#and toss it away in exchange for excuses over what he did | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

guess-my-next-obsession · 2 years

Note

Ok god Pedro x Taylor ya killing me (more than usual 🙃) I was going to say all too well with Pedro but it’s been done so how about a little smutty action with Javi P and Cruel Summer 😏

Cruel Summer

pairing: javier peña x reader

warnings: NSFW 18+ (MINORS DNI), angst, secret relationships, alcohol consumption, unprotected sex, creampie, fluffy ending, me not bothering to read this twice or revise sry lmaoooooo

words: 4.9k

javier peña masterlist

Fever dream high in the quiet of the night, you know that I caught it. Bad, bad boy, shiny toy with a price, you know that I bought it.

Javier Peña. The name that had been itching at the tip of your tongue for the last three weeks. The name that you’d tiptoed around blurting out to your roommates every time they demanded more information about who you’d been sneaking off to see every night once they’d all gone to sleep.

You’d known him through a long line of mutual association. He was in your eldest brothers graduating class, the pair went to police academy together, and then went on to join the Sheriff’s Department together until Javier decided to join the DEA.

He had a reputation even before he ever left Laredo. Given the relatively small population of the city, a young man with the charm and appeal of a young Javier Peña had become almost a household name—as long as you household had a teenage girl in it.

Though he surely didn’t sleep with every girl that showed him interest, he did flirt with a good portion. It didn’t matter if the girls were sisters or cousins, friends or enemies—if he found them interesting, he’d give it a shot. This didn’t necessarily earn him any points in the “good guy” department, but Javier never cared much about what everyone else thought of him in those days.

It wasn’t until he went off into the real world that his physical exploits really took flight. Though it wasn’t exactly as common knowledge as his work with taking down Escobar, his reputation as a womanizer in Colombia somehow found its way back home.

Most women knew to stay away from him, but only a few were able to actually go through with it. He was a natural charmer, never having to lie or manipulate his way into women’s hearts—he was just simply likable. With his dark hair and dark eyes, that mustache and the tightness of his blue jeans, or even just the broadness of his shoulders compared to his tiny waist—he drew women in whether they set out to or not.

And you were no different.

On your twenty-fifth birthday, your friends-slash-roommates took you out on the town, the four of you bar hopping all around Laredo’s tiny bar scene. At one particularly boring and deserted honky tonk, you spotted him—his lips molding around a crystal glass filled with golden whiskey, his eyes closing shut at he tossed it back.

It was like everything else in the room faded away, little by little, until the only thing you could see was him lifting his cigarette to his lips, pulling in a drag before exhaling it. Your eyes followed the swirls of smoke through the neon-lit room, the clouds making shapes as they danced in the light.

With a clearing of your throat, you excused yourself with the ruse of going to use the restroom, your friends all much too drunk to care. It had to be the alcohol in your system that gave you the confidence to approach a man ten years your senior—a man that had been associated with so many beautiful women over the years who never made the cut—but soon you were standing by his barstool, gesturing for the bartender. You and Javier made eyes with each other, yours flickering to his lips before you turned away with a growing smirk.

“Can I get a glass of whatever he’s drinking?” You leaned over the counter to talk over the music. The old man nodded at you before pouring you two fingers of mid-shelf whiskey, you handing him the cash plus tip in exchange for the drink. “You know, I don’t really like whiskey.”

Javier chuckled and turned his body towards you as you sat down on the stool beside him. “Then why’d you get it?”

“Oh, I just wanted a reason to come over here and start a conversation.” You shrugged and turned back to him, swirling the black straw in your glass. “I, uh, I think you’re friends with my older brother.”

You told him your brothers name and watched as his eyes lit up in remembrance, his head nodding and smile softening now that he placed your face in his memory.

“You celebrating something tonight?” He asked after a couple minutes of conversation, noting the tiara you’d been forced to wear.

“Oh, yeah. It’s my birthday. Twenty-five. One year closer to death.” You chuckled nervously at your morbid joke, lifting your whiskey to your lips and taking a sip.

“Just wait, it doesn’t get much easier. And your back is gonna start to ache anytime you do anything resembling exercise.” He joked and gestured for his tab. You took a deep breath as you tried to make your intentions known before he left the place, your heart thudding in your ears as you watched him pull out his wallet.

“Anything resembling exercise? That’s too bad. I was hoping you and I could burn a few calories tonight.” He froze midway through pulling two twenties out of his wallet, his eyes turning to yours with a darker look in them than just a second ago.

“I’m older than you,” he reminded you, only earning a nod. “I’m not a great guy.”

“I don’t care.” You shrugged and leaned over further. “I’m not looking for a great guy tonight. I’m just looking for some fun.”

“Your friends gonna approve of you leaving with me?” He handed the bartender the money without even looking his way, murmuring for him to keep the change as he kept your eye contact.

“They don’t need to know.” You shrugged and his lips curled into a mischievous grin, nodding before telling you to meet him out front in five minutes.

With some lie of not feeling well, you managed to escape your group of friends—sealing your fate with the sound of Javier’s truck door closing after you climbed inside.

Killing me slow, out the window. I'm always waiting for you to be waiting below. Devils roll the dice, angels roll their eyes. What doesn't kill me makes me want you more…

“Are you trying to get me caught?” You scolded with a grin as you climbed into the passenger side of his truck, his headlights shining bright into your darkened home. He reached over and tugged you flush against his body on the bench seat, your jeans sliding with ease against the leather. You giggled as he leaned over and sucked a mark into your neck.

“Why do you even care if they know?” He mumbled against your pulse, poking out his tongue and soothing the purple mark.

“Because someone has a reputation that precedes him. And I know for a fact that two out of three of my roommates cannot stand Javier Peña. Something about their older sisters getting dumped by the guy.” You teased with a smile as he pulled back, his smirk sheepish as he studied your face.

“I’m not that guy anymore.”

“I know that, but they don’t.” You leaned over and kissed his lips deep enough to make him want more as you pulled away. Stroking your fingertips over the side of his face, you smiled at him. “Come on bad boy, take me back to your place already.”

“Your wish, cariño.”

Hang your head low in the glow of the vending machine, I'm not dying. You say that we'll just screw it up in these trying times, we're not trying.

Javier stood with you outside at a rest stop about 50 miles outside of town, the two of you driving on the highway just to have something to do.

Moths swarmed overhead in the buzzing streetlight, your throat humming as you tapped your chin in front of a vending machine. The light from inside the glass casted a yellow glow on your skin as he watched you press the keypad, your lip bitten between your teeth.

“Ta-da,” his smile was soft but full of unspoken concern as you handed him a bag of potato chips. “What’s wrong? Not a fan of Lays?”

“No, it’s not the chips it’s just…” He chuckled at his own nerves before shrugging, his eyes lowering to the concrete beneath your feet. “How long are we going to keep this thing up? The hiding and seeing each other only in the middle of the night thing.”

“I don’t know,” you shrugged and turned back to the vending machine, pressing the keypad and getting something for yourself. “I thought we agreed that we’re both too screwed up right now for something more…serious.”

“I mean, we agreed on that at the beginning of the summer, but that was two months ago now. I’ve become…less screwed up since then.” He noted the way your eyes didn’t meet his as the two of you slowly walked back to the truck together, the silence between you thick with tension. “Never mind, you’re right. We’d just screw it up.”

“Let’s just keep it simple for now. We don’t have to overcomplicate things, right?” You turned to him and looked into his eyes, desperate for him to just let the topic go for now so things could go on as they were. Relationships brought complications, but this fling was the most uncomplicated thing you’d ever known—up until just a second ago, at least.

“Yeah,” he smiled through his disappointment. “Let’s just keep it simple.”

I'm drunk in the back of the car and I cried like a baby coming home from the bar. Said, "I'm fine," but it wasn't true. I don't wanna keep secrets just to keep you…

The night had started off well, Javier inviting you out to a bar during the week in hopes of reducing the chance of being seen together by your friends. The two of you indulged in some rare PDA, the drinks and kisses flowing generously as you tucked away into the corner of the bar.

Both of you had already been more drunk than you’d ever been around each other before, the late-summer heat now turning to a slight chill as fall approached, putting pressure on your summertime fling. It felt almost like a last hoorah, one that neither of you were prepared for.

“Shit,” you were mid-giggle when your eyes locked on your closest friend entering the bar with her boyfriend. Her eyes found yours as though it had been her mission, her lips parting and head tilting as she took in the closeness of the man beside you.

“What’s wrong, cariño?” Javier leaned over and tried to place a kiss to your neck, but you shoved him away out of sheer panic. His glassy eyes narrowed in confused hurt as he looked at you.

“My friend’s here, I don’t want—“

“Hey,” she approached your booth with a curious smile, eyes flickering to the drunken and now very upset man beside you. “So this is the mystery guy, huh.”

“No, we’re not…not a serious thing or anything.” Javier scoffed at your words and excused himself, sliding out of the booth and stumbling his way out of the bar. “Fuck. Sorry, I’ll fill you in when we’re at home. I gotta go check on him.”

Javier was standing by the pay phone outside of the bar when you found him, his body swaying as he tried to stay upright to dial his father’s number. You walked over to him with a soft frown, eyes conveying your guilt. He chuckled and hung the phone back up on the receiver before shaking his head.

“Go back inside, I’m fine.” He tried to walk off towards the road, but you caught him by his bicep, pulling him back to you. You held his face in your hand and pulled him down for a kiss, Javier pinning you back against the payphone, his hands gripping your hips.

“Let me call a cab.” You breathed out when he gave you a second of relief from his searing touch. Turning around in his arms, you felt him hug you close from behind to keep himself steady, his chin resting over your shoulder as you called up a cab. Hanging the phone back in the receiver, you tested your own balance as you walked him over to the bench outside the establishment. “You know that I care about you, Javi, I just don’t want either of us to get ourselves into something we’re not ready for.”

“And you get to make all the decisions. Yeah, I got it.” He chuckled darkly and hung his head.

After ten minutes of tension, Javier finally lifted his head and turned to you, this time with a more pointed expression than before.

“But what if I wanted to decide something, huh? Do I just not get a say in this?” His words slurred together, your head aching as you tried your best to work through your drunken state to hold a conversation with him.

“Javier, do you actually think this would work out between us long term? It’s for the best if we—“

“Oh, fuck that! Like you know what’s in my best interest.” The taxi pulled up and you managed to convince him to join you in the backseat, quickly giving the driver your address before turning back to the drunken man beside you. “I don’t want to keep secrets just to keep you, cariño. It makes me feel like shit. Like I’m still that asshole from all those years ago. Like…like I haven’t changed at all.”

“Javi, you’re not—wait, are you crying?” You searched his face in the dark of the backseat to see him sniffling, wiping his cheeks.

“No.” He was definitely crying, his voice croaking with the lump in his throat. You wanted to chuckle at the entire situation, this hard and usually very smooth man now a sniffling crying mess in the back seat of a taxi, the two of you drunk off your asses.

“Oh, Javi. Come here,” you pulled his head to rest on your chest, kissing his forehead and rubbing his arm. “We’re just drunk. We’re saying shit that we don’t mean.”

“Yeah,” he nodded against you and his tears slowed to a stop. “You’re probably right.”

And I snuck in through the garden gate every night that summer just to seal my fate, and I screamed for whatever it's worth, "I love you,"—ain't that the worst thing you ever heard?

It had been a week of radio silence, Javier not picking up your phone calls, always managing to be conveniently absent whenever you dropped by his father’s house. You missed him more than you imagined you would. You’d convinced yourself all throughout the romance that you’d be okay if it ended tomorrow, and it was easy when tomorrow never seemed to come around. But it was here now, and the icy chill you felt as you laid in your bed alone was too much to bear.

Your friends had all been made aware of your secret romance, the two that had problems with Javier predictably upset with you for giving him the time of day. But the friend that caught the two of you in the bar stood by your decision, noting the way Javier seemed to be head over heels for you up until you’d shoved your foot in your mouth and ruined it all.

“Still up?” She was downstairs watching a movie with her boyfriend when you crept into the kitchen, desperate for something sweet to take away the ache in your heart. “Babe, why don’t you just go over to his place? Wake him up and tell him how miserable you’ve been since the fight.”

“I’m not—“

“Don’t you dare say you’re not miserable. Have you looked in a mirror? Honey, you haven’t showered in five days. You look like death.”

“All the more reason not to go over.” You shrugged and tore out your beloved pint of ice cream from the fridge, grabbing a spoon from the drawer and digging right in.

“Get upstairs and take a shower before I hit you with my chancla. You love that man, idiot. Go tell him.” You groaned at the idea of confessing your feelings to a man, but it was the truth. You did love him, in the strange little way your heart knew how to, at least.

“But what if everyone talks shit—“

“Does he care about everyone’s shit talking?”

“Well, no.”

“Okay, then there’s nothing stopping you. Now go!” She used her parental voice and pointed at the stairs, your head nodding as you began to find your confidence.

Putting your ice cream in the freezer, you jogged upstairs and took the worlds fastest shower. Your hair was still sopping wet as you tugged on a pair of leggings and long sleeve, finding your slippers and grabbing your keys before practically sprinting out of the house. “Wish me luck!”

“You don’t need it, that man is in love with you!” Your friend called back, bringing a smile onto your face as you closed the front door and leapt over to your car.

You drove quickly through the town until you reached the ranching neighborhood, your wheels rattling as you sped through the dirt roads, tires kicking up dust and gravel until you pulled into Javier’s driveway.

You walked around back, sneaking in through the gate like you’d always done when he told you to come over. When you stepped into the backyard, you were surprised to see him up, sitting on the step of his back porch nursing a cigarette. His brows furrowed as he took you in, eyes raking over your form before he was sighing out smoke.

“What are you doing here?” His tone was soft and defeated, tired and thick with resentment as his eyes faced the ground.

“I, uh, hadn’t heard from you. Wanted to make sure you were okay.” You approached him carefully, stopping a few feet in front of him as to allow him space.

“Yeah, well, I’m fine.” He dug his cigarette into the ground with his boot, standing up and looking down at you from the top of the porch. “Anything else?”

“I think I’m in love with you.” You confessed in a sigh, eyes softening and brows lacing together.

His pained look turned to one of amusement, a chuckle falling from his lips as he stepped down to your level, his hands cupping your face as he reached you. You chuckled as his eyes studied your face, his lips only an inch away from yours. Your voice was a whisper as he leaned in, his tobacco scented breath fanning across your lips. “Isn’t that the worst thing you ever heard?”

He shook his head as he pressed his lips to yours, his hands slipping from your face to grip your waist, tugging you against his body. You moaned as the kissed deepened, your arms crossing over his shoulder as he hoisted you up around his waist, carrying you inside the house.

“Stay quiet for me, cariño. Can you do that?” He whispered against your lips as he stepped up the staircase to his bedroom, your head nodding eagerly as you hugged him closer.

When he stepped inside his bedroom, he set you down, his hand cradling your jaw as his foot shut the door behind him. You giggled as the two of you stumbled back into the room, practically falling onto the bed.

“Javier, you okay?” His fathers voice sounded from the other side of the door, Javier covering your mouth with his hand as you started to giggle.

“Yeah, pop! Just tripped!” He gave you a playful glare and pecked your lips to shut your laughter up. He waited for the sound of his fathers footsteps walking away from the door before he pulled away, shaking his head as he hovered over you. His eyes were soft, his smile sappy as he combed your damp hair out of your face. “You love me, huh?”

“Don’t rub it in.” You rolled your eyes and blushed.

“You wanna hear a secret?” He pecked your nose.

“Yeah,” you nodded and grinned at him as he pulled away again.

“I think I’m in love with you, too.” That was all the two of you needed to get you going again your hips straddling his as you flipped him over. Both sets of hands moved swiftly and frantically as you tried to tug off your clothing. Javier got frustrated with the buttons on his shirt and tore it open, the sight earning a moan from you as you finally kicked off your leggings. Javier grinned and flipped you back over, standing up off the bed and peeling his jeans off before joining you in the center of the mattress. “Tell me something, baby, are you done keeping me a secret? Because if I’m going to have you again, I want it all. The dates, meeting your friends, meeting your parents. All of it.”

“I’m done keeping you a secret. But…promise me we’ll ease in to this.” You looked up at him as he rested his hips between your thighs, your hand stroking his cheek. Javier’s eyes softened even more than they already were, his head nodding as he leaned in to kiss you softly.

“No sudden movements.” He mumbled against your lips and made you chuckle into his kiss, his chest rumbling against you as he laid on top of you. “We’ll take it slow. Just needed to hear you’re in it like I’m in it.”

“I’m in it, Javier. Deep in it.” He moaned at the desperation in your voice as you spoke, his cock grinding against your folds as he kissed you again, your arms pulling him tight to your body and legs wrapping around his waist.

“You wanna know a perk that comes with being in a serious relationship?” He mumbled against the skin of your cheek as he kissed his way to your ear. Your body was covered in chills as he spoke, a guttural moan spilling from your lips in response. “Means you can feel me raw like you’ve been begging for.”

“I haven’t been begging—“ He pulled away to give you an amused raise of his eyebrow to challenge your lie, your cheeks flushing pink. “Okay, I’ve been begging. Do you want me to beg again? Or are you going to stick it inside me and fuck me like you love me?”

He wiped your smirk away with his cock pressing deep inside your wetness, your jaw going slack as you kept your eyes locked with his. “I do love you.”

“Oh, fuck.” You whined as he drew his cock out and slid back inside, your nails digging into his back as you kept him flush against you. Javier grunted as his thrusts sped up, hips snapping against yours so loud that his father definitely hear all the way across the hall. He was fucking you breathless, and when you opened your mouth to speak, his thrusts interrupted your sentence. “Oh—fuck—yes—I—love—you.”

“My dad’s not gonna be happy in the morning,” he chuckled in your ear as the bed creaked with the weight of his thrusts. “We should wake up early and cook him breakfast as an apology.”

“W-we?” You asked through his thrusts, earning another chuckle.

“He should meet the girl I’ve been sneaking in through the back door all summer, don’t you think?” His hand slid between your bodies, hardly enough room to do much, but he still managed to stroke at your clit. Your grip tightened around his back as your orgasm began to build, Javier’s teeth biting at your earlobe. “You love me, cariño?”

“I love you, Javier.” You nodded as your face remained buried in the crook of his neck. He groaned at the sound of your confession, his hips working deeper and fingers strumming faster. “I’m going to cum, Javi, baby. Please…please!”

“Cum for me, cariño,” he growled in your ear, his knees sliding against the sheet as he struggled to continue at his brutal pace. “Come on, baby. Let me feel it. Give it to me.”

“F-fuck! I’m…oh my god!” You started to cry from the force of the orgasm, your body shaking as your mind went blank with pleasure. Javier didn’t last even a minute after feeling you squeeze him, spilling inside of you with another animalistic growl straight into your ear.

“Mi bebita, te quiero mucho.” He kissed your cheek and buried himself to the hilt, your head nodding as you remained completely fucked out in his embrace. He pulled away after feeling one of your teardrops on his shoulder. “Hey, are you okay?”

“Yeah, that was just really good.” You chuckled as he wiped your tears away. “I think it would be really nice if we made your dad an apology breakfast. But I can’t promise I won’t have red cheeks the entire time with the knowledge that he’d heard me getting absolutely wrecked by his son.”

Javier laughed at that, his lips pecking yours before he pulled out and laid down beside you, cuddling you close. “He’s probably going to be just as red as you, baby.”

“And you?”

“I’ll be too busy with my thrown out back to blush.” He grunted and reached to hold his lower back, the area hot and tense. With a chuckle you urged him to lay on his stomach, your thighs straddling his as you started to massage him. He let out a thankful moan at the feeling of your hands against his sore muscles. “I warned you that night at the bar, do you remember?”

“Hey, you made it three months without throwing your back out. I think that’s something to be proud of.” You leaned over and kissed in between his shoulder blades. “I’m glad you forgave me.”

“I’m glad I did too, cariño.” He hummed, a smile forming in his face. “Now get back to work.”

“Yes, sir.”

•••

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waitimcomingtoo · 2 years

Text

Hot In Here

pairing: Peter Parker x Fire power!Reader

requested by @lavasafespace: you and Peter are in opposing sides in the battle at the airport

Masterlist

“Underoos!”

When Peter heard his cue, he flipped into action and nabbed Steve’s shield, just as planned. He landed on top of a truck and took in the sight of the battlefield before flipping down to join Tony’s side. Some words were exchanged and before he knew it, the fight had begun. Peter took off running towards the opposing team, ready to fight whoever stood in his way. Clint ran right by him, then Bucky, then Wanda. Peter stopped running and turned around to see everyone fighting someone else.

“Seriously? I know I’m the new guy but not one of you saw me as a threat?” Peter shouted. He let out an exasperated sigh and was about to run back into the action when you dropped down from the sky in front of him. Peter stood still as you slowly stood up and blew some hair out of your face.

“Woah. Who are you?” Peter asked as he took you in. You smiled and held out your hand as a flame ignited in your palm.

“Firestarter. Who are you?”

“Spiderman. Who are you?”

“Is this your first fight?” You snorted as the fire in your palm grew.

“Yeah. How’d you know?”

“There’s not usually this much talking.” You said before tossing the flame at Peter. He quickly jumped back as you scorched the ground he had just been standing on.

“Oh shit.” He whispered under his breath before running away. You ran ahead of him and stood in his path.

“Going somewhere?” You asked as you tossed a flame back and forth between your hands.

“I was just leaving, actually.” Peter quipped and saluted you goodbye. You threw a fireball at him to stop him but his reflexes were too quick. He shot a web at the fireball and diffused it in mid air. Peter smirked under his mask when you looked surprised.

“Flame retardant webs.” Peter told you. “Pretty cool right?”

“Very cool. Did Tony make those for you?” You asked as your fingers began to spark.

“He did. Using a formula I came up with, not to mention.”

“Wow.” You said sarcastically as you circled Peter. “It must be nice having a rich daddy to make you all those fancy toys.”

“He’s not my daddy.” Peter replied as the eyes of his mask narrowed.

“Underoos.” Tony called out. “Be careful over there. I promised your yummy aunt I’d bring you home in one piece. I don’t think she’d be too happy if I get her nephew barbecued.”

“He’s not? Could’ve had me fooled.” You teased.

“Look, this has been really fun and the longest I’ve ever spoken to a girl, but I have a billionaire to impress. If you’ll excuse me.” Peter winked at you before shooting a web and swinging away. You threw a ball of fire at his web and watched as it disintegrated, coughing Peter to fall to the floor. He let out a low groan and you stood over him and stepped on his chest with one of your red boots.

“Flame retardant webs, huh?” You asked innocently.

“Flames, huh?” Peter couldn’t help but smile under his mask at the sight of you.

“Yeah. Scared?” You asked as you held a hand out to help him up.

“Of a little fire? Please. I can’t handle a few sparks.” Peter replied as he took your hand. He quickly pulled you down to the ground and sat on your chest. Just as he thought he had pinned you, your entire body heated up. Peter felt like he was sitting on an open flame and quickly got off.

“You just roasted my marshmallows.” Peter wheezed as he fanned the smoke away from his burning butt.

“What’s wrong? Can’t take the heat?” You asked as you got off the ground.

“I bet you get a lot of good puns out of your powers.” Peter replied, making you crack a smile.

“I might.” You shrugged before throwing another ball of fire his way. He quickly dodged it as you threw two more while moving towards him. He caught your wrist when you tried to throw another and moved it away from him.

“I bet you hear a lot of puns too. Has anyone ever told you you’re smoking hot?” He asked you. He felt your wrist heat up under his gloves and quickly let go.

“Once or twice. But it was the last thing they ever said. At least, if you don’t count their screaming as I burnt them alive.” You said as you moved towards Peter. He could see your eyes turning red as an orange flame flickered behind your pupils. He gulped a little and backed away from you.

“How about this? Has anyone ever told you you’re beautiful?” He laughed nervously as his chances of winning the fight grew dimmer.

“Yes. Right before he went up in flames.” You smiled deviously as a ball of fire formed in your hands.

“How does that song go? To die by your side is such a heavenly way to die?” Peter replied, and you could practically hear his smile.

“You’re pretty confident for someone who’s about to be a pile of ashes.” You clicked your tongue.

“Who says I’m about to be a pile of ashes?” Peter asked. Before you could respond, he shot a web at your hip and pulled you towards him. You spun into his arms and he caught you before immediately throwing you to the ground.

“Really, it’s been fun but-“

Before Peter could finish his sentence, you throw a fire ball between his legs and blew up the truck that had been behind him. He turned to look at the explosion and gulped. You got off the ground and wiped the blood from your nose as flames ignited behind you eyes again.

“I’m mister heat miser. I’m mister sun.” You sang lowly as you slowly walked toward la Peter. Peter gulped and backed away from you as flames raged behind him.

“I’m mister heat blister. I’m mister one hundred and one.” You continued to sing as you tossed a ball of flames back and forth between your hands. It grew with each step you took towards Peter and he didn’t like his odds.

“They call me Heat Miser. Whatever I touch starts right melt in my clutch.” You sang lowly as you grew the flame even more. You slowly looked up into Peters eyes and smirked before saying,

“I’m too much.”

With that, you launched the basketball sized ball of flames at Peter. He let out a shriek and leapt out of the way before it could hit him. He rolled on the ground after landed and realized his foot was on fire. He let out a Homer Simpson esk yelp and quickly sprayed himself with fire retardant. Peter looked up when he heard footsteps heading towards him and saw you standing over him.

“Sorry about that.” You said as you held out a hand.

“You don’t look very sorry.” Peter said as he skeptically looked at your hand.

“Because I’m not.” You said with a smirk. Peter smirked as well as he took your hand. Instead of using it to pull himself up, he pulled you down with him.

“Woah!” You said as he pulled you to the ground. Peter hooked his leg beneath yours and flipped you onto your back as he pinned you to the ground.

“Sorry about that.” He said with a teasing smile.

“You’re not sorry.” You returned the smile as you looked up into his eyes.

“You’re right. I’m not.” Peter chuckled. “You wouldn’t happen to be looking for a Shark Boy, would you Lava Girl?”

“In your dreams.” You said as you tried to get up, but Peter pinned you back down by your wrists.

“I don’t suppose you breathe fire, do you? Because if not, you’re pretty useless without your hands.” Peter taunted as he clicked his tongue.

“I wouldn’t bet on that.” You smiled deviously before flowing some fire up at him. Peter let out a yelp and dodged the fire, giving you an opportunity to overpower him and pin him to the ground as you rolled over each other.

“So you can breathe fire.” Peter panted as he tried to catch his breath.

“Guilty.” You smiled and let go of Peters wrists but remained seated on his chest. Before you could say anything else, Tony walked over to the two of you.

“I see you’ve met Firestarter.” Tony said. “Hope she didn’t roast your chestnuts too hard.”

“You knew there was a flame thrower and didn’t warn me?” Peter asked as he looked at Tony with betrayal. You smiled and got up off of Peters chest, pleased with yourself for overpowering him.

“I figured you guys could have a cute little flirty fight or something.“ Tony smirked. “And it seems like I was right.”

“Shut up.”

Peter blushed under his mask and got up off the ground. He noticed that the opposing team had dispersed so he felt comfortable taking his mask off. You did a double take when you saw him without his mask and felt your heart skip a little.

“Glad you both are okay.” Tony smiled. “I’m gonna go make sure Cap and I are still on for pickle ball next Tuesday.”

“Wait, what?” You asked. “Didn’t you guys just super smash bros style fight each other?”

“So?” Tony snorted before walking away. You and Peter exchanged a confused look before laughing a little. The tension dissolved between the two of you as you awkwardly lingered around each other.

“Nice job back there. I have to say, you fight like a girl.” You told him with a shy smile.

“Really?” Peter asked hopefully.

“Yeah. Totally.”

“Wow. Thanks.” Peter smiled and nervously toyed with his mask.

“You’re welcome. It was nice to meet you, Spiderman.” You said as you held out a hand. Peter smiled and shook your hand, feeling a burning sensation as he did so.

“It was nice to meet you too, Firestarter. Will I see you again?” He asked hopefully as he slipped his hand out of yours.

“Check your hand.” You smirked and let your eyes flick to his hand. Peter looked at you in confusion before slipping his glove off and looking at his hand.

“Woah. Is this your phone number?” He gasped when he saw number burned into his skin.

“Yeah. Use it sometime.”

“I will.”

“You better.” You replied with a wink. Peter blushed before looking back down at his hand.

“Is this gonna scar?” Peter asked you.

“If you’re lucky.” You told him before walking away, leaving a trail of ashes as you went. Peter tureens bright red before looking down at his hand.

“I’m feeling lucky.”

Tag List 🏷

@awesomebooklover17 @thebookwormlife @imanativeofswlondondahling @serendipitous-amor

@lavender-writer @whatareyouhidingpeter @takenbyheartstrings @ultrunning @imyourliquor-youremypoison @andreasworlsboring101

@letsloveimagines @peterparkoure @a-villain-vying-for-attention @justcallmehitgirl @jackiehollanderr @mara-twins @maryjanee23 @geeksareunique @emmamarshmellow @unbelievableholland @flixndchill @sovereignparker @thisisthebiplace @every-marveler-ever @undiadeestos @caelestii-e @eridanuswave @itscaminow @fiantomartell @solarxmoonchild @canyouevencauseicant @illwritetomorrow @thehappygrungelife @saysomethingspiderman @smilexcaptainx @quaksonhehe @kelieah @seasidecrowbar @lovelessdagger @electraheart-3174 @unbelievableholland @yourtypicalhotmess @horanxholland @thesuitelifeofafangirl @marshxx @heyheycharlatte @nooneinvitedfascistbarbie @tomshufflepuff

@maybemona @alexxcorona113

#peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker imagine #peter parker x y/n #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland fluff #tom holland x y/n #tom holland fanfiction

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hargrove-mayfields · 1 month

Text

For ST Rarepair Roulette 💕 @st-rarepair-roulette

Word Count: ~5,000

Ships: Billy Hargrove x Chrissy Cunningham and Heather Holloway x Jason Carver.

Warnings: Implied/referenced child abuse, lots of arguing and misunderstandings, very mild references to sexual content.

~~~~~~

“No. Nope. I don’t believe that for one second.”

Gossip. That’s all it is. Heather and Chrissy laying on the former’s bed, legs up against the wall, long hair dangling over the opposite edge of the bed, exchanging silly gossip.

Never the mean kind, Chrissy won’t allow that, it’s mostly their respective crushes and fascinations from school they talk about.

Or specifically, lately how much Heather doesn’t like Chrissy’s taste in boys. Or anybody, for that matter. In her heart of hearts, she knows Heather is just protective.

Still, Chrissy tosses a little stuffed fuzzball of an animal at her friend for that comment, “Hetty! Rude!”

“Look I’m sorry, I just can’t believe that Hargrove has like, actual feelings. I don’t trust him.” Heather elaborates, through her laughter.

See, she’d say the same every time, they both know that. What matters is whether Chrissy is bold enough to go through with it. She never has been so far. It’s one thing to have a crush, but to have someone openly pining back, that’s something more rare.

An opportunity Chrissy wouldn’t like to lose just to please her best friend.

She’ll try to win her over, “One date won’t be bad.”

But Heather will make excuse after excuse, “Every girl says that before the worst night of her life.”

Chrissy rolls onto her front, sighing so heavily the weight of Heather’s mattress lifts up, like she’s turned to the most stressed little helium balloon and floated away. Maybe she did, off into her imagination, taking her common sense with her.

Maybe she’ll entertain Heather’s concerns, but only if they’re productive, “Well how did you know Jason was being genuine?”

Heather's boyfriend. Track and basketball star, high class social asshole. Chrissys has never been a fan, to be entirely honest. Her earliest memories of Jason Carver were of him shoving over smaller kids in their church group and treating every recess game as pro-level sports. She still doesn’t see what Heather finds so charming about him.

She hopes maybe he’d changed, assumes he’d have had to to win over a critical heart like the one guarded in Heather’s chest.

Oh but Heather gives no such benefit of the doubt to anybody else, “I /don’t/ know it. But /my/ boyfriend doesn’t run over innocent children in his free time.. or whatever the hell it is Billy Hargrove gets up to.”

Chrissy has to laugh at that, it's so absurd, “Oh- He does not! Billy’s /nice./”

“Prove it.” Heather challenges, popping a gum bubble between her teeth to assert her seriousness.

“Hetty.” Chrissy warns, uninterested in playing that game.

Her friend isn’t having it. Heather rolls her brown eyes with so much force she literally rolls over on the bed, sprawling out over top of Chrissy like a beloved golden retriever with no respect for sharing space. It’s always been comfortable with her, coexisting without regard to self consciousness and mothers opinions and Godly image. Probably why she lets Heather get away with being a little catty sometimes.

Like now, as she claims, “Oh come on. Make it a game, have some fun, but show me he’s genuine. Or else I’m kicking his ass.”

“Fine.” Chrissy wants to be stern, but she cracks a little smile, her real, bright one, “If I'm supposed to threaten to kick Jason’s butt, I don’t think I’d be able to.”

Heather hums in thought before presenting a solution, “I’ll do the ‘defending of our honor’ if you help me test Jay back.”

“Pinky promise you’ll be nicer to Billy once we get proof?”

“That’s /if/ we get proof, but you have my word.”

The deal is sealed. They lock pinky fingers, one soft pink nailed and one a flaming red shade. In the ten years they’d been friends since Heather joined their class in 1st grade, not a single pinky promise between them has been broken. It just isn’t done.

Admittedly, that’s a lot of pressure. Talking about cute boys doesn’t feel as fun anymore.

Chrissy’s fluttery feelings start to set in, fidgeting with her hands to hope to drive them off. If she had her bracelets on, she’d shake them and enjoy the way they ring from the hard plastics and metals banging together, but it’s late, she’s in her pjs without jewelry. She picks her nails instead.

Redirecting, Heather hands her a stuffed Winnie the Pooh, and asks a question she knows will catch her off guard, “Soooo. What are you gonna do?”

“Hetty, I haven’t had time to think!” Chrissy complains, squishing poor Pooh between her hands, choosing to abuse the stuffed toy with her anxiety instead of her own skin.

“Oh come on. What do boys care about? Cars, sex, and sports. Pick one and he’ll show his true colors.” Heather says it likes it’s all just so easy, and she already knows it all.

Chrissy isn’t as sure. She considers her options,

“Um, sports sounds the least dangerous.. maybe?”

“Until he tackles your little ass.” Heather points out.

There’s a moment where they both sort of stop moving. They both know what Heather is about to do, but Chrissy's defenses are useless to stop it. She scrunches her body up as tiny as can be, but Heather has pounced, poking her sides gently where she knows her friend is ticklish.

Chrissy used to get all self conscious when Heather would do things like that. Not just touching her skin, so close to where she feels her strongest insecurities, but even jokes, little digs that had nothing to do with Chrissy’s appearance would get her down.

They have Billy to thank for the change. Dating or not, William Hargrove isn’t one to hide his affections. Everyone knows he’s had a thing for Chrissy for a while. It’s deciphering whether he’s chasing tail, or chasing the sweet girl he’d shown enough interest in to replenish her view of herself, hung around and flirted and laughed with so freely it healed a part of her broken heart.

She thinks maybe repaying him a little would increase the chances of getting the ball rolling, and getting Heather’s trust. “What if I cheer special for him during one of his games?”

“Uh, no!” Heather shakes her head, rolled curls bouncing in their pillow curlers back and forth, ”That just makes /you/ public about it. And he can spin that if he’s being an ass for real.”

“But I don’t think-“ Chrissy starts to argue, brow knotted.

Heather holds one of her hands, showing she is doing this because she cares, even if she’s being a little harsh, “Honey, I know I’m a cynical bitch, but I don’t want to see you hurt. Save yourself the embarrassment.”

“I don’t- Heather, it’s not embarrassing to be in love!”

A gasp, slow realization dawning. “You’re right. Oh my god, Chrissy you’re so right!!”

Heather kicks her legs with glee, fuzzy slippers going flying. Right out of a movie, she squeals with delight, infecting Chrissy too with her sudden joy.

Chrissy giggles, going along with it, “I am?”

“Uh, yes! It’s perfect!” Heather scoots closer until they’re shoulder to shoulder, looking up at the ceiling together. She talks with her hands, like she’s painting the picture for her. “Don’t /cheer/ his name. /Wear/ it.”

Only, Chrissy doesn’t think she gets it, “...How?”

“His varsity jacket! If a boy gives you his varsity jacket, it’s serious business. They protect those damn things like a firstborn daughter. If you can get Billy to give you his jacket, you might as well be hitched!” Heather explains, a ball of enthusiasm.

Chrissy knows her longing heart starts racing, probably obvious to Heather too this close together, “You actually think that would work?”

Heather flips up so she’s sitting, burning some of her energy in her dramatic motions, “Duh! You show up to a game repping his varsity, baby, that deal is sealed. I’m talking a proposal at the end-zone. A wedding between quarters. I’m talkin’ baby-making under the bleachers-“

Chrissy, face as hot pink as her pj tank top, interrupts all that, “Okay! Okay. That’s… I get it.”

“Do I make you blush, fair lady?” Heather drawls, in an impression of a boy, eyebrow arched, chest puffed out, lips curled, her voiced dropped ridiculously deep-

Chrissy covers her face, trying desperately not to laugh at the ridiculous attempt, “Heatherrr!!”

Heather clutches her chest like she’s wounded, taking on a sort of accent almost from how badly she’s doing her impression, “Ah! My apologies, maiden. How ungentlemanly of me.”

“Nobody talks like that! /Billy/ doesn’t talk like that!!” Chrissy argues, though she giggles at the unseriousness of it all. So it took a while, but Heather always does know how to make her feel better.

They drop the boy talk for a while, choosing to sneak downstairs and grab some snacks at two in the morning once Heather’s parents were definitely asleep, coming back up with a strange homemade trail mix. Dark chocolate chips, raisins, pretzels, almonds and strawberries. Certainly nothing outside of Chrissy’s comfort zone, careful not to push the limits of her recovery, though it’ll probably give them both a stomachache in a few hours regardless.

Leaned against some bean bag chairs right under the open window, enjoying the birdsong and cricket chirps, they share their homemade creation, and better, more smiles and lighthearted stories. Like they used to, before highschool drama and all.

Nearing 4, Heather turns to her, uncharacteristically dead serious, and declares, “I hope he makes you this happy.”

The realness inspires Chrissy to do the prying now, switching roles, hoping her friend will open up to her in kind, “Does Jason make you happy?”

“/Jason/ does. Our parents practically arranging for us to be married from the time we were newborns, hm not so much.” Heather sighs, drawing her knees in. She doesn’t quite shut down, it’s more for comfort, self assurance, which Chrissy understands. She gives her space to collect her thoughts.

“He’s my guy best friend. And I love him. In more than the best friend way. It’d be stupid not to end up together. But god there’s so much pressure!”

“I think you should do the jacket thing too.” Chrissy offers carefully, “I’m doing it to prove /my/ date isn’t a one-hit creep. You can do it just to remind yourself why you love your boy. And that he loves you. ‘Cause I know he does, Heather. But I know you’re afraid he doesn’t.”

Heather has tears in her eyes and a sad smile when she looks at Chrissy, “What is with you quiet girls and secretly being psychics?”

Oh how Chrissy wished she truly were a psychic.

At the beginning, she wasn’t nervous at all. Her and Heather bullshitted all the time, it wasn’t anything serious. But they’re all four on a date, wandering downtown around the various second hand stores, a typical stop for one couple, and the complete opposite for the others.

Seemed as good a time as any to go through with their silly plan, it wasn’t like it would hurt anything. Except she’d tried all kinds of things to get Billy to give her his jacket, and so far, none of them worked even a little! Not browsing through a selection of jackets at the stores, not shivering dramatically, not clinging to his side either.

Chrissy felt a chip in her little heart every time, feeling like maybe Heather was right. All over a jacket. She’d have her heart broken for a little bit of wool and leather.

With her boyfriend's name on it. Her boyfriend who actually holds her hand, and tells her she’s pretty, and doesn’t creep his hands under his skirt constantly.

She doesn’t know if she could get over losing that.

Her gait down the strip is admittedly less spirited, lingering behind Heather and Jay, but Billy never leaves her behind. He engages her in conversation too, hair blowing all over the place around his face, “How the fuck do you go outside in this shit?”

Chrissy looks at him, wearing an amused little smile, “Like, ever?”

“Yeah /ever/, Princess.” Billy sarcastically, but lightheartedly bumps her shoulder lightly with his arm, “Jesus, I should take you to California. Gonna miss winters without tiny fucking knives falling from the sky.”

Heather doesn’t lose track of that comment for a minute. Excited for Chrissy, she tries to plant the seed for their plan,

“What’s the matter, Billy? You too cold?”

“Hell no. But I’m not a chick the size of a baby deer.” Billy remarks, taking the bait perfectly well, rubbing Chrissy’s arms and feeling how cold she is, “Shit, you’re fucking frozen, Chris. Here.”

And without even thinking he peels off his varsity jacket and starts to hand it over.

Used to the cold, and despite her excitement wanting to make sure Billy doesn’t get uncomfortable, Chrissy protests, “No, no, no. Keep it. I can’t let your California sunshine freeze over.”

Billy disregards that, slinging it over her shoulders anyways, “Yeah, well I’m not letting all the fuckin’ little pixies that fly around your head freeze to death either.”

Jason scoffs at him, turning around to walk backwards with the group, teasing, “Dude, what does that even mean?”

Without even looking Heather flicks his ear, getting his attention back, “Just because you don’t understand romance doesn’t mean nobody can.”

He looks at her like a kicked puppy, but Jason is nothing if not stubborn, “Pixies? Sunshine? What happened to- beautiful and charming and butterflies in the stomach?”

“I don’t know, Jason. Maybe you should fall in love again and find out.”

“Who would I fall in love with? Nobody can beat you, Holloway.”

Heather rolls her eyes, flicking her hair like an agitated horse would it’s tail, “Ah, see you almost got a couple points there. Almost. You’re in the negatives though for using my last name.”

He tries to recover it suavely, “I could call you Carver instead?”

But that isn’t Heather's way. She counters intensely, “No. I’m not being a child bride, thank you very much. Besides, who says I’m taking your name? Maybe I could call you Holloway.”

“The.. I- Okay.” Jason just sputters, turning pink up to his ears.

Behind them, still lingering a good ways back, Chrissy hums, warm and cozy in her boyfriend’s jacket, “What are they even arguing about?”

Billy laughs about that, shrugs his shoulders, “Hell if I know. They lost me a long time ago.”

“It’s funny. Heather didn’t think you were good for me, but she fights with Jason all the time.” Chrissy informs him.

Billy stops dead in his tracks. Gently uses his hold on Chrissy's hand to spin her around to face him as he fell behind,

“Hold on. Take a step back. Heather thinks /what/ about me?”

Chrissy’s nerves spike so quickly she gets a little dizzy, “Please don't take it personally. I want my two favorite people to like each other. Please.”

Her beau steadies her, instead of freaking out, “No problem. I just find it.. fuckin’ weird.”

“It’s because of the way you drive. And smoke. And act. She thinks it’s bad for me.” Chrissy blurts, knowing it’s unkind but needing him to believe that she had no part in it.

He doesn’t seem too phased by having Heather’s disapproval, apparently learning faster than most people do, “Big fucking deal. At least you know I love you, right?”

“Mhm.” Chrissy nods her assurance, standing on her tiptoes to kiss Billy’s cheek and seal the promise.

“Right. Tell her she’s the one making Jason cry his damn eyes out the second he gets tipsy on a sip of anything stronger than a fuckin’ soda pop. I’m tellin’ you, Holloway has ripped out his heart and shoved it up his own pansy ass.” Billy sounds bitter, but not overly mean.

It’s something he’s thought about before. Good to know the gossip street goes both ways.

It’s why Chrissy doesn’t feel too bad telling Billy now, “She doesn’t mean to. I think she’s scared.”

“Sacred of Carver?…. He hurt her?” His voice drops, as angry and mean as Heather warned her about.

They don’t talk much about serious things, serious isn’t their kind of fun, but Chrissy knows about Billy’s life at home. About the type of man Billy could’ve been destined to be.

She rushes to make sure he doesn’t turn on his own friend for thinking Jason was the same way, “Oh no! No, not at all. Never. It’s her mom and her daddy. They sort of forced her to date Jason. She wasn’t ready. I think she’s ready now and doesn’t want to admit it. ‘Cause that would be like taking their orders.”

“Fuckin’ parents.” Billy eventually grumbles, not knowing what else to say.

It seems to be a common theme in their group. A bonding experience for all four of them, whether or not they’re open about it.

Chrissy doesn’t really feel like talking about that stuff anymore, sort of just mumbling, “Yeah.”

Because Billy is perfect, and none of the things Heather says at all, and the actual bullies in their lives makes her want to just hide. Billy notices the drop in her mood, and silently slings an arm around her waist, pulling her into his side as they walk. Keeping her close. Safe.

Maybe someday things will work out beyond Hawkins. They have to. Winning the jacket was a silly, small victory, but it was a step.

Now Chrissy just wants, more than anything, her friends to be happy.

She holds onto Billy’s hand a little tighter.

The next time Heather and Jason get together, it’s for a study date at the end of that week. With Heather being a year above, the only class they have in common is the Biology two class Heather failed last year. There’s coloring sheets of bones and cells to be completed, so it’s not like they need each other’s help, but sitting on Heather’s bed coloring with colored pencils didn’t seem like a bad deal either way.

At some point, surrounded by all the color, Heather realizes something,

“Honey. We’re going shopping this weekend.”

Jason barely looks up from his work, focused on being neat close to the lines, “For?”

“Clothes. You’ve worn three white polos this week. I’m bringing some color into your life.” Heather pokes him with the flat end of the white pencil for emphasis.

Jason blinks, caught off his guard, “I wear green sometimes.”

“School colors don’t count. Yellow either.”

“I think I have, maybe, /one/ blue shirt.”

Heather digs in the pile for a turquoise-ish pencil, “Blue! Blue’s.. good! That’s definitely on God’s rainbow. Maybe a nice pair of blue jeans too, for once-“

That’s where Jason cuts it off. Because that’s where Heather went from playfully sharp to flat-out insulting, “Heather, please.”

She stays on the defensive, “I’m just saying. There’s nothing wrong with branching out from your choir boy uniform. That’s all.”

Sometimes it’s like she thinks if she pokes a bruise enough, it’ll make her seem like she’s strong enough to cause them. Like she’s all in charge and nothing can stop her.

Jason doesn’t want to stop her, he just wants her basic respect, “So what do you suggest?”

Not even sarcastic, just genuinely enthusiastic to share, Heather starts, “Pastels! Your hair is way too strawberry to be a dark dresser. Unless you go with emeralds, no more tacky green. Ooh, or even if you grow it out some! You know, actually-“

Jason runs his fingers over his neatly parted hair, protecting it, not hiding the concerned squeak to his voice, “No thank you, I happen to like my hair short.”

“Again, baby. Boring.” Heather just rolls her eyes, once again. Sometimes it’s like that’s all she knows how to do.

It stings.

“Look, if nothing I do is ever going to be good enough-“

Heather doesn't entertain that in the least. She slaps her hand over his homework page, making him look at her, “It’s not /you/. You know that it’s not you.”

No, he didn’t know that. Jason looks at her, confused, “What?”

“Just because you dress yourself, and you drive your stupid little station wagon around parading your image, doesn’t mean there’s not that voice in the back of your head. Maybe… maybe a tight fist too. Telling you what to do. You’re afraid.” Heather talks with her hands, just enough that Jason can see through it.

That she’s being showy to hide something.

Doesn’t mean he’s not been rendered self conscious and bare-souled all the same. He doesn’t like that, even after months with Heather not feeling safe showing her all his tender parts like that, “I don’t want to hear this from you.”

“Oh, so a girl can’t have opinions, huh? I should just spread my legs now and let something else do all the talking?” Heather heats the argument.

Jason just lets his head fall back, frustrated, “I don’t- You /know/ I don’t want that.”

“Oh please do enlighten me then, your graciousness.” Heather forces what Jason is thinking out of him.

So he lets it go, without regard to her feelings, even though he hadn’t wanted to, “Look, I’m not stupid. I know your parents are a problem, Heather. Everyone that’s read the paper knows Tom Holloway isn’t a kind man. You try to hide it, but you can’t keep it from me. And you can’t- just take it all out on me!”

“I wasn’t-“ Heather tries to backpedal.

He still doesn’t let her, “You were! You always have! Nobody has the key to the lock on your heart, but I’ve been trying anyways. And you just shut. me. down!”

“Jason…”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry we didn’t meet for real until high school. I’m sorry I can’t save you because I’ve got my own.. shit to deal with. But, and forgive me for using His name in vain, Jesus fucking Christ Heather!”

“Jason..” Heather repeats, clearly more misty eyed than before, and opens her arms. A hug is letting him in physically, letting him get close even when the words aren’t easy.

Mostly, she hadn’t realized Jason could read her as easily as she could read him.

He takes the vulnerability to mean it’s safe to say, “I love you.”

“I know.” Is Heather’s response. It’s not easy to say it back, not when she chokes on it every time she tries to say it to her ‘problems,’ let alone a highschool boyfriend she was never supposed to fall for, not in her own heart.

It’s enough. Jason keeps holding her, lips against her shoulder, “I’m sorry.”

Heather repeats herself, “I know.”

Nothing else felt right to say. Because she /was/ sorry too, but saying it second would feel ingenuine. At least, she’d read it that way.

She closes her eyes and feels exhausted. It’s not supposed to be this hard. Their school years are drawing to a close, and yet she can’t even admit her own parents treat her like shit.

Maybe a silent tear drop or two drips off the end of her nose behind Jason’s back. If he noticed, he didn’t say a word.

After a while, Heather needs to do something, sitting and thinking and regretting not doing anything to help, “Can we call Chrissy and Billy and go get some ice cream or something?”

“Sure. I think I owe that to you for keeping myself so.. alone.” Jason admits, bashful but genuine.

And isn’t that just the thing. Heather gives him a tiny smile back, “Ditto, baby.”

Ice cream ran into the evening, all of them itching for an excuse to stay out. Chrissy was the last to finish her bowl of two raspberry scoops with sprinkles, half of it melted into sludge by the last spoonful, and even that’s not a distraction enough.

It’s early spring, which means, as the group informed Billy, that the Hawkins drive-in theater was opening back up. Nobody even needed to discuss it to know that’s what they wanted to do. There were a variety of chick-flicks and even more horror sequels in the box office, which meant the two week delay at the drive-in would make for some good choices at least. Most Hawkins residents would take their trucks out there, not some prissy little station wagon, but it would do.

At least, it should, but Billy started getting impatient with cruising along under the speed limit out to the wooded hill where the drive-in is, “Can’t this piece of shit go faster?”

Heather turned around slightly to face and scold him, “Well, we coulda brought yours if you hadn’t decided to buy the extra tiny, no room for fun model.”

Billy just snorted humorlessly, “We could fit if there was any actual fun going on. Leaving room for the Lord or whatever is what fucks it up.”

For that comment, knowing their company, Chrissy pushed Billy’s arm gently. Still, she didn’t seem to disagree too harshly, since she smiled through when he kissed her next.

Heather seemed irritated, though that tends to be her default honestly, as she huffed, “Not everyone’s a sleaze like you, Hargrove. Get used to it.”

Billy hadn’t even justified it with a response, just waved her off and used the same arm to swing it over the seat behind Chrissy. She was wearing his jacket again, hadn’t taken it off all week, curled into his side and wearing his name. In that bubbly way she does, she was also wiggling her hands about, not nervous, but happy.

Content.

Heather and Jason still had a ways to go to reach contentment.

The pair stay in the car for the movie, their counterparts in a blanket on the grass instead. Cali boy is out there freezing his ass off, but he’d said anything would be better than being trapped with relationship drama.

Heather and Jason try to ignore him.

They fail.

Jason turns to her not even a full twenty minutes after that comment starts working it’s way under his skin, “Heather?”

“Hm?” She hums to show she’s listening, but doesn’t look his way.

That’s not enough for what needs to be said, so he repeats, “Heather.”

“Yeah, that’s me. You need something?”

“I wanted- I just…. I’m sorry.”

Her pretty features screw up in confusion, “For what?”

“For not being good enough.” Jason informs, like it was the most clear thing, “You’d be happier with a guy like Billy. Maybe you could call up Steve-“

“No, fuck you if you think I could ever leave you.” She spits.

And then she grabs Jason by the collar of his polo and kisses him.

It’s nothing chaste, nothing at all like their usual peck of the lips. This is roaming tongues and hands.

Heather reigns herself in when she feels Jason’s hands, holding her hips up under the back of her shirt, shaking.

“I’m not gonna make you do anything. Sex isn’t my endgame.”

He sort of freezes, like it hadn’t occurred to him that Heather wouldn’t mind helping him in his devotion to modesty, “So what is?”

“An apartment. Maybe get a cat. I want to share a space with you long before we do marriage shit.” Heather explains lightly, smile on her face.

Jason relaxes his shoulders, “Make it a dog and we’ll see. Dogs are better.”

“Oh, ha-ha. Make it one of each and I’ll forgive you for that comment.”

Heather kisses him again, without any heat or intensity this time, just gentle, soft affection. She even lets him touch her hair, despite usually slapping his hands away for that. It helps that she’d brushed it out to be restyled before bed tonight, but still, she would have let him even if her curls were laying perfect.

When they pull away, Heather lays her head on Jason’s shoulder. Instead of watching Cat’s Eye on the screen, her gaze falls to their friends huddled up outside, and she muses, “How much you wanna bet Chrissy and Billy run away into the sunset?”

“I hope they do. Hawkins is Hell on earth.” Jason asserts, clearly serious because he usually wouldn’t even mention a place like that.

Heather sighs slightly, “Literally. The kidnappings, the murders. I can’t take much more of it.”

Confident, Jason says, “I’m sure they’d make room for us then. If we wanted to go with them.”

That has Heather sitting up straighter, surprised, “You would live in California?”

Sunny skies, living free- it didn’t seem very much his pace. The order and the mundanity of Midwestern life seemed better for Jason.

He just shrugs for now, “Who knows? We’ll see when we get there.”

“And you’re okay with that?” Heather wonders aloud, as she knows it, finding that Jason prefers to have his entire life planned out.

He only sounds a little tense as he tries to sound brave and strong, “Getting there.”

The tension between them had to have been coming from there. She wanted nothing more than to rebel and escape, while he, even when he was feeling crushed by the weight of parental disapproval, was nothing short of desperate to be back in their graces.

If Heather could be more open to discussion when that made her uncomfortable, and Jason less complicit to begin with, the pair would probably be on the right path again.

She lays her head on him again, and this time, Jason takes his arm out of one sleeve of his varsity jacket, slinging it around her like a blanket. Her heart absolutely soars. The promise to Chrissy was fulfilled, she and her honey were working out just fine now, after she’d gotten Billy’s jacket.

That’s gotta be a sign that things will work out for Heather too.

“Hey, Jason?”

“Hm?”

She feels compelled to finally confess, “I love you.”

It’s Jason this time who, after a soft little kiss to her forehead, says, “I know.”

#strr2024 #billy hargrove #chrissy cunningham #calicheer #billy x chrissy #heather holloway #jason carver #choirguard #heathson #jason x heather #my writing #ej writer #st rarepairs

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celestiall0tus · 27 days

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Paradise - Chapter 24 - Despair and Forsaken

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Zoe and Felix found themselves back in the gauntlet from before. They exchanged glances before they stepped down along the invisible path, witnessing their pasts again. Felix paid little attention to his own and more on Zoe’s past. Repulsion and regret tore through him seeing what she had to endure up to this point compared to him. He chanced glances at her, but her eyes never met his and remained on each of their memories.

Zoe and Felix walked in silence until they reached the end. Zoe stepped forward while Felix hung back. He watched as Plagg and Silkii materialized, ready to finish this. He grimaced as he looked at her.

“I’m sorry for what you’ve had to go through, Zoe,” Felix said.

Zoe paused. A long silence passed between them before she turned and glared at him. “I don’t want to hear anything from a blue blood like you.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re all the same, right to your core. Your little family problems define who you are without ever having to face true suffering. You act as if your problems are the end of the world while the world ends many times over for people like me and Void.”

Felix sneered. “Hey, I was trying to be nice, brat.”

“Nice? You think your empty words are remotely nice? I don’t fucking care what you have to say. Your false sincerity means nothing to me, blue blood prick. Why don’t you just crawl back to your gilded cage and sing your pitiful song while you sit in the lap of luxury while you bitch about your trivial problems being the end of the world!”

Felix bristled. “My problems are just as real as yours.”

“Oh, I’m sorry that your daddy issues are a real big problem. I’m sorry you’re a little bitch and can’t fight for yourself because you’re daddy’s little bitch! Oh, you’re so unlucky that you have literally everything else except a loving father. Fuck you.”

“And you should get over yourself. You’re not the only person struggling around her. News flash, tiny tyke, we all have issues, and yours don’t make you special.”

Zoe tensed up, her eyes widened, her pupils constricted, and her lips curled back into a vicious snarl. “You have no right to use those words against me, blue blood. You have had everything handed to you! You have a home, security, money, a loving family minus your father. You. Have. Everything! And you stand there and have the gall to project yourself onto me?”

Felix tsked. “I’d never do that. I’d have no reason to project myself onto a child that could never understand.”

“Never understand? Never understand! I understand plenty! I understand that the world is catered to your kind, blue blood. That people like me and Void are tossed aside and only brought up when you need to use us before you toss us aside again. You live luxurious, content lives while the rest of us scrape by. Have you ever feared you’d lose your home? Have you ever had to go hungry for days before you’d get your next meal? Did you ever feel isolated by everyone and feel like you never should have been born? Did you ever have to fall into the very pits of hell just to survive? Did you have your family that you found ripped away from you just to be used by blue bloods?”

“No.”

“Exactly. I don’t want to hear shit from the likes of you, blue blood. I’ve had to fight. I’ve had to survive. I had to sacrifice any sense of normalcy just to ensure I would live. It would have been easier to give up like that failure of a father, but I refuse to. This is my life. I was brought into it by accident, but I won’t let life beat me down. I know what’s of value out there. I know what’s worth fighting for. I know what’s worth living for. Can you say the same?”

Felix didn’t answer.

“I didn’t think so. Why don’t you do us all a favor and get rid of yourself like that failure of a father. We don’t need more people like you in this world. Plagg, let’s go.”

“Do you-?” Plagg started.

“Yes to everything, so long as you don’t destroy what I value most like that bitch tried to.”

“You have my word. Even I know the value in keeping what we love, and to destroy anything that would threaten it.”

Zoe’s face softened. She scooped up Plagg and pressed her forehead against his tiny head. His body dissolved into shadows that enveloped her and she vanished.

Felix turned away towards the path they came. He saw his memories clear as day while Zoe’s echoed and faded into the darkness. Anger lingered but were overpowered by bitterness and envy.

“You don’t have to be like this, if you don’t want,” Silkii remarked.

“It’s all I know how to be,” Felix whispered.

“Well, you can be like the little woman child, forced to grow up far faster than she should have. Be like what you envy because it’s not you. You can break free and betray those that gave you everything. You can finally take command. It just takes one little word now.”

Felix sighed. He looked back at his memories of all the time under Colt’s thumb and the small reprieves he was given by Amelie. He didn’t like the idea of going against and betray Amelie, but he could feel it, deep down, he longed for freedom. He wanted to escape his gilded cage for good. He wanted his life to be his own.

Felix took a deep breath and turned to Silkii. “Yes, to everything.”

Silkii grinned. She bowed her head as her body dissolved into shadow. It wrapped around Felix and dragged him down into the void.

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#miraculous ladybug #miraculous #miraculoustalesofladybugandcatnoir #miraculous au #au #alternate universe #fanfiction writer #fanfiction #fanfic #mlb fanfic #paradise au #felix fathom #zoe lee

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steffiam · 2 months

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Fade out, fade in

just a little sweet, panicy something set during the first episode of season 6.

Charles Emerson Winchester III x Fem!reader, Hawkeye PiercexFem!Reader, just something sweet, no warnings, Reader insert, no use of YN

You opened the swamp's tent door, still in your class A's from travelling back from your R&R in Seoul.

You just want to drop off the requested items you picked up for both the man before you would head over to the office and report back to Colonel Potter. And handing him the scotch you bought at the PX for him, as thanks that he had let you leave so quickly and rushed without asking further questions.

Questions why you dropped the clamp in OR as Radar announced the name of the temporary replacement for Burns. Why the hell you didn't wanted to meet the one and only Charles E. Winchester. And you were beyond grateful for that.

"Hey guys," you announced your arrival cheerfully, truly happy to be back again. "How are you? You survived all three days with Winchester? Or did he leave some scratches on your ego, Hawk?", you grinded over at the black-haired surgeon who had a Martini glass at his lips and sent you a side eye.

"Nice to have you back, Sunny", BJ said as he gave you a side hug due to his own martin glass in the other hand.

"Medical journal for BJ," you said as you started to dig through your satchel and handed him the brown paper envelope, " and a little plush panda for Erin." "I didn't order that," he said. "I know, but I couldn't resist him. He's so cute. Let me spoil your little girl", you smirked at him as you tossed the plushie over to him.

"Thanks," he pecked your cheek before placing the animal in his footlocker to send it out with the next package addressed to Frisco.

You turned your attention over to Hawkeye, who had emptied the glass and bounced excited on his cot. Like a little boy. You reached for the other envelope, on which you hand scribbled "Hawk".

"I never ever going to take requests from you again, Pierce. That's embarrassing to buy, especially as a woman."

"You really bought them? I thought you would chicken out in the last moment." "I almost did, but with a little liquid courage, I managed to buy them. But never ever again, my friend."

"I would have let you off the hook if you would have just told us what all the panic around that name meant." "Let me keep some secrets from you both, will you? And since he is already gone by now, I can keep that secret for another time."

They both exchanged a look and mischievous grin. A grin that you saw often enough, and the one you don't like to see.

" What?"

"Nothing, just having a little secret ourselves", BJ casually said while unpacking the journal.

You gave them both a side eye, not liking the whole situation. As much as you liked the two surgeons, you also knew whenever to mistrust them. They were up to something.

"Whatever, if you excuse me, I have to report back to the colonel and hand him the little thanks I bought him." You held up the wrapped bottle and made your way out of the swamp.

Both men had dropped their things to follow you. You didn't like that. They were up to something.

You entered Radar's office only to find it empty. But from the Colonels office emerged hissed voices. It took you a second to sort out the two different people.

One was Colonel Potter, a very angry Colonel, just to say. The other one, oh no, belonged to the one person you didn't want to meet. The one man, your mother, and stepfather wanted you to marry. The fiancé you ran away from, hours before the official engagement party had been held.

You froze in tracks and made a sharp turn on your heel only to be met by two doctors with shit eating grins that blocked your way out to the compound.

"Let me out, guys. please." You tried to squeeze through a little gab between them to reach freedom. Your heart was beating in panic. Every second that passed could be one too much. The door could open any moment and force you to deal with stuff you left behind two years ago.

"No way, sweetheart. Only if you tell us." Hawk looked down at you. Confident as ever, since he clearly held the upper hand.

"No." You pushed again, without chance.

"Please? I cover your tabs in the O club for one night?"

"Tempting but no", BJ said.

You squirmed in panic as you heard footsteps in the office, and recognised that the talking stopped.

"Shit," you muttered and looked at the only other escape route through Post Op.

You placed the paper wrapped bottle next to Radars typewriter and made a sprint for the door before both men could react.

You made it to the door, even managed to open it halfway as Colonel Potter's voice made you stop in your tracks.

"Ah, Lieutenant, I see you are back from R&R?" You turned and saluted to him.

"Yes, Sir. I didn't want to interrupt your meeting and report back at a later time. Thank you again for the leave. A little thanks for you." You went over the desk to pick up the bottle again, holding it out to your Colonel.

He unwrapped it and smiled warmly at you.

"Thank you very much, Lieutenant"

He twirled the bottle in his hands, not thinking of dismissing you anytime soon. Hawk and Beej could feel and see your discomfort and the urge to flee. But the weren't any help, and just heard them whispering and giggling at the door.

"Colonel, would you excuse me, please? I would like to get changed out of my Class As. I have post Op duty with Dr. Pierce in half an hour.", you tried as polite as possible.

"Not with me, Sweets", Hawkeye said. You turned to them. "BJ then?" "Nope", he shook his head, grinning from ear to ear, like Pierce. You already knew the answer as you asked, "Colonel Potter?", and the man in question shook his head equal to the men before.

The three men had been plotting together, just because they wanted to know. Damn them.

"The Doctor in question would be me, Lieutenant. I'm afraid we haven't met yet. Major Charles Emerson Winchester, the 3rd."

Slowly you turned around to face him. He hadn't recognized your voice yet. Or maybe he hadn't cared enough to try. Due to the sharp tone, you had heard earlier he clearly didn't want to be here.

"I think we know each other well enough, Charles." But noteless you grabbed the offered hand. Politely accepting his offer.

He just looked at you, like he just saw a ghost, but held onto your hand. After he collected his well-mannered behaviour, he brought your knuckles up to his lips to press a feather light kiss to them.

"What a pleasure for sore eyes, my dear. Now this place got a little more bearable."

That was not what you expected as a reaction from him and neither from yourself. Instead of having a panic attack you just accepted your fate. He didn't seemed to be angry at you for breaking the engagement of the year, of Boston's upper class. Or that you brought him and his family in the situation of explaining why the wedding was cancelled.

But he would bring it up, surely, he would. You knew him that well.

You felt the stares of the three men burning in your back. Expecting something. But you wouldn't give them the satisfaction of revealing your secret yet.

"If you all excuse me now, I go change, as I said, to be in time for duty with Major Winchester." "let me accompany you to your tent, dear." "Thank you, Charles", you said polite as you exited the office through the door, he held open for you, like the Gentleman he was raised.

As you were out of hear range from the other man he asked, "This is it? You left Boston and all the comfort that could had been yours for this... garbage dump?"

Ah, he was bitter. Even after two years. You hurt his Ego by running away.

"Yes, I did leave for that. And believe it or not, I think I'm happier here than I would ever have been in Boston." His answer was a sarcastic huff.

"How could you be happy here? Its dirty, dangerous and so far from civilisation, it's a wonder these people here wear proper clothing."

He hurted you with that. These people were your family, you came here almost at the beginning, just three months after Hawkeye had reported for duty at the 4077th. This place merged into a home over time.

"These people you are talking about, had become my family. So, stop bickering, Charles."

"Your family, pff, your real family is sitting in Boston, not knowing where you are. Just knowing that you made the stupid decision to join the Army nurse corps.", he hissed through gritted teeth.

"Yes, I didn't said where I was going to be assigned, because I know how people like you would react. Writing letters and making calls to the so important people they know to get me transferred back to the states, as close to home as possible. And I didn't want that. And you are wrong. one person knew where I was."

"And that would be?"

"Honoria knew. I got a letter from her just before I left for Seoul." "My own sister kept a secret from me?", he was really surprised.

"Yes, I needed someone that wouldn't turn me in. And I trust her with my life. Thats my tent, if you excuse me now, Major." You opened your tent door as he bid his goodbye for now. You would see each other in about 20 minutes and had to life through a 6-hour shift together. You only hoped that Kelly or someone other from your bunkmates would have duty with the pair of you.

Charles had strolled away in the swamp's direction, and you gave him one last look. His face had turned in a slightly red, as he was clearly upset. It would take time to settle that with him, that for sure. With a look back at office door, you saw the, now not so happy looking, faces of Potter, Hunnicutt and Pierce. Clearly, they watched the little argument you had with Charles.

You gave them a last glance as you wiped a tray tear of your face, the last thing you saw before closing was Hawkeye mouthing "sorry".

The following shift ran smoother than you had hoped for. You made your handover rounds with Charles and Colonel Potter, who was on duty last. Charles polite as ever, holding his composure perfectly.

After you had been off duty your nerves were on the edge of bursting. You yearned for a drink but the Officers club was still closed and not to be open for another three hours. Your feet carried you automatically to the swamp to take a sip from still. You know you would run into Charles at the attempt of getting a drink but that was a risk you were willing to take.

And as you expected, he was already there lounging in his desk chair, cognac glass in hand. He looked up at you as you entered the Officers tent.

"Ah, I assume you came to apologise, my dear?", he asked with the self-sufficient grin on his lips.

You held your head high as you answered, "No, just seeking some company from this side of that tent", you gestured to the still's side, where a happy grinning Hawkeye sat on his cot, writing a letter to probably his father.

The horror on Charles face was priceless. That you preferred Hawkeye and his moonshine over his company and expensive liquor.

You ignored his gasps and let yourself plop down on the chair next to Hawks cot. "You mind if I pour myself a drink?" "Only if you refill mine, Sweets"

You both heard Charles suck in air at the nickname.

He reached over to place his glass on the table, whispering "we are sorry for cornering you", before sitting back on his bed. You just nodded.

After you handed him his martini glass, you said, "You get revenge for that, you know". "I know, cheers to that", he clicked your glasses together. The first sip burned down your throat just fine. You drank it that often by now, it barley bothered you by it strength.

You joked around and talked with Hawkeye, playing darts, and read through the last letter that Hawkeye's dad had sent. Pierce must have mentioned in his last letter that you had been down with the flu, like so many others.

His get well soon wish warmed you heart. You pressed a lipstick stain to his current letter to send it as thanks to Main.

But at some point, you had the urge to tell him what your fuzz was all about. You had been through hell together more often than you could count on your fingers. You alone volunteered to go to the Aid Station with him 5 times.

Sure, he had hit on you in your early time at camp, and you had been at the movies together a few times. And like all good dates ended, these ended with kisses. but nothing more. You two settled with a good, reliable friendship.

While nursing your third, and last drink, you knew your limits for that devil's brew, you looked over at Hawk who was playing solitary with the cards. Charles had left to take a shower a few minutes prior.

"You want to know what my panic was all about?" He stopped the card he wanted to place mid-air and looked over at your lightly flushed face. The alcohol made your cheeks burn in a deep pink.

"Sure, but only if you are content with sharing. don't feel pressured." "I want to. Should have done that earlier. But you have to promise me to keep it to yourself, OK?"

He looked at you wide eyed. "Ok, you can tell Beej, but no one else. I will explain my strange behaviour to the colonel myself tomorrow." Hawkeye looked relieved that he could at least share the news with their friend.

"My ears are all yours, go on Sweets", he scooted closer to your chair to capture every word that dropped from your lips. Such a sucker for gossip and News.

"As you know, I'm also from Boston. My mother married again after leaving my father. My stepfather is a wealthy fabricant from Boston's upper class. He tolerated that I wanted to go to nursing school after I graduated school. At some point my family even supported my decision, saying it would do me good to blow of the steam I had and learn something I can use later when I'm married and have children."

You sipped at your drink. Hawk just nodded.

"They started to get cranky when I applied for a job at the Boston general, instead of playing the nice, well-behaved debutante like they expected. So, I continued working at the hospital, even moved out of my family's home for a while. Until my stepfather and mother stood at my doorstep with the request that I should get married and they already arranged an engagement that fitted my status."

Hawkeye swallowed hard on his drink, almost spitting it out. He coughed hard and you petted his back.

"Better?"

he nodded.

"Good, and that fiancé, that I already knew, since we worked together at the hospital, was one Charles E. Winchester. I didn't think they would come up with him. Sure, our parents had good connections and all, but it didn't crossed my mind that they would choose him, alone due to the age difference we have. Nine years are nine years. "

"Why didn't you say no?"

"Thats not what was expected from me, sadly. Say yes, or be a disappointment to the family. Thats how it works, Hawk. I met with Charles a few times outside of work, for coffee, lunch or dinner. to get to know each other better, you know. At least I wanted to know the man I was going to marry. But shortly before our engagement party he made it very clear that he expected his wife to stay at home. like a good little wife, not one that was independent and working.

That was what I couldn't live with. I went to nursing school to help people, not to sit a to big home in Beacon Hill, with a bunch of children waiting for the glorious husband to come home in the evening.

Luckily, that day before the party an army recruiter came to the hospital asking for volunteers. I was the first one to sign that paper, went to the personal chef to quit my job and then the apartment, packed my stuff and left. I asked him to meet for lunchbreak to tell him in person, my parents had gotten a letter, explaining everything. Let's say, he wasn't a fan of being ditched. He was angry at me for leaving him. He couldn't understand why I was running away from all the wealth and easy living he had to offer. And especially running away to the army with a war going on."

You drowned the last of your drink and placed the glass at the table before leaning onto Hawks shoulder. He wrapped his free arm around your waist to pull you closer to his side.

"You understand why I didn't wanted to meet him? And now I'm stuck with him again. Maybe not engaged to him but forced to live with him here. Maybe I should apply for transfer."

"NO!"

"That was quick", you giggled.

"What is "NO"?", BJ asked as he strolled into the tent to take a break from duty.

"I'm confident Hawkeye will tell you soon enough Beej. I retire for the night. Night guys. Thanks for listening Hawk." you kissed his cheek before rising from his cot.

You didn't saw the light blush on his cheeks as you left the Swamp.

Charles was on his way back from the shower, wrapped in a fluffy robe and towel around his neck when he saw you leaning against Pierce's shoulder. He took a step back into the shadow of the next tent to watch and listen a bit longer. You looked so relaxed with that dirty rat of a man. You never had been like that back in Boston when he took you out for dinner to the finest restaurants the city had to offer. You were always quiet and reserved.

Maybe he had tried too hard to make you like him. He was well aware that the set engagement wasn't out of affection for each other. It would have been the connection between two wealthy families, even if you were just the stepdaughter of James Howard.

Maybe he was the one that should offer an apology. Asking for a transfer out was impossible for him, Colonel Potter made that clear. But he could try and make up for how he overreacted two years ago. He knew he had cornered you against the wall that evening, and you only chance out had been running away. But what else he should have done. His family expected that the future Mrs. Winchester stayed home and tended to the family and estate. He couldn't go against that. That where set rules.

He stepped even deeper in the shadow as he saw Hunnicutt coming over to their quarters. He didn't wanted to be caught as a creep, watching other people from the shadows.

As you said goodnight, he went back to make it look like he just was on his way to the tent. He saw you leaning in to kiss his cheek and it stung a little in his chest to see you sharing that little affection so easy with a man like Pierce. He never got a peek to the cheek like that. His had been always quick, and barely a contact of your lips with his skin. He wasn't in love with you, but he had been fond of you. He respected you; you had a sharp mind and were an excellent, hardworking nurse. It had been always a pleasure working with you. He even had let you ask questions from time to time while operating together. A privilege not many nurses had gotten, even before the marriage had been set.

You stepped back at the fresh air in perfect timing to run into the man you wanted to avoid. A mumbled "Goodnight Charles" was everything you got over your lips.

"Wait, please. I want to say something. "

You turned around to face him. He took your hands in his and looked down at you.

"I'm sorry." You blinked. An apology from Charles? That was a first.

"For what?" "For my outburst earlier, and for the way I treated you when you broke off the engagement. I shouldn't have been such a duchebag." "Such a word out of your mouth, Charles?", you laughed softly. "Yes, special occasions need special vocabulary. Do you think you can work with me?" "I think I can. We did before, didn't we? Apology accepted." "Colleges?" "What about friends, Charlie?" "Only if you never call me that again."

Maybe the Korean countryside would do him something good, take him back to the ground and real-world problems.

After all you liked him and he was a brilliant doctor.

"May I escort you to your tent, Lieutenant?" "You may, Major."

After arriving at your door for the second time together that day he even received the peek to the cheek he wanted all the time you spent together at Boston. A real kiss to his stubbled cheek.

"Goodnight, Charles." "Sleep well, my dear."

#charles emerson winchester iii #hawkeye pierce #reader insert #mash 4077

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envysnest · 3 months

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Pity the Mayfly (ch. 5/?) - an Astarion/Tav fic

AO3 Link Here

Chapters: 1 // 2 // 3 // 4 // 5 // 6

You had come to the Gate to forget your past, discard your elven name, and pursue alchemy against your family's wishes. On a visit to your old keep, you're found by the Nautiloid, and everything tilts sideways.

TW's for this chapter: Rape flashback (non-graphic) in the first two paragraphs of section 3; mild blood and descriptions of bruising (bite time!).

————

Wyll trails behind the rest of your group. With every new encounter on the road, Wyll ducks behind Karlach or Gale, hiding his horns from friendly strangers. He fights enemies with robotic fervor: stab, swing, toss. Stab, swing, toss: like a bored fishmonger beheading their wares. Everyone treads lightly around you two, and it isn’t long before you and Wyll are walking alone, yards away from the rest of your party.

You keep your voice low. “How did this happen, Wyll?”

“It's a 'gift' from my master. A token of her appreciation, you could say.” He looks miserable. “Pipeweed made it hurt less, so cheers for that.”

You shiver. “I’m sure I’ve got a numbing cream for the horns. Perhaps Violet Lily will do it?"

Wyll does smile a little, and you count it as a victory. “Didn’t you say something about an Ethel? Perhaps she’s got something for an Infernal Curse.”

“I…” You slow down to keep pace beside him. “She said she had Yellow Gnoll’s Ear back at her cottage. That mushroom would also help dull your pain.”

Wyll puts a gentle hand on your upper back. “You should have said something earlier,” he murmurs. “Had I known you needed extra care, I would have--"

The goodwill inside of you is gone, replaced by irritation. You shy out of Wyll’s grip. “I don’t need extra care,” you huff.

Wyll holds up both hands. He has that miserable look in his eye again. Shame, you realize, it’s shame.

“Sorry,” he says, and something in his face twitches— crumples, briefly— before he smiles. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

You grimace. “Let’s just…” You pinch the bridge of your nose and inhale slowly. The air smells like apple blossoms; fall would be here soon. It relaxes you. "We'll head south, but only for a moment. I’m not going to waste the group’s time—”

“I could use the Gnoll’s Ear too, Tav. If you need an excuse, then by all means, lean on me.”

An excuse: you didn’t have to tell the group why you needed to find Ethel’s cottage. Why would he offer that to you? What did he get out of it?

You pause in the path; Wyll stops with you. He waits calmly as you stare at him, at his new red eye and his horns and his ridged neck. Wyll worries something at his hip with his right hand: a small, braided rope of leather. It looked like something a child would make: a decorative little thing, a keepsake. It was tied to his belt, right next to his rapier. Wyll guides the braid over his middle knuckle.

He looks up at the sky. "Tav--"

“Tavvendish,” Lae’zel calls from further up the path. “A moment?”

“Coming!” you shout back. You turn to Wyll, who watches the group from over his shoulder. You curtsey to him. “Thank you, Wyll."

Wyll jumps and looks back to you. “Any time, Tav.” He gives you a little bow, but it’s unsteady. “Remember you’re not alone in this.”

Yes, you think, I am.

The party huddles around something, but what, you can't see; you catch a smattering of brown fur in the dirt road. Lae’zel cranes her neck to stare at you over Karlach’s shoulder. You exchange glances with Wyll. He raises both eyebrows and jerks his head towards Lae'zel. You approach the party.

Karlach nudges the brown, furry lump with her sword. “It’s so light. What in the hells happened to it?”

“I don’t see what’s so interesting.” Astarion stands some distance away, examining his nails. “An animal was killed by something-or-other, probably one of those vipers Tavvendish is obsessed with. We’ve seen hundreds of animals by now, haven’t we?”

You squeeze past Shadowheart and Gale. Finally, you see what the brown, furry lump is: it's a boar carcass turned on its side. Dark brown blood pools underneath it. Its neck bears two pinprick holes, each perfectly symmetrical: a bite of some kind, but a large one, bigger than you’ve ever seen before.

You touch the boar’s fur, and its corpse shifts easily under your palm. A pale tongue lolls out of its skull as it flops to one side. You press down on its neck, palpating around the bite, but nothing seeps from the wounds. You furrow your brow, press harder. Still, the bite remains stubbornly dry.

“It’s…empty,” you say aloud. “No blood.”

Astarion throws his hands in the air. “It probably bled out on the path! Fascinating!"

"Not enough for a boar," you reply.

Lae’zel crouches down with you. “It’s fresh. This must have happened hours ago. The rot has not set in yet.”

“’Least it doesn’t smell,” says Karlach. Her armor jingles as she shivers: “Brrrrr! Hate flies.”

“Yes, yes.” Astarion waves to the path. “Let’s move along before they lay their eggs.”

You place your index finger and thumb between the bite marks. From a rough estimate, the bite was too large to be a rosebush viper, or any snake in this region. Too small to be a gnoll’s, certainly, but then what else could it be? You can only think of the Monkshood Spider-- the males were as large as a man-- but that species preferred warmer locales, certainly ones lacking apple blossoms. And the Monkshood genus had a more obvious curve to their fangs—

“Any luck, Tav?” Gale asks.

“I can’t place this,” you say. “It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen.”

Karlach’s hand appears in your vision, and she points at the bite. “Astarion, mate. Not enough blood around for a stab.”

You turn to your pack, fish around for your notebook and charcoal. “Do you mind?” you say up at the group. “I’d like to document this. It will only be a minute.”

Astarion presses both palms to his face and lets out a muffled, frustrated scream.

Lae’zel stands. “We waste our time here,” she says, looking at each person individually. “If Tavvendish cannot offer an identification—”

“Let the woman work,” Shadowheart snaps. “It’s not as if we’re turning into mind flayers anytime soon.

“Not yet, we aren't,” growls Lae’zel.

“Oh, shit, Tavvy.” Karlach points at your drawing. “Looks just like it. You’re good at this!”

“Thank you,” you say.

“It’s a boar,” Astarion grits out. “Can we go now?”

“There’s another explanation for this.” It's Wyll, behind you. “The boar is exsanguinated.”

"Ex-sangui-huh?" Karlach mutters.

“Wyll,” you say, not looking up as you sketch the musculature of the neck. “That book was nonsense. You can’t possibly believe it.”

“I’m not talking about your book, Tav. Vampires are very real besides.”

Astarion scoffs. “Tell us more fairy tales, oh Duke Ravengard.”

“Quiet,” you snap at Astarion. “You’ve been a boor all morning.”

Astarion scoffs again and puts his hands on his hips. “I’m merely trying to keep us focused,” he drawls, leaning towards you. “We’ve all got tadpoles in our head, in case you’ve forgotten.”

Lae’zel reaches for your notebook, and you instinctively jerk it out of reach.

There’s a pause, then:

“Tavvendish,” says Lae’zel: low, and with an emotion you can't name. “Finish quickly. It’s nearly mid-day.”

“I know,” you say, willing yourself to keep your voice level and your charcoal steady. “One second.”

Her eyebrows raise, just slightly. “A minute more, then,” she says.

“By Silvanus, a minute’s all I need.”

Wyll speaks again. “We should proceed with caution. If there is a vampire lord in the area, then we aren’t adequately prepared for what follows. We need to warn the Grove.”

“I can do a little for a vampire,” says Shadowheart. “But if it’s a vampire lord, we won’t stand a chance.” She hesitates. “Wyll's right. Perhaps we'd better listen."

“Shall I beat my head against a tree, then?” Astarion says. “Will that make everyone listen?”

You blow dust off of your drawing. “It will certainly shut you up.”

“Tav,” says Gale, but he's trying not to laugh. “Be nice, won’t you?”

“I’ll be nice when he—” and you point at Astarion with the charcoal, “—returns the favor.”

Karlach tuts. “Dunno, Astarion. I wouldn’t mess around with a poisoner, not unless you want to shit out your mouth for a tenday.”

“I can’t do that,” you mutter, just as Astarion gasps: “How vile!”

Karlach leans in: you know, because you feel heat beating against your hair. “He doesn’t have to know that,” she stage-whispers to you. “I’m sick of the little ponce, myself.”

Across from you, Lae’zel huffs. It takes you a moment to realize: it's a laugh.

————

Back at the Grove, your party splits apart again. In one dark corner, Zevlor's speaking to Wyll with with great urgency; the warlock merely crosses his arms and stares at the floor, nodding occasionally.

With a shaking hand, Zevlor gestures to Wyll's horns. Wyll winces and turns away.

“‘Scuse me,” says a child.

You look down. A tiefling, no older than seven or eight, blinks up at you. He folds his hands together, then unfolds them, then folds them again.

“Begging your pardon, miss,” he says, digging one toe into the dirt. “But my friends and I need gold for our lunch—”

He points, and you follow his finger to a gaggle of tiefling children in front of the baker's, begging for food. Some of them are small, small enough to need tiptoes to see over the stall's edge. When the baker shakes his head, the children whine in unison.

The tiefling boy turns back to you. “Wouldn’t you mind? It’s just three gold for a mince pie. We can split it. Just need the one.”

A single mince pie wasn’t nearly enough for that many children. Your siblings, yourself included, usually demolished a pie each. You’d spent countless hours in the kitchen with your eldest brother Trisrel while your parents were in the workshop. Trisrel had married a Baker, and he brought back endless recipes, tricks for doing more with the Carvers's less.

You fish out your coin purse. Only a few ten-pieces roll around. Three per pie, per seven…and some of them were older, too, already towering above the rest. They’d need two each. You think of another night slaving away over rosebush viper antivenom, and then you remember Ethel’s promise of Yellow Gnoll’s Ear, and you briefly panic. You could, perhaps, beg Wyll for gold…

“I don’t know, sprout…” You trail off. The boy clasps his hands together in earnest supplication.

“Pleaaaase?” he asks.

Another timid voice pipes up beside you: “Is that really you?”

You turn around and lock eyes with a tiefling girl. You recognize her: the very same child from the Grove, the one Kagha had threatened with the Horned Opal.

“Thank you again, miss.” Her voice is soft, hesitant. She bows to you. “For the other day. I didn’t mean any harm by it.”

“Harm by what?” you ask. You crouch down to her level, and the tiefling backs away. She turns her face from you.

“It was just a joke,” she says. “Honest. I wanted to— um— I took Silvanus for a laugh. Won’t do it again! Swear on me mum, I won't.”

She looks so much like your youngest sister, Mira, that it pains you. The last time you saw Mira, the last time you visited Fox’s Keep, she had clutched your robes. Don’t go, sis, she had cried: sis, because back then, she was still too young for sister. You had planned to spend at least an afternoon with her on this upcoming visit, but then-- well, the Nautiloid happened.

You look between the children. “What are your names?"

The girl rubs her eyes with two closed fists. “Arabella,” she murmurs.

"Zaki," says the boy.

“Well, then, Arabella. Zaki.” You fiddle with your coin purse. “I am Tav. And I know the Oak Father would forgive you for having a laugh.”

Arabella lifts her head. “Really?”

“Really and truly.” You place one hand over your heart: “I promise, by Silvanus himself.”

“You’re not—” She turns to you, wringing her hands. “You’re not cross with me, are you, miss? Tav.”

Once, your Nana scolded your mother in front of you: Children must be disciplined. They should learn to respect authority. How your cheek had stung from her slap. Your mother had tugged on your wrist, then, urging you upright, just as Rav had done with Arabella.

You smile at her. “So long as you don’t do it again. Can you promise me that, Arabella?”

She presses her own hand to her heart, mimicking you. “I solemnly swear,” she says.

“Good girl. All is well.”

Arabella smiles back at you. She hesitates.

“What about lunch?” she asks.

Oh. It made sense that the statue thief would know how to spin a yarn. You frown. “You promised, Arabella. I mean it— don’t do it again.”

“Honest!” Arabella blurts out. “We’re just…” She exchanges glances with Zaki. “Hungry.”

“Really hungry,” Zaki adds. “Please? Pretty please?”

Arabella gasps. “I have rocks!” She digs around in her pockets and produces a small agate crystal. She shoves it at you. “Bet you anything it’s magic!”

"Hmmmm." You pretend to appraise the stone with a critical eye. Arabella shoves the stone into your waiting hand: “See?”

“Very lovely,” you say. You put your hand to your chin and hold the agate to the light. There is a faint tingle of the Weave around it, eerily enough: low and droning, like a hum. You make a questioning noise. “No, Arabella, you keep this. I’ll give you the gold.”

Zaki claps and does a little spin. “Yay!”

Arabella fights another smile as you pass her crystal back to her. “Really?” she asks, eyes wide; she clutches the crystal protectively to her chest.

“Really really," you say, and you turn to Zaki. “You should all be properly fed. I’ll give you enough for a pie each, with a little left over for a sweetie. How’s that?”

Zaki’s mouth hangs open. He and Arabella exchange excited glances.

“Only the once,” you say to your coin purse. “I’ve no money besides.” You count out gold pieces into Arabella’s waiting hands. “And what do we say?”

“Thank you!” Zaki stage-whispers. Arabella follows suit, albeit shyly: “Thaaank youuu.”

“Good children always say thank you.” You glance between Arabella’s palm and your coin purse. “How many of you are there, again?”

“Really?” Astarion drawls behind you, and you start. “Are you just going to give all our gold away?”

You glare at him over your shoulder. He raises his eyebrows and inclines his head towards you.

“Well?” he asks.

You turn back to the tiefling children. “Don’t listen to him,” you stage-whisper. “He also wants a gift."

Astarion splutters indignantly. Zaki giggles.

You place a hand on Arabella’s shoulder, gently urging her towards her friends. “Go on, little sprout,” you say. “Buy whatever you’d like.”

Arabella runs to them with the fistful of gold lofted high in the air, shrieking with delight. Zaki scrambles along behind her. All of the children hop up and down. “Mince pies!” someone shouts, and the others join in: "Mince pies!" They dance around each other eagerly: “Mince pies! Mince pies! Mince pies!”

You dust your robes off and stand. Familiar black spots appear at the edges of your vision, and you stumble backwards, your hand pressed to your forehead. You kept forgetting to stand up slowly. The tadpole stirs, squeaks a little.

“I’ve never seen a group so excited over mince pies,” Astarion says over your shoulder. He crosses his arms. In a lower register, he mutters to you, “Rather irritates me, if I’m honest.”

“Children irritate you?” you say. The children have gathered around the baker’s table, all reaching upwards for their meals. You hear the coins hit the table with a clatter. The baker smiles, relieved, at you as they wrap the pies in crisp wax paper. One by one, they give the children their pies, and you hear their little voices: “Thank you!” “Thank you.” “Thank you, saer!” “Thank youuu!”

“--can’t stand the little monsters.” Astarion pouts. “Gods. I really can’t believe you gave our gold away?"

I think there's another child needs feeding. You gesture to the children. “They were hungry, Astarion. What was I meant to do, let them starve?”

“Well,” and here Astarion smirks at you, all sarcasm and bitterness, “perhaps you let some other poor fool feed the pigs next time.”

You turn on your heel to sneer at him. “I can’t believe you, Astarion! Denying food to children? Heavens forbid you think of someone else for once.”

Astarion straightens, and suddenly, he's not smiling at all. There’s a cold look in his eyes you can’t place. “I’m only looking out for number one, dearest,” he says, but there’s no mirth in it.

“Well—”

The children race past you with their food. A few bump into your legs, teetering you off-balance.

“Oi!” you shout at Arabella. She stumbles and turns around, trailing behind the rest of the group as they vault over the grass. “Don’t go running with a full belly!” you call.

Arabella curtsies, giggling, and rushes to join the others. You can hear her yelling at her little group: “Miss Tav said to sit! Don’t run!”

Astarion gives you a pointed look. “Any other kind advice, mother dearest?”

You feel the barb in your side. “Seven younger siblings." You watch the children climb a grassy hill and settle at the top. “Sometimes I was the one who raised them.”

The tiefling children, some still standing, tuck into their meals. One stomps their feet excitedly; his friend bounces on his toes.

“Should’ve tormented the little beasts with your spiders.” Astarion immediately brightens. “Wouldn’t that be fun?” He taps your arm with the back of his knuckles, laughing. “How they’d scream!”

You jerk your arm out of his reach. “It would stress the children and the animals.”

“Oh no!” Astarion sighs with practiced theatrics. “Won’t someone think of the deadly, poisonous spiders?”

“Poison is something you eat,” you snap over your shoulder. “Venom is used by something that eats you.”

Astarion wails like he's been stabbled. He sways onto the path in front of you, staggering and coughing. “I weep for them,” he cries at the dirt, running his fingers over his cheeks. “The poor, defenseless darlings!” He looks directly at you and gasps. “Thank goodness Tavvendish Carver is here to care for them! Praise the Oak Father! It’s a divine miracle!”

You nod. “Finished?”

Astarion visibly deflates as he glares at you. “Yes, I’m finished. I put work into that, you know.”

Someone tugs your robes as he's talking, and you look down to see a curly-haired tiefling boy. He has half of the mince pie in his free hand; the other half— or what looks it— fills his cheeks to bursting.

“‘Fanks f’r lumch, ma’am,” he says; crumbs fly out of his mouth with each word. Before you can respond, he shuffles forward and wraps his arm around your leg.

Your heart leaps as he closes his eyes. You pet the boy's hair fondly, even though he’s now getting crumbs on your trousers. “Don’t talk with your mouth full. But you’re very welcome.”

From beside you, Astarion bends forward. “Come here, sweetling,” he coos at the boy. “Are you afraid of spiders?”

“Astarion,” you growl.

The boy’s eyes go wide. He freezes in place, mouth poised in mid-chew, hiding from Astarion behind your leg. He shakes his head dramatically.

“Ignore him!” you chirp, leaning into the tiefling boy’s eyeline, and he looks up at you. “Go and sit with your friends.”

When the child’s eyes, distrustful, slide back to Astarion, you usher him towards the other children. “Run along, sprout. Don’t mind him. Finish your pie.”

Slowly, with eyes still trained on Astarion, he lets go of your leg. You nudge him, and like a startled deer, he runs for the others. Some of the children have already finished their pies and lounge in the grass, chattering in small clumps. Two tieflings start a hand game, its pattern unfamiliar to you:

"Stella and Bella, walking in two Up the path where the wildbelles bloom Found a bard and this he said: ‘I can rhyme as many as…’ One, clap, two, clap clap, three, clap clap clap, four…”

“Hellooo?” Astarion snaps his fingers inches from your face. “You didn’t answer my question.”

You scrunch your nose. “What question?”

"Oh, forget it.”

Irritation flares in you. “Duly noted. I will.”

You turn your back on the tieflings and head deeper into the Grove. Astarion, likely smelling victory, follows in close pursuit.

“You know, I’ve never noticed before— there’s a bit of green in your hair!” He tousles your hair, and you bat his hand away. “In the light, it offsets the brown quite nicely. Though…” He cups his hand around his mouth, drops his voice to a whisper: “You’re also going a bit gray.”

“I am well aware.” You snarl at him. “Do not pull my hair.”

“And ruin those lovely curls? I’d never.” He fans a hand wide behind his head. “Haven’t you seen me? I know your texture like the back of my hand.”

“If it were you, Astarion, I would have fed you, too.”

His footsteps halt behind you, but you don’t care. You keep walking.

"Eats like a bird, anyway," you mutter.

Astarion is nowhere to be seen the rest of the day.

————

Kestral is on you again. His hands-- all-encompassing, warm-- are down your blouse. You hear someone else laughing; a woman congratulates him, then congratulates you. Kestral laughs with her. You cannot move; you are helpless here, in this forested darkness, with his hands holding you down. You can only stare at your fellow Trialmates, hoping one of them will pull him away. They do not pull him away. You can taste his lip piercing in your mouth.

Kestral swings his leg over you. No, you think, squirming under him, this isn’t how it went— this isn’t how he—

Someone is on top of you.

You gasp for air, and the scene resolves itself in an instant: you are at camp, and it is seventy-four years after your Trial, and there is a tadpole squealing in your head, and Astarion hovers over you with his mouth over your throat.

Instantly, you go rigid, eyes darting over the roof of your tent. Fighting would only make it worse, you knew that. Better let Astarion finish quickly and leave you alone. Fool, you think. You should’ve known better, should’ve seen the way he looked you up and down after a battle. You think of his cool fingers tracing the Witch Bolt, think of his laughter, and you shiver. How many times would it take for you to learn?

Astarion isn’t moving. Rather, he stays there, lying on top of you, and you hear him inhale. Your lips are moving, forming well-rehearsed pleas— no, stop, please, not here, don’t hurt me— but never speaking them. You’re trembling, you realize, and you’re embarrassingly, inexplicably aroused. You loathe yourself for it.

You hear his lips part— there's something sharp against your throat—

--and this time, with this man, you do manage to speak. “No:" Feeble. Pleading.

Astarion stumbles back, shielding his head with his arm. He’s talking and gesturing everywhere; you can’t hear a word over the ringing in your ears. You swallow, frozen in place.

He leans towards you, eyes wide and curious, and in the split-second it takes for him to clamp his mouth shut, you see them: curved incisors, long and sharp and glistening in the moonlight.

The boar from earlier— the size of the bite—

Oh, you think. OH.

You sit up. Astarion cowers from you instantly, pressing his back to the other wall of the tent. Slowly, as if you emerged from underwater, his voice comes into focus: “—let me explain, I can— please, darling, don’t be upset—”

“Astarion,” you croak. You clear your throat, willing yourself to calm down. You need to know; you need to hear it from him. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” he snaps, but the fear in his eyes is unmistakable. “Let me explain!”

Explain? Was there a justification for why he was...?

Your adrenaline tilts, dizzyingly, to anger. Before you can stop yourself, you lean towards him; he brings his knees to his chest.

“Start talking,” you hiss, “or I am going to rip your bloody hair out by the root.”

“I was hungry!” Astarion cries. “Pl—please, I— I was only going to be a moment, my love— you wouldn’t have known I was there—”

You have to know. “Hungry for what?”

“Are you dim?” He lowers his arms just enough to glare at you over them. “What did you think? You said you’d feed me—”

“I thought,” you say—

And you can’t bring yourself to say more: how you thought he was here to rape you, how you were ready for it. How this was an inevitability: the price you paid for social interaction with others. How you were a toy, and how the world was full of sticky, prying, greedy hands.

You slump. “I don’t— I don’t know what I thought.”

Astarion scoffs. “Well—I wasn’t—” He tsks with frustration. “I was here for—well—”

He runs his tongue over his teeth, and you see his fangs again, and all at once you feel relief.

You press the heels of your palms into your eyes until you see stars. “Thank Silvanus. I thought it was something else.”

The peepers by the riverside are deafening. Astarion leans towards you, and the moonlight from the tent flap carves his face out in stark white. “You’re—” His voice is small. “What did you think I was doing?”

“Oh--" You wave a hand and smile. "Never mind.”

“No, not never mind. Tell me.” He pauses. “Did you think I would take advantage of you? Be honest.”

This was not a conversation you wanted to have in the middle of the night. You deflect: “How is biting me in my trance not ‘taking advantage?'"

Astarion leans back on his heels. “Fine,” he huffs. “You’ve made your point, darling.”

“Why didn’t you ask me for blood sooner?”

He curls into a ball at the foot of your bedroll. “Oh yes,” he says quietly. “Let’s ask the alchemist for blood. What a spectacular idea. You probably know a thousand ways to kill a vampire.”

You cross your arms. “I’ve never even met a vampire.”

“Congratulations, dearest. You have now. Or—” He waves dismissively. “A spawn, anyway. So sorry to disappoint.”

You have a thousand questions: where is your master? When were you sired? Are your fangs hinged? How are you walking in the sun? Is this why you take the watch every night?

But Astarion’s eyes dart to the side, and you look closer: his bony, frail wrists, his right middle finger tapping a quick staccato on the mat below him, his defined collarbones. He breathes shallowly, rapidly; the staccato gets unsteady. You suspect those high cheekbones and sculpted jaw aren’t just vanity.

“You’d like to feed on me,” you breathe.

Astarion gives you a sarcastic bow, his mouth drawn tight in a mocking smile. “Yes, dear, how kind of you to notice,” but his voice shakes, and, oh—

The poor thing is hungry.

You think of buying pies for the children in the tiefling camp, their eager faces, how they had all said “thank you,” in unison. You think of how some ate the pies standing, as if they couldn’t wait to fill their bellies. You thought Astarion judged you for feeding them, wanted to spoil the moment, but Astarion had done something else entirely.

He didn't come to you because you were easy. He came to you because you were generous.

“May I lie down?” you ask.

He rolls his eyes. “It’s your tent—”

“No, I mean for the—” Feeding sounds strange, even erotic. You look away. “For when you— I faint easily.” You lean back on your elbows. “I’ll lose consciousness. I have to be lying down for it.”

Astarion blinks, but he leans forward, towards you, eyes wide. “You’re— you’re just going to let this happen?”

You recline on your bedroll. “Do not kill me,” you say. “That’s all I ask.”

“I— Tavvendish, really?” He’s already crawling around your bedroll, towards your head, even as he admonishes you: “You’d let a spawn, someone you just met, bite you? Have you no survival instinct?”

You fold your hands over your stomach. This was terrifying, yes; Astarion licks his lips over you, and you wince. There’s that expired Malice in your pack, within arm’s reach; perhaps, if things went sideways…

“Should I say no?” you ask.

“No no no!” Astarion says softly, voice pitching high. “This works out well in my favor, you understand.” He leans an elbow on the other side of your head, draping himself over your torso. “I just…” He leans away, catches your eyes. “Are you…are you quite sure?”

You stare down at his mouth. His fangs are long and very frighteningly sharp. They have a slight curve to them, like a snake’s fangs. Astarion can’t close his mouth fully like this. Hinged, you think; he must hide them in polite company. That alcoholic smell is overpowering now, like cheap liquor.

He cradles your head in his hands; they are shaking. Tender like a lover, he turns your head towards him, exposing your neck.

“Please,” he begs quietly, so low only you can hear. “I’ll only be a moment.”

In the space between one breath and the next, he clamps down. You grunt, jolting in your bedroll. You can’t move against his cold fangs, as if they’ve pinned you to the floor. Astarion inhales—

And oh: there's a rush of paradoxical warmth where Astarion’s fangs pierce your skin. You had always questioned the appeal of a vampire's bite-- had read plenty about swooning maidens and unholy marriages for pleasure, certainly very late at night, and certainly while under the covers— but this? You go limp in Astarion's arms; your pulse thumps between your legs. Astarion whimpers and sucks at the wound, slurping noisily at your artery; you can’t find it in you to care. It feels something like the pipeweed filling you, your body vibrating with pleasure, your stack of books breathing slowly where you stare at them. Perhaps there is such a thing as vampire venom: simple chemistry at work, a muscle relaxant secreted from his fangs to encourag you o relax, ncorage yu

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And all at once you remember, No, I’m losing blood, that’s too much, and you whisper, “Astarion,” hoarse and feeble, your head feeling as if it’s stuffed with cotton, and Astarion doesn’t stop, if anything he grips you tighter to his chest, and your ears are ringing and your vision is going black around the edges and you think of crushing hands and mouths and lip piercings and suddenly you push and that forces Astarion to unlatch with a gasp, as if he’s surfacing from some very, very deep ocean. His mouth is a bright cherry red.

You are very, very dizzy.

Astarion laughs; its tempting to laugh with him, but you're too exhausted to try. He wipes his mouth off on the back of his hand. “Tav,” he gasps. “That—”

You push yourself up, but your head spins. You slouch into your bedroll.

Astarion laughs again, disbelieving. It's nothing like the mocking laughs you’ve heard from him before: this one is light, boyish. “I… oh!” He presses his hand to his forehead and giggles. “I feel so much— stronger! That is lovely! Like...like a-- coffee on a rainy day--”

There's a flush across his stupid, grinning face. You get the urge to kiss him, to jump into his lap, but your body refuses to move. White fractals explode behind your eyelids. You try to say his name, but all that comes out is a woozy, “‘ssstar—”

His fluttering hands land on your shoulder. “I thank you, Tavvendish,” he says quietly; his smile nearly splits his face in two; his fangs are still out. “You’ve given me an unspeakably generous gift.”

Every nerve in your body sings. “Wh’yd y’ mean?” you mumble.

“I mean—” He cups your face in his hands.

He is so beautiful, you want to kiss him so badly—

“I can hunt now," he continues, touching his temple. My head is clear. Clear! For the first time in— why, I don’t know when.”

You can’t look at him without thinking of ripping off his clothes. Charm, you think weakly, the venom’s doing this. You turn your head and close your eyes. “Y’re welc’m.”

“Rest now, darling,” says Astarion above you, and you slip into blissful nothing.

————

“—the creche should be our priority—”

You startle awake.

“—said we should search for the druid Halsin—”

“No,” Lae’zel snaps. Her voice is hoarse around the edges. “I’ve had enough of being led across Faerun without rhyme or reason. We must focus. Our surest chance of a cure is the creche.”

“Now, Lae’zel,” Gale says, “our travels may bring us near the—”

Shadowheart cuts in: “Gale.”

Gale’s voice becomes harsh. “We will not survive a gith’yanki creche!”

Lae’zel growls. “You may not—”

You sit up in your bedroll. The sun is already quite high; its white light dapples through the tent. Your head pounds. How long had your trance been, and why couldn't you remember any of it? Had you actually fallen asleep?

Astarion’s wide eyes, his fangs, and then—

Something in your tent smells lovely. It doesn’t take you long to find its source: a gigantic, fresh bun, smelling of cinnamon and cream and sugar, lying on a plate next to your bedroll. A hot mug of coffee steams next to it. The bun is still warm, and the icing melts around your fingers as you lift it to your nose. You can’t detect any poison by scent: only that lovely cinnamon and sour-sweet icing.

Astarion, you remember, and a warm wave rolls over you. You tuck gratefully into the roll.

How strange, that you didn’t know; it seems obvious in hindsight. You sip at the coffee and wrack your brain, but your memories feel fuzzy, far-away. Your headache begins to ease with every bite. Hinged fangs: that much you could remember. Astarion’s fangs must be prehensile. Suddenly voracious, you shove more of the roll into your mouth. The blood loss must have affected you more than you thought. You nearly choke on the following mouthful.

Perhaps vampire fangs were like a cat’s claw: extended from gums for feeding, perhaps by relaxing a small tendon. They had to retract, now that you thought about it; there was no way you would have missed his fangs earlier.

And when Astarion bit you— for several minutes, you had felt—

Incredible.

Light, like floating on air.

Like you were in love.

Most importantly, your side had stopped aching.

You spare an uneasy glance at the entrance to your tent. Part of you is tempted to write the author of Venomous Fauna: it’s venom, no doubt, though a Charm could also be involved. That cold, alcoholic smell on his breath must have been it. You realize, with a start, that he must have been secreting venom for days. You'd have to pay attention today.

The other part of your brain wanted to understand. If there wasn’t a Charm after all, then what could cause that dizzy, euphoric feeling? It couldn’t have just been the blood loss— you had had enough rough encounters to know what that felt like— but then…what else could it be?

You polish off the roll and wipe your hands with a handkerchief. The closest equivalent to that wonderful feeling was a pipeweed high, perhaps a mild hallucinogen. The euphoria made simple evolutionary sense: prey should relax into the bite. You think of his curved fangs, likely meant to hold prey in place. A vampire's victim would have to lie still under them for several minutes, enjoying every second, while the vampire fed.

Then…

He chose you because...?

Coffee in hand, you crawl out of your tent. The sun beats down on you; dragonflies skirt over the water to your right.

Gale, Lae’zel, and Shadowheart argue loudly over the creche. From Shadowheart's side, Wyll shakes his head. Karlach paces a short distance away, rubbing her temples as she goes, muttering, “Oh gods, oh gods, oh gods…”

Astarion’s eyes flick directly to yours. His lips are pressed tightly shut; he's not participating in the argument so much as quietly observing. As you stare at him, his tongue passes over his teeth--

—and he smiles at you.

Your breath hitches. You hold up a hand in greeting.

“Tav,” sighs Wyll, relieved. “Settle something for...us…”

He blanches.

You ask, “What am I settling?” but Wyll is silent. Did you have crumbs on your mouth? No— Wyll’s gaze dips a little lower than that.

You look around: everyone stares with the same vaguely disgusted expression, save Astarion. Astarion merely looks terrified.

“What?” you ask him. “What’s the matter?”

Why is everyone staring at your neck?

You press your hands to where Astarion bit you, but your fingers sink into a tender bruise. "Agh." You withdraw your hand; dried blood sticks to your hand. A muddy brown stain soaks the neck of your blouse.

Five different weapons are drawn at once— and they all point at Astarion.

Astarion holds his hands up. “It’s— it’s not what you think!”

Lae’zel spits on the ground.

Shadowheart’s lip curls. “You were the last person to enter Tavvendish’s tent,” she says. “Talk.”

Astarion’s trembling. Badly. “It was— I-- she asked!” he shouts. He points an accusing finger at you; he can barely keep it straight. “It was her idea!” His eyes plead with yours. “Wasn’t it, Tav?”

Flames roll off of Karlach’s forearms. “Don’t blame this on Tav,” she growls; she rocks up onto her toes with anticipation. Your heart thumps, rabbit-quick, behind your ribcage. The others grow similarly restless, shifting on their feet.

“Karlach’s right, Astarion,” says Wyll. He narrows his eyes and turns his rapier, just so, and the point presses into the base of Astarion’s skull. “You may walk in the sun, but your bloodlust is as obvious as an ogre in a banquet hall.”

Astarion swallows. He’s still focused on you. “You offered, didn’t you?” he says. “You said I could.”

Gale’s hands are moving in the incantation for Paralyze, he’s trying to shut Astarion up, Lae’zel snarls at Astarion, you have to say something—

“It was consensual!” you blurt.

Gale’s hands stop short. Karlach blinks at you.

“Consensual?” Wyll asks, and his voice cracks. He clears his throat. When he speaks again, it's in his usual authoritative tone: “What do you mean by 'consensual?'”

All eyes are on you. Astarion has that wide, wondering look again: the very same one from last night.

You straighten up. “He was hungry. He feeds on animals, but animal blood can’t sustain a vampire. I’d say he’s held off for long enough, wouldn't you? Or are we meant to starve him?”

Lae’zel shifts her grip on her sword. Shadowheart narrows her eyes at you, and you stare back. Her gaze wavers, for just the slightest moment.

“And anyway,” you continue, “Isn’t it best if we rotate feeding duty amongst ourselves? Cut back on the effects of—”

“No,” says Shadowheart.

“No,” says Gale.

“Nah,” says Karlach. To Astarion: “I’d probably burn you, anyway.”

“Tavvendish speaks true.” Lae’zel. “We are only as strong as our weakest fighter. If blood is what Astarion needs for battle, then she has made a wise decision.”

Gale shakes his head. “I’d rather not be a meal for a vampire.”

“Then I’ll do it,” you say.

“As will I,” says Wyll, and the group turns in surprise. He sheathes his rapier. “Astarion, should you have need—”

“No,” Astarion says immediately. “I’m not interested.”

Wyll blinks. “Ouch."

“Is this, like…” Karlach’s sword wavers; she looks around the group. “Like a kink thing?”

Astarion snorts and covers his mouth. You wince. You remember wanting to kiss Astarion, and you shake your head hard, like a dog, as if you could will the memory away. “No, Karlach," you say, "It isn’t a kink thing.”

Karlach sighs. “Thank the gods. I don’t want to see that shit.”

“Now, now.” Gale makes a soothing gesture with both hands. “So long as Astarion—" He gestures to you. "And, er, Tav— keep this to themselves, I’m willing to call them my good friends.”

Astarion rolls his eyes. “We’re hardly—”

“—friends, Gale,” you say at the same time.

You and Astarion exchange glances.

Gale coughs, his face scrunching in distaste. “Oh, well. Cheers. Teammates, I suppose.” He walks away, muttering to himself: “Gods, a little courtesy wouldn’t be lost on--”

“Keep your fangs to yourself,” Shadowheart huffs at Astarion. “Else I’ll be washing your clothes in holy water.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Astarion drawls. Shadowheart scans his face, and for one tense second, you’re sure she'll kill him--

But she sniffs and turns on her heel instead. “Whatever.”

Karlach lowers her sword as Shadowheart flounces off. “Guess that’s it, then,” she says, “Party’s over.” She gestures to Astarion. “How are you walking in the sun, anyway?”

Astarion rocks back and forth on his toes while he thinks. “I don’t really know. Since the Nautiloid, I’ve been waiting to burn to cinders. But,” he adds, smirking, “I’m not about to look that gift horse in the mouth.”

Karlach smiles at him. “You can say that again. Would rather not have a freaky illithid worm in my brains, but sunshine feels good. What can you do?”

Astarion nods. “Exactly!”

Karlach snaps her fingers and points at you with a smile. “Hey. No kink stuff."

You sigh. “Noted.”

Lae’zel is last to sheathe her sword. “Chk. Mind your manners, istik, or I’ll have no qualms running you through on my blade.”

Astarion gasps and turns to her. “Oh, won't you? I’m trembling like a virgin at the thought!"

Lae’zel tosses her braids out of her face with a smirk. “I’m sure you are." To you, she nods. “Watch him, Tavvendish. Make sure he doesn’t stray out of line.”

“Noted,” you say. “Again.”

Lae'zel returns to her tent. Wyll puts his hand on Astarion’s shoulder. “I mean it, Astarion,” he says. “Do not be a stranger. Only but ask, and you’ll have your blood. But don’t hurt Tav."

Astarion looks at Wyll’s hand. “I’ll…" He looks up at Wyll. "I'll consider your offer."

This seems to satisfy Wyll, because after glancing at you, he leaves. Now, in the daylight, you see Astarion's still wearing the shirt you bought him. His fists clench and unclench; his jaw works, as if he’s grinding his teeth. You look down at the blood stain on your blouse.

Astarion speaks first. “I suppose I owe you another coffee." He makes this awkward, slight little bow, as if he can’t figure out what to do with himself. “You’ll drink Faerun dry of it, darling, faster than you think."

“It was my pleasure, Astarion." Immediately, you want to slap yourself. What a trusting reply, when Astarion himself couldn’t be trusted: he pickpocketed, he teased you relentlessly, he had a nightmare of a temper. Doubtless, you'll have to fight him off of you, night after night, until this damned tadpole was gone. You think of Astarion hovering over you like that again, and bile rises in your throat.

He laughs, loud and sharp. “That adorable kindness will kill you someday."

“Already has,” you say. “In more ways than one.”

You turn for your tent, but a cold hand seizes your wrist. You look back at him.

“You didn’t like that, did you? How our little meeting began?” Astarion is serious, suspiciously so. “I quite took you by surprise. Next time,” and he does that small, strange bow again, “You’ll have due notice beforehand, sweetheart, I swear. I won’t wake you. You’ll never even know I was there.”

You lips part. His ears are vaguely pink; you don’t think you’ve ever seen him blush before. It’s…attractive.

You try to keep your voice as neutral as possible: “You’d better bite me in a different place, then. I can’t walk around with bruises all over my neck.

Astarion nods eagerly. “Oh, yes-- yes, I will.” He holds his free hand up. “I promise. There will be more sweet rolls and coffee for your trouble.”

“Why, Astarion!" You can't keep the surprise out of your voice. "Are you well? You sound almost...princely.”

Astarion drops your wrist; he even makes a show of wiping his palm on his shirt. "Ugh. Don’t be ghastly.”

This Astarion, at least, was familiar. You shrug. “I wouldn’t dream of thinking highly of you. Not on my life.”

“Darling!" Astarion tosses his hair. "We’ll see how much you hate a nightshade when it's in your coffee."

You roll your eyes. “I don’t hate a nightshade,” you sigh. “Nightshade pays the rent. Don’t be a child. I said they were boring.”

“Mm. Give me a discount when we're back home, little woodling." Astarion looks up at you from under his lashes; your stomach does something funny. “We’ll call it even.”

You back away, but there’s a waver in your step. “I’ll remember that." You point at him. "I never forget a face.”

Astarion smirks, and it's too much: you quickly avert your eyes from his, defeated. “Trust me." He draws a circle around his face. "This is a face you’ll never forget."

Your face burns, and you’re not sure if it’s the leftover venom. The other option is far more terrifying.

#pity the mayfly #momofics

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heart-of-gold-outlaw · 9 months

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Ace High (Ineffable Husbands Yeehawgust)

Playing matchmaker to two outlaws wasn't how Aziraphale had imagined spending his time in America. Pretending to court Crowley hadn't really crossed his mind, either.

Falling in love with him? That definitely wasn't part of the plan.

June, 1889

As a general rule, Aziraphale tended to avoid America. It was a very young country, and as such, had a lot of growing up to do. The people, especially out here in the "Wild West" as they called it, weren't the nicest bunch. Aziraphale had dealt with his fair share of ruffians and vagabonds and other undesirables—God knows the French had plenty of those. But there was something... different about America's breed of troublemaker. Quite a few of them had a penchant for murder, and while Aziraphale could excuse the occasional white lie or stolen loaf of bread, he drew the line at murder.

But Head Office said there was a minor miracle to perform in America—something about a total solar eclipse. Aziraphale didn't particularly see why that mattered, but he'd done it... Well, rather, Crowley had done it, having lost the coin toss. They'd gone for a lovely lunch afterward: a remarkable little Spanish cafe in San Luis Obispo. Aziraphale quite liked Hispanic cuisine. The spices were absolutely to die for. It never ceased to amaze him, the creative things humans did with food, and he supposed that the Americas could have bragging rights for that.

Crowley had returned to Soho, as far as Aziraphale knew, with the intent of sleeping for at least a year. Aziraphale, though, wanted to see some of what this young little country had to offer. The murder and crime, he could ignore in exchange for the amazing landscape paintings and wonderful natural scenery. As such, he found himself in Colorado, in a small mountain town called Telluride. The Rockies were beautiful this time of year. Colorado in general, Aziraphale was quickly learning, was just a beautiful state, and he was quite fortunate to be able to see it.

He'd just had lunch at a tavern (rather, a saloon, as they were called here), and was enjoying a stroll down the main drag, when he accidentally bumped shoulders with a man walking in a hurry in the opposite direction. Aziraphale stumbled, threw out his arms to catch himself, and probably would have face-planted into the dirt had the stranger not reached out and hauled him upright.

"Good heavens, my dear fellow!" Aziraphale exclaimed as he petulantly straightened his coat. "That was quite a catch!"

The stranger looked at him apologetically. He was a tall man, at least a head taller than Aziraphale, with broad shoulders and a strong frame. He wore a buckskin jacket and a gambler hat, underneath which flaxen blond hair stuck to his forehead in the summer humidity.

"Sorry about that," he said. "Didn't mean to mow you over there." He leaned back and shoved his hands in his pockets. "You okay?"

Aziraphale brushed away some dust on his arm. That was the thing about the West: it was absolutely filthy.

"Nothing a miracle won't fix," he said, then, catching himself, changed the subject: "What on earth has got you in such a hurry?"

The stranger looked relieved to see Aziraphale wasn't hurt. He shook his head, blinked, and glanced across the street. Aziraphale looked too, but aside from the saloon and the bank, didn't see anything.

"I'm s'posed to be meetin' someone here pretty soon," the stranger said, sounding relieved. "Thought I was gonna be late."

"Oh?" Aziraphale couldn't help but be intrigued. "Friend of yours?"

The stranger, who Aziraphale realized was really quite young, maybe in his early twenties, looked down with a smile. The tips of his ears were red.

"Something like that," he said. "We ain't seen each other for a while, so I ain't sure he's even gonna show."

Aziraphale thought of Crowley, then, how the demon always managed to show up whenever Aziraphale was in need of some company—or some rescuing. Although the solar eclipse hadn't exactly been dangerous, it had been nice to share the experience with someone else. He remembered the look of concentration on Crowley's face as he snapped his fingers and pointed at the sun, calling the moon to pass in front of it. He remembered how their shadows had danced together, how beautiful the sky looked in between day and night. There was quite a bit of beauty in darkness, he'd realized. Quite a bit indeed.

"Oh don't worry," Aziraphale assured. "Friends have a funny way of showing up at just the opportune time."

The young man smiled, seeming relieved. He held out a hand for Aziraphale to shake.

"The name's Roy," he said, "but I go by Butch."

"Well, that's rather unusual," Aziraphale said, but shook his hand anyway. "Then again, what's in a name? I'm... Ezra." He tried not to look too guilty at the pause. "Ezra Fell. I run a bookshop in London."

Butch laughed, loud and friendly, and leaned against a hitching post for support. Aziraphale watched him for a moment, confused, before the young man straightened with a few residual chuckles.

"Sorry, sorry," he said, still grinning from ear to ear. "It's just... you look like you run a bookshop. No offense."

Aziraphale brightened at the compliment. "None taken, my dear fellow."

Before he could say anything else, Butch looked over Aziraphale's shoulder and promptly seemed to forget he was there. There was a look on his face, now, like he'd just watched the world's grandest play, or, perhaps, seen a solar eclipse. Aziraphale turned around to follow his gaze. Across the street, a rather sullen-looking young man leaned against the wall of the saloon. He had dark, straight hair that had clearly been flattened by his hat, which he gripped with both of his hands. He was slender and wore a black jacket that did little to keep the dust at bay. And despite the looks from a couple of the saloon girls, he seemed to be waiting for someone.

"Now see, I told you he would show," Aziraphale said to Butch. He turned back to face him, only to find that he was walking away... in the opposite direction of his friend. "Hey—wait!"

Aziraphale hurriedly chased after him, having to half-jog to keep up with his long strides. Butch kept his hands firmly shoved in his pockets and didn't look at Aziraphale once.

"Now just where do you think you're going?" Aziraphale demanded, already slightly out of breath.

Butch shook his head, eyes intently focused on the ground in front of him. "This weren't a good idea."

"Not a good idea?" Aziraphale was thoroughly confused. "But... you were the one who wanted to see him in the first place! And now you're just going to... let him stand there?"

Stopping so abruptly that Aziraphale nearly ran into him again, Butch whirled around and threw his hands up in exasperation.

"Look pardner," he said. "I ain't gonna get into this right now with you. Just trust me when I say that this weren't a good idea, okay?" He ran a hand through is hair, tugged at it, then let out a deflated sigh. "Now I'm goin' home."

Aziraphale opened his mouth to protest, but Butch was already walking away, and at a much faster pace this time. A few seconds later, he'd disappeared down the street. Aziraphale knew he had no hope of catching up to him, not without running, and he didn't particularly feel like doing that at the moment.

He got himself out of the middle of the street and sat heavily on a bench outside the bank. It didn't make sense in his head, Butch's behavior, and it most certainly didn't sit right with him to let his friend stand by the saloon all by himself. Butch had seemed so excited—and so nervous. Why in Heaven's name had he seemed so nervous? It was almost the way teenagers behaved when they were in—

Oh.

Oh dear. That made quite a bit more sense.

Aziraphale wasn't stupid. He knew the world's current, rather barbaric stance on such things. He also knew, though, how precious of a thing love was, how people who weren't supposed to fall for each other tended to do so anyways, in spite of the danger. It was humanity's greatest gift. Perhaps Heaven and Hell could learn a thing or two...

Best not to think about that, he quickly decided. Even still, he knew what he needed to do. Heaven would probably think he was wasting his time, helping out humans when there were no orders from his superiors, but the way Aziraphale saw it, he was fulfilling his most basic duties as an angel: doing good.

He rose from the bench and walked quickly to the saloon. Butch's friend was still waiting, looking more sullen than before, and he eyed Aziraphale with the same distrustful look he gave everyone who walked by. Aziraphale smiled at him and gave a little wave.

"Ah yes, hello," he said. "You appear to be waiting for someone."

The young man frowned. "What's it to you?"

Aziraphale smiled again. Gotcha.

"If you're waiting for Butch," he said, watching with delight the way the young man's face brightened ever-so-slightly, "he sends his most sincere apologies, but he can't make it today. Something about..." Aziraphale looked around quickly, and his eyes fell on a mail courier delivering packages across the street. "Something about delivering medicine to a sick family in need. You know how he loves to help people."

It was a gamble, but Aziraphale considered himself a decent judge of character, and Butch had seemed nice enough. The young man looked like he was considering this, then rolled his eyes.

"That sounds like him alright." Then, hiding his disappointment well: "... Did he say anything else?"

"Oh yes!" Aziraphale said, nodding enthusiastically. "He said that since he can't make it today, he'd love to reschedule for tomorrow night. He'll let you know the time and place vis a vis letter. Now, where exactly are you staying?"

The young man blinked, caught off guard. "Um," he looked decidedly confused. "Golden Creek Hotel. It's..." He gestured around the block. "Right over that way."

"Marvelous!" Aziraphale smiled his most winning smile. "Well, he'll be in touch. Might I know your name, dear fellow, just in case anything pops up?"

"It's..." The young man bit his chapped lips. "Well, just call me Sundance."

Aziraphale held out his hand as if that wasn't a strange name. "Pleasure to meet you. I'm Ezra Fell. I run a bookshop in London."

The young man let out a brief chuckle and shook his head. Then, shaking Aziraphale's hand: "You look like you run a bookshop."

Lighting up at the second round of the compliment, Aziraphale sent him on his way. It was only then that he realized just how in over his head he was. For Heaven's sake! He wasn't a matchmaker. He didn't know the first thing about courting someone, let alone getting two people to court each other. And now he had two hopelessly in-love young men who needed him for guidance. Him!

"Oh dear," Aziraphale said to himself. "I do believe this is a bit of a mess."

But there was one person he trusted to always help him out of a mess, no matter the stakes. After all, getting Aziraphale out of trouble was sort of a favorite pastime of Crowley's. It hadn't even been a week since Aziraphale had seen him, but somehow, he knew the demon would be up to the challenge.

As it turned out, Crowley hadn't gone back to Soho. He was in Denver, in fact, when Aziraphale found him, having a drink at a local brewery. Aziraphale didn't much care for beer. He preferred wine or sherry, something that was a little less... gross. Not that all beer was terrible, but he supposed it would be years before the Americans caught up with the Belgians in terms of brewing.

Crowley didn't look surprised to see him. Then again, he rarely did. He wore a long black duster tonight that nearly reached the floor, and it would have looked ridiculous if it wasn't currently in style. He was sitting at the bar, swirling his beer rather than drinking it, and he glanced over at Aziraphale when he took a seat next to him.

"Right," Crowley said, setting his glass aside. "What have you done now?"

Aziraphale tried not to look guilty. "Why on earth would you assume I've done something?"

"Because I know the faces you make." Crowley reached for his beer and drained half the glass in one go. "This is your I've Done Something face."

"But that's preposterous!" Aziraphale said indignantly. "I'll have you know that I haven't done a single thing."

Crowley raised his eyebrows, the first hint of a smile on his lips. He watched Aziraphale for a few seconds, leaning back on the bar stool, waiting for the angel to crack.

"Oh," Azirphale said as his shoulders slumped. "Fine! I did something. Happy now?"

"Extraordinarily." Crowley signaled the bartender, an older gentleman who looked like he hated his job, and ordered a round for the two of them. Then, noticing the way Aziraphale wrinkled his nose: "Oh come on. It's not that bad."

"For you, maybe." Aziraphale hesitated when the bartender handed him his glass. He took a small sip and tried not to make a face until the bartender's back was turned.

Crowley, whose glass was already half empty, inclined his head to one side. "So what is it that you've done?"

Aziraphale sighed and dropped his face into his hands. How in Heaven's name was he supposed to explain himself? It wasn't his job to play matchmaker among humans. There was nothing in the Almighty's plan about that. And yet, he couldn't just sit by and watch two perfectly good men squander what could be their only chance at love in a harsh, harsh world. No, he had people counting on him now, and he couldn't let them down. He wouldn't.

"I might have..." He began, trailed off, then continued a little stronger: "I might have told a young man that the... object of his affection, as far as I can tell, is going to meet him for dinner tomorrow night. The problem is, said object of affection has no intention of doing so."

Crowley groaned. "Unrequited love. Sounds like a him problem."

"No no," Aziraphale corrected. "They're absolutely head over heels for each other. Butch is just very, very nervous. I don't think he's ever, well, courted someone before. I don't think either of them have."

Crowley rolled his eyes and reached for his drink. He didn't look particularly excited about the situation.

"So what are you suggesting, Angel?" He asked. "Because if you're going to ask me to help you play matchmaker, the answer is—"

"Oh come on!" Aziraphale interrupted. "You love meddling with humans! These two are practically begging for it, for goodness sake!"

He gave the demon his best pleading look, the one he knew, for whatever reason, always made Crowley cave. Crowley considered him for a moment, expression unreadable behind his dark glasses, before he finally turned away with a scowl.

"Fine!" He hissed, rubbing his temples with his fingers. "What do you suggest we do?"

Aziraphale smiled gratefully. That had been rather easy.

"Well," he admitted, "that's actually where I'm a bit stuck..."

Crowley threw his head back and groaned, then turned to face Aziraphale, who shrugged sheepishly.

"You mean to tell me," Crowley said, "that you don't even have a plan?"

"Well..." Aziraphale, remembering what usually happened whenever he had a spur of the moment idea, bit his lip. "Maybe not as such. But I did get Sundance to agree to dinner! Butch just... doesn't know he's going yet."

Sighing heavily, Crowley swirled the last of the beer in his glass. He looked thoughtful. Then, when Aziraphale was about to offer a penny, said: "Why don't we each take one and, I don't know, shadow them or something? Act as their wingman. That way when the time comes for the dinner, we can be there to make sure nothing goes wrong."

Aziraphale considered this. While it wasn't the most complicated idea in the world, it was pretty foolproof. He would take one, Crowley would take the other, and together, they'd make sure the two men realized just how much they meant to one another.

"That could work," Aziraphale said, "but what if they see us conspiring? We need some sort of excuse, just in case we're seen together."

"The two of you could pretend to court one another," the bartender said as he polished a glass behind the counter. "I did that with my friend, once, to make my partner jealous. Worked like a charm."

Crowley glared at him. "How long have you been listening?"

"No no!" Aziraphale exclaimed and excitedly gripped Crowley's arm. "That's perfect! That way, they won't get suspicious if they see us being, well, us."

"Angel..." Crowley sounded uncertain. "I don't know if this is—"

Aziraphale was hardly listening to him. "Right. Which one do you want to shadow?"

For a long while, Crowley didn't say anything. He just stared first at Aziraphale, then at his glass of beer, which now held only the dregs. Eventually, though, he heaved a deep, heavy sigh, and tilted his head back.

"What are they like?" He asked, resigned.

Aziraphale beamed at him. "Butch is really quite friendly. And Sundance is... well, rather moody."

"That one." Crowley said immediately. "I'll take the moody one."

Trying not to look too relieved, Aziraphale smiled at him and got up from the bar. Dropping some money, plus a decent chunk of change for a tip on the counter, he gently grabbed Crowley by the arm and pulled him toward the door. They had quite a bit of planning to do if they were going to make this work.

"We're gathering together a right posse!" He exclaimed on their way out the door. "I never thought I'd be excited about something like that."

Crowley gave him a look. "You do know that posses hunt people down, right? Not play matchmaker."

"Well, I suppose we can take some liberties with the word." Aziraphale turned to face him with a wide grin. "I'll see you in Telluride, my dear fellow."

#good omens #ineffable husbands #aziraphale x crowley #cowboys #yeehawgust #yeehawgust 2023 #fic writing #my fic #fanfic #western #wild west #gay cowboy

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vanfleeter · 10 months

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Doesn't Stay In Vegas (2) // JTK

Characters: Jake x Cate (oc) Warning: 18+ minors DNI, smut, tiny bit of angst and fluff. Author's Note: Writer's block is no joke, but alas, here we go!

It didn’t take long for interviewers to start asking Jake about his elopement to Cate and knowing him and knowing he wouldn’t want either of them to look bad, he would tell them that it was a 'blossoming relationship' and neither of them wanted to wait so when in Vegas, get married. Cate rolled her eyes and walked away from him.

“What?” He says the following after her. “Did you want me to tell people that we were drunk off our asses and we don’t love each other?”

She spins around to face him. “Do we love each other, Jake?” She says. “Because last time I checked, you only saw me as a friend. Gosh, Jake. What the hell are you gonna say when we get this marriage annulled?” She rests her hands on her hips.

“I thought-”

“Thought what? That’d we still be together? That something would magically change and we stay married?” Cate shakes her head and turns away again and walks off towards the bus.

“Would it be bad if it did?” He calls after her.

“You’re delusional Jake!” She shouts over her shoulder. She pulls open the door of the bus and steps inside. Josh sits at the table with Sam as they play a card game.

“I’m delusional?!” Jake shouts as he climbs the steps into the bus. “I’m trying to protect you!”

“By lying to the whole world or forcing me to stay in this marriage?!”

Josh and Sam both exchange awkward glances before getting up from the table and excusing themselves from the bus.

“Forcing you?! I’m not forcing you!” Jake shouts. “But yes I will lie to everyone and fabricate the truth because I’ve already seen people calling you names and bullying you! So I’m sorry that I lied about this but it’s better than allowing people to think you’re a slut and a gold digger!” He scoffs and shakes his head. “I’m not gonna stand here any longer and fight with you about this. We have to do a sound check..” He goes back over to the bus door and pushes it open before climbing down the stairs and slamming the door closed behind him.

The rest of the day, Cate spent it alone on the bus and watching movies while the boys went through soundcheck and rehearsal. She didn’t realize she had fallen asleep until she felt the bed deep beside her and a blanket being pulled over her shoulders.

“Oh.. Is she asleep?” She hears Josh’s voice.

“Yeah..” Jake speaks.

“Still want to go out?” Josh asks. “Sam and Danny are waiting outside.”

“Uh no, I’m gonna stay here.” Jake says. “I don’t want to leave her here alone.”

“No worries,” Josh says. “We’ll be back later.”

She hears a door close and then shuffling around the room. Peeking through her eyes, she sees Jake walking around the small space and picking up discarded clothing and dropping them into the small hamper by the door. Seeing her turn over in the bed, he pauses by the door.

“Sorry, did I wake you?” He says. She shakes her head and runs a hand through her hair. He picks up the last few clothing articles and tosses them into the hamper.

“You should go meet up with the boys.” She says sitting up in bed.

Jake shakes his head. “No, I’m okay staying here.”

“Jake, I’ll be fine.”

“So I did wake you.” He chuckles.

Cate shrugs her shoulders. “I’m glad you did. Had I stayed asleep, I’d be up all night.”

Jake slips around the bed and opens the small dresser to retrieve a pair of sweatpants. He can feel her eyes on him as he pulls his shirt off. “It’s rude to stare, you know.” He says while shooting her a smirk.

“I can’t help it if my husband looks so good.”

“Ohhh, husband huh?”

He crawls onto the bed, still in his jeans, and lays in between her legs. He pushes her shirt up her torso and exposing her stomach. He leaves a gentle kiss on her skin and chuckles when he sees tiny goosebumps rise. He moves up her torso and slides her shirt up and over her breasts. He encloses his lips around her right breast as he massages her left in his hand. He sucks on her nipple and licks over it. Pulling away and sitting her up, he pulls her shirt off and tosses it away. He gently lays her back down and kisses her.

Leaving a trail down her neck and collarbone, he drags them down her body until he reaches the waistband of her jeans. He looks up at her, his eyes asking. She nods her head and he begins to unbutton her jeans. He slowly drags the zipper down and makes her groan.

“Jake..” She whines.

He taps her hip and she lifts them so he can pull her jeans down her hips. He backs up off the bed and undoes his own jeans before pushing them down and kicking them away. He climbs back into the bed and lays back in between her legs. He hovers his body over top of her and encapsulates her in yet another kiss. This one is more hungry and lustful.

He presses his body to hers and slowly rolls his hips against her. She moans in his ear sending the blood in his veins straight to his core. “Jake..” She whines. “Please…”

“Please what?” He says. “What do you want?”

She reaches for his hand and pulls it up in between their faces. Without pulling her eyes away from his, she brings his fingers to her mouth and sucks on his index and middle fingers. His jaw clenches and she can feel him grow harder from behind the fabric of his boxers. Releasing his fingers from her mouth, she pushes his hand down in between them. She watches as his smile grows.

“Such a naughty girl.” He says. He slips his hand through the waistband of her underwear and dips his fingers inside of her. Her head tilts back as she moans and grips tightly to his arms. He slowly pumps his fingers in and out as he uses his thumb to rub circles into her clit. The curl of his fingers sends her straight to the edge. She’s nearly there but he won’t give it to her. He removes his fingers and brings them up to his mouth and licks them clean. “Oh you taste so good.”

“Jake, please..”

Pushing off of her, he pulls off his boxers and drags hers down her legs. Slowly he pushes himself inside of her. He hears her wince and immediately his head snaps up to look at her.

“Are you okay?”

She nods her head. “Yeah..”

Pulling out of her with just his tip inside, he slowly pushes back in and repeats the process until he finds the right pace. He feels her arms wrap around his body, her fingers digging into his back. He drops his head between her neck and sucks on her skin.

“Jake..” She moans. Her arms clench around his body. “Jake, I need to–”

“Let go for me,” He says. “I want to feel you.” He brings his hand back down to her center and rubs circles into her clit. He groans when he feels her walls clench around him. He feels her warmth coat his cock and that alone makes him unravel.

Coming down from their highs, Jake slowly pulls out and lays on the bed beside her. His chest rapidly rises and falls. He feels her cuddle up to him. Reaching for the blankets beside him, he pulls them over the two of them. “Do you want to watch a movie?” He asks. He feels her head shake and she lifts it to look at him.

“I have consumed enough tv today to last me a week,” She says, making him chuckle. “But I am hungry.”

“Okay, what are you in the mood for?”

“A burger.” She says. “Maybe some fries. Oh and a large strawberry milkshake.”

Jake looks at her, eyebrows raised. “Are you pregnant?”

She vigorously shakes her head. “God no.. I just saw a commercial on TV earlier and that’s all I’ve been thinking about.”

Jake smiles and sits up in the bed. “Alright well, get dressed.”

Since the others had the van, Jake opted to order an Uber for the two of them and took them to the nearest fast food place. Thanking the driver, Jake slips out of the car and leads you inside of the building.

“Go grab a table,” He says, nodding his head to a table in the corner. “I’ll go order the food.”

It didn’t take long for a couple girls to spot him at the counter. Cate watches from the table as they approach after he had placed the order. He gives them a wide smile and engages in a conversation with them. They talk for a couple more minutes before he takes photos with them. His name gets called at the counter so he thanks the girls before turning away from them and retrieving the tray of food from the counter.

Walking over to the table, his smile brightens when he sees Cate smiling. “What?” He chuckles as he sets the tray on the table and slides into the booth.

Cate shrugs her shoulders and reaches for one of the burgers. “Nothing.. Just seeing you make their night by interacting with them. Not a lot of rockstars do that.”

He rolls his eyes as he smiles. “I don’t do it often, but when I do I try to make it special for them. I know if I met one of my heroes, I’d be a puddle on the floor.”

Cate giggles and unwraps her burger. “Well, if you could meet one of them, dead or alive, who would you want to meet?”

“That’s a hard choice.” He says as he picks a fry out of the container and pops it into his mouth. “I don’t think I can choose.”

“Well I know who I’d want to meet.”

Jake leans back in the booth. “Who?”

“Leonardo Di Vinci.”

“Huh,” Jake folds his arms over his chest as he becomes more interested in this conversation. “Why do you pick him?”

“I want to pick his brain. Study his thoughts. Maybe even watch him paint something.”

Jake smiles and sits back up. He grabs his burger and unwraps it. “I never pegged you for being interested in Da Vinci but now I can see why my brother clicked with you so easily.”

“Oh yeah? And what did Jacob Kiszka peg me for?”

“I just always thought you were more into music than art or philosophical thinking.”

Cate hums and reaches for a fry. “Music is art,” She says. “And philosophical thinking. Your music is a prime example of it.”

He chuckles and digs into his burger. “I wouldn’t say that..” He mumbles through a mouthful of food.

“Oh please,” Cate rolls her eyes. “With Josh’s lyrics and the way you all play your instruments. It’s like you’re writing a novel or a love letter.”

“A love letter to the world of rock.” He says.

“And signed by you.” She adds.

When they finished eating, Jake orders an Uber back to the venue when they arrive just as the van does. “Did you end up going out?” Josh says as he throws his arm around Jake’s shoulders. “Where’d you go?”

“Just to grab burgers.” Jake says as he shoves his brother off of him. “Man you wreak.”

“Ten shots of tequila and two salty dogs.” Danny says as he grabs Josh before he falls over.

“He can sleep on your bus then.” Jake says. “I don’t want to deal with a hungover hobbit in the morning.”

Josh gasps and reaches out for Cate. “There’s my beautiful sister-in-law. You smell like fries, did you have fries? Fries sound good right now. Danny,” He says looking up at him. “Can we get fries?”

“Not tonight,” Danny says. “You need to go to bed.” Josh whines as Danny tugs him off to the other bus with Sam in tow.

Jake pulls open the door of the bus and lets Cate inside first. “And that is why I chose to stay with you.” He says as the door closes behind them. Cate giggles and heads to the back room where she drops onto the bed, her arms and legs spread out. Jake shakes his head as he smiles at her.

“You do know that I have to sleep there too?”

“There’s bunk beds out there you can sleep in.” Cate says smirking at him.

Jake rolls his eyes and motions for her to scoot over on the bed. Moving over to make room for Jake, he crawls onto the bed and lays down on his back. “Want to watch a movie?” He asks again.

Cate gasps as she sits up. Jake’s eyebrows raise in curiosity. “Can we watch The Notebook?”

Jake groans. “No, anything but that.”

“Oh come on, please?”

“There is nothing you can do that will make me watch that movie.”

“Are you sure there’s nothing I can do to change your mind?” She says, batting her eyelashes at him. He feels her roll her hips against his and his hands grip tightly to her sides. She flashes him a smirk and lowers her head to kiss his cheek and then his jaw. “Come on, Jakey. Please? Just this one time.” Her hands travel down his waist and to his pelvis. She palms him in her hand causing his breath to hitch in his throat.

“This.. Won’t.. Change my mind..” He says as he struggles to keep his composure. He refuses to give in to her.

“Are you sure?” She says as she nibbles on his ear.

“I’m.. Sure..”

“What if we compromised?” She says, pulling her hand away. She can hear a small whimper come from him at the loss of contact.

“Compromise, how?” He asks, his hands still gripping her waist.

“You watch The Notebook with me and I will watch the first Lord of The Rings movie tomorrow after the show.”

“Promise you won’t fall asleep?” He says.

“I will indulge in coffee and five hour energies to stay awake.”

He chuckles and reaches up to kiss her cheek. “Fine, we can watch The Notebook.”

“Yes!” Cate exclaims as she rolls off of him and reaches for the remote. –

Their attention to the movie lasted all of thirty minutes before they were rolling around in bed and unable to keep their hands off of each other. Jake has her pinned to the bed and grinding his hips into her and teasing her. He breaks away momentarily to undo the buttons of his shirt and pulls it off before grabbing hold of her jeans and pulling them off. It didn’t take long for the both of them to strip down to nothing.

Rolling them both over, Cate straddles his lap and wraps her arms around his neck. She drags her hips across him. He groans when he feels how wet she is against his length. Reaching between them, she wraps her hand around his cock and gives it a few strokes. His eyes roll as one of his arms fly out behind him to keep him steady. Slowly she sinks down on top of him, both of them moaning at the contact of each other.

Keeping himself propped up on his arm, he wraps his arm around her hips and thrusts his hips upwards. Cate cups his face in her hands and pulls him in to kiss him. He moans into her lips as he sticks his tongue in between her teeth. Her hands find their way into his hair and she gives a slight tug pulling his head backwards. His breath hitches in his throat and he opens his eyes to look at her.

“What are you doing?”

“Being in charge.” She says as she cocks her head at him. She stops moving her hips but keeps her hold in his hair.

“You want to be in charge this time?”

Cate nods her head before slowly pulling her body off of him. He whimpers at the loss of feeling her wrapped around him. “Aw, you wanted me to stay?” She says. He nods her head and she smiles. “Lay back.”

“Cate..”

“Jake..”

He huffs a sigh before moving down the bed and laying back against the pillows. He watches as she crawls off the bed and goes over to the small dresser. She opens one of the drawers and pulls out a leather belt. She gets back on the bed and maneuvers her way up to the headboard.

“Hands.” She directs.

Jake smirks. “I didn’t know you were into this.” He says lifting his arms above his head.

“Mmm, there’s a lot about me you don’t know.” Cate ties his wrists together and bounds them to the headpost of the bed.

She moves to the end of the bed by his feet and slowly begins to tiptoe her fingers up his left shin. He squirms under her delicate touch. His hands clutch tightly to the belt and his jaw clenched tightly. She looks up at him and smiles sweetly.

“Bitch..” He growls between his teeth.

“Oh well that isn’t very nice, is it?” She says straddling his legs.

Wrapping her hand around his length, she gives it a few strokes and she watches his face twist and contort. He strains against the belt, his body tensing beneath her.

“Please, please..” He begs. “Please untie me..”

“Why?” She says stopping her movements. “Can’t stand not being in charge?”

“N-No..” He stutters when she rewraps her hand around his length. “I want..” He gulps, his eyes rolling as she leans down to lick his tip. “Fuck…”

“You want what?” He asks.

He sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth. “I want… I want to touch you… Please…”

“You always have to have your hands on me, huh?”

Jake eagerly nods his head. “Please, please..”

She takes him again in her mouth. His head back against the pillows and he tries thrusting up into her mouth but she presses him back down to the mattress with her free hand. He whimpers and moans as she swirls her tongue around his length. She pulls away once again and he looks down at her with fire in his eyes.

“Fuck, Cate.. I was almost there..”

She shrugs her shoulders and sits back on her knees. “I know.” She climbs back onto his lap. She lines him up with her entrance and slowly lowers herself down and allows him to stretch her out. She hears the clinking of the belt buckle as he squirms. “Are you going to be a good boy for me?” He eagerly nods his head. “Uh uh, if I have to use my words, so do you..”

“I’ll be good–” His breath hitches when she begins rotating her hips. “Fuck.. So so good for you..” A high pitched whimper escapes his throat and his head drops back again. “Cate, I need to–Please–”

“You want to cum inside of me?” She says as she keeps moving her hips, eventually picking up her speed.

“Shit.. Yes, please. Please..”

She can feel him twitch inside of her. His jaw is clenched tightly again, his fits enclosed around the belt, knuckles practically turning white. It wasn’t long before he spilled out inside of her. “Fuck baby..” His body falls limp below her as he comes down from his high.

Unbuckling the belt and unwrapping it from around his wrists, they fall limp on the pillow by his head. She notices the red rings starting to show on his skin and she winces. “Did you hurt at all?” She asks, grabbing hold of one of his hands.

He shakes his head. “Highly uncomfortable but it didn’t hurt.” He says. He reaches for her face and draws her in for a kiss. “But now I know that you’re into bondage, makes this even more hot.” Cate giggles into the kiss.

He sits up and stretches out his arms before retrieving the blanket and bringing it up to cover the both of them. She switches to her side and lays against his front as he wraps his arm around her waist and intertwines their legs together. He kisses her cheek and nestles into her body.

Feeling her heartbeat through her chest, he closes his eyes knowing that he’s about to make the biggest decision he’s ever had to make.

____________________________________________________________

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