A soft hoot rang from across the hall, snapping Yuga out of his trance. The two men turned simultaneously to the source of the sound. Stood frozen at the entrance of the room was Zant, wide-eyed and caught off guard. Upon being spotted, his lips unpursed themselves, and he turned right back around to slip away.

“What’s gotten into you,” scolded a pompous voice from beyond the wall soon after, the owner of which would himself round the corner. Ghirahim gasped as soon as he saw the scene before him, but unlike his companion, he immediately bowed apologetically. “I do beg your pardon for intruding on your private affairs, My Master!” he stammered, surprisingly red-faced. It was quite a flattering color on him, but from the way he dressed, Yuga was certain he knew that.

The Blade, too, quickly made his leave, though not without bursting into a fit of hushed bickering and giggling with his bath-mate.

Lovely creatures.

Still taken aback by the shenanigans that unfurled before them, the pair remained silent for a moment. At least, until a scoffing laugh escaped past Ganondorf’s lips behind him.

“That… Is going to have consequences, I think,” Yuga murmured, covering his mouth with his hand in embarrassment.

“It will not, if they know what’s good for them,” Ganondorf growled, eyes still fixed on the entryway.

Silence fell on the pair again, though the awkwardness of having been discovered soon faded. Instead, it turned to fondness. He found himself struck by how quickly the two of them took comfort in each others’ company, and how naturally they slotted into one another. The warmth of Ganondorf’s shoulder practically melted him as he laid his cheek against him. He wasn’t certain if the other man was simply humoring him in his advances, or if he, too, sought intimacy in the approximation of a peer.

Quickly, he decided he would rather chew up every last soap bottle in his satchel than ask him and find out.

Another question ate at him, though, and he found this one was far more pressing to hunt for answers for. “Milord, if I may ask…”

“You may.”

He dawdled, picking at the skin at the edge of his nails. “Are these… Nightly baths, perhaps, a habit of yours?”

In an instant, he got Ganondorf to smile. His laugh shook his shoulders, lightly shaking Yuga along with him. “Bold thing. You wish to join me in the baths again?”

Yuga laughed with him heartily, but he still felt himself blush in embarrassment. “Oh! I thought to be a touch more subtle.”

Ganondorf’s nose crinkled with his teasing grin. “Your attempt was unsuccessful. Now answer,” he asserted.

Yuga paused, his fluster making him shrink just a bit. “If you wouldn’t mind, I would be delighted to spend time with you outside of the war room,” he smiled, hugging his arm just a little tighter to his bony chest.

Ganondorf smiled. “Very well, then,” he rumbled. His hand reached out to him, and a thick, calloused thumb stroked across his cheekbone. A wet streak from a stray strand of hair snaked past his skin, finally reaching the edge of his face, before his King tucked it ever so gently behind his ear. He couldn’t keep his eyes off that smile.

The man continued. “I will send for a summoning, next time I wish for your company. You’ve made me curious about you, Yuga. Consider it a compliment.”

Ganondorf rose, water cascading from his form like a waterfall. Yuga’s gaze stayed locked with his as he stood up, but he couldn’t help but steal glances at what was decidedly more at his eye level. His stomach, his thighs, equally riddled with hair and battle scars, and so lovely in their soft, rounded musculature.

Well, he shouldn’t displease him with his ogling. He loomed forward a little, leaning into the touch of the hand that lingered on his face. So warm, yet so firm… That hand now retracted ever so slowly, though the ardency in the Lorian’s hooded eyes never left as he kept his sights hooked on those vibrant gold irises.

Pleased with such devotion, such eagerness for his attention, Ganondorf smiled. “I am turning in for the night. Do not linger too long, Lord of Lorule. You are expected in my office at sunrise.”

Yuga could only manage a nod, his mouth feeling too dry and stuffy to manage any words. That touch had been the nail in the coffin, the scissors to the last drawstring of his composure. The Demon King was far too much of a treat to the senses, he thought to himself as he watched him leave. He drank in every little detail he could spy while he still could, leaning against the edge of the tub as if those few inches of closeness made any difference at all to his perception. When the Gerudo’s towering form finally rounded the corner and went out of sight, it felt like a spell had been lifted.

Oh, certainly, the crushing desire to behold him had lifted, but the connection he’d now forged with this incarnation sparked something else. Now more than ever, he felt incomplete being just one man and longed for the company of someone else in his body and soul.

He sank back into the water, bubbles leaving his lips in a sigh. Oh, Yuga. Once again, you’ve gotten yourself caught in something truly beautiful…

#beararts #bearwrites #yuganon #yuga albw #ganondorf #tloz #hyrule warriors #yuga #tis a joyous yuga wednesday you all #suggestive #tftk

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the-writer-ofthe-fandoms · 1 year

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Symbiote (Lucifer Morningstar) (CH 17)

Characters: Lucifer Morningstar x Symbiote!Reader (Gender Neutral) Words: 5.7k+ Warning(s): alcohol/drunkness A/N: HEY EVERYONE New chapter. What's up? How are yall?I am very sorry for the year long wait. Grad School has been rough on me and I had little to no motivation for fanfic/reader insert writing.I also lost motivation for this story because I wrote this before it was revealed to Chloe Lucifer is actually Lucifer so I have really deviate from some of the plot bc i do not remember Cain's season other than him and Lucifer playimg pretend husbands lmaoI also finally got the description done for this story. Yay!I hope you all enjoy, this is nearly 6k words and full of just fluff and fun :)

taglist at the end

Symbiote Masterlist

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Gene sat on the floor of a decrepit, foreclosed home he was squatting in, back against the wall and a bottle of wine he stole from the Pacheco house. He tilted his head back and took a long swig from the bottle, his glassy eyes never leaving the wall in front of him. His plan was nearly perfect. He didn't even think about (Y/N) and Lucifer not technically being police, he was just too excited to take them both down a notch.

His eyes trail over the wall, looking at the various candid pictures he had of the new inhuman duo. His upper lip curled slightly at (Y/N)'s face in particular. The thief who stole his symbiote. The symbiote who would of granted the extra power to him so he could carry out his plan of killing the wicked and the sinners. That was his alien, not theirs. He took another drink of the wine, wincing as it was getting close to empty.

"I'll kill you. Then that alien will fulfil its purpose." He rasped, sitting up from his spot and walking closer to the wall. His eyes were trained on a photo of Lucifer and (Y/N). "I'll kill you and the Devil, and I'll take what's mine and rid the Earth of the ultimate sin. Just you wait."

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Loud knocking at your apartment door woke you and Venom up from a deep slumber. You look at the time on your phone and saw it was 7:34am. Still half-awake, you grumble and get out of bed with a grouchy symbiote shouting in your mind. You had a scowl on your face as you approached your front door. You gripped the doorknob tightly and nearly ripped the door off its hinges, ready to tear a new one into-

"Eddie?" Your eyes widened at the slightly-disheveled man. He dropped his bag and immediately wrapped his arms around you, one of his hands rested on the back of your head. "What the- Why the hell are you here?"

"EDDIE!" Venom shouted at made himself appear to wrap around the both of you.

"Well, after you told me Gene broke into your place and you were shot I was already thinking of seeing what trouble you are already getting into. And then with what happened with Gene yesterday, I had to visit you." He sighed and tried pulling away, but Venom's gooey-self kept clinging onto your friend. "Yeah, yeah. It's good to see you too buddy."

"Let the man come inside." You laughed as the alien grumbled and returned back into your body. Eddie grinned and shook his head. He leaned down and picked up his back before coming inside.

"Nice place you got."

"Thanks, it's comfy. Have you eaten at all? We don't have much but I can order us something. We just woke up." You yawned and watched as your friend set his bag by the couch before turning to you.

"I can tell you just woke up, you have that 'I just woke-up and I haven't had any sustenance' look to you."

"Screw you." You laughed and Eddie chuckled.

"Take me somewhere. I know it hasn't been long but you have to catch me up more on everything. Especially this Lucifer character you've seemingly gotten close with."

"Sure, just let me put on a more presentable look and we can get going." You chose to ignore his last statement, especially with the infliction in his tone. You start moving to your room. "I know a spot or two we can hit for some good breakfast food."

"Oh, mind if I crash here? I could only get three days off and all the hotels around here are booked."

"Sure, I don't mind!" You grinned and get ready. You put together a comfortable outfit for a walk around and did your hair to your liking for a casual day. You felt very, very giddy and you were sure it was a mix of your's and Venom's excitement. As you were about to exit your room after getting ready, you remembered Lucifer. You quickly pulled out your phone and shot him a quick text explaining the situation. Usually he rarely goes into the station before 10 am so you should be fine.

You left your room and Eddie promptly followed you out of your apartment, watching you lock the front door and following you downstairs.

"I take it you didn't rent a car?" You asked.

"Nope. This was kind of a last minute decision to see you." He let out an airy laugh.

"I see. You missed me that much?" You gave him a cheeky grin.

"Duh. And I had to make sure to keep you in line. You said you wanted a more normal life yet you've been shot already here."

"Trouble follows me, Eds. You know this. It follows you too."

"Fair. Still, I worry about you... And I wanted a mini-vacation for a few days." You both share a laugh. You walked through the somewhat bustling streets, leading you both to a diner nearby your place with decent breakfast foods. You both entered and only had to wait a few minutes to be seated in a booth in the right corner despite the crowded and busy atmosphere.

Your eyes scanned the menu, with Venom demanding you get him a country fried stake and a cinnamon roll.

"You pest." You hiss at his demands, causing Eddie to laugh and watch as you seemingly talk to yourself. "I'll get you the damn cinnamon roll stop shouting at me."

"I'll pay for it, (Y/N). Don't worry about it, get him his meal."

"It's not a concern about money, it's his attitude." You practically growl as you hear Venom cackle. The waitress came over and greeted you and Eddie with a warm smile. She wrote down your orders, eyeing you but not saying anything at your double order. She walked away and Eddie leaned forward with an inquisitive look on his face.

"So, Lucifer Morningstar..." He started.

"Yeah, what about my boss?"

"What is he like? He looks very handsome." He waggled his eyebrows with a playful smirk. He props up his head with his hand under his chin, face returning back to a relaxed look. "He is Lucifer after all. Is he as dark as people believe? Or..."

"No. He is actually a decent guy with all things considered." You paused for a moment to gather your thoughts about your friend. "Lucifer is a bit of a pompous dick when you first meet him...but as I've spent some time with him I can tell he is good, even if he doesn't admit it. He is caring in his own ways."

"I'm glad then. If he was any sort of asshole to you I would have to kick his ass." Eddie said with a cheeky grin.

"I'd like to see you try." You laughed and stared out the window.

"Do you have a crush?" You immediately snapped back at Eddie with a bewildered expression.

"What? No. He is nice to me and we get along well, but I do not have a crush on him."

"LIAR." Venom popped out and popped right back in just to speak outloud.

"Just for that, Venom, I am blasting My Heart Will Go On on repeat for you, even if it physically and mentally hurts me too." You seethed glancing down at yourself before putting your full attention back on your friend. Venom, at first, didn't believe you but in mere seconds he was already begging for you not to.

"Hey, you can tell me anything." Eddie teased. "Your secret crush will be safe with me."

"Eds. I didn't have the best luck with partners before everything happened at Life Foundation. And dating seems almost impossible now with an alien in my body." Your volume lowering as you spoke that last part.

"Maybe Lucifer is into Venom too."

You scoffed and rolled your eyes.

"You never know!"

"And I don't plan to because I don't have romantic feelings for him."

Eddie opened his mouth to say more but you saw a different waitress approaching with the food and drinks you ordered.

"Sorry about the wait. We are down some people and it's busy." She gave a bashful smile and started setting down plates and cups. Looking at her face she seemed familiar but you couldn't quite figure out where you have seen her before. Her hair was dark and wavy, pulled back in a low ponytail with a few strands framing her face. Her eyes were brown and full of warmth. Freckles adorned her face and when she smiled you noticed subtle dimples.

"No worries." Eddie smiled back.

"I'll be right out with the country fried stake and the cinnamon roll." She turned away from the table but then promptly faced you two again. "Oh, I'm Tiffany by the way! Marci, your other server, went on break so I'll be taking care of you." She quickly left and headed back into the kitchen.

"You have a look on your face, what is it?" Eddie asked, mouth already full of hashbrowns.

"She just seemed familiar is all." Your brows furrowed as you tried to figure out where you've seen her before. You shrug and decide to dig into your food. "Oh, Lucifer-"

"What about me?" You nearly choked as the Devil himself slid into the booth next to Eddie, who also looked equally as shocked as you. "Took me two restaurants to find you both."

"Why are you-" You started to ask but were interrupted with your waitresses return.

"And here's the country fried s- Oh! It's you!" She looked at Lucifer with wide eyes as she set the plates in front of him. She almost seemed nervous as she pulled out extra cutlery bound in a white napkin from her apron.

"Tiffany." The Devil smirked and leaned back, barely resting himself against Eddie to get a better look at her. "You look well, what a surprise to see you here."

"Y-yeah. After the whole convience store robbery fiasco I looked for a new job and landed here. Uh... how did everything work out?"

'Oh shit, she was the cashier at the convenience store.' You kept your realization to yourself and kept darting your eyes between the two. 'He must of interviewed her after it happened.'

"We did not arrest the monster." You almost missed the way Lucifer's eyes glanced to you while he had a smirk plastered on his face.

Tiffany almost sighed in relief but kept her composure. "I see."

"We did track down that missing customer though." You kicked his shin under the table but he didn't even flinch. He gestured to you and the waitress's eyes followed to your form.

"Hi." You sheepishly smiled. "That's me. Got out through the backdoor before anything happened. Glad to see you're okay."

"You too." She offered a genuine smile, but then squinted. "I don't remember seeing your face, but you seem familiar... Ah, my memory is still a bit fuzzy from that event."

"I can imagine. I heard about it on the news."

There was a ding from the kitchen and a loud voice calling for someone to pick up an order.

"I have to get back to work, sorry for the slightly depressing conversation but it was nice seeing you two again." Tiffany once again gave you both a bright smile and hurried back to work.

"She seemed lovely." Eddie said before shoveling more food into his mouth. Before you could take the plates from Lucifer, the Devil immediately got the fork and knife out from the napkin bundle and started cutting into the steak.

"That was Venoms." You glared and could feel Venoms anger.

"My apologies." Lucifer pushed the plate to you. "Is the cinnamon roll hi-"

"Yes." You cut him off and reach over, moving it to your side. "We weren't expecting you to join us."

Lucifer glaced to Eddie, finally acknowledging his presence. He held out his hand, "Eddie Brock. It is wonderful to finally meet you. I am a big fan of your show with (Y/N)."

"It's nice to meet you too, man. (Y/N) has told me all about you." Eddie grasped his hand with a firm shake.

"They have?" Lucifer turned his head to face you, an eyebrow raised the accentuate his cocky expression. "Hopefully all the sexy bits-"

"Lucifer!" You hissed and kicked him again. He kicked you back and you did it again. The table shook and people were staring but you didn't care. You wanted to get back at him but you were also having fun with it.

"Okay, children, enough." Eddie sighed and rolled his eyes. You both immediately stopped and focused on him, but you couldn't help but get one more kick in. Lucifer squinted his eyes you but decided to not engage.

"Anyways..." Eds started speaking. "It's great to meet you. And I wanted to say thank you for taking care of (Y/N). I'm still very concerned about Gene being loose but so far you've treated them and Venom well from what I have heard." He smiled.

"Well I am glad to have meet the duo. They add excitement to my life." Lucifer looked back to you with a soft smile and you couldn't help but feel heat crawling up the back of your neck. His face went back to his usual expression and he turned to face Eddie. "So tell me all the embarrassing stories about (Y/N) and Venom, and do not hold out on any juicy details. I will know if you lie."

You kicked him again. -----------

After breakfast you gave Eddie the key to your place while you and Lucifer went to the station. Thankfully there wasn't much to do for you both and any calls that you went on with Chloe were easy enough to figure out and deal with. There was nothing new with Gene, but that was to be expected after the stunt he pulled. He often went dormant for a few days and sometimes up to a week or so before striking again.

Dan had been warming up to you and slowly let go of his past apprehension. You spent your lunch chatting with him, much to Lucifer's disdain, and enjoyed the conversation. You thought it was cute the way he talked about his daughter and how much he adored her.

Mazikeen stopped by to drop off her bounty target. When she spotted you and Lucifer at Chloe's desk she smirked and approached you both, but kept her attention on you. She pulled you along to the vending machine and told you she admired the your's and Venom's 'work' with the convience store robbers and the muggers you both delt with, stating "the violence of it reminded her of hell." She let you get back to Decker's desk after giving you her number if you ever wanted to 'let off steam.' You weren't sure what context she meant but you were happy to seemingly have her as a friend.

Lucifer proposed he take you and Eddie to Lux for the evening. Although you were a little apprehensive, with the noise levels and with running into Amenadiel again, you agreed.

It was the end of the day at the station. As you stood at Chloe's desk, you began texting Eddie the plan Lucifer suggested while he was away bugging Dan. You also let him know that you and Lucifer were picking up something to eat beforehand.

"Stop looking over my shoulder at my phone, Lucifer." You huff, pressing send on the message.

"How could you tell I was there?"

"Heightened senses thanks to Venom, remember?"

"Right." Lucifer chuckled and then leaned forward, his head now right beside yours with his chin on your shoulder. "What is my contact?"

"W-what?"

"What is my contact information in your phone? Eddie's has a blue heart next to his and what looked like a candid funny picture of him. I want to know what mine looks like."

"Uh it looks like this?" You quickly found his contact in your phone as you had his saved as a favorite and showed him. It was just his full name with no icon.

"Boring!" He quickly reached from behind you and snatched your phone away, barely missing his arm as you tried to stop him.

"Hey-!" You tried to reach for it but he used his height to keep you from getting it. You glanced around and cursed under your breath at the sight of all the people at the station, who were watching you both in confusion and amusement. If there weren't so many people you would have used Venom for help.

"You will get your phone back hold on." He turned his back to you as he started typing. You watched as he then raised the phone like he was taking a selfie but you couldn't quite see the screen. He messed around again before turning back to you, handing your phone, which he locked.

You snatched your phone back and put in the code to unlock it. You let out a loud laugh before clamping your free hand over your mouth. His contact name now read as:

'Luci 😈❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥💋'

It wasn't just the name that made you laugh, it was his icon. You now had a selfie of him winking with his lips puckered for a kiss. You took a few moments to calm yourself at the ridiculousness of his selfie and the name, missing the way Lucifer was staring at you with fondness in his eyes. When you looked back him he immediate regained his usual cocky composure.

"What is mine on your phone?"

"I am so glad you asked." Lucifer pulled out his cellphone, unlocked it, and pulled up your contact before handing you his phone.

Your contact name on his phone was yours and Venom's names, followed by the alien emoji and the black and white hearts. The picture had you furrow your brows. It looked like a candid shot of you at the beach where Lucifer showed you his wings. When did he...

"I am still thinking of a better name for you both. I almost wanted to put Elliot and E.T. but I felt it was too on the nose."

"Let me know when you change it then. I am sure that creative brain of yours will think of something." You handed him his phone back and quickly checked yours. "Let's go get food. Eddie says he is down for some drinks at Lux."

--------

Skipping the long line into Lux thanks to Lucifer, you two were lead by the Devil through the packed nightclub. The music was loud and a bit bothersome, but managable. You noticed your best friend looking back at you worriedly as you both moved past people, but you reassured him with asmile and thumbs up. The three of you successfully made it to the familiar booth Lucifer had reserved for himself. You slid in after Eddie and Lucifer followed suit, you now sat between the two while there was still some distance betwen you all. Luci slid the various menus to you both and leaned back into the seat.

"Feel free to order whatever you guys want." The fallen angel waved his hand towards the menus with a smirk. "Perks of being the owner after all. We have top of the line whiskeys, brandys, tequilas... you name it. And don't drink too much again, (Y/N), we do not need a repeat of last time."

"Last time?" Eddie raised a brow and looked between you both.

"I am not surprised they didn't tell you." Lucifer delved into the story of your drunken state. You huffed in embarrassment and grabbed one of the drink menus, knowing you wouldn't be able to stop Lucifer. You scanned over the different drinks and opted to a drink you enjoyed and were familar with.

You slid the menu back to Eddie as Lucifer finished the story.

"Ready?" The nightclub owner asked and you both nodded. Lucifer raised his hand and gestured over a waitress. She wore a small, dark red crop-top, high waisted black shorts, and a fancy pair of heels. Her eyes adorned a smokey makeup look and her lips were a bright red. She was stunning, even in the lowlit club.

"Lucifer, it's always a pleasure to serve you." She gave him a wink and a sultry look, her hand resting on his shoulder. "What can I do for you?"

"A glass of the Redbreast whiskey for me." He then gestured to you and Eddie as she put the order in on her tablet

"Uh... I think I'll try the Newbarns Oat Lager." Eddie smiled and the waitress simply nodded while she entering his drink order. Her gaze lingered back to Lucifer before she looked at you.

You gave her the name of the drink, which she put down, before resuming her full attention on the fallen angel. You weren't sure what you were feeling but you knew you felt a little uncomfortable with how she interacted him.

"JEALOUS~"

"Shut it." You hissed under your breath.

"Will that be all, sir?"

"Yes, and everything will be on my tab tonight." Lucifer replied.

"Of course. Those drinks will be out soon." She winked and sauntered off.

"So, Eddie, what do you think of Lux?"

"It's cool. I am more of a dive bar kind of guy these days, but I appreciate the club scene." Eddie grinned then looked to you. "How are you and V feeling?"

"Everything is manageable Eds. The music isn't loud enough to cause actual pain." You, once again, gave him a smile to reassure his worries.

The waitress came back with the drinks on her tray. She smiled and placed Lucifer's whiskey down first. She then placed your's and Eddie's down while leaning over, close to Lucifer. You supressed the urge to roll your eyes but then did so anyways when you hear Venom cackling. After setting the drinks down she placed her hand on his shoulder.

"Let me know if you and your guests want anything else, Mr. Morningstar."

She walked away, letting her hand linger for a moment before walking away. You felt your phone buzz in your pocket and took a quick look at the notification; Eddie had texted you.

'Someone jealous? ;)' It read. You looked at him with a deadpan expression and quickly texted a no. 'I saw you roll your eyes.'

'Because Venom is being a nuisance in my head. Drop it.' You replied and put your phone away, you saw Eddie did as well.

Conversation between the three of you carried on naturally, as if you had been a friend group for years. You knew the two social butterflies would have no issues conversing and it made you happy your two friends got along so well. You made sure to input Venom's contributions as well for him.

After several drinks, you and Eddie were buzzed while Lucifer appeared to be unaffected. But you all were enjoying the night in each others company. What could go wrong?

"Lucifer!" A familiar voice boomed and you instantly sobered up at the sight of Amenadiel. You groaned, tilting your head back as you let yourself fall to the side and rested against who you thought was Eddie. Except after breathing in, you smelt Lucifer's distinct cologne and realized your head and shoulder were against his arm. You move to get off him but you felt his hand grasp yours under the table, halting your movements.

"Amenadiel, brother, what brings you here?" Lucifer cocked his head to the side.

"I see you still have them around." He jutted his head at your direction and you scoffed.

"We really need to stop meeting in Lux like this, Amenadiel." You huff and tried to move again, but the squeeze of Lucifer's hand stopped you again.

"Join us for drinks, Amenadiel. Or just to simply get to know my friends."

"...Fine." You were surprised at his agreement. Lucifer finally let your hand go and you sat up straight, scooting over a bit so the Devil could move over as well. Amenadiel sat down rather stiffly, his back straight and his shoulder back.

"I am honestly surprised you are joining us. Do you want a drink?" Lucifer asked eyebrows raised in surprise as his sipped his drink.

"No, I do not want a drink." Amenadiel sighed and looked to you. "I have heard you protected Lucifer in this club while in the presenceof Chloe."

"Yep, took a bullet for him right over there." You pointed across the club, barely able to see the table Chloe and the others were at through all the people. "Did my blood stain your floors Lucifer?"

"Hardly." Lucifer chuckled.

"I just wanted to say thank you for protecting him like that. He and I may have our differences but I do still care for him." You supressed your laugh when Lucifer turned his head towards you to silently fake gag. "I also apologize for my rude behavior beforehand. My confusion around your...friend inside of you-" Lucifer and Eddie cut him off with loud laughs, which the angel promptly shut them up with a pointed look. "-had me act poorly."

"Thanks, Amenadiel. I appreciate the apology." You said a little slowly, wrapping your head around the situation.

"Glad you do because I don't think I could kick his ass for you, he is built strong." Eddie leaned close to whisper slurred words in your ear but didn't realize he wasn't whispering at all, making you wince. You raised a brow at him and noticed his grin and his glazed eyes, and then noticed his now empty glass of his 5th drink? You weren't sure how many he had at this point but you could tell he was drunk now.

"That is great and all, but who are you and what have you done to my brother? The Amenadiel I know would not apologize." Lucifer leaned in close.

Amenadiel rolled his eyes. "I have been doing a lot of thinking-"

"Unlikely."

"Lucifer." Amenadiel glared at him. "I have been doing a lot of thinking and have been trying to figure myself out. Trying to figure out who I am and who I am meant to be. Last night, I thought about the things I have said and done since you came to Earth, and I feel like I must make things right here. I felt that one of those things is an apology to (Y/N)."

Lucifer leaned back in the seat and squinted at his brother, but said nothing. You felt your phone buzz once again and quickly look under the table.

'That wasza lot of deep sht fo me to hear bestieeeeee' Eddie's text read.

'Did you really just call me bestie lmao?'

'Its what the peoples are calling eachother thesde3 daya.'

You sigh and try not to laugh, putting your phone away. You look back at Luci and his brother, conversing in a serious matter then back to your inebriated friend.

"Are you going to finish that?" He pointed to your third unfinished drink, which had a little more than half in the glass.

"Yes, Eddie." You move the glass out of reach and finish off the rest of the beverage.

"Yeah! That's my bestie!" Eddie whooped and cheered, bringing the attention back on you both.

"Didn't we agree you would not get drunk?" Lucifer tuts, taking the glass from your hand.

"Yes, but Eddie is wasted and has a bad habit of finishing off my drinks when I'm not looking."

"Am not and do not." He pouts.

"I'll be fine. The last drink had little to no alcohol content in it, and that will be my last drink for tonight."

"Alright, but I swear to my father if you both are too drunk to handle-"

----------

Maybe downing that last drink all in one go like that wasn't the brightest idea, but at least you could walk, talk, and think straight unlike Eddie, who Amenadiel was carrying like a bride back to your apartment. There came a point were Eddie felt like he was falling asleep and you felt like the club was too warm, too loud, and too crowded. So you decided it was time you two left for the night. Given that you, Eddie, and Venom were under the influence the angelic duo decided to get you both safely home.

The cool night air felt nice on your face and thankfully the sidewalks were mostly clear. You walked along side Lucifer on his left, while Amenadiel holding Eddie were to his right. You were humming some random song you heard in the club while Luci and Amenadiel teased each other.

Focusing a little too much on their jokes and not on walking, you stumbled over your own foot. Lucifer quickly wrapped an arm around you to stop you from falling (which you already stopped yourself from doing), causing the three of you to stop walking, and he let out a 'tch.'

"Relax, I just stumbled a bit I wasn't going to fall." You roll your eyes push away from him. "Honestly, I am fine. Yeah I am drunk but I am not like Eddie."

"Shut up!" You heard him yell at the sound of his name. You glanced over and saw that he had raised his head to shout then drop it against Amenadiel's shoulder, who didn't look all too amused.

"Still..." Lucifer seemed at a loss for words for a moment. He shoved his hand suitjacket's pocket and bent out his elbow. You stared at him and he rolled his eyes. "Hold onto my arm so you keep your balance. You've been swaying since we crossed the last crosswalk."

"Have not..." You grumbled to yourself but tentatively wrapped your arm around his. You three started walking again. You yawned and started thinking back to the club and how Lucifer kept you from moving off him. You wanted to ask him right there and then, but figured it would be best to save that conversation for when Eddie and Amenadiel weren't present. Instead, you hummed one your favorite songs and let Lucifer help you walk home. Another yawn passed by your lips and you couldn't help but lean your head against his arm again.

Lucifer kept his face neutral and resisted the temptation to stare at you as thee Eddie Brock and his brother were right next to him. He couldn't ignore the heat blooming in his cheeks and ears, but he could ignore you as you climged to him (he really couldn't) and that seemed like his best option. He heard his brother clear his throat next to him, catching his attention.

Amenadiel, not speaking, gave him a downward smile with his dark brows raised as he glanced to you and back to Lucifer.

Lucifer, also not speaking, looked at him with furrowed brows and his nose scrunched up.

Amenadiel, still silent, had a knowing look and nodded his head with a small grin before looking forwards.

Lucifer, also still silent, rolled his eyes and put his attention forward as well, stealing small glances at you.

You all arrive at your apartment in no time. You let go of Lucifer's arm when you and your little group reached your door and unlocked it successfully. You opened the door and allowed Amenadiel in first so he can get Eddie out of his arms. Lucifer followed in after him and you came in last to close the door.

"Just lay him on the couch. I can take care of him from here." You sigh and set your keys down. "Thank you guys for helping, you really didn't have to."

"It wasn't a problem." Amenadiel gave you a genuine, small smile after he placed Eddie on the couch. "Let me give you my number in case you ever need help or a break from him." He gestured to his brother.

"Oh uh, sure." You get your phone out and start putting in your pass code, missing the cheeky grin Amenadiel gave to a scowling Devil. When you looked back up to hand the angel your phone, both had neutral expressions. Weird. Amenadiel typed in his number and then sent himself a text from your phone.

Lucifer opened his mouth to speak but Eddie making noises cut him off. The three of you look and see him struggling to take his shoes off. You roll your eyes and sigh.

"You guys should get going. I'm going to help him get his shoes off and then probably crash in my bed. Thank you again."

"Of course, darling. It was nothing. See you tomorrow." Lucifer smiled and placed a hand on Amenadiel's shoulder before they teleported away. You blink and then locked your door before turning to Eddie with your hands on your hips.

"What am I to do with you Eds?"

--------

Arriving back at his penthouse with his brother in tow, Lucifer immediately went to his bar. He poured himself a glass of brandy. Taking a sip, his eyes bore into his brother's figure, his finger tapping the glass.

"Were you trying to make a move on (Y/N)?" He asked in an unusually serious tone.

"No, Luci. I was just trying to get on your nerves." Amenadiel chuckled and sat across from his brother in one of the barstools. "Glad to see it worked."

"It did not." The Devil annunciated his words and took another sip. "Well? Is there anything you need since you are still lingering around?"

"Lucifer..." Amenadiel's face shifted to a serious expression. "You have been away from hell-"

"I do not need this talk again."

"No. Listen." The angel ordered. "One of your demons went rogue and is Los Angeles."

"What?" Lucifer faltered. "When? How do you know?"

Before Amenadiel could reply the elevator door dinged and Mazikeen walked in.

"Did he tell you?" She had a wild look on her face and the two noticed one of her demon blades in her hand. "Zezroth is in LA. I don't know how but I bumped into him while looking for a bounty and I could just tell."

"I then ran into her right before I went to Lux." Amenadiel confirmed. "I didn't bring it up because I didn't know how much (Y/N)'s friend knew."

"Zezroth is the worst." Mazikeen seethed. "He never liked me. He always talked shit about Lucifer and not in the friend and brother kind of way."

"This is just great. On top of violent serial killer coming after (Y/N) and I, Zezroth is also here doing Father knows what." Lucifer groaned and poured himself another drink. He just hoped it was a demon wanting a joy ride in the human world and not anything serious.

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

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Sorry if i missed anyone xoxo

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laawlesss · 2 years

Text

;; To Capture Your Image , pt. i

>> in which the newest client of your studio seems a bit cocky.

; words? ; 6k.

; warnings? ; none.

; genre? ; fluff, slow burn, potential comfort/angst.

; request? ; no.

; pairing ; takami keigo / reader.

; notes ; gendered language is not used in this chapter, reader can be assumed gender neutral. cross posted on ao3 under same name.

i recommend listening to my bestie’s playlist while you read.

An excited buzz thrummed around the interior of the high class studio, the volume of the whispering and muttering staff amplified by the tall arched ceiling. Elegant and very expensive equipment was posed with extreme deliberation around the room, a white backdrop set with a number of props being the main focus of the little crowd. Soft RnB music drifted from somewhere in the room, a few stylists humming along to the low tune. The studio manager was speaking with their most recent client’s agent, the snake hero Uwabami reclining in a small chair with a plastic cup of water in her grasp. The way she held it, you could have assumed it was made of carved diamond, her figure and poise radiating nothing short of elegance and class.

You, however, were nothing like the figure of beauty that sat gracefully before you. Your hair was a mess from the frantic dash you’d made to reach your job on time, having overslept for the third time that week. Meshing in with the small crowd of crew members, you hoped your rushed entrance wasn’t too noticeable, especially to your boss. Glancing in one of the styling mirrors, you smoothed your hair back into place, straightening your posture and adjusting the hem of your shirt before sending yourself a confident smile.

Hearing your name called, you turned, eyes searching the room before you spotted the studio manager, your boss, waving you over. Her black bob-cut was styled impeccably, as usual. A perfectly painted finger pushed her glasses further up her slender nose, her gaze dark. Your heart hammered in your chest for a moment, before she broke out into a grin, resting a hand on your shoulder. “There you are. We’ve been waiting for you.” She nodded, gesturing to Uwabami and her agent, who was now fussing over her, earning a slightly annoyed smile from the pro hero.

“Sorry!” You hastily spoke up, nervously waving off your embarrassment with a shy wave. “Traffic, you know how it is.” You smoothly lied, deciding it unnecessary to detail the real reason why you’d almost been late. Your hands flitted up to your camera, and you made your way over to Uwabami. “Good to see you again, Ms. Uwabami. It’s always a pleasure working with you.” Your head lowered to give a friendly and polite bow, a respectful smile on your face.

“The pleasure’s all mine, I assure you.” The pro heroine nodded, holding out her hand to give yours a small shake. “Gemini Lens delivers nothing but the best.” Uwabami complimented, her posture, however relaxed, still commanded respect from the bustling room.

Gemini Lens was your studio, named after your one-of-a-kind manager, Himari Gemini. Starting in her small, one-roomed apartment in the beginning, she’d pruned her practice like a beautiful tree, now nearly known as a household name. It was one of the most popular studios among pro heroes, many high-ranking names frequenting its walls.

Letting your hand fall lax to your side, your smile warmed, and you looked over to the set. “Alright, so we said something about a powerful-feeling theme last time, and I figured we could do something with that, but make it extravagant-“ You grinned, your eyes partially lidded with excitement over your vision. “I was thinking we try out that new throne the designers put together-“ You continued explaining your idea, your voice giddy. Your concept had Uwabami draped over a majestic throne, her long velvet dress outlining her figure. A thick cape with a big and soft fur collar would be draped over her lithe shoulders, held in place by a golden chain complete with a brooch.

Once your idea was out in the air, Uwabami seemed to consider the suggestion, before a sweet smile broke out over her features. “Sounds lovely to me. I’ll be in your hands.” The heroine made her way to one of the stylists, sitting herself down into one of the spinning chairs in front of the sparkling table mirrors. Crew members almost immediately swarmed her, fighting for the chance to be the one to do the esteemed snake hero’s makeup.

Turning your head back to the set, ideas coursed through your mind like a rushing river, and you bit your lip in concentration. How should you frame the shot? If you wanted to push more into the feeling of a powerful queen looking down on her subjects, you should probably frame the camera looking upwards, perhaps contort the point of view? Endless possibilities ran through your mind, you were only shaken out of it when you felt a hand on your shoulder again.

“You still here on Earth with us, kid?” A matriarchal voice joked, and Himari soon came into view. Her eyes flashed, a good natured smile on her face. “You always seem like you’re a couple planets away whenever you’re staging a set.”

Brushing a strand of your hair behind your ear, you gave your boss a sheepish smile. “Sorry, just a lot of things to figure out.” Your hands itched to use your camera, your fingers rubbing over the grooves in the lens. It had been with you for several years, your film capturing every little moment you deemed special. Now, you used it for your passion every day. A few small stickers (and the residue of some you’d firmly decided you’d hated) were pressed onto the sides of the camera, having decorated your favorite accessory to your heart’s content.

“I don’t doubt it.” Himari nodded, moving her hand from your shoulder to rest on her hip, her posture radiating confidence. “There’s certainly a reason you’re the number one photographer in this studio.” Her comment helped you relax a bit, reassuring yourself of your talents. It had taken years to perfect your craft, but now you were an expert. “We’ll be having another client in after Uwa, his agent said his old studio was difficult to work with, so they’ll be trying their hand at our business instead. Make a good impression, alright?” She shot you a warm smile, but one that also said, ‘don’t screw it up, okay?’.

Deciding not to let yourself worry about it, you just nodded and shrugged her off. “Not a problem.” You dealt with pro heroes all the time, and you knew numerous celebrities from their time spent within the studio walls. What was another overly-confident egotistical hero? Granted, there were some heroes you loved to work with, some even becoming close friends of yours, but the number of rude and self-centered trust fund babies ever outweighed the good.

“Hey! We’re all ready over here!” Someone called from the set, having positioned the false throne exactly how you’d described. The thick fur cloak had been laid carefully over its tall back, so as to make sure not a single wrinkle intruded on its languishly ironed exterior. Uwabami paced over with the poise of a queen, her eyes outlined and enhanced with shades of red and purple that matched the throne and the heavy cloak. Shining gold contours just made her already beautiful face look more ethereal, and she took her time admiring herself in one of the mirrors from afar as she talked with you.

“Okay, so I’m thinking we have you with a subtle smirk, kind of resting your cheek on your hand while looking down at the camera.” You suggested, a few stylists helping Uwabami into her long coat. She shrugged her shoulders, looking bored at the idea.

“Mm. I don’t think that would flatter me.” The woman seemed entirely disinterested, somehow still exuding a radiant air despite her rude words. You did your best to not seem taken-aback, this was how all heroes acted. Despite knowing what you were doing, entirely efficient at your life’s work, it was normal for the expensive people you worked with to act as if they knew better than you. It was entirely frustrating, and you had yet to find a client who wasn’t a headache. Even the clients you liked were usually so eccentric that you found your temples pounding at the end of the session.

Collecting yourself, you forced a sweet smile back to your face. “Alright, then what if we had you sitting sideways with your legs kind of draped over the side of the throne?” It wasn’t your first option, and you’d definitely have to work with the framing to get it to fit on a magazine spread, but it wouldn’t be terrible. The cloak wouldn’t fold over her form in the way you’d imagined and hoped it would from the first pose.

She didn’t say anything, but a slight grimace fell over her face. Her form was stiff, choosing to just stay silent instead. A deadpan look dropped onto your features, and you sighed. “Alright then, nevermind. What would you like to do?” You muttered, several harsh thoughts racing through your mind, many of them imbued with colorful language.

Uwabami brightened, sitting up in the chair. “I think I should sit like this, with my legs like this.” She did as she said, her posture straight as a line. Her knees were pressed together and her legs folded to the side, ankles crossed over one another. The pro hero had her hands folded in her lap, an ever-elegant smile on her face now. It didn’t portray the feeling you were going for. The woman sitting before you didn’t exactly radiate Empress, moreso nervous student.

Your eyebrow twitched in annoyance. Why would you come to a photographer in the first place if you thought you could do it better yourself. Unable to push her or try and change her mind for fear of losing her business, you sighed and became determined to make this mediocre pose look stunning. “Fine.” Your lack of interest and slight vexation was clear in your tone, despite your weak attempt at hiding it. “But if we do that pose, you’ll have to trust me, as your professional photographer,” You made sure to enunciate every syllable, “with the rest of the setting elements. Yes?” Your words caught her off guard, you could tell by the way her brows faintly furrowed for half a second.

Massaging your temple with a hand, you frowned, before quietly apologizing. “I apologize if my tone came off as rude, I had a long night last night.” You hadn’t, but how was she to know that? Forcing your shoulders to relax, you listened as Uwabami’s agent chattered on with Himari, doing your best to arrange the props you’d asked for in a way that you liked. It took more convincing that you liked to get the pro heroine to allow you to style the cape according to your ideas, splaying a fake crown encrusted with dark garnets crooked on her head. You had told her it was only for a moment, just using it to line everything up and make sure all the props were even, but the few pictures you managed to snap turned out great.

The photoshoot took about five hours, having to change around set pieces and send Uwabami back to the stylists for new makeup looks to fit the other themes you had in mind. The woman seemed to be pissed off, but she masked it well with a sweet smile that was almost venomous.

Nearing the end of the fifth hour, glad that one of your longest client slots was almost over, you had stepped to a nearby computer to upload your pictures and run through them with Uwabami and her agent. Whatever they liked, you’d edit, then send off to her agency to make marketing campaigns, ads, and whatever other nonsense they wished to use your pieces for. Unbeknownst to you, a man had slipped through the wide entryway with a subtle woosh, his presence causing a few interns to whisper in hushed voices behind their hands.

“Great, so that narrows it down to a little less than a hundred. I’ll send you the files after running through them and making touch ups. You’ll have them within the week.” You nodded, entirely confident in your eye for aesthetics. Hell, you could turn a picture of a wet rag into something that someone could identify with.

The heroine stood with her arms crossed over her chest, not entirely impressed by your manners, but it didn’t seem to phase you in the slightest. “Lovely.” That was all she said, turning her attention to the newcomer in the room and striding away from your neat desk placed neatly on one side of the studio. Not bothering to watch her walk away, you kept your gaze on your screen, talking things over with Uwabami’s much more tolerable agent. With their help, you narrowed the pictures down further, leaving you with about sixty that you’d be sending to the agency.

Running a hand through your hair, you sent a genuine smile to the agent, giving their hand a gentle shake before standing from your stool. You had long since gotten used to the way Uwabami acted, and it didn’t bother you much anymore. Bitches will be bitches. Saving everything and sorting it neatly into a file named “Uwabami Empress Shoot” with the date recorded, you let your PC power off, checking the battery of your camera. Himari had said something about a second client, hadn’t she?

You checked your watch; 2pm. If your next shoot went relatively quickly, you could be home before the 5 o’clock rush. Swapping out your camera batteries and setting the old one on the charger, you swept the strap back over your neck, immediately at ease by the familiar feeling and the weight of the instrument. You stretched a weary arm over your head and let out a soft breath as tension left your muscles. Time to get back to work.

By now, out of your range of vision, Uwabami had struck up an amiable conversation with the stranger, likely talking about the latest news in the hero community. A couple of the newer interns and stylists had asked him for autographs, which he gave with a relaxed smirk, a cheeky salute given as he stepped away from them. Your attention was finally drawn to the entryway when a very out of breath man sprinted in through the doors, a loud SLAM echoing through the room as one of the double doors hit heavily against the wall. He was panting, breath ragged, as he began to angrily berate the other, calm man.

“You forget that the average person isn’t a hero, Mr. Hawks!” The man called, sweat running down his face in rivers. His suit had ugly marks from yet more sweat, his black hair nearly greased down. “When you go flying off, we can’t exactly keep up with you!” The man yelled, his voice getting squeaky at the end of his sentence. It was kind of amusing, the way the man threw a fit at the taller one. Whatever was happening could probably be summed up simply as a tantrum, the hero seeming unbothered as if this was a natural, daily occurrence.

“Hey, I didn’t want to be late.” He shrugged his agent off, his sharp eyes wandering around the room before making contact with yours. Your breath caught in your throat for a moment, noticing his golden irises outlined with dark black markings. Recovering, you watched Himari stride over to him, striking up an easy, friendly conversation with him and Uwabami.

Hawks, the man who was a bit too fast. You didn’t know him much beyond his visage being on numerous billboards and advertisements, his heroic feats constantly the front page of news sites. He was definitely one of the most popular heroes, even in spite of his good looks. The hero’s relaxed and confident demeanor attracted many people, flocks of all kind eager to catch even a glimpse of him speeding through the sky on any occasional mission. He had men and women fawning over him, sending them into a frenzy if he so much as met their gazes with his molten gold eyes.

You had never seen why he was such a big deal. Sure, he was attractive, you wouldn’t mind having him rub up against you any day, but you had found out the egotistical boys weren’t really your type the day you broke up with your fourth grade boyfriend. What interested you were his wings. When you had first seen them, your mind had gone wild with all kinds of poses and point-of-views, their crimson coloration absolutely captivating you.

Tearing your eyes away from the continued contact you’d held, you began to stride over as Himari waved you over to her side. “This is our second client for today, I’m sure you’ve heard of him, Hawks, the number two hero?” Himari flashed her teeth in a blinding smile, gesturing to the man who stood a bit taller than you. He was wearing his signature hero outfit, his yellow visors pushed up onto his head, holding back his fluffy blond hair. Due to the close proximity of equipment and other people, Hawks held his large wings close to his sides, neatly folding one over the other. His hands were haphazardly slung into the pockets of his aviator pants, wearing them surprisingly well, or maybe it was just the confidence with which he wore them.

“I know who he is, Himari.” You blew a strand of your hair out of your face, earning a raised eyebrow from the man as his smirk grew slightly. You introduced yourself as you held out your hand, waiting for him to shake. “Nice to meet you in person, instead of just seeing your billboards. I’ll do my best to make you look pretty.” You tilted your head as you leaned your weight onto one hip, your handshake firm. He let out a low, natural chuckle at your words, his hands going back to his pockets once you both had released your grip.

“I’ll be in your care, then.” Hawks nodded, his lazy eyes naturally half-lidded. His posture was relaxed, his shoulders held back and his muscles loose, yet something about the way he carried himself made confidence exude from every inch of him. The man’s voice was low, laid back, just like the man himself. You did your best to seem just as unbothered, but inside you were nearly bursting with excitement at the chance to work with him and his wings.

You became aware of Uwabami’s presence beside Hawks as she moved, clicking her tongue as she walked towards the door. “Well, that’s all for me. I’m eager to see the results of the shoot, I’m sure they’ll be just wonderful.” Tossing her hair over her shoulder, she sent a wave behind her, not bothering to turn around to address the few of you. Her agent gave you a sheepish goodbye, before following the hero out the door, instantly telling the snake heroine about what else they had planned for today. Good riddance, you thought.

A glint ran across Himari’s glasses, and she turned back to Hawks and his agent, who had just managed to catch his breath. He was roundish and his eyes were pea-shaped, not charismatic like his client in the slightest. Clearing his throat, he wiped his palms on his gray suit before holding one out to Himari. “It’s a pleasure to work with Gemini Lens, we’ve heard good things, I hope you live up to all the good reviews.” The man tried to be cheeky, but it just came off as demeaning, earning a slight furrow of Himari’s brow.

Stepping further into the studio and ignoring the blunder of his agent, Hawks stretched out his wings, making sure he wasn’t going to hit anything with his long feathers. His golden eyes swept over every crevice, his shoulders relaxing as he mentally catalogued everything in the wide room. “Nice place!” He grinned, looking over his shoulder with glinting eyes. “What are we startin’ with, sweetheart?” He blew a strand of fluffy, light amber hair out of his face, his hands still firmly in his pockets.

An excited grin stretched over your features, and you quickly followed after him, too excited to work with his gorgeous wings to hear the pet name that dropped casually from his lips. Firmly holding your camera in your hand, you hurried ahead of him and led him to the now-cleared white backdrop, the throne having been tucked away in one of the storage rooms, and any evidence of glitter or stray props was swept up.

“I was hoping to do some framing with your wings.” A spark glimmered in your wide irises, your heart pounding. It took you a second before you cleared your throat and forced yourself to calm down, you didn’t want to look like a raging fan losing it over meeting a famous idol. You inhaled, then slowly exhaled, though your actions didn’t go unnoticed by the number two hero’s sharp eyes.

Thankfully, he didn’t mention it, any clue he noticed was tucked in his lazy smirk and fluffy raised brows. “Not a problem.” He stood in the middle of the backdrop, answering your questions and letting you take a few experimental pictures, testing how the color and texture of his wings would show up on film.

Himari had managed to get Hawks’s agent to sit down, a glass of water in his furious hand. The man had seemingly no end of complaints, chattering to some poor intern who’d gotten stuck within his line of sight. If his agent made a move to call out to Hawks, the studio manager jumped in to redirect his attention. Your fascination with the winged hero was the topic of several conversations with your boss, and she wasn’t about to let some out-of-shape doofus ruin your moment to photograph your newfound muse.

“Is there anything in particular you want to start off with?” Your voice came out unwavering, and you mentally sagged in relief that your tone wasn’t conveying any of the mini-panic you were feeling. You liked to start off all sessions with new clients this way, an open-ended question to get a feel of what they were comfortable with, what they liked, and what they were tired of doing. As you got more time with a client, you could guess and initiate ideas you were sure they’d like, in most cases anyways.

Hawks’s posture tensed when you asked, his head cocking to the side as if he’d never been asked that before. His brows raised, and his wings folded inward; for a split second, the confidence he radiated was gone. He recovered within an instant, and leaned forward, his smirk back. “Never been asked that before, hmm.” The man hummed, pacing in slow circles around the small area of the set.

“I usually just go along with what Abiko tells me works best. Doesn’t bother me too much, though.” Hawks shot you a wild grin and a wink. “Even if I had to choose, I don’t think there’s anything in particular that stands out, like I said earlier, I’m in your hands.” He rubbed the back of his neck with a gloved, calloused hand, his posture semi-curved.

Bouncing on your feet, you had hoped he’d say something like this. Free reign over the pose, theme, positioning, it was all yours. Taking a second to get a close look at him to figure out his best angle, you were taken aback when the sunlight that streamed in from the opened blackout curtains hit the sharp planes and angles of his face just right, making the gold of his eyes sparkle like treasure. His cheekbones were high, and semi-defined, yet his jawline was nearly as sharp as his wing blades. Two square-shaped red jewels were hooked onto his lobes, glinting in the afternoon sun. His headphones rested around the crest of his collar, framing them elegantly. The bright crimson of his wings reflected on his face, neck, and hair, giving him a dangerous aura that had your breath catching in your throat.

Hawks didn’t seem to mind, tilting his head to get a good look at you in return. “Am I pretty enough for your esteemed film?” He joked in a sing-songy voice, his pointed and elegant canines on display. You cleared your throat, hurriedly stepping back, nearly tripping over your own feet.

“Uhhh. Yeah.” You mumbled, catching a glint of amusement in his glance. Turning around, your mind raced over the props you had, the lighting, potential looks for him. Perking up, you stood up straight, snapping your fingers before pivoting and grabbing his sleeve, causing him to raise a brow in surprise. You tugged him towards the backdrop, a plan in mind.

“Woah there, sweetheart. Manhandle me all you want, just give me a bit of a warning next time.” He chuckled, low and deep, holding a hand up. Despite his words, he let you drag him over, shortening his pace to match your steps. He was already amused by you, a spunky little photographer who didn’t take shit. It was true that he never really had too much of a choice in what his agents decided for him, whether it be public appearances or photography shoots, but something about you had piqued his interest, and he figured he’d let you have your fun.

Tapping your finger against your lips in thought, you turned to face him, releasing his sleeve and letting him catch his balance. “Okay, I have an idea. Just trust me-“ Grinning widely, you used your grip to lightly maneuver him into the pose you wanted. “So I want to have you in like a three-fourths kind of view—“ You suggested, a light brush of a touch to the hip you wanted facing the camera. Doing your best not to be flustered, you convinced yourself that this was purely business. And it was.

Hawks said nothing, a sly smirk still smeared on his face, letting you position him however you desired. His hips were more lithe than his pants led you to believe, pulling your hand back quickly as you inadvertently felt him up. His eyes were glued onto you, scanning over your face with precision, never leaving your complexion. Your cheeks were on the verge of blush, your own gaze downcast as you stared at your hands.

Gently reaching to the wing closest to you, your knuckle brushed lightly over one of the soft spines of his feathers, sending a minuscule shiver down his spine that you wouldn’t have noticed if you weren’t as close as you were. Your hands retreated, falling to your sides. “Oh sorry, I should have asked first—“

“Nah, it’s alright, love, my wings are just sensitive.” He quickly played it off, doing his best to reassure you. “Go ahead with what you had in mind.” His smile was warm, comforting, and helped you relax. You were worried that he was recovering from a patrol or something and you had irritated a sore spot. Exhaling, and feeling as though you were walking on eggshells, you hesitantly reached back towards his wings, posing them pointing skyward.

“Okay,” Your voice wavered ever-so-slightly, “I think we’ll try your hand on your hip, just this one.” Nudging the hand you mentioned, he looped his gloved fingers through one of his belt loops casually. “And then like, kind of bite the edge of your glove?” Your suggestion was sheepish, and you cursed yourself for being so shy. He was just some hero! What about him was making you so weak in the knees? You had a job to do, you didn’t have time to linger on anyone, no matter how attractive and mesmerizing their golden eyes were.

Hawks’s eyes widened, then narrowed, a cheeky grin on his face as he did as he was asked. His sharp teeth bit down on the edge of his leather glove, pushing his hips forward as he stood with his shoulders back. His eyes flashed up to meet your nervous gaze, sending a flurry of wild butterflies into your stomach. Clenching your jaw, you stepped back again, putting a bit more distance between you and the number two hero.

“Well? ‘Ow d’ I ‘ook?” His voice was muffled and he stumbled over them, due to the leather he held in the tip of his teeth. His wings bristled, and he puffed out his chest as best as he could from his pose.

Someone dropped something somewhere else in the studio, an intern quickly being reprimanded and a soft whisper falling over the room. You didn’t notice, your eyes still threatening to rake over the form of the man in front of you. Swallowing, you hurriedly grabbed the camera from around your neck, the body of the instrument conveniently covering the newfound blush that began to spread over your cheeks.

“It’s..uhm.. you look good!” You affirmed, the feeling of the heavy camera in your hands snapping you back to the present. Your mind shifted, and you thought only in angles and flattering lights. There was always a noticeable shift in your demeanor when you got into your shoot. Your movements were swift and smooth, languidly flowing around your subject like a river. You occasionally barked out quiet suggestions for Hawks or the prop team, snapping picture after picture.

You were in your element and you were thriving.

The photoshoot was quick, all things considering. About an hour and a half, just a small shoot to get introduced to your new client. You’d found that Hawks was entirely amiable, ever the charming casanova. He’d been open to any and all of your ideas, eager, even, to make your visions a reality.

After the shoot was up, a few of the remaining interns that hadn’t gone home for the day asked for autographs and hugs and what have you. You had pried your camera off your neck and had left it sitting on your desk, the batteries taken out and set on the charger for tomorrow’s clientele. Ruffling your hair and sweeping it back into your natural style, you let out an exhale. Your heart continued to pound, excitement still coursing through your veins. Finally you had a chance to work with those gorgeous wings you’d admired ever since Hawks had made his appearance among the top ranking of heroes.

Leaving the files to upload into your computer, you stepped over to Himari, where she was speaking with Hawks’s agent. Her words were kind, speaking endless praises of your work to the disgruntled man.

“Oh no, there’s no one anywhere near as good.” She noticed your presence and wrapped a comforting arm over your shoulder, pulling you into her side. Ruffling your hair like a proud mother. “There’s a reason my business is the best.” She spoke proudly.

Hawks ambled over from where he’d been taking a selfie with one of the remaining makeup stylists who hadn’t gone home. He held a thin paper cup in his hand, taking sips from it from time to time. His wings had been folded in from their previous outstretched pose from the photoshoot. Slight sweat dampened his brow from the warm temperature of the room and his heavy coat, made more to withstand the heavy winds of flying at high altitudes rather than a studio warmed by the afternoon sunlight.

Shrugging off Himori’s arm, you outstretched a hand to Hawks, a warm smile upon your face. “It was nice getting to photograph you. I hope you’ll come to enjoy the results and return sometime.” You spoke respectfully, the same statement you usually say after any appointment with a client. “To be honest, I’d love the chance to keep working with you and your wings,” You dipped your head, your hands sweating slightly from their place in your pockets, unable to clutch onto your camera since it was still at your desk. Himari struck up another long winded conversation with the agent, tugging him a few meters away to talk.

His signature smirk returned to his face, and he produced a phone from his back pocket, holding it out to you. “Sure thing. I had fun.” His phone had a bright red case, with two yellow wing symbols imprinted on the back of it. You took it carefully, a bit confused as to why he was handing you his phone. “Put your number in, so we can talk more about what you’re thinking for next time.”

“You know, I usually don’t give my number to guys I just met.” You raised a brow, crossing your arms over your chest. Your tone was cheeky, your eyes twinkling.

Hawks seemed a little shocked for a second, before his own grin returned. “Aw, we’ve been working together for almost two hours! That doesn’t sound like strangers to me.” He nodded, mimicking your position. The smaller feathers at the top of his wings puffed up, and his eyes caught your gaze once again. “I’m hurt, you think of me as a mere stranger.” He grabbed dramatically at his heart, sighing loudly.

You couldn’t help the giggle that escaped you, and you mirrored his dramatical sigh. “Alright, I guess.” Your expression softened, and he grinned. Putting your name and number into his phone, you made sure to put ‘Gemini Lens Photographer’ in the note section of the contact, just in case he forgot.

Handing it back to him, Hawks winked, shutting it off and slipping it back into his pocket. “In all actuality, it was great working with you. My last photographer was a pain to work with, he always had something up his ass. If you ask me,” He glanced around, hiding his next words behind his hand. “It was the janitor.” He nodded with complete seriousness, sending you into a fit of giggles.

You patted his arm, feeling surprisingly relaxed. It was as if Hawks was more of a friend than a client, and you weren’t sure just how he was able to charm you into feeling that way. You didn’t mind it though, you were more than happy to throw out the harsh and cold business formal attitude you were used to adopting. “Don’t worry, I’m pretty sure our janitor is already taken,” You mused, gesturing to the old woman who was reeling a cleaning cart into the room, apparently called up by Himori now that you’d finished your last shoot of the day.

Hawks let out a bark of a laugh, “Yeah, sorry, but she doesn’t really seem like your type.” His wings fluttered, and his gaze caught yours for what seemed like the thousandth time that day. From your proximity, you could see the flecks of amber and honey brown in his irises, and you only hoped that your eyes looked as pretty as his.

“Mr. Hawks, your press appearance will start in approximately fifteen minutes! I know plenty well of your penchant for speed, but that’s no reason to waste time.” The pitched voice of Hawks’s agent sounded from where Himori had been speaking with him. From your standing, you could see Hawks’s eyes roll, and he sighed.

“Well, duty calls, dove. I’ll see you around, hm?” He spun on his heel, sending you a goofy salute, before starting towards the large wide window that had been open after the shoot to allow in some of the sweet afternoon air. It seems his agent caught on a moment too late, as Hawks stood on the windowsill, his back to the wind.

“Mr Hawks!” The agent, Abiko, screeched as Hawks sent you a wink and fell backwards, catching himself with a strong wing beat before barreling away through the sky.

An obnoxious groan left the agent’s mouth, before he made his way to the main studio doors, chanting complaints and regrets about having the number two hero as his client.

You couldn’t help but to giggle. He was eccentric, but they always were, and somehow you found yourself excited for your next session with the winged hero.

#hawks x reader #takami keigo x reader #keigo x reader #hawks fanfic #x reader #mha x reader #no mentions of y/n #keigo takami #mha hawks #photographer/model au

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galacticwildfire · 2 years

Text

Illicit Affairs | Obi-Wan Kenobi

Two

Obi-Wan Kenobi x Amidala!oc

Rhea Amidala meets Obi-Wan Kenobi when he and his master come to her younger sisters aid and he discovers the queen's sister was once a Jedi, expelled from the order for her unwillingness to forgo love and attachment. The two stranded together on Tatooine find common ground despite their differences, and above all a hope within the other for something greater than themselves.

Word count: 6k

Tags/warnings: some angst, mostly fluff, a bit of darth maul

A/N: enjoy the fluff while it lasts because my god will there be angst. Also this is one of my favourite star wars chapters I've ever written

Obi-Wan and I stand outside the ship, watching the sand storm in the distance as it becomes clear to us this won't be just a quick stop.

"Follow after them," I tell Panaka and for once we're in agreement. "The rest of the crew will be safe with me, but I need to know she's safe."

"At once," he says and leaves to track them down, leaving Obi-Wan and I in charge.

I know it's raised questions in his mind why I'd send the queens guard after a handmaiden but he isn't an idiot, he knows there's reasons why a young queen has a selection of nearly identical handmaidens.

"Well, this is definitely going to slow them down," he comments while I nod.

"She better be careful," I find myself muttering and sigh "I trust her, but still."

"Still you worry," he finishes. "That's understandable. Let me guess, Padme is your sister and the queen inside is a decoy?"

Considering he's in charge of her safety as much as I am I nod. "Yes. That's right."

"It's smart," he appreciates. "So the queen is with my master then." I nod again and he assures me. "She is safe with him."

"I know, but I don't trust him to be able to keep her from doing anything risky, which is why I've sent Panaka. She'll listen to him."

"By risky you mean anything you'd do?"

That brings a shadow of a smile to my face. "Precisely."

I look at him and see a shadow of one on his face as well now we've called a truce and curse myself a little for actually liking him, I will give it to him that it's been a long time since someone's held their own with me in an argument and not despised me afterwards. It's an unfortunate past time for me arguing over ideology.

But that isn't why I like him, no, it's something deeper than a mere respect, perhaps an appreciation for his company during this anxiety.

It's then I hear Rabe call for me "A transmission from home!"

Obi-Wan and I share a look before heading back inside the ship where Sabe takes the transmission and I brace myself as an advisor appears.

"The death toll is catastrophic," Padme's advisor tells us in a hologram. "We must bow to their wishes. You must contact me."

"No," I immediately say switching it off. "He's a captive, we can't trust him now."

"She's right it's a trick," Obi-Wan agrees. "Send no reply. Send no transmissions of any kind."

"They'll only use it to reverse the signal to find our location," I say and he nods in agreement as I order the crew "Ensure there is no way they can intercept a location from the ship."

"Yes my lady," they immediately say but Obi-Wan isn't finished.

"Obi-Wan?" I ask as he leaves the room and follow him into the cockpit. "Obi-Wan?"

"I'm contacting Qui-Gon," he tells me, bringing this to his masters attention. "Master Qui-Gon, there's been a transmission from one of the Queen's advisors begging the queen to bow to the Trade Federation's wishes and contact them."

"It sounds like bait to establish a connection trace," he says, agreeing with what Obi-Wan and I believe.

Obi-Wan looks to me as he apologetically asks "But what if it is true, and people are dying?"

"Then those decisions fall to me," I tell him with a weight on my shoulders since Padme isn't here. "All we can do is wait for them to return so we can get off this rock and appeal to the Senate."

If it were up to me I would have acted the moment they first threatened us as her advisor for military matters, except there is no military despite my urging of Padme to begin expanding the security force. If we had a military I'd storm the city and wipe out the Trade Federation but that's not the Naboo way, it's not how Padme was raised. It was how I was raised. With Mace Windu over my shoulder, being my masters master.

"Either way we're running out of time," Qui Gon tells us before cutting the connection and we share a heavy look.

"I'm sorry this has happened to you and your people," Obi-Wan tells me, and he genuinely does mean it, he wants to help as much as I do.

"The trouble with being a pacifist planet with no military is this," I tell him and remember "Mace Windu trained my master and took a liking to me because I suppose I was more like him than the others, I had his urge for action over inaction, the only issue was I took that too far." He takes my words in and treats them with concern. "He'd be useful now."

"Mace Windu is an oddity that much is for sure," he agrees, the purple lightsaber being the least of it. "But have faith in Qui-Gon."

"I do," I assure Obi-Wan as we head back into the room with the generator, empty of handmaidens and security, just us. "I don't know how many diplomatic missions I accompanied Master Billaba on and yet I'm useless when I find myself in the middle of my own. Panaka and the rest don't respect my council, they know Padme just appointed me that so I'd feel some purpose."

"You do have purpose," he says and upon seeing the look on my face insists. "You do."

"Whatever purpose I had I gave it up when I was just fourteen," I tell him and he's quiet as I sigh and finally admit the truth. "Five years ago I was Padme's age. I knew I didn't fit in how I should, so I'd look to Qui-Gon and Mace Windu to convince myself I had a place there, but that's the thing, they took me when I was still old enough that I could remember a different life."

He nods in understanding and confides as he may have before if I hadn't jumped to arguing for the sake of it. "I've tried to hold onto my own memories, they slip away with age but there's still fragments, my mothers shawl, my fathers hands." Emotion creeps into his voice. "I think I had a baby brother."

The way his voice wavers with vulnerability exposes my own. "I have an older sister, Sola. She's only a year older than me, we were inseperable, and Padme well, she was just a baby when they came for me."

He looks confused "But it's Republic regulation to test children upon birth for force sensitivity?"

"Somehow I slipped through the cracks," I find myself saying but remember "Now I think about it all those off world relief missions my father would take me on as a child may have been for a reason. He was the one who fought against me being taken after all so maybe they did come when I was younger when I wasn't there. I mean, what better excuse is there to give than the potential Jedi is away helping those in need? Perhaps whoever they sent thought it could only benefit me and decided to come back in a year."

"It is a reasonable answer," he says, seeming surprised almost but I can't pinpoint why.

"I had just turned six when they came and tested the family, Sola was normal, Padme- I think she might have been a little higher than normal but whatever I am it's enough that they told me they couldn't wait any longer and that I had to go with them and my mother happily agreed." A tear slips from the corner of my eye despite my best efforts and I don't wipe it away. "I didn't understand, she just stood there with my father as my sister cried and I was screaming. It was actually Master Windu who took me and well, you can imagine he wasn't gentle with the dressing down he gave me about my emotions." I realise my hands are trembling slightly as I grip the flowing fabric of my jumpsuit, red and gold like the royal colours of Naboo but with none of the extravagance, a halter around my neck with a fitted waist and a flowing bottom. I cling to the feeling of the fabric, to ground myself as I was taught and look up at the ceiling as I ramble. "I know it sounds pathetic, all of the Jedi were taken from their families but for some reason it was something I could never get over."

I'm jolted out of my daze by the touch of his hand on my cheek, wiping away that single tear and the touch is so foreign, to be comforted. "It's okay Rhea," he says gently. "You don't need to explain."

I let out a tearful laugh as I reach up to touch his hand, grasping it tight for some sort of stability before pulling it away from my face, still unable to be contented with being comforted. "You can see why I never made it as a Jedi now can't you?"

He shakes his head. "You can't blame yourself for loving your family, it's only human. Master Qui-Gon tells me that it's not as if we aren't allowed to have these feelings whatever they may be, but that it's our responsibility to let them go instead of holding on."

I look at him finding a new middle ground, realising perhaps Qui Gon's led his interpretation of the code to something more human than I'd first observed.

"I wish all Jedi thought as you and Qui-Gon did," I admit to him. "If they did perhaps I would have come here with you as an ambassador instead of as an escapee."

My eyes meet his and I realise my hands been touching his for far too long and release it, not knowing what to do with how that makes me feel as he tells me "You might not be a part of the order, but that doesn't change what you are."

I give him the same kind smile he gives me and my eye catches the glint of his saber. "I do miss it, my saber."

He raises a curious eyebrow "What form did you study?"

"My master insisted on III but I preferred form V."

He's almost amused. "Of course you would."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I laugh.

"It's a form built on dominating your opponent," he says and remarks "If that isn't you in a nutshell."

I want to try to refute his assessment but it's accurate. "Well, you aren't wrong. I was top of my class at a young age with saber skills, I remember Master Dooku even paying special attention to me but he'd left the order by the time I was old enough to become a padawan and so Master Billaba took me on. I worked on my form but it was Master Windu of all people who saw the emotions in me and gave her permission to teach me VII."

"Seven?" he exclaims, truly scandalised now. "That's seen as taboo by the council, forbidden even."

There's a troublesome glint in my smile. "Exactly, but under certain circumstances they'll allow it. It was Master Windu who invented Vaapad and taught it to my master and she taught it to me with his permission. My masters believed my passion only fueled my strength because for me there was no darkness since it didn't come from a place of fear, but justice."

"Passion?" he repeats, and I know that would be a rare word for Jedi like him.

"Yes, the forbidden fruit," I say, tasting the words with a dramatic touch to my voice. "Oh such a dangerous thing passion, oh no Obi-Wan Kenobi don't dare speak the word or else you'll turn Sith!"

He can't help but laugh and so do I, smiling as I lean back against the broken hyperdrive generator, feeling a kinship I haven't felt since I left the order.

"That is one thing Master Qui-Gon does not discourage," he suddenly tells me. "Passion."

"Really?" I ask and keeping it light inquire "So, does that mean you've explored forbidden attachments."

From the way his cheeks redden and his eyes sadden I have my answer. "When I was a lot younger and a lot less wiser."

He'd be in his early twenties but Jedi always do grow up too fast and become consumed with grief far too young. I know many padawans would play kissing games and such, but have an inkling that what he's referring to isn't anything like that.

"Are they alive?" I ask, treading carefully, feeling the energy change between us.

He gives a stiff nod. "Yes, that's what I was assigned to do, keep her alive." Now it's him who struggles with words and hesitates before telling me. "For a year I was with her, protecting her, but I never acted on what I felt until the mission came to an end."

I'm quiet, his forbidden attachment wasn't playful or even sexual, it was something far deeper.

"You loved her," I realise and he looks away, I don't press further. "It seems I mistook you, because you would know the struggles between love and duty better than I ever could."

I see him realise that he does, perhaps more than he ever admitted to himself before.

"It was a long time ago."

I nod, taking the burden of conversation off of him, finding myself able to speak with more ease with him than anyone I've ever known despite this short time in each other's company.

"I've never been in love despite all my concerns about attachment," I confide in him, finding irony that I raise such issues when I've never had to deal with them as he has. "I've certainly never been loved either."

His eyes meet mine and it's as if he can read my feelings "But you want to be."

"Who doesn't?" I reply quietly. "If you had the chance to love again wouldn't you take it? Code and duty aside of course."

I watch him ponder that question and he's conflicted "I wouldn't want to suffer that loss again."

"To love without fear, that's what I desire," I tell him, realising in my heart just how alone I've been for so long. "I'm willing to take whatever grief may come, if only to be loved."

Here we are, two Jedi, discussing the most forbidden thing we possibly can.

Love.

Before either of us can dig this hole any deeper I feel my transmitter going off and it jolts me back to the situation at hand.

"That will be Padme," I say, her call breaking the tension. "Excuse me."

I find myself breathless as I leave the room to enter the empty hallway, and feel hot tears on my cheeks as I'm overwhelmed by the loneliness I've been suppressing for so long without even realising it.

How can I object to the Jedi's code of attachment when I've never even been in love? And yet here is Obi-Wan, carrying this weight in his heart that I could never understand and still obeying the code completely.

"Rhea?" I hear her asking and sniffle, wiping the tears away as he did before.

"I'm here," I say and force a smile, even though she cannot see me. "How are you?"

"Safe," she answers. "A boy has given us shelter from the storm, he's quite nice, the people here are welcoming, even if they are slaves."

She's always had a heart so big, and so did I once.

"I'm glad you are safe," I tell her. "Everything is fine here."

"You don't sound fine," she replies and asks "What's wrong?"

"The past always finds a way of coming back Padme, know that," I tell her and breathe, knowing even if I've never been loved in the way I crave that I have her and Sola. "I love you more than life, you know that."

"Of course I know that," she promises me. "I love you too."

Tears continue wetting my face. "I'll see you when you get back, okay?"

"Okay."

The communication ends and I'm crying, desperate to protect her and Sola, not out of fear of losing them, but just wanting to make everything okay for her so she never feels what I do. So she never has to know what it is to be thrown away and discarded, by your family, by the people who raised you, only to grow up and find that it was all for nothing.

Because despite everything, I'm still alone inside.

It's late when Obi-Wan finds me outside, watching the setting Tatooine suns in contemplation, feeling the force more strongly than I have in years.

"It's a sight isn't it," he remarks, but I can hear the worry in his voice.

"It is."

I feel his hand on my arm, his voice gentle. "You should come inside, it gets cold at night here."

"Not colder than space," I reply, taking a moment just to stand there with him, with another person who understands the conflict in my mind. "I'm glad I've met you Obi-Wan."

"And I you," he says and I look back at him, immediately feeling a sense of comfort. "It looks like we'll get to know each other better than we planned, this plan they've cooked up means we'll likely be here for a while longer."

"Do I even want to know?" I ask him and he sighs.

"It involves a child and podracing."

I laugh at the ridiculousness of it, deciding I don't want to know. "That's all I need to hear."

He notices the goosebumps on my arms, clothes designed for weather on Naboo, for training in the sun, not for places like this and takes his cloak, wrapping it around my shoulders. The familiar feeling of a Jedi's cloak is oddly comforting, although I suspect it is only because it's his.

His hand lingers on my arm, neither of us go to remove it as we look back towards the setting suns and I say "No matter how ugly a planet's society may be, or how corrupt, there's always beauty no matter what,and I'd rather stand here watching setting suns a thousand time's over and feel peace then dwell on fear and all that horridness."

I can hear the tragedy in my own words, at how with age I've become more of a Jedi than I ever intended, and he can feel it too. "

"You can feel it here can't you?" he asks, that peace. "The force."

My smile comes naturally to me. "The force as it should be. No rules or order. Just being. Just living with it and feeling it. How it should be." But there's also something else and I look in the direction Padme and Qui-Gon went. "But there's something strange here, you can feel it can't you?"

"I can, and so can Qui Gon," he tells me, it's then his transponder beeps and his hand slides up and down over the fabric covering my cold arm as he looks and answers it. "Master?"

"I need an analysis of this blood sample I'm sending you," Qui Gon says and we share a confused look before heading back on board the ship.

"Wait a minute," Obi-Wan says as we return to the empty cockpit to receive the transmission and I sit beside him, his cloak still wrapped around me.

"I need a midichlorian count," Qui Gon tells us and my stomach sinks with a sick feeling. He's found a child, but it's forgotten the moment I look at Obi-Wan's screen.

"Is that real?" I exclaim as the results come through.

"It's off the charts?" Obi-Wan says in equal disbelief. "Over 20 000. Even Master Yoda doesn't have a midichlorian count that high."

I'm speechless, the two of us sharing a look as Qui Gon says "No Jedi has."

"That- that's impossible," I stammer.

"What does it mean?" Obi-Wan asks Qui Gon.

"I'm not sure," he answers and trails off. "I'll check in with you soon."

The connection ends and Obi-Wan and I stare at the screen, then look at each other as if making sure it's real, and no matter how many times he runs the test it's the same result.

"So," I finally say. "It seems Qui-Gon found that strange something in the force."

"That he has," he agrees and we share an alarmed look, not even able to imagine what this will mean and gets out a device to test it. "Let's test ours to make sure it's not a system error."

I nod in agreement and he takes samples from us both to run and I'm actually curious to see what mine is, the results come back almost immediately. Obi-Wan and I's count is within a few hundred of each other, his 13000 and mine 13800, higher than some masters but nothing exceptional, it's only a guide for raw ability. Skill and force mastery as we're constantly reminded are far more important than that count.

Obi-Wan's may be lower than mine but with a decade more of proper training I have no doubts he'd best me in a fight using the force. I would win hand to hand with a saber, I know damn well I always surpassed even the best students in my training, but the force is something else.

"So, it works," I say, us coming to terms with the fact Qui-Gon has found the most powerful child known to the Jedi Order. "I think Master Yoda's going to finally die when he hears this."

He nods in agreement, equally stunned. "I don't know how my master always gets into these situations."

"I dare say it's no coincidence we landed here," I realise. "It does seems we may be here for a long while yet."

He nods, coming to that possibility too and I sigh, pulling his cloak tighter around me as I stand and he asks "Where are you going?"

"Outside," I tell him, not wanting to stay cooped up in the ship. "I want to look at the sky." He hesitates and I coax "Come on."

He follows me outside and I look up, having rarely seen any night skies but Naboo's or Coruscants, and finding it almost as beautiful as the twin suns.

"One thing about our galaxy is every planets sky is always different, some barren and others filled with more than our minds could ever comprehend," I begin and tell him "It's where I often feel the force most and remind myself it is in everything, every star and planet in the sky and all the space in between."

He comes to stand by my side and admits. "With all the rules I tend to forget the force is more than just the code."

I smile to myself, us finally on the same page. "It's something I only truly discovered after I left the order, when I had to search for it in every living thing to find it instead of being reminded of it every waking moment." He's looking at me as I look at the night sky. "I find I only truly understand it when I realise it isn't meant to be understood, but felt."

His face is drawn in contemplation and I wander forward from the ship to bask in it, finding myself one in it and extend my hand to him "Come on."

He comes to me and takes my hand, letting me guide it up towards the stars. "Tell me that meditation could ever make you feel as one with the force as when you just let yourself feel instead of focusing on the absence of feeling."

Our entire lives we've been trained to feel the force through the absence of all other emotions, to feel only nothing, instead of feeling everything without blocking anything out, and I watch as he lets himself finally feel all of it.

"Luminous beings," he begins and I feel a change within him. "It's what Qui-Gon once told me we are, it's easy to forget it."

"It is," I admit, his hand now in mine and only now consumed by the force do I feel something else, a white light between us. "And just like finding that boy, I do believe things happen for a reason. Leaving the order, finding you and ending up stranded here." I have to believe it, despite how my mind likes to fight with my instincts. "I forget it, I get angry and hostile and forget everything I've ever been taught but somehow on quiet nights looking up at the galaxy I manage to find it."

All this time I've been lost, but finally I feel as if with him coming into my life I'm being pulled by the force in his direction, and I trust it.

He squeezes my hand and I finally look at him, finding galaxies in his eyes. A man I fought so fervently with, all for the sake of letting my hatred loose, and now finding little of that left in my heart.

I feel drunk on starlight now as I finally stop fighting my mind and let myself feel, pulling him down to the ground with me where we lay on our backs side by side to take it all in.

"Do you feel it?" I ask him, the strangeness that we've both felt, not just in a boy miles away, but in the space between us.

I don't need to clarify just what it is I feel as he confirms "I feel it too."

He's the one now who guides my hand having studied the star maps, pointing out the distant star systems and nearer moons, both of us smiling and laughing into the night, our hearts lighter than I knew they could ever be. My own having never felt such pure peace in its nineteen years.

I look over at him as he explains something about the moons orbital cycle and find myself more entranced by him as I study his face in the moonlight, I don't know for just how long I do so until he turns his head towards me and whatever words he's saying are forgotten when he catches my eye and I feel my breath hitch.

For just a moment I see a flash of something in his eyes, a hesitation, both of us knowing in the back of our minds this is everything we were always cautioned against, but it disappears with the feeling of the force and I see him let himself feel it, all of it, instead of trying to focus on the absence of emotion.

All I know as I look into his eyes is that this is that forbidden fruit, utterly unexpected and yet almost as if it has to be the will of the force in how we came to meet and unlike how I was told it would feel. There's no fear, no pain, nothing of the sort.

Only light.

The suns have risen as I stir awake and find my head resting on something unfamiliar and open my eyes to find my head resting on his shoulder, slowly feeling his arm around me and feel the weight of his cloak draped over us, not remembering quite how we ended up like this but vaguely remembering something about being cold.

"Obi-Wan?" I murmur, and feel his hand smoothing over my hair. "What time is it?"

"Morning," he answers from the light that hits us, sounding like he's not long woken up himself. "It seems we dozed off."

I laugh softly. "No shit."

His hand is touching my cheek as I look up at him, a gentle smile on my face that quickly disappears the moment we realise just how wrong this is despite how right it feels and I suddenly go to sit up, sand falling out of my hair and he has to help me up as I twice at my stiff muscles.

"Up you get, there you go," he says with a hand on my back and we're both laughing quietly to try to ease the tension that is utterly different to how it was when we got on that ship. "Sleep well?"

"Better than I have in days," I answer truthfully, it being the first night I haven't laid awake in either frustration or fear. "And thankfully the world hasn't fallen apart while I did."

"Don't say that too soon," he cautions. "Our lives are depending on a nine year old with a podracer."

"Don't remind me," I say having to laugh from the ridiculousness of it. "Oh Obi-Wan, we are in quite the mess aren't we."

"That we are," he says, but it's with the accidental brush of his fingers along my spine I'm blushing and he looks around as if just remembering where we are. "But it seems we got the easier part of the mission, guarding the ship."

It's then I can feel something on the tip of my tongue. "Obi-Wan, Obi- Ben? Old Ben Kenobi!" I yell out in sudden realisation. "I do remember!"

"Oh no," he groans. "Masters nickname for me when I was younger."

I'm laughing as I finally realise why I couldn't place him despite knowing Qui-Gon. "Oh now I remember Master Qui Gon mentioning you, he kept calling you old Ben- I truly thought he meant an old man not you."

"Because he said I had the soul of a old man," I'm almost crying from laughter, still half asleep. "It's not funny!"

"It really is because it's true," I laugh and he laughs with me as I reach out to touch his face after having spent the night looking into those bright eyes. "You are an old soul Ben Kenobi, but a beautiful one of that." At the colour that comes to his face I give him a thoughtless peck on the cheek and I get to my feet, a little dizzy, but happy. "Now we better actually check the ship's still intact."

I grab his hand to pull him to his feet and we walk through the ship with a newfound ease with one another, finding the pilots and security also at ease and the handmaidens giggling like the fourteen year old girls they should be, and I'm wondering from the looks they share as I walk past if they caught me outside with him.

"See, we're still flying half a ship," he says as we look around, everything in order.

"Except it's not flying that's the problem," I remind him and we head back outside to check everything out there is alright, no Tuskan Raiders creeping up on us.

I smile up at the suns kissing my face, feeling Obi-Wan slide his cloak off my shoulder's so I can feel the sun on my skin and smile up them as I bathe in it.

"Oh that is beautiful," I smile, craving the warmth it gives me and know I truly was built for Naboo's weath.

"It's not the only thing," he murmurs as if he half expected the words to remain in his head and I can't help the smile on my face as I look at him, standing there and looking at me in a way I can only call awe.

"Is that so?"

"You're made for the sun," he tells me and after a moment of contemplation continues. "Tan skin, dark hair and those big brown eyes of yours, you look as if you could bathe in it forever and you'd only grow richer from it."

His words leave me speechless and I manage to get out "I didn't realise you were so poetic Obi-Wan Kenobi."

"And I didn't realise Rhea Naberrie was well, you."

"Me?" I question, suddenly confused and he elaborates.

"You aren't the only one who remembered some things, I remember the fuss now when you left,' he reveals, finally having placed me just as I've placed him. "They called you reckless and even dangerous but looking at you now, you couldn't be further from that."

"Reckless or dangerous?" I tease but the look in his eyes makes my breath catch in my throat.

"Well you might be a little reckless, certainly a whole lot of trouble but not dangerous," he tells me, and he might be the first person, or at least the first Jedi, who has looked at me and seen what I never could. "I have no doubt you'd be deadly in a fight, you're a Jedi after all, but there's no darkness, none of that, just light."

Now I am truly speechless, especially so as he extends his saber to me and I look up at him "Obi-Wan..."

"Go on," he says with a warm smile. "I know you miss it."

He places his saber in my hands, a sign of trust, and the rush that goes through me as I ignite it brings tears to my eyes and I smile at the blue light, and at him.

"I do- I do miss it," I breathe, feeling it in my soul. "I truly do miss it."

"Then perhaps there's a way," he proposes and there he is, a light I never expected. "A way you could become a Jedi again."

Hope.

And something in me causes me to throw my arms around his neck, on the tips of my toes to reach, the saber in my hand hope materialised. When I pull back to look at him I can feel the space around us slow, his touch almost overwhelming as he holds my cheek, as my hand wraps around the back of his neck, and I realise what it is to be lost in someone's eyes.

It's in that very moment as the light is so blinding I can't feel anything else and as I search his eyes I realise just what it is I've been searching for since leaving the order, and it's right in front of me. Whether it's him, or the force, or something else. It's going to be with him.

"Rhea," he begins as we become aware of this strange feeling between us until he looks past me, feeling it just before I do.

"What is it?" I ask him, unable to determine it myself.

"I'm not sure," he answers. "But it's something strange." He looks at me before removing my hand from the back of his neck only to take it in his own. "Come on, let's find out what it is."

Quietly we make our way through the desert, the force calling us over to the horizon and we trek until we find a cave that looks unsuspecting enough but still he draws his saber and discreetly puts himself in front of me.

We expect something, anything, but when we enter we find it utterly empty, which confuses us both as we walk through it.

It's only when Obi-Wan stops I realise he's in pain.

"Obi-Wan?"

"I feel grief," he tells me as he walks through it. "Agony."

"I- I don't feel any of that," I say quietly, seeing only the light that breaks through the holes in the roof. "I just feel... relief, the type of relief that makes you want to cry, I-"

I find myself lost for words as I put a hand over my heart at the emotions that come to me, stronger than anything I've ever felt or knew I could feel, even if it's relief it's accompanied by agony just the same.

He looks back at me and I realise he's feeling it too as he reaches for his own heart.

"Obi-" I begin as I step forward as he grimaces. "Obi-Wan."

"I'm alright," he tries to insist but we both know he's not. "It's just- I've never felt anything like this."

"Neither have I," I say and reach for his hand with the need to hold onto something for stability.

"Are you alright?" he asks me as if he doesn't look as if he's about to collapse under the weight of the agony he feels. "Rhea?"

"I'm fine," I assure him, faring better than he is at least and see him looking around the cave with a pure dread. "Obi-Wan?"

He shakes his head and I hold onto him as begins "This..." he trails off unable to find the words.

"What is this?" I find myself whispering, the emotions I feel, I wish I could say they weren't my own but I know somehow that they are.

"I don't know but I don't like it," he answers shortly and grasps my hand tight in his. "We're leaving."

I don't argue with him as we leave the cave behind and yet as I look back over my shoulder I leave with a knowing that someday we'll return to it.

Neither of us acknowledges what we felt inside of there as we quickly make our way back to the ship, each of us with a newfound eagerness to get off this strange planet and just as we reach it we see them in the distance and I look at him in astonishment.

They did it.

"Rhea!" I hear Padme calling out and I let go of him to run forward towards her and she practically jumps into my arms. "We're back."

"Did you get it?"

"We got it," she smiles up at me and I instinctively look back at Obi-Wan, smiling in relief as I meet his eyes and nod in confirmation, hugging her again as Qui-Gon comes. Once the commotion has eased we realise Qui-Gon is not staying.

"Master?"

"I'm going back," he tells Obi-Wan and me. "Some unfinished business, I won't be long."

Obi-Wan sarcastically remarks "Why do I sense we've picked up another pathetic lifeform?"

"Don't insult Jar Jar," I retort, both of us laughing and Qui-Gon chuckles.

"I'm glad you two are finally getting along. It's the boy who's responsible for getting us these parts," he tells us and we quickly remember him, having forgotten about the boy with a midichlorian count that should not be possible after the events of the evening. "Get this hyperdrive generator installed."

"Yes Master," Obi-Wan says. "That shouldn't take long."

Qui-Gon goes again as quickly as he came, and we happily get to work.

I sit on top of the hyperdrive generator while Obi-Wan works on replacing the parts.

"You know what, I'm going to try to be optimistic and not worry about the ordeal that's going to be the senate until we actually get there," I tell him as I pass him the tools he needs. "But that being said I am worrying a lot."

"Your planet is under invasion, it would be strange if you weren't worrying," he replies as my legs dangle off the edge. "You quite happy up there at least?"

"Very," I answer, trying to make it last. "How are you going down there."

"Almost done," he answers and he lifts me off the generator by the waist, his hands lingering as he asks "Can you go check to see if Master Qui-Gon's near, he's been gone a while I'm starting to worry."

"Of course," I answer, still sensing some residual grief from that cave and peck his cheek again as I leave him to finish fixing the generator, but the moment I walk down the platform I know something isn't right.

My eyes catch a droid nearby, a surveillance probe, and my stomach drops knowing we're the only thing in miles it would be looking at. My instincts kick in, whether it's from the Hutt's or someone else I shoot it down and at the sound of the blaster shot Obi-Wan runs out.

"Rhea!"

I turn back to him, blaster still in hand and warn "Somebody's been watching us."

It's then both our heads whip around to the sound of a speeder and we see Qui-Gon running towards us with a boy following and a speeder not far behind.

"Anakin drop!"

The boy drops to the ground while I fire on the speeder, only for Obi-Wan to grab me in equal horror as a red blade emerges, clashing with Qui-Gons green saber.

"Go!" Qui-Gon yells out. "Tell them to take off."

It's then me grabbing Obi-Wan, dragging him back to the ship and he remains calmer than I would be if that was my master, ordering the pilot to fly low so we can escape rather than fight, and I stare down at the red and black man who meets my eye and all I feel is pure darkness as Qui-Gon manages to jump on board and we disappear into the atmosphere.

"Master!" I yell out, Obi-Wan and I coming to Qui-Gons side while the boy yells out for him.

"I'm alright," he assures us, out of breath. "Or at least I think so."

"What was that?" Obi-Wan asks, my hand on his shoulder as I stand over them.

"I'm not sure," Qui-Gon admits. "But it was well trained in the Jedi arts, my guess is it was after the queen."

I feel Obi-Wans hand reaching out for mine now as I curse under my breath and the little boy asks "What are we gonna do about it?"

Qui Gon sighs and says "We shall be patient."

"Patient!" I snap, spinning back around and feel Obi-Wan trying to calm me down. "Whatever it is is after my sister and you're saying we should be patient?"

"There's not much else we can do right now," Obi-Wan tells me, hands gripping my arms to keep me in place. "Remember what you said about not worrying."

I narrow my eyes at him but don't argue, as at peace with the force as I may be in his presence when my sister is involved that goes right out the window.

"If we see it again, it's dead," I say and he gives a permitting nod, not arguing with that after it tried to kill his master.

"Anakin Skywalker," I hear Qui-Gon say and turn my attention to the boy he's taken. "Meet Obi-Wan Kenobi."

"Hi," the boy says happily, shaking Obi-Wans hand. "You're a Jedi too? Pleased to meet you."

The apprehension I had when we heard about the boy eases when I see he's happy and considering he was most likely a slave I have no arguments but Obi-Wan and I both look at each other when we realise his age. I was taken at six and this boy would be even older than that, nine or so maybe, far too old and yet everything on this planet has been nothing but strange.

"Anakin, meet the Queen's sister Rhea," Qui-Gon says to the boy and he happily shakes my hand as well.

"Pleased to meet you too," he says and tells me "You look like Padme."

I chuckle and so does Obi-Wan, the boy's bright or at least fascinated with my sister.

"I'm pleased to meet you Anakin," I say and check him over to make sure he's not hurt after that ordeal. "Come on, let's get you some water."

With everyone back on board and hours now into our journey to the capital I stand with Padme as she watches the transmission we received while she was away, her face stone as most of the crew sleeps.

"We determined it was a trick to provoke us into giving up our location," I tell her, but it makes little difference. "We don't know if the reports of the death toll are true."

"But they could be," she says and her attention is only taken away from the matter by the boy sitting nearby and I watch as she goes over to him, her compassion stronger than her fear.

"Are you alright?" she asks him.

Only now the reality of leaving home is sinking in for the boy and I watch with concern as he says "It's very cold."

I watch as she brings him over a blanket and feel a familiar hand on my shoulder.

"You look cold as well."

I run a hand down my bare arms, not protesting as he wraps his cloak around me.

"The boy's right, space is cold," I say turning to Obi-Wan, leaving Padme with Anakin. "Is Qui-Gon alright?"

"Thankfully yes," he answers and asks me "But are you?"

In all honesty I shake my head. "My planet has been invaded and now someone who is trained in the Jedi arts is after my sister. I'm far from alright."

"Come on," he says guiding me somewhere quiet. "You should be sleeping, or at least resting. Once we reach the capital I suspect we won't be getting much."

"There's not many places to sleep on a ship like this," I yawn, despite having slept well I dare say we spent the better half of the night awake with one another. "Padme's only fourteen and dealing with all of this and more, she needs me."

"She has her handmaidens and you both need sleep," he says, likely knowing the sleep I got with him in the night was all I've had in days. Now I've had a little my body craves more, it craves it with him beside me.

We sit down together in the engine room, warmth radiating from the shield generator and I turn my head to look at him, us shoulder to shoulder, and notice the tiredness in his own face. The grief that's been there since we walked into that cave.

"So do you."

"Well come on then," he says, wrapping an arm around me with the excuse of keeping me warm and immediately he puts me at ease in a way that no one else ever has. "Let's sleep."

"Let's sleep," I repeat, him taking me in his arms enough that my head rests comfortably against his shoulder, both of us finding comfort in one another and I swear as I fall asleep I feel his lips on my forehead.

"Sweet dreams."

And I smile it back as I slip into sleep. "Sweet dreams."

#obi wan kenobi x oc #illicit affairs #wildfirewildflower #obi wan kenobi x amidala!oc #obi wan kenobi x f!oc #obi wan kenobi x original character #obi-wan kenobi x oc #obi-wan kenobi x original character #obi-wan kenobi fanfiction #obi wan kenobi fanfiction

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strangerqueerthings · 11 months

Text

Chapter 12- Seen

(Posting the chapter here until AO3 is back up; full fic here when the servers are back up.)

Eddie finally gets a good look at Billy's other side- and while Billy tends to his wounds, Eddie divulges in his own secret, which only brings them closer... and one step closer to moving on and healing from the trauma of Billy's death.

CW for mild-moderate gore and violence.

(It's a hefty post; 6k+ words. Also, bc I need to reiterate this- trans folks in the 80s-90s used the term transsexual. Some trans folks STILL use this term. It's what Eddie uses for himself, it's era appropriate.)

Eddie wasn't sure when or how they got back to the cabin- he blacked out as soon as Billy picked him up in his arms. His ribs screamed in agony, and the pain of having them pressed against Billy's chest had him falling into a blissful state of unconsciousness.

He came to as Billy laid him down gently on the porch, and he saw Billy's form begin to shudder. His limbs twitched, his joints starting to pop and crack, and Eddie coughed out his name.

“Billy, wait.”

Billy stopped, halting his transformation as he turned his head and focused four of his eyes on him- the other two still scanning the area around them, ever vigilant, watchful. Scared.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Let me see you, Billy,” Eddie said, getting to his feet.

His head swam, and he swayed a little, but managed to stay upright when Billy put a large hand to his waist, long, taloned fingers curling around his lower back. Those hands were massive, the talons were long and wicked, and he could feel the tips through his clothes, but Billy's hold was so gentle, so careful, that Eddie wasn't afraid of being hurt by them.

“Eddie…,” Billy began, but Eddie reached up and touched his face.

He ran his hands over the smooth bone of his skeletal muzzle, fingers tracing over the curves of his cheekbones, before running fingertips over the sharp edges of his teeth, along the length of his ripping fangs.

Billy's mandibles fluttered as Eddie moved his hands to touch them, and an expression of wonder crossed his face as the mandibles moved under his fingers.

Billy held his breath the entire time, not wanting to exhale the scent of blood and gore into Eddie's face. He didn't want the touch to stop, for Eddie to be scared or draw back. He wanted more of his soft warm hands on his monstrous face as he stared into those big, soft, brown eyes that were wide with wonder- even if one was still swollen shut from the beating he'd taken.

He didn't want those eyes to be filled with fear- not from him, not of him.

The last thing he wanted was for Eddie to be afraid of him. Eddie, his only friend, his family, the boy that he loved.

Eddie, the boy he'd killed nearly ten men to protect.

The boy he'd crossed over and through two different realms to save.

He was glad that Eddie had been hiding during the slaughter. Billy had ripped them all apart, dug into their ribs and eaten their hearts, devoured their livers, gorged on kidney and spleen alike, filling his gut with offal like he was at an all-you-can-eat buffet. He was full of viscera, flesh, and blood, and he'd never felt so satisfied.

And still, it wasn't enough. Still, there was a hunger, a desire, an itch he couldn't scratch, and he had no idea what it was.

He just hoped it wasn't Eddie that his monstrous side was craving. He'd rather starve and die than hurt Eddie. He'd rip through entire armies, tear them limb from limb, if it meant keeping Eddie safe.

He’d charge into the Other Side and face that massive creature by himself, even if he died in the process, if it meant protecting Eddie from it.

Eddie lifted Billy's hand, sliding his own into Billy's massive palm. His hand- even with its long, musician's fingers- was engulfed by Billy's palm alone. It was so pale, almost delicate, against the dark, scaled skin of Billy's clawed hand.

“I'm a monster,” Billy said, breaking the silence, his voice thick, guttural, his breath hot, reeking of copper and salt, but Eddie didn't flinch, didn't pull away. He looked right into Billy's eyes, his expression serious.

“I still love you.”

Eddie had debated on it since Billy had showed up on his doorstep. Yeah, it had only been a few weeks, yeah, they had only been dating for those few weeks, and some people would say it was too soon to be making declarations of love, but given their track record, there was no such thing as too soon.

Eddie had learned that waiting for 'the right time,' and not taking risks ended up with him never getting the chance to say what he felt, to the people that mattered.

He wasn't going to let that happen again. If he and Billy were separated again, or worse, he wanted to make sure Billy knew how he really felt.

Billy stared at Eddie, his jaws and mandibles slack, his ribs tight, his heart racing.

I still love you.

Eddie loved him? Even after what he'd seen? Despite standing right here, in front of a monster over twice his size that reeked of gore? Even though he'd been kidnapped, interrogated and beaten because of his connection to this monster that he'd become?

“Eddie, I-”

“I'm serious, Billy,” Eddie cut him off. “Fangs, claws, and all, I still love you. I've been in love with you since…”

He rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand. When had he fallen in love with Billy? He wasn't sure, because it was such a slowly encroaching, encompassing feeling, something that started so subtly, so slowly, he had no idea when it began.

“I don't know,” he admitted. “All I know is that I've loved you since before you disappeared, when everyone said you'd died, and it broke my heart into pieces. All I know is that I was getting punched and kicked, shown and told awful things about you, and I wouldn't tell them where you were.”

Billy was quiet, watching Eddie's hand disappear as he curled his fingers around it. It was something, really, how small Eddie was in comparison to him. He was so easily broken, so fragile in his grasp, but Billy knew otherwise.

He could easily break Eddie without even thinking about it, but Eddie was stronger and braver than anyone gave him credit for.

And Billy loved him for it.

Billy gathered Eddie into his arms, a low rumble issuing from his chest as he lowered his muzzle to press into Eddie's hair, breathing in the scent of him, devouring his presence, drinking in his warmth, the pressure of his body against his, listening to the way his human heart sang in his bruised ribs like a bird in a cage.

This beautiful, fragile human had upended his entire life for the monster that held him now, had taken a beating for him in his staunch refusal to give away his location. He put his small hand in his massive claws, looked into his monstrous face, and told him he still loved him.

Despite being nearly fourteen feet tall, with hooves and claws and a twisted, skeletal face, bristling with fur and claws and spines, Billy felt human again for the first time since coming back to life.

All for the love of the human boy he cradled in his arms.

“I love you, too, Eddie,” he managed. It felt flat, meaningless. He didn't know how to word the way he felt for Eddie, for the way Eddie made him feel, especially in that moment. It was all he could think to say, and he felt foolish for it.

Eddie didn't need Billy to say it back to him. The way Billy held him so carefully, but so close, the way he snuffled in his hair, the way his hand cradled his, and the other hand curled around his waist and the small of his back so gently, so tenderly, as if he were holding a cracked egg he was afraid of breaking, all told him how Billy felt. Words were unnecessary in the face of every physical cue that Billy was showing him.

Eddie pressed his lips to Billy's chest, kissing the scar there. It was large, deep, and Eddie didn't know how he'd gotten it, but he didn't care. It was Billy's and it was part of him. The skin was almost waxy, knotted, gnarled, the result of the trauma that had been life-ending for Billy. He loved it.

It was proof that Billy Hargrove wouldn't be taken by death without a fight.

Billy had felt shame over the scar on his chest when he'd first come back from the brink. He'd avoided looking at it, kept a shirt on when he could, and had recoiled when the doctors and scientists had touched it. It was a mark of everything that had gone wrong, of all the wrongs he'd committed.

Now, however, with Eddie's lips on the scar, his hand moving to trace the lines of the darkened skin, he felt less ashamed. It wasn't the mark of a sinner, the mark of the damned.

It was proof he survived.

Eddie pressed his ear to Billy's chest, listening to his heart beat under his skin. It was still his, albeit louder, slower, but stronger. It was calm, and steady, and it reassured Eddie that Billy was okay, that he wasn't scared, and that he shouldn't be, either.

Eddie let go of Billy's hand and pulled back so he could further explore his boyfriend's “other side.” Before he put hands to Billy's skin, he looked up at him questioningly.

“Can I?”

Billy was grateful that he had no flesh on his face to flush- but his mandibles flared, giving him away. At least, he knew they flared in the equivalent of a blush, but he didn't know if Eddie knew that.

“In a minute,” he said, noticing that Eddie's lip was bleeding again.

“Your lip is bleeding again, and you need ice on your eye,” Billy fussed, worried. “I'm worried about where else you might be hurt.”

“All over, if I'm being honest,” Eddie admitted. “But I don't care about that. I'm okay. Promise.”

The way he shook in Billy's arms said otherwise, and Billy's mandibles twitched- the pair on the left flattened against the side of his skull, and the pair on the right twitched outward.

“You won't fit inside in that form, and I want to get to know this new side of you. I want to know you. All of you,” Eddie said, still tracing the lines of Billy's scar with his fingers.

“I can change at any time, Eddie. For now, we need to look at your wounds. I'm scared your ribs might be broken,“ Billy growled softly.

Eddie nodded. Now was as good a time as any. He'd resolved to tell Billy everything before being abducted, but now, he was more sure than ever that it was the best idea to tell him.

He was also a bit reassured that Billy wouldn't see him as a monster if he told him everything. That, or he'd see him as a fellow monster, and they could be monsters together.

“Okay,” he said. “I have something to share with you, anyway, since we're both opening up about everything.”

Billy tilted his head, but said nothing, his joints and limbs starting to creak, pop, and groan as they shifted, and Eddie watched as his frame shrank and reshaped itself into the boy he loved so much.

A very naked boy.

Eddie flushed, and Billy did, too, but he tried to cover it up with a smarmy grin.

“Clothes aren't an option when I change- not if I want to keep them,” Billy said, his grin fading as Eddie swayed again. He quickly moved close to help hold Eddie up, and led him inside. Billy took Eddie to the bedroom, sitting him down on the bed.

”Take your shirt off,“ he instructed, grabbing a pair of his boxers and slipping them on before going to the main room to grab their first aid kit.

Eddie hesitated, but took a deep breath, then removed his battle vest, jacket, and shirt, leaving the tight layer of spandex wrapped around his chest.

It was once the legs of a pair of yoga pants- he'd cut the black fabric into multiple tube-tops of sorts, then sewn them together, to add to their compression. Worn under his shirt, the compression garment hid his chest, helped him pass. He was reluctant to remove it- even if it was pressing on his sore ribs.

Billy came back into the room with a washcloth wrapped around a baggie of ice, and the first aid kit. He had two cold beers tucked between his forearm and chest, and a bottle of tylenol. He paused, frowning at Eddie's clothing.

”Eddie, what're you wearing that for?“ he asked.

Eddie patted the bed beside him, and Billy sat down. Eddie took a deep breath to steady his nerves- and was actually relieved when it didn't hurt too bad. Maybe his ribs weren't broken, only bruised.

”Billy, I need to tell you something. After you showed me your other side, using it to save my life, it's only fair.“

Billy cocked his head, still frowning, but he was quiet, waiting for Eddie to tell him on his own time, in his own way. Part of him was worried that Eddie was going to tell him he'd changed his mind, that he wasn't really gay, that he'd just missed him as a friend- that the monster side of him made Eddie realize that Billy really was an awful person, inside and out.

Eddie reached out and took Billy's hand, squeezing it.

“It's not about you, promise,” he said reassuringly. “It's… me, and what I am, who I am.”

Billy squeezed Eddie's hand.

“Nothing you could say, do, or be would change my opinion of you, Eddie.”

“I'll hold you to that,” Eddie joked, his voice cracking a bit as he choked back nervous laughter.

“I'm transsexual, Billy. That's why I have this top on- it flattens my chest. I've been using steroids since I was fifteen to make my periods stop and to get facial hair- even though I never really did, but I did get hair on my stomach and legs.”

Eddie took another breath and continued.

“I never thought or felt I was a girl, and since I've been using the steroids and the compression top, no one has ever really noticed. Wayne, he's really great about it. He calls me his nephew, he lied to the teachers and kinda had someone forge some of my records so the school doesn't know any better, and he takes me to a doctor in Chicago that doesn't ask questions- if I need to go to the doctor, anyway. Gareth and Jeff and Frank, they don't know, but they've never asked or suspected, and I guess you didn't, either, but I wanted to tell you because I love you, and I want more, but I didn't want to shock you if we ever-”

Billy put a finger to Eddie's lips to quiet his rambling.

“I get it,” he said softly, and Eddie tried to swallow, his mouth suddenly very dry.

“And?”

Billy smiled.

“I still love you, Eddie,” he said.

“You don't mind that I don't-”

“You don't have to have anything, Eddie- unless it's me you want, in which case, you have me. All of me.”

Eddie felt his eyes sting, and he hiccuped a little, trying to bite back the sob that leapt into his throat. He winced as his ribs gave a sharp throb of protest, and Billy's expression grew serious.

“Right now, though, I want to look at your ribs. Can I?”

Eddie nodded. Billy had had CPR training, along with repeated certification to be a lifeguard, and he was told that CPR could result in broken ribs, and he was taught how to identify them for EMTs.

“Where does it hurt?” Billy asked, and Eddie turned his side to him.

”Side, slightly to the back.“

Billy gasped despite himself as Eddie pulled the top off, exposing his back and side. On Eddie's pale skin, multiple bruises were already blooming in angry, ugly splotches of black, blue, and purple. One of them looked very much like the toe of a boot.

”Did they kick you?“ he managed between gritted teeth.

”They were aiming for my kidney. I squirmed out of the way, but they got my ribs instead,“ Eddie replied, his voice cutting off in a gasp as Billy carefully palpated the bruised area.

Billy was grateful for his new enhanced senses- he could hear how Eddie's heartbeat spiked with the pain, but what he didn't hear was any crunching or cracking. Nor did he feel any bumps or swelling over each rib.

”Good news. No breaks, just really bad bruises that are going to hurt like hell for a few weeks,“ he said, gently pressing the makeshift icepack to Eddie's side.

Eddie hissed, but leaned into the cold of the ice pack, moving his own hand over to hold it in place. Billy pressed a beer into his free hand, then cracked open his own, chugging it in one long, noisy quaff.

”Hedonist,“ Eddie teased gently, and Billy responded with a bed-rattling belch that made Eddie laugh- then wince as it jostled his ribs.

”Ooof, don't make me laugh, that hurt!“

Billy leaned over and pressed a kiss to Eddie's forehead, then opened the first aid kit. He opened the bottle of tylenol and shook four into his palm.

”Probably not the best idea to drink beer right now, but you deserve it,“ Billy said, holding them out to Eddie.

”That, and a big fat joint,“ Eddie agreed, taking a swig of beer, then tilting his head back and tossing the tylenol into his mouth and swallowing them with the beer.

Eddie sighed and drank some more of his beer, watching as Billy began taking inventory of his wounds. He flushed from his hairline to his chest when Billy lowered his head and ran his tongue over each cut, every abrasion, licking the blood away with a low hum, savoring the taste on his tongue.

His blood wasn’t satisfying like food was, like those men had been. It was special. It was Eddie’s, and it wasn’t supposed to be outside of his veins. It couldn’t, shouldn’t be wasted.

It would be a sin to waste his blood.

Eddie was quiet and still, feeling Billy’s tongue run over his wounds, watching how Billy was practically reverent in his actions, his hands so gentle, so careful, as they ghosted over his bruised flesh. Every time he pulled his blood stained tongue back into his mouth, his eyes fluttered shut, his thick eyelashes brushing over flushed cheeks as he swallowed.

The way he held him, the way he tasted him, his fingers trembling, his breath shaky against his injured skin, the way his lips parted like a sigh before his tongue lovingly laved over his wounds, all made Eddie think of a man at prayer, worshiping at the damaged altar that was his body.

Billy tasted his blood, felt every drop in his mouth, down his throat, felt it in his stomach, swore he could feel it surging through his own veins, and he let out a soft sound that was neither moan, sigh, or sob, but a little of all three, and yet nothing of the sort.

He’d lost his faith, but taking Eddie’s fragile, wounded body into his hands, bringing his blood into his mouth, his very veins, was an act of transubstantiation that no Eucharistic wafer, no watered down wine could ever hope to achieve. It was an act of worship that left him feeling far more satisfied, more enlightened, more sure of his place in the universe than any sermon, any prayer had ever given him.

God had abandoned him, but had given him Eddie in His place.

He came back to himself when every wound had been licked clean, and worried about what his saliva might do, Billy followed up by wiping each one gently with a damp cloth, and applied neosporin to them.

Billy was careful to avoid touching, or looking at Eddie's chest too closely- thankfully, he didn't have any major injuries there, so a surreptitious glance was all he needed. The bruises he couldn't do much for, save for ghosting his lips over each one, murmuring ”I'm sorry,“ with every single one.

”Why are you sorry?“ Eddie asked when he was done. ”You saved my ass back there.“

”You wouldn't have needed saving if it weren't for me,“ Billy replied, guilt etched into every line, every angle, every curve and plane of his face.

”I'd do it again,“ Eddie said simply, taking another long chug from his beer.

”You'd better not!“ Billy scolded.

”You think I'd let those assholes drag you back to the lab? Or kill you? Hell no! I finally got you back, and I intend on keeping you!“ Eddie retorted, setting the beer on the nightstand and pulling out one of his Metallica shirts from the drawer.

His compression top was not going to be comfortable with his bruised ribs, so he was going to go without for a few days- thankfully, the holiday break was starting in a week. Eddie would just wear some baggy clothes, and attend classes just long enough to get his exams done, then skip the rest and convalesce.

It was yet another reason he was relieved that he’d finally let Billy know- now he didn’t have to hide anything, and could recover all the faster for it.

Once he'd pulled the shirt on- which was two sizes too big for him- he turned around to face Billy again, sitting cross-legged on the bed. Billy looked at him reproachfully.

”Even after what I did? After what you saw?“ he asked softly.

His voice was small- small, guilty, and afraid- and it scared Eddie. He'd only ever heard that voice a few times, and it was when Neil had been about to unleash his rage on Billy.

Eddie took Billy's hands carefully, rubbing the backs of them with his thumbs. His aching ribs and swollen black eye were both forgotten as he looked into Billy's face and saw the nervous fear written over his countenance.

”What I saw was my boyfriend, literally turning into a rage monster because I had been abducted and interrogated by the same men who had treated him like a lab experiment,“ he said softly, reassuringly.

”Eddie… I ate them. Parts of them. I liked it. I hate that I liked it, but I LIKED it. I tore them apart with my hands, stomped them with my hooves, crushed bones in my mouth and even cut off a guy's head with my tail…. They were human beings, and I was the blender that turned them into paste, and I LIKED IT.“

Billy looked away, and Eddie leaned in, nuzzling against Billy's temple, kissing his cheek. He kept rubbing his hands, giving them a gentle squeeze.

”Adrenaline does that to you, I've noticed,“ he said matter-of-factly. ”You enjoyed beating the shit out of Harrington, if I recall correctly.“

Billy winced, taking his hands away to grab a hair tie from the nightstand and pulling his hair back into a lazy, sloppy ponytail.

”Yeah, and see where that got me?“

“Water under the bridge now, Billy. What matters is the fact that I don't care. The guy that kicked me? Billy… he kicked me in the crotch, because he thought I had balls.”

Billy looked at Eddie, realization dawning on him.

“He didn't….-”

“He realized something was off,” Eddie admitted. “He was threatening to strip me right before you burst in like the Kool-Aid Man.”

Billy's face twitched, his lip curling in a snarl, his exposed teeth lengthening, sharpening into points as a growl rose in his throat, and his fingers started to turn black, knuckles popping as they curled in the comforter.

Eddie took his hands again.

“Hey. No shifting in the cabin. You're too big, and you'll break the bed.”

Eddie gave him a mock serious look.

“When my ribs are healed, I'm hoping you and I can break the bed TOGETHER.”

Billy's teeth shrunk, his fingers shortened, and his sclera went from a gradient of white to black back into a blood-shot white. His face turned red, and a ridiculous grin spread over his face.

“Really? You're okay with that?”

Eddie sighed.

“More than okay- I've been wanting it for over a year now, but I was too much of a coward to say anything… or be truthful with you. I was afraid I'd lose you.”

Billy slid his hands around Eddie's hips and gently tugged him into his lap. Eddie wrapped his thighs around Billy's waist and hooked his ankles together behind Billy's back, draping his arms around his boyfriend's shoulders. Billy sighed contentedly and pressed his forehead to Eddie's, the tips of their noses brushing.

“You're not the first transsexual I've met, Eddie. I lived in San Diego, for crying out loud. You would be the first I've dated, though.”

“Does it matter to you? I mean… if you aren't into… my equipment, we don't have to-”

“Babe,” Billy said gently. “I like men, mostly, but it's a presentation thing. You look, sound, dress and act like a guy. You smell like a guy. Most importantly, you SAY you're a guy. So you're a guy… who just happens to have a pussy.”

Billy smirked at him.

“I sometimes make exceptions for girls- if Chrissy Cunningham had been available, and if Heather wasn't a lesbian, I'd have helped myself to either one of them. And even if I'm not really into a girl… I mean, I had a cover to keep, so I did what was expected of me, and I never had any complaints in that department. So, no, I don’t have issue with pussy- it’ll be nice to enjoy some attached to a guy for once.”

“So am I an exception?” Eddie asked carefully.

“You're not an exception, Eddie. I wouldn't care if you had both, neither, or whatever else. I wouldn't care if you didn't want sex at all, because you mean the world to me. I’d be happy just having you here, loving me, letting me love you.”

Billy kissed him, sliding fingers through his messy hair.

“I love you, Eddie. All of you, and everything that comes with it. I don’t entirely understand it, not from a human point of view, but… I get it in my own way, because no matter what form I’m in, there’s a part of me inside that doesn’t match the inside. I’m always gonna be a monster stuck in a human body, or a human stuck in a monster body, y’know?”

Eddie kissed him back, sighing through sinuses suddenly full of tears.

“I love you, Billy- not in spite of your monster side, because I love it, too. Not in spite of your temper or your trauma, because I love them, too. They’re all part of you.”

“I don’t like them, though,” Billy said softly.

“We can’t really get rid of the shit we go through, but we can heal from it,” Eddie replied. “I’ll help you recover, Billy. Just promise me you’ll let me know if you need something from me- support, or if you just need space. Let me know and I’ll give it to you, okay?”

“Does that include ass?” Billy grinned, his teeth glittering, his eyes hungry, then he sobered up a bit.

“I mean… if you’re okay with it, that is.”

“We’ll talk about that when it doesn’t hurt me to breathe and my eye isn’t swollen shut,” Eddie replied, mirroring Billy’s grin and feeling a rush of blood to his loins- Billy’s cock was getting hard, and it was nudging his tender crotch with an incessant pressure.

He wanted Billy- badly- but just having Billy’s hands brush his ribs set a painful fire burning in his bones. Having Billy on top of him wouldn’t be as enjoyable as it should be, and Eddie wasn’t going to have their first time ruined by his injuries.

“Will you tell me everything now?”

Billy didn’t have to ask what Eddie meant, and he was kind of glad Eddie changed the subject- his crotch was so warm against his swollen cock- and the abrupt change to a serious topic had him so distracted that he was going flaccid in a matter of minutes. All the better, really- Eddie was in no shape for the pounding Billy wanted to give him.

“It’s a really, really long story, and it’s going to be hard in places,” he said. “Roll us a joint? I feel like I’m gonna need one to go over this shit again.”

Eddie nodded, and Billy flopped onto his stomach to grab the metal box with Eddie’s stash, handing it over. Eddie opened it, and Billy smiled, understanding washing over his face.

“Was wondering if you were selling steroids, but they were yours all along.”

Eddie flushed a little.

“Yeah, I just tell my source that I’m selling to the local meatheads down here. The less any contacts know, the better.”

Billy leaned back against the pillows and let Eddie lean his good side against him, wrapping an arm around his shoulder to support him. Eddie let out a shuddering breath that spoke measures- of relief, of pain, and of a tension that Billy was familiar with and trying to ignore.

“Your secret is safe with me, babe,” Billy said gently, pressing a kiss to the top of Eddie’s head as he carefully rolled the joint.

“I’d hope so, considering your secret is bigger than mine,” Eddie teased, licking the edge of the rolling paper to seal it, then twisting the end.

“Literally,” Billy agreed with a smirk.

“Light it? My ribs aren’t up to it right now,” Eddie said, handing him the joint.

Billy took it and lit it, then took a few drags to get it started. He tilted his head back, holding the smoke in his lungs before letting it spill from his mouth and nose. Eddie tilted his own head back, watching him with renewed appreciation- clearly, being connected to the Upside Down had affected him, because he didn’t so much as sputter from the deep drag he’d taken.

“Impressive,” he commented, taking the joint and drawing a long drag from it himself- and still coughing a little, much to his chagrin and discomfort. He’d put up with it- the high would help with the pain soon enough.

“Comfy?” Billy asked. Eddie nodded, and Billy kissed the top of his head tenderly.

“Good, because it’s a long story… and you might not believe all of it.”

Eddie snorted.

“After what I’ve seen tonight, I’ll believe anything.”

Billy snorted in amusement, then began telling Eddie everything.

Eddie was quiet as Billy recounted the night he was driving to the Hideout to see Corroded Coffin play, how something had made him crash his car, then dragged him into the bowels of the steelworks.

Billy hesitated when he tried to explain what the monster had done to him, and Eddie stroked his hands gently, reassuringly.

“Skip what you need to, babe. It’s okay.”

Billy nodded, swallowed, then continued. He told Eddie what he’d been made to do, what had happened in that week before his death and resurrection. His voice shook when he talked about the people he’d been made to hurt, the people who’d ended up dying.

“Heather… she was my friend, and the only person who gave a damn about me that day when I was so sick from that… that thing. It’s like I was invisible to everyone once I wasn’t strutting around like a swimsuit model,” he choked out.

Eddie lifted Billy’s hand to his lips, kissing each fingertip, knuckle, the lines of his palm, the inside of his wrist. He wanted to say that if he’d been there, he’d have known, would have done something, said something, but it was empty platitudes.

“Heather gave a damn, and she ended up dying because of it.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Billy,” Eddie said firmly. “You had your choices taken from you.”

Billy wanted to tell him that it wasn’t anything Doctor Weyland hadn’t already told him, but it felt better, felt more real, more sincere, coming from Eddie. Someone who loved him, believed him, trusted him.

“I’m trying to come to terms with that,” he admitted. “It’s hard. Sometimes it was hard to tell if I was being controlled, or if I was doing something by suggestion. The line between me and that thing were so blurred, I lost all sense of myself. I almost forgot who I was.”

“Almost?” Eddie asked.

“I remembered you,” Billy said bluntly. “I remembered you, and did everything in my power to avoid you. You were the last person I wanted to hurt. If you’d become part of that… that thing, I would have killed myself after coming back to life.”

“I didn’t, though.”

“You didn’t,” Billy agreed. “And I cannot tell you how relieved I am that you didn’t.”

“I’m glad I didn’t, because I can’t imagine this world without you in it.”

“If you did, then you wouldn’t be here to know I wasn’t here, either,” Billy said, and Eddie grinned.

“Yeah. Kind of a catch twenty-two, right? We can’t exist without each other.”

“Either you’re being a goober, or we’re both high.”

“Both,” Eddie agreed. “Definitely both.”

Billy laughed softly, grateful for Eddie’s silliness lightening the mood, and he dipped his head to kiss him. Eddie hummed, tilting his head back to give Billy better access, reaching up with his free hand to stroke Billy’s jaw.

“Mine,” Billy growled softly between kisses, and Eddie felt a thrill run through him from head to toe and back again at the possessiveness in Billy’s voice.

“Yours,” he confirmed. “All yours.”

They fell into comfortable, companionable silence for a few minutes, passing the joint back and forth until it was gone, draining their beers. Billy reached over and turned out the light, pulling Eddie into his arms, letting Eddie shift until he was comfortable.

“So… the Upside Down. The other side. Are there monsters there?” Eddie asked into the warm, soothing dark.

Billy was quiet for a few moments. The dark was safe, comforting, but it was no longer pitch black like it was before his death. Now, he saw the outlines of everything as if it were early morning, just before the sun rose.

It was comforting because he knew humans couldn’t see him hiding in its depths- but he could see them.

“Yeah. There’s monsters there. Not like me, because they weren’t human. They always were. And there’s… something else there. Something huge, something I can’t describe because I haven’t seen much of it. I just felt it, saw one of its limbs rise from the ground. When it moves, it feels like the earth is falling apart under your feet, and it sounds like the earth is groaning in agony. There aren’t words for it, except massive and unknowable,” he finally said.

“The Thing cannot be described - there is no language for such abysms of shrieking and immemorial lunacy, such eldritch contradictions of all matter, force, and cosmic order,” Eddie quoted.

Billy laughed into the darkness.

“I teased you for liking that Lovecraft stuff but… yeah. There aren’t any words to describe the thing on the other side, and when I try to think of them, my brain hurts.”

“It’s not the thing but the attempt at trying to understand the thing,” Eddie agreed.

He rolled over, wincing and gasping as he jarred his bruised ribs, but was determined to face Billy. He snuggled close, pressing his face into Billy’s chest, and Billy buried his nose in Eddie’s hair, inhaling deeply.

“It doesn’t matter,” he murmured. “What matters now is you. Us.”

“We’ve laid ourselves bare,” Eddie said, voice muffled. “Nothing left to reveal. It’s all exposed. The good, the bad, the ugly.”

“There’s nothing ugly about you, Eddie,” Billy said firmly.

“Just like there’s nothing ugly about you, Billy.”

He lifted his head. He couldn’t really see Billy’s face in the shadows, but he could feel his breath, taste the beer and weed lingering on his tongue as their lips met.

“How can I find anything ugly in someone who makes me feel so seen?”

Billy let out a trembling laugh as he pulled Eddie close, doing his best not to hurt him. Eddie was right, and it made him feel like he was a few steps closer to accepting himself, and the events that had led up to this moment.

At that moment, he had never felt so seen.

#fic: take me away #mungrove #sqt fic

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