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blackwidow-bby · 3 years

Text

Positions - Marvel Ladies x Fem!Sub!Reader

Summary: You're a sex worker and you've been hired by a new client for a "group activity".

genre: smut(18+)

pairings: Maria Hill x fem!reader, Wanda Maximoff x fem!reader, Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader, Carol Danvers x fem!reader, Yelena Belova x fem!reader

warnings: D/S dynamics, face slapping, spanking, strap on use, degradation, orgy, big ole lesbian train, oral, throat f*cking, name calling, degradation, thigh riding, fingering

AN: I am...well not a pro at writing dirty things especially not with multiple people but I hope you all enjoy regardless!

I don't own any marvel characters!!

Your assistant had just called you into her room. Your week had been slow but fruitful. Normally, it would be a regular client for the month, nothing to sweat over. Your thoughts started to run over who it could be. Maybe Mr. Dean, he usually calls on a Friday but you could've sworn you saw him two weeks ago. That didn't leave a lot of your regulars left to be requesting you as you knew their schedules like the back of your hand.

As if she could read your mind upon entering her space, she spoke, "Y/N, you have a call for a new client. Something about a friend requesting your services? The only thing is..." She hesitated almost thinking if she should tell you the rest of the details before she proceeded. "Well, it's for a group. You don't have to take up the offer if you're uncomfortable with that. I can call her back and let her know you declined."

To tell the truth, the thought of it being a group of strangers did make you uncomfortable, but your assistant wouldn't put you into a situation without going through the proper protocols first. She knew a head count of how many, roughly where they all worked, and several phone numbers. It always helped to be extra safe in these situations where you could be overpowered.

"Who inquired?" you asked interestedly. "She goes by N.R., gave me a headcount of all of her friends that would be attending. There's not going to be any men there, but I guess 'more power in numbers' is still 'more power in numbers'." In all honesty, women gave you way less shit about certain things than men did. Hopefully they'd be way more understanding if you didn't want to do specific activities.

"Call her back and tell her I'll take the offer. Do you know how much she's paying?" Your assistant slid a little sticky note over to you as she dialed the number of one 'N.R.'. You swear you almost choked when you saw how much she offered for you. That was a lot of zeros compared to usual. You walked away to get a water from the mini-fridge while you vaguely listened in to your assistant's phone conversation.

Good.

Perfect.

Okay, I'll tell her to meet you there at 6:30.

Extra clothes, yes ma'am. Have a nice day.

"Hey Y/N, I've written down the address, floor, and room number. It's uh...a really high end hotel in New York City. She also said to bring an extra change of--" you interrupted her, "Extra clothes? I overheard." you started wondering what for? Dinner? Go out? "Uhm, yes, she said extra comfy clothes." Comfy? Was she expecting you to spend the night? You looked down at your watch to see how much time you had to get ready. 2 hours. It wasn't enough but you could make it work. "Alright then, I should go freshen up."

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An hour and a half later had found you briskly walking toward the extremely tall and very expensive looking hotel in the Upper East Side. You lived in Queens and while the distance wasn't very far, paired with the traffic, the feeling of unsettlement about being late to such a client was enough to make you almost hurl.

You made your way inside the lobby, barely looking at your surroundings. You wanted to get up to the room as quickly as possible without being noticed. "Excuse me," Could you ever be so lucky? "Are you here for Ms. Romanoff?" Who? That must be your clients last name. "She said she was expecting a guest soon." The lady was being extra kind to you, she had an inviting smile. You almost wanted to never lie to her. "Yes, I'm here to see Ms. Romanoff." you replied quietly. It felt like your voice would echo too hard around the warmly lit lobby. You thought it would break you to hear your own voice shrill around such a pristine room.

"Very well, I'll show you to her room." Your nerves began to spike more the higher up you went. It was as if every floor number on the elevator was the level of anxiety you started to feel. Your palms were sweating and you could've sworn your back was too. The lady just kept her eyes forward with a meek little smile. It took every fiber of your body to not explode your feelings all over that elevator.

Ding

The elevator stopped, of course she was in a penthouse suite. You rolled your eyes as how predictable this situation was playing out. The kind lady, who's name you definitely forgot to get, remained in the elevator as you walked out. "There's a number for room service if you ladies need anything." She sung out. "Thank you."

The walk to her door seemed to never end. Your feet were dragging like gravity was doing everything in its power to keep them on the ground. The air was getting hotter as time slowed in the short distance it took to reach her door. You rang the little buzzer and a melodic voice called beyond the frame.

"Coming!"

You could hear the light patter of a single set of feet. The knob then turned and revealed a stunning short redhead with bright eyes. You were certainly gawking at the sight of her but there was nothing you could do to pull your own attention away. She had a smirk on her face when she saw you staring but not saying anything. "You must be Y/N, it's very nice to meet you. Come in and lets get you introduced to everyone."

She reached out her hand to you and you took it gently. her palms were much colder than yours and her fingers were long and slender. her hair was shoulder length and fire-y. The room was massive, and clean. She had all of the blinds closed to keep any natural light and eyes from entering the den. Scanning the room some more you noticed a couple items around the room. Non-traditional furniture. It was going to be one of those events. There were also four other heads aside from the host's. She turned around once reaching the main room and faced you. "My name is Natasha, over there is Wanda," another read-head standing behind everyone else with a glass of wine in her hands, she lightly nodded, "...that is Carol in the middle," a blonde woman with a bright and bubbly smile. She seemed taller than the rest but she was also sitting down on a piece of equipment that will no doubt be used in a different way by you. Natasha gestured to a brunette, "...this is Maria," another tall and slender woman, didn't offer a smile but a simple wave to your direction. You were scared of her the most. "...and this is Yelena." A second blonde who's face was much more stoic than Maria's. You take it back, she scared you the most.

Natasha's hand unhooked from yours and made its way up your back to settle on the back of your neck. The pads of her fingers added slight pressure to the muscles there as if she could feel all of your tension in waves. You felt her lean in closer, her hot breath fanning your ear. "There's a bathroom in the hall to the right. I got a cute little outfit waiting for you." You could feel her soft lips smiling against the curve of your ear. the feeling made you shiver. You managed to follow her eyes and swiftly walk to the bathroom, closing the door behind you.

You looked around and found the outfit in question. It was sleek all black leather body suit with a halter neck. You lifted it up in your hands and rubbed the material under your fingers. Next to it sat a bottle of lubricant no doubt to get the body suit on. You got to work shedding the current clothes you had on and began to slide on the little leather number. It wasn't too tight but certainly snug against your frame. The only thing out of the ordinary besides the material was, you noticed, a tiny little zipper in between your legs. If unzipped would reveal your very private essence. The thought made you blush a little to yourself. After cleaning up, you made your way back to the room where the women had sat prior.

Since you calmed down a little, you took the opportunity to fully take in your surroundings. The hall was adorned in art more than likely as expensive as this room. Everything seemed darker than when you arrived. To your surprise when you entered the living room area, the room lighting was red as opposed to the normal LED lighting.

Natasha held her hand out to you again for you to take. You obliged her and she pulled you close into her side. Natasha's deft fingers traveled up and down your ribs before finding purchase on your backside. "You look like the most delicious treat. None of us can wait to eat you. Would you like a drink before we start?"

The other women started moving closer almost circling you like sharks. "Yes please." Natasha poured you a glass as she went on, "We should go over some rules before we start. If at any point you feel overwhelmed, anxious, or hurt, the safe word is 'Heart'. We all stop what we're doing and will help you. If at any point you are gagged, two taps to the closest person will get all of us to cease as well. Because of those rules you will not be bound and gagged simultaneously...at least not this session." She ends her rules with a wink toward you. All of these women truly were stunning and it piqued your interest to know what they could possibly be capable of.

Wanda came closest to you first, she pulled the wine glass away from your lips and replaced it with her own lips. Holding your hand with the glass close to her chest and cupping your cheek with the other. Her lips were sinfully soft as was her kiss. She felt delicate and gentle against you, she almost seemed to not match any of this situation. Natasha took your wine glass away while you continued to make out with Wanda, who let her hands roam lower down your body. Your own hands moved behind her neck. Another set of arms wrapped around you from behind. "You're such a pretty kitten." They nibbled on your ear making you separate from Wanda to see who it was. Carol smiled down at you and found the very lips that left Wanda. You moaned into her mouth at feeling how she controlled and dominated the kiss, very different from Wanda's passion. Wanda moved down to kissing your neck and shoulder.

You could hear other giggles in the back. Natasha kept her eyes trained on you as Yelena and Maria began to touch each other in the mean time waiting for you. After a few minutes of watching her friends have all of the fun, Natasha made her way over to you, Carol, and Wanda. She pulled the other red-head back by her locks and pressed her lips to hers in a searing kiss. You heard Wanda moan out into the other woman's mouth next to you causing you to release your own into Carol. This made the blonde swiftly lift you up and wrap your legs around her waist. She brought you over to a nearby bench and kissed you harder. All of the sounds you were making began to rile her up.

"I'm not sure which one of us is more excited to have you here, pretty girl. All I know is I can't wait to ruin that pretty pussy of yours." You moaned at her words and yanked her back down into another kiss. Her words went straight to your core igniting a fire that had been waiting to burn. You made a mental note to find whoever recommended you to these ladies and thank them heavenly. Carol sunk her hips between your legs and began grinding against you seeking the friction she wanted so badly.

Even though the leather was a new material to you, you could still feel the faux member that rested in her pants; Carol was packing. This caused you to move your hands down to her pants to tear the buttons away. The tall blonde grabbed your hands and smirked, "Allow me." She stood to her full height and slowly removed the black jeans she was wearing and revealed her long, girthy strap she had been hiding. Your eyes widened which made Carol giggle. She sunk to her knees where she seductively pulled the zipper on your suit down. She held your eye contact until you saw them shift to behind you. Natasha and Wanda had pulled away long enough to see what Carol was doing and decided to join again. The two red-heads began to undress themselves where Natasha also sported a rather large strap but not Wanda.

In your distraction upon noticing the other women join in, Carol took to opportunity to shove he face into your pussy. You moaned out loud at the contact. Her tongue quickly lapping at your clit and sinking lower to curl inside you. Her ministrations were making you squirm on the bench. She reached up to hold your hips down. "Stay still kitten. Gotta get you ready for our cocks." Eating you out was an art to her. Every move she made, made you more and more wet. Natasha slid her fingers into your open mouth. You sucked on them harshly slipping your own tongue in-between her fingers and coating them in your saliva. Nat removed her fingers and started to rub them between Wanda's folds.

"Eat her out for me, malysh." Natasha requested. You looked up at Wanda as she slowly lowered herself over your wanting mouth. Your head went fuzzy upon seeing all of the quiet red-head's intimacy. Your tongue immediately poked out to welcome her to you. She let out a soft moan and slowly began to grind herself against your mouth. Carol was growing impatient watching you eat out the other woman and feeling you grow more aroused in her mouth. The blonde stood to position the tip at your entrance rubbing the head up and down your slit before she slammed her length in all at once. You yelped against Wanda's soaked cunt sending vibrations straight to her clit.

The whole scene was turning Natasha on more and more so she began stroking her own member, hoping to find some friction. The other two women walked over to join the rest of the group partially feeling left out. Carol continued to slam into you at a rather fast and rough pace. The tip of her strap hitting that blissful spot inside of you with every thrust. All of your moans and whines brought Wanda closer to her orgasm. She came hard in your mouth before she got up and was replaced by Natasha's own cock.

"Suck kotenok. Mommy's getting restless." Carol did not stop chasing not only her own high but yours. You could hear her grunting from below you. All of this attention was turning you on more than you think you've ever been in your life. Even though one hand wrapped around Natasha's strap and the other gripped Carol's wrist on your hips, you were finding it hard to keep blowing Nat. Carol moved her other hand down to your clit. "You better cum for me you little slut."

And you did; hard.

Carol continued her pace and upon watching you come undone, did so herself. Three quick thrusts and she was spent. She released the most guttural moan before her body was replaced by another blonde. Yelena had this look in her eyes like she wanted to make you pay for every wrong you never committed. She removed her clothing and sat right on your bent leg. At this point Natasha was fucking your mouth deeper and deeper. Needing to ground yourself you wrapped your hands around her thighs. Yelena began to rub herself against your thigh. You could feel how wet and warm she was, her hand sliding up and down your slit collecting your cum to rub your clit in tight circles. Your whines didn't stop especially when you were already beginning to feel another orgasm approaching. Yelena slipped her fingers inside you, finding your g-spot with accuracy. With every thrust of her fingers she hit that same spot over and over. tears started to run down your face with the feeling of Natasha in your mouth and Yelena in your core. Natasha gave one last thrust before she pulled out.

Maria shoved three of her fingers to the back of your throat. She giggled when you gagged around them. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head at being finger fucked by the two women. "You're not allowed to cum before I do, else Natty here give you a nice punishment while I ride your face." Yelena only made the threat to turn you on more, but part of you was hoping it was true. It was hard, Yelena knew exactly what she was doing with her fingers but you could feel her slick slide down the sides of your thigh. God you hope she was close because you certainly were. Maria replaced her fingers with her lips and she kissed you hard sliding her tongue along yours. The brunette smiled against your lips when she felt your whimpers in her mouth. Yelena just kept slamming her fingers harder inside of you and rubbing herself quicker. Her breaths got faster and more shallow and as she came, a couple seconds later so did you. Your body shook with the most intense tremors, but Yelena couldn't fault you. She did cum before you, and something about it being in close tandem with hers turned her on a lot more than she would admit. You let out a soft whine when the coolness of the air hit your soaked thigh.

Maria left your mouth and moved between your legs. She put one leg over your left and the other under your right and brought your centers together. "You're a pretty little slut. I want to ruin you so bad." Maria started out ruthless. Her grinding was fast and hard as if she had been waiting to cum for weeks. You felt her in her entirety sliding against your own. The feeling started to overwhelm you. Carol took your face in her hand and rubbed her thumb along your bottom lip. "Open up you little slut."

You obeyed her and opened your mouth sticking your tongue out. At this point you were a blubbering mess and all the ladies were loving it. Carol spit into your mouth before shoving her cock in. "I saw you taking Nat like a pro, so I know you can take me." At least her pace wasn't rough but it certainly was quick. Your gags around Carol was making Maria closer to her release. She leaned forward to angle herself differently against you and put her hand around her throat. She could practically feel Carol's cock fucking your face. Sweat was running down your forehead and your hair clung to every part of your body it could touch. You were close to being spent and you never looked more beautiful this way. Maria's hand tightened, her grunts were heavy. "Such a good little fuck toy. I'm so close baby." You didn't think it was possible for Maria to go any harder but she did. She came with a loud cry and slowed her hips down to ride out her orgasm. You felt her wetness mix with yours. Maria's hand stayed for a couple more minutes, entranced by feeling Carol deep in your throat. The tall blonde slapped your face a couple times before she pulled out. You were too busy catching your breath, you didn't see Natasha move by your feet. She lifted you up and turned you over on your stomach with your legs and arms hanging off the bench. Just when you were hoping it was over, you forgot that Natasha never officially had her turn with you. She rested her strap on your lower back as she ran her cool hands in an attempt to soothe your burning skin. Almost mocking you for being the one to give you the final blow. Wanda walked up to you again. She ran her soft fingers in your hair and moved the stuck strands out of your face. Your breathing was heavy and your body was trembling. Wanda's fingers moved down to cup your jaw and she lifted your head. Tapping the side with her pointer finger, you got the silent request to open your mouth for her. In unison, as Wanda brought her cunt to your mouth, Natasha slid her strap inside you completely bottoming out. Nothing but incoherent noises left your mouth at being filled so sinfully. Wanda gripped your jaw harder as she rubbed her intimacy against your mouth for a second time. You lazily kept your tongue out to try your best to accommodate Wanda's wanting. Natasha on the other hand, had been waiting very patiently for her time and now that she got it she was going to make the best of it. She grabbed your hands in her own and pulled them behind your back to make it easier for her to pound deep into your cunt. When you felt her hit somehow deeper your eyes rolled back. Wanda picked up her pace just as Natasha did, both red-heads moving in perfect synch at opposite ends of your being. A jolt of paint hit your right asscheek igniting a new spark and effectively waking you up even if only for a minute. With every thrust administered, Natasha rained a hand alternating each side of your ass. All of this was sending more and more feelings to your core. You will not be lasting long if these two kept going the way they were. You could feel Wanda fumbling, she was about to come for the second time tonight. Natasha continued to get more rough inside of you until you felt the knot inside of you burst. You came hard around Natasha groaning against Wanda's own cunt. The sight caused Wanda herself to not be able to keep her composure and she came with a scream against your tongue. You felt her pussy pulsing with her orgasm on your mouth. As soon as Wanda backed away from your face, Nat yanked your arms back harder to push herself deeper than you thought was possible. You were screaming, a sweaty broken mess, absolutely spent in this five star hotel. Every thrust pushed harder against that spongey spot inside you. You could feel another earth shattering orgasm approach hoping it would be the last. Natasha's thrusting didn't let up, she was desperate to cum. She was moaning over you with every hit. You yelled her name as you came harder than you had before that whole session. Watching you absolutely spent around her

member, Natasha came just as hard with her final thrust. She stayed inside you to ride out the rest of her high before she carefully pulled out. Looking down she could see wetness all over the bench and her legs. Nat smiled to herself at being the one to make you squirt everywhere like a silent victory. Allowing you to lay and collect your bearings, the red-head began to clean up the room.

There wasn't much you could make out in your state, but you could partially hear Natasha thanking all of the women for coming over before hearing the door open and close through the ringing in your ears. Your were shaking, your whole body felt blissfully weak. The red-head padded over softly to your spent and soaked body and picked you up carefully to place you in her arms bridal style. Your mind was in a war with yourself between wanting just a little bit more or to just go to sleep. You couldn't even open your eyes at this point.

Natasha had brought you to the bathroom to help you clean up and as she moved about, she kept you in her arms. She made sure to hold you as she turned on the faucet and sit on the edge of the tub. As the water filled the tub, Nat moved between rubbing your back and gently caressing your cheek. Once the tub was filled up enough for the both of you, she picked you up again and cautiously lowered the both of you into the hot relaxing water. You couldn't do anything but mumble and cursed yourself for the state you were in even though it wasn't your fault. You desperately wanted to think your gracious host for a life changing night but nothing could come out. Natasha shushed you sweetly. Her time wasn't done until you were well taken care of in her company.

You don't know how long you were in the bathroom, hell you don't even know when you fell asleep as Natasha washed the night away from both of your bodies. Clearly still in no position to be able to make it back to your home, the red-head dried both of you off and brought you to the large bedroom. You had come back into partial consciousness long enough to feel the soft sheets and the plush comforter of this heavenly bed you were being gifted to rest on.

Natasha lowered you down and climbed on the other side before pulling you into her. She lifted your head to lay on her chest so she could easily hold you and play with your hair. She stayed awake until she heard your breathing even out again, signaling that you had fallen asleep again since the bath. She placed a soft kiss to your hairline before succumbing to sleep herself with a blissed smile on her face.

She'd definitely be requesting you again.

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AN: Not sure how I feel about this but yeah this is my wack attempt at something extra dirty.

#natasha romanoff x reader #maria hill x reader #wanda maximoff x reader #Carol danvers x reader #yelena belova x reader #reader insert #my fic #multi character x reader #fem!reader insert

828 notes · View notes

plan-d-to-i · 3 years

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(google translate again, yeah)

(I forgot to thank you for the last answer, I really didn't know that the drama used the music of my compatriot, it was a pleasant surprise for me)

I don't know if anyone has asked you this before, but do you think JC was good with WWX as a kid?

I mean not just their childhood, but the time of their training in Gusu.

I really love JC, and I understand perfectly well that he is the most dick in character, but I love him precisely during my studies at Gusu, I can not give any arguments that then JC was directly GOOD to WWX, but he is clearly cared a little about him and even ... worried? at least that moment after the punishment where JC helped WWX get to the room...

Yay - I'm so happy to hear about Stravinsky :)

Hahah loving jc as the dick that he is is the way to do it! go for it. :) also, sorry this was so delayed I wanted to reread the Cloud Recesses arc so it would be fresh in my mind before answering.

In terms of jc the Cloud Recesses arc is perhaps the most 'mellow' we see him aside from the Lotus Pod Extra but for me it's still impossible to find him a worthwhile person. I can already see the faults in his character that I know will only get worse as he grows older. Canonically I don't see how he would have any friends studying in the Cloud Recesses if he didn't come as a package deal w Wei Wuxian. I mean I doubt jiang cheng would have any friends without WWX period. In fact jiang cheng doesn't make any friends over the course of 13 years. He's also unable to find a wife bc of his temperament and behavior...

What we can glean about their relationship in the Cloud Recesses arc (and even the Lotus Pod Extra) is that any time WWX gets a kind word or understanding from someone, jiang cheng scoffs at it. Any time someone shits on WWX, jc is there to agree, to relish the idea of WWX being punished, and shit on him some more. He would be an immensely exhausting person to be around. He doesnt believe in WWX's ideas and ingenuity, (as NHS does for example), he doesn't believe WWX is hurt, he always assumes the worst of him, he doesn't believe LWJ might like WWX. The only thing he ever seems to believe is that WWX will dishonor YunmengJiang and that WWX should be punished. So for a kid who supposedly wants his father's approval so badly he instead constantly acts like his mother's mouthpiece/minion. He reprimands WWX like he's trying to become Madam Yu 2.0. I see jc stans all the time being like oh he had to keep WWX in check bc WWX was such a lOOooose canon, for the good of the Clan!! lol listen JFM didn't give a f...about WWX's behavior (in his letter to LQR) why are you so concerned? JFM would have preferred for jc to try & save his peers in the Xuanwu cave or at least to understand why that was the correct course of action rather than for him to just sit in front of the class in the Cloud Recesses and tell WWX off for giving LQR as good as he got, while actually still breaking the rules himself but eschewing punishment.

salt up here, quotes below :

Even when Nie Huaisang picks up on the fact that WWX is being treated unfairly by LQR, jc dismisses it and piles on WWX instead.

Nie Huaisang said, “Old Man Lan really seems like he’s coming down especially harshly on you. Every time he reprimands someone, it’s always you.” Jiang Cheng grunted. “He deserves it. What kind of answer was that? He can get away with saying that sort of nonsense at home, but he had the nerve to say it to Lan Qiren’s face. He was practically asking for the old man to kill him!”

But does WWX get away with ANYTHING in Lotus Pier? When we know he is punished constantly for EVERYTHING? This is jiang cheng fully being his mother's mouth piece. It's not something WWX would get away with, it's something jc knows JFM wouldn't mind. Which is why he's so pissed off. Which begs the question if JFM would not be upset with WWX's behavior why does jc need to criticize him? Again :

A dark expression shadowed Jiang Cheng’s face, and his voice was filled with anger. “Why are you so proud of yourself? What is there to be proud of?! Is being told to get out some amazing accomplishment? You’re making our entire clan lose face!”

and his glee at the idea that WWX will be punished leaves a bad taste in one's mouth considering how WWX was perpetually punished in Lotus Pier by jiang cheng's mother for... existing.

Jiang Cheng smiled grimly. “Now that you’ve thoroughly offended both Lan Wangji and Lan Qiren, you’re basically dead tomorrow. No one’s going to clean up your corpse either.”

and again

Without the old one, only the young one remained. This would be easy to deal with! Wei Wuxian rolled off the bed and laughed while putting on his boots. “Heaven’s charmed clouds are blessing me with shade.” Jiang Cheng was beside him polishing his sword with loving care when he decided to spill cold water over Wei Wuxian’s head. “Just wait until he gets back. You can’t escape punishment.”

Where others like NHS see value in WWX's thoughts

Nie Huaisang thought for a while. “Actually, I thought what you said was very interesting,” he said, not entirely able to hide his envy and yearning.

jc is always dismissive of WWX's ideas. These are inventions that WWX realizes. Demonic cultivation in the first conversation and The Spirit-Attraction Flag and The Compass of Evil in the second:

“Enough,” Jiang Cheng warned. “Whatever nonsense you spout, you better not head down that sort of dark road.”

Changing the topic, Wei Wuxian said, “If only there was something like fishing bait that could draw the water ghosts in. Or, something that could point in the direction they’re hiding, like a compass, that sort of thing.”

“Lower your head and watch the water,” Jiang Cheng said. “You’re letting your fantasies run wild again. Concentrate on looking for water ghosts like you’re supposed to.”

“Hey, mounting swords and flying was also only a fantasy once!” Wei Wuxian said.

He's also a hypocrite. Because even though he berates WWX for misbehaving, he himself breaks the rules. He drinks, he even goads WWX into buying liquor, the only difference is that he doesn't get punished for it, and he doesn't feel like coming forward and getting punished for it :

Naturally, Jiang Cheng was too embarrassed to talk about what Wei Wuxian had been up to. After all, all of them had egged him on to go and buy alcohol, and they all deserved to be punished as well. He could only speak vaguely. “It’s nothing. It’s nothing. It’s not that bad! He can walk. Wei Wuxian, why haven’t you gotten off yet?”

It's no wonder WWX is so impressed by LWJ's integrity in spite of his social status, when he's clearly used to the other dynamic :

“Lan Zhan, I really admire you,” Wei Wuxian said sincerely. “After I told you that you had to punish yourself too, you actually did it. You didn’t let yourself off at all. I can’t argue against that.”

A dynamic which is shown repeating in the Lotus Pod Extra where WWX is the only one to get punished for sunbathing, and which repeats here when Wei Wuxian here stops jiang cheng from confronting Zixuan over YanLi's honor (and jc's) and does it himself.

Zixuan :“Why don’t you ask what about her could make me satisfied?” he said in return.

Suddenly, Jiang Cheng rose. Wei Wuxian pushed him away and stepped between them, smiling coldly. “You think you’re very satisfactory? As though you have the right to be so picky!”

Zixuan: “If she’s unhappy, then let her break off the engagement! I certainly don’t cherish your wonderful disciple-sister. If you cherish her so much, why don’t you take it up with your father? Doesn’t he love you more than his own son?”

After hearing the last sentence, Jiang Cheng’s eyes narrowed, and Wei Wuxian was no longer able to contain his own fury. He flew at Jin Zixuan, his fist raised.

WWX takes the punishment alone. Same way he offers to do when he hurts himself falling from a tree because jc threatened him with dogs. meanwhile jc is gleeful to see him being punished.

[Wei Wuxian] was kneeling on the stretch of pebble road to which Lan Qiren had assigned him when Jiang Cheng walked over from afar and mocked him. “You’re kneeling so obediently.”

“It’s not like you don’t know I have to do this all the time.” Wei Wuxian’s voice filled with schadenfreude. “But this Jin Zixuan guy, there’s no way he hasn’t been pampered and spoiled rotten since birth. No one’s ever forced him to kneel, I’m sure of it. If he doesn’t wind up crying for mommy and daddy today, I’m not named Wei.”....

Wei Wuxian "...It’s a good thing you didn’t do anything.”

“I was going to. If you hadn’t pushed me away, the other side of Jin Zixuan’s face would be hideous too.”

“Stop it. His face is uglier for being lopsided."

WWX is happy to have spared jc from getting into trouble but jc makes the whole thing about himself anyway (like everything else ever) and is upset JFM would rush over for WWX - in his mind. Even though JFM clearly had to rush over to meet with Jin Guangshan not to coddle WWX in any way.

"Jiang Fengmian had never rushed to another clan in less than a day because of him. Regardless of whether what happened was big or small, or good or bad." Never

WWX on the other hand tries to be observant of jc's feelings and reassure him & distract him from his moods :

When Wei Wuxian saw Jiang Cheng’s melancholy expression, he thought he was still upset with what Jin Zixuan said. “You should leave. You don’t need to keep me company any longer. If Lan Wangji comes again, he’ll catch you. If you have time, you should find Jin Zixuan and watch his pitiful kneeling.”

Later in the book after nearly dying in the Xuanwu cave WWX leaves his sick bed to run after jc and comfort him after his mother's rant, even though WWX had to listen to his parents (and himself) being slandered by YZY. jc doesn't spare any thoughts for how other people might be feeling or suffering. His entire perception of the world is centered around himself. To him even WWX's greatest fear doesn't generate empathy, only amusement or later on a form of torture.

From that point onward, they made trouble everywhere together, and if they encountered a dog, Jiang Cheng would always chase it away for him, then enjoy a peal of derisive, unbridled laughter at Wei Wuxian’s expense beneath whichever tree the boy had leapt atop.

he grew up on the streets, often having to fight for food with vicious dogs. After several bites and chases, he gradually became extremely scared of all dogs, no matter the size. Jiang Cheng laughed at him because of this quite a lot of times.

This brings me to the last point. jc's resentment of WWX's interest in Lan Zhan, or in a serious friendship outside of him. I see so many ppl say that bc WWX fought he was kicked out of the Cloud Recesses early... but was he?

Jiang Cheng was somewhat taken aback. “Lan Wangji? What was he doing here? He still has the nerve to come see you again?”

“Yeah, I think his bravery is laudable if he still has the nerve to come see me. His uncle probably told him to check on me and see if I was kneeling properly.”

Jiang Cheng’s instincts were sending him ominous signals. “So were you kneeling properly?”

“I was then,” Wei Wuxian replied. “But I waited for him to walk away a bit, then took a tree branch, lowered my head, and dug out a hole in the dirt near me. It’s the pile right by your foot—there are ant tunnels there. It took me so much effort to find them. Anyway, I waited for him to turn back and see my shoulders shaking. He had to have thought I was crying, so he came back and asked. You should have seen his face when he caught sight of the ant tunnels!

“…” Jiang Cheng said, “Why don’t you just get the hell out and go back to Yunmeng? I bet he never wants to see you again.”

Thus, that evening, Wei Wuxian packed up his things, got the hell out, and went back to Yunmeng with Jiang Fengmian.

Repeatedly throught his stay in the Cloud Recesses even while NHS was observing that LWJ's behavior around WWX was strange and unique, jc was telling WWX he is hated and bothersome. When WWX wanted to apologize to LWJ jc is completely dismissive of it :

“He hates me already? I was thinking of apologizing to him,” Wei Wuxian said.

“Oh, so you want to apologize now? It’s too late!” Jiang Cheng said derisively. “He’s exactly like his uncle. He thinks you’ve been wicked ever since you were an embryo, so it’s beneath his dignity to pay you any attention.”

Later on when WWX mentioned wanting to invite LWJ to Lotus Pier jc categorically says no.

“Jiang Cheng had on a stern expression, “Let’s make this clear. I don’t want him to come, anyhow. Don’t invite him.”

BONUS

jc also always doubts WWX. He suspects him immediately of wrongdoings. He doesn't believe that getting hit with the discipline ruler in Cloud Recesses actually hurt him until LXC confirms that WWX might take more than a few days to heal. He doesn't understand WWX is in actual trouble from the Waterborne abyss and assumes he's fooling around luckily Lan Zhan is there to rescue him:

The disciple’s lower body had already been swallowed by the black whirlpool. It spun faster and faster, and he continued to sink deeper and deeper, as though something hidden beneath the water was pulling down on his legs.

Mounted on Sandu, Jiang Cheng had risen calmly until he was about sixty meters above the whirlpool before he looked down. Filled with displeasure at what he saw, he shouted and dove down. “What are you up to now?!”

The suction force inside Lake Biling grew ever stronger. Wei Wuxian’s sword was optimized for agility, and consequently, its strength happened to fall just short, and they were nearly pulled to the surface of the lake. Wei Wuxian steadied himself and held on to Su She with both hands.

“Someone help! If I can’t pull him up soon, I’ll have to let go!” he shouted.

Suddenly, the back of Wei Wuxian’s collar tightened, and his body was lifted into the air. He twisted his neck and saw Lan Wangji holding him up with one hand.

He maintains this same mindset when he tries to whip LWJ and WWX as they're attempting to leave Lotus Pier after the ancestral hall confrontation when WWX passes out.

Is jc evil in the Cloud Recesses ? No. He's just an annoying, basic, disagreeable asshole who doesn't bring anything positive to someone like WWX. People like jc become obsessed with kind, outgoing, generous people, people who don't set boundaries on what they give and what others take in their friendships. Even though they're dependent on them for their social interactions, because who else would socialize with them willingly, they resent them in equal measure, but at the same time they wouldn't be drawn to another selfish, self centered piece of shit person like themselves.

On a personal note, even Cloud Recesses jiang cheng is someone I would exclude from any personal friend group. Friendship with him is adding a minefield of jealousies and snide comments to every interaction. Things that then others will need to compensate around because he won't compromise or empathize w issues outside of his own concerns.

Translation source : x

#This is long af because I wanted to have one post where I included everything #I’ve bitched about jc’s behavior in the cloud recesses for a long time so it was time to put down the quotes #mdzs #Cloud Recesses #Lan Wangji #Wei Wuxian #Nie Huaisang #jiang cheng

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keilemlucent · 4 years

Note

So I saw that your requests were open and was wondering if you could do some aftercare with Hawks? Like after a really intense scene and the reader is out of it for awhile so Hawks just patiently helps them come back into reality?

ugh anon, you got me on this one. i truly love a good aftercare fic, and i really love reading fics with bdsm elements!! i combined a bit into here <3 there may be some inaccuracies, but nonetheless, enjoy this little number!!

word count: ~2.4k

warnings: bdsm scene, a bit of degradation, praise kink, aftercare, fluff, fluff, avian keigo (think ‘best nest’-verse)

scene & stop:

||||||||||||||||||||

Keigo had set a brutal pace long ago, as he usually did. Twisting, pulling and pushing you faster than you could fathom or keep track of. You’d stopped trying to make sense of it all when Keigo had hauled you up by your feather-bound wrist, arching your back into a painful curve and stuffing you full of his cock to the point where it was almost difficult to breathe.

You loved every moment of it.

“Oh baby,” Each rhythmic slap of skin seared across your gooey mind. Keigo’s voice, sweet despite the force of his actions, washed over. “Look at you, always such a good cock sleeve for me when I ask, huh?”

You could only make yourself whine, any answer feeble and small in the back of your throat. Most of your conscious effort was going into bracing your thighs, keeping yourself upright and poised against Keigo’s grip and the feather nearly vibrating on your sore clit.

His wings beat the air with each thrust, filth slipping from his lips, long-since saturating your psyche. It was nasty, undeniably, all of the words dripping over you in time with Keigo’s harsh breath and bites over your shoulders.

“Come on, dove, use those pretty lips to tell me how good my cock feels,” Keigo growled against the shell of your ear. “I know they’re more useful when my cock is down your throat, but I guess I’ll settle.”

You swallowed, shuddering a particularly harsh thrust that hit your deepest insides, “I-It feels really good, sir, v-very good.”

“Oh, ‘sir’? How polite.” A laugh colored his tone, mocking and high. You whimpered, lost in the speed of sensations, almost drowning in it if not for Keigo’s constant touch and words. “You really are just a fucked-out, fuck toy, huh?”

His hand wrapped around your throat, squeezing the sides of your neck with just enough pressure to make you go nicely hazier. You were quickly shoved into the bed, back still arched, hands still bound, but this time with your face smushed against the sheets, whimpers and mewls muffled by the silks and satin. All the aches and pretty cruelties went right to your cunt, spent and dripping.

Keigo’s pace turned harsher, faster even still. You drank all of it in, feeling your whines break into cries and sobs as the sheets below you soaked with tears and spittle.

“Awwww, is my needy birdie crying?” Keigo sneered above you, a sharp slap coming down on the flesh of your ass. It stung, burned through you like a divine iron. “That’s cute. Too bad.”

He had warned you he was in a particularly nasty mood-- not that you minded too much. The pain and aches mixed with the hot pleasure over your body, stripping you down to just raw nerves.

You both loved it.

Keigo had to be getting close, the feather circling and lapping at your clit getting more erratic and shaky with the pace of Keigo’s hips. You vaguely recognized it through the fog, a new stream of tears dripping down your cheeks. The bruising of Keigo’s cockhead against your cervix was almost too much, but you held out.

It all ended abruptly.

Keigo dragged your weeping face from the duvet, almost contorting your body with the amount of pressure and strength he was exerting. With a few pointed thrusts, you shuddered and screamed through your last orgasm, a slow rolling thing after so many other ecstasies preceded it. Keigo came moments later, the shuddering of your gooey cunt around his girth undoubtedly pushing him over the edge.

While he’d been keeping your cumming and cumming and cumming for what had to have been hours, he’d been edging himself, saving his load for when you were completely rung out.

Oh, and you were.

You felt his absence more than you felt him inside you. As he pulled out of you, cooling cum dripped along your inner thighs.

And moments later, you were boneless.

You slipped down against the sheets, feathers and hands removed. You were spinning, high, light and floating. It felt a bit too high, consider you couldn’t feel or hear Keigo.

A new wave of sputtering cries got muffled into the sheets.

“Hey, hey, dove, I’m right here,” Keigo’s voice was so soft compared to the grating cruelty from just moments before. Arm loop around your waist, his face buried into the crook of your neck from behind. “I’ve got you, let me hold you.”

You slowly turned, just enough to bury your face in his chest, and nestle into him the best you could. Keigo linked your sticky legs together, pressing a few kisses to your hairline.

“Gimme some taps, dove,” Keigo urged, nosing into your hair and pulling a thin sheet over the two of you.

Your fingers twitched against his clammy back.

One tap. Two tap. Three tap. Four taps.

Keigo hummed, “Got you, dove. Thank you for showing me. I’m so proud of you.”

The praise crashed over your melted mind like weighted, lavender-smelling blanket, something grounding and soft to safely hold onto.

Keigo tended to get particularly tender during aftercare, no matter the scene. It soothed both of your mental aches.

“You did so good, dove,” He purred against your ear, all warm and solid like you needed. You squeezed him, a silent ‘thank you, you too’.

Keigo blanketed you in sweet everythings, little kisses and the most gentle touches he could muster. You kept your face tucked into his chest, the aftershocks of it all making you shiver against him. It felt safest to keep your face hidden from view.

Though, with each passing moment, you felt yourself floating less and less.

Keigo, surprisingly, was patient, particularly in moments like these, with you, that required the mutual bearing-of-souls.

You slowly peered him up him, hardly pulling away much. Despite how clammy and sticky you felt, being near Keigo meant you were safe and okay.

“There’s my dove,” Keigo beamed down at you, giving you the sweetest, warmest type of smile. He peppered kisses across your face, kissing away the few stray tears that remained. “You’re beautiful, you know that? Especially when you’re all marked-up and sweet for me.”

You rolled your eyes, not ready for any sort of words yet, but you have just enough spunk to nose at his jaw, nipping near his stubble. He’s quick to rub his hands up and down your sides, trading your little teasing for a whole heap of kisses and squeezes.

“I love you, dove, god, you did so well,” Keigo crooned, nearly crushing you against him. “Can I help you out a bit, clean you up a little? We can take a bath after, use one of those bath bombs we got?”

You nodded, tucking into his neck again to speak, voice hoarse and dry, “Please.”

He squeezed you, giving a happy nod.

Keigo’s feathers fluttered off, a tap running in the nearby bathroom. There was a water bottle, chilled, pressed into your hand, already opened.

You tipped it back, drinking down whatever your dehydrated body would take. Keigo’s hand stayed over your own, keeping the bottle to your lips and then pulling it away, “Little sips, love. Don’t want to hurt your tummy.”

True, your guts were more than rearranged, your insides definitely feeling a bit out of wack. You were sure they’d settle, especially after some more water, time, and a nice bath. Keigo would always treat you to your favorite delivery takeout when you were done with scenes. The thought set you smiling, nuzzling into the side of his neck to show what you felt, even if you couldn’t say it quite yet.

The water was taken away, placed on a bedside table. Keigo kissed the tip of your nose, “Just give me some taps if you want more.”

You nodded, leaning back into the comfort of his embrace.

Keigo took a soft looking towel from a returning feather, repositioning you to lay as he wanted. It was a bit too exposed, but you kept a solid hold on his shoulders.

Gently, he wiped away the cum and slick that stickied your thighs. He cooed some praises as he idly talked through the scene as well, his own form of aftercare. You listened the best you could, humming and pressing harder against him to show you’d heard him.

He knew you well enough to know that that was your best way to show love in such a state.

After cleaning you, Keigo paused, tossing the dirty towel into a hamper, “Would you like to take that bath still?”

You nodded, sitting up, though Keigo was quick to assist your, wings fluttering and settling, tucked into his back. It was clear why he did as you winced, muscles across you body burning hot with new, bright aches.

“Aw, dove, I’ll carry you, ” Keigo cooed in the back of his throat. Quickly sliding and scooping you into his arms. “Don’t strain yourself.”

He pressed a kiss to your forehead, tucking you against his chest and carrying you to the bathroom.

Setting you down, you lingered around his neck. Lacking that grounding physical was always scary after a scene, especially one that was so long and intense.

Keigo, ever-observant, caught your hand to squeeze it, “Do you want a feather to hold onto while I set things up, love?”

You nodded, a feather quickly coming to rest on your bare lap. Your own nakedness, the awareness of it, surprised you.

You looked to Keigo with glassy eyes. He flashed you a sympathetic look, squeezing your shoulders, “Just gotta grab the bath stuff, then you’ll be getting all the cuddling in the world, angel.”

You trust him.

He was as fast as possible, darting into a bathroom drawer, dubbed the ‘aftercare drawer, for a few supplies. As promised, a few colorful, fragrant bath bombs, a bottle of luxury bubblebath (somehow, you had no idea, fused with Keigo’s calming avian pheromones), a bar of warm-smelling, skin-softening soap, along with a few different bottles of massage oil (and, of course, Keigo’s bottle of wing oil if he was in that particularly mushy mood).

Carefully, he brought an armful of supplies back, feathers carrying the rest to the thick rim of the massive soaker tub. It was opulent, pretty marble that might as well have been the size of hot tub. It was made specifically to accommodate Keigo’s wings, long before you were in the picture. Still, the two of you fit well in it, snug together in your precious moments.

You chose one of the bath bombs from the stack, one that you spit rainbows across the bathwater as you unceremoniously plunked it into the tub.

Keigo snorted from the bathtubs edge, checking the temperature with his hand, “Nice toss.”

“Thank you,” Your voice was quiet again, but not as meek. You squeezed Keigo’s feather in between your hands.

Keigo could, of course, do most of what he needed to with his feathers. But, with you, especially in these softer, slower moments, he wanted to do them on his own, with his own hands.

It was a sweet gesture, all for you.

Keigo dumped in a few healthy gulgs of a bubble bath, foam rising on the top of the water. You watched, mesmerized by the colors and textures.

So mesmerized, you hardly noticed Keigo leave the room and return, kneeling down in front of you and offering the water-bottle once more.

You stared at for a moment, slowly taking it from his hand, softly speaking once more, “Little sips.”

“Perfect, dove, perfect,” Keigo shined you the sweetest smile as you took a few little sips, the feather from your lap darting to turn off the bathtub’s faucet. His wings were settled against back, desperately need a bit of preening, but still happily twitching and vibrating with Keigo in his own relaxed state.

You set the bottle down, Keigo kneeling in front of you to scan you down, “I don’t see any places where I broke skin, but once we get in, tell me if anything stings, okay?’

You nodded complacently. Keigo, ever-dutiful, cupped your cheeks and gave you a quick smattering of kisses before helping you into the frothy bathwater.

The water was hot, maybe a little too hot, but you didn’t mind. The heat rolled against your aching muscles, soothing you.

Keigo slipped in the tub behind you, wings extended out and up to avoid the suds. It was the usual routine, Keigo immediately pulling you to his chest, toned thighs framing your own while his arms made their home around your mid section.

You leaned into him, all of you, mind, body and spirit. Cheek against the dew of his chest, you let your eyes go half-lidded, slowly but surely allowing the heat of Keigo’s touch and the comfort of the water around you bring you back to lucidity.

Sometime later, you weren’t sure how long, you finally spoke.

“Love you, Keigo, thank you,” Your voice was still scratchy, overused with tears. It was a bit endearing, apparently, based on the way Keigo chuckled and squeezed your waist.

“Anytime, dove,” Keigo hummed against your ear. He rocked you two slightly, little ripples hitting the sides of the tub. “Do you want a massage after this? I can imagine you’re a little bit sore, huh?”

“‘A little bit’?” You craned your neck to frown at him. “I dunno, Kei’, I think I can confidently say you’ve made good on your promise that I ‘won’t be walking straight for a month’?”

Of course, Keigo had his rougher moods that left you more than sexually wrecked, sore in new, deep places, but he had plenty of softer ones as well. He was adaptable and fickle, and you were happy to ride the waves of his preferences as he harmonized with your own. Sure, that meant that sometimes, you were wordless for an hour or so, needy and burning, but god, you fucking loved it.

Keigo squeezed you, burying his face into your neck, and whispering a few small words, “You okay?

You just had to reassure Keigo, as quietly insecure as he was.

“More than, it was really, really good,” You sighed against him, littering his stubbly jawline with kisses. “You just gotta carry me around a bit. A massage might be in order. I can preen your wings, if you’d like?”

The extended feathers shuddered in a wave as Keigo nodded, any of his own subtle shyness fading as he returned your affections.

You fell into each other, far differently from your recent hours of hot pleasure and pain, satisfied and safe in each others arms. Keigo cooed and hummed a simple melody as you let your pains begin to fade, lulled, safe, and sated.

#Anonymous #salem answers #salem writes #drabble #but its a lil longer #this turned into its own thing lol #hawks x reader #takami keigo x reader #hawks #takami keigo #mha smut

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genshin-impact-writings · 3 years

Note

Hii congrats on the 400 followers:D May I have a small espresso with white chocolate and chocolate sprinkles for Albedo? Thank you:>

Hey there! Thank you so much. <3 Here's your drink, dear: a small espresso with white chocolate syrup and chocolate sprinkles on top. I hope you enjoy! Also, your username is so relatable! :D (Reblogs are very much appreciated. <3)

Prompts: fluff, there’s only one bed, “Kiss me again” & “I’m so happy when I’m with you.” (400 followers event: JJ's coffee shop)

Moonlight Kissed – Albedo x gn!reader

You couldn’t remember the last time you had been as incredibly tired as you were right now. The trip to Liyue had been more exhausting than you had expected in the first place, with a few incidents that delayed your arrival and wore you out even more. You also hadn’t slept properly in days since you and Albedo – Chief Alchemist of the Knights of Favonius and your boss for quite a while now had spent an ungodly amount of time in the lab over the past few weeks before heading off to Liyue to continue your research there.

All you wanted right now was to wash the dust of the road off, then curl up in bed and sleep until you finally felt well-rested again.

But there was a problem you really couldn’t shrug off so easily.

You scratched the back of your head, watching Albedo from the corner of your eye as he examined the room that had been assigned from you at the inn. On first glance, it was a completely ordinary room – there was a dresser, a table with two chairs, a bed and two small bedside tables. A plant in the corner and a floor lamp next to it completed the furnishing. It wasn’t the most beautiful or luxurious hotel room you had ever seen but it was clean and pretty cozy, and the bed looked so incredibly comfy that you couldn’t wait to collapse into it.

The only problem was that there was only one bed. A double bed with enough space for both you and Albedo, yes, but only one nevertheless. You vaguely remembered that Albedo had mentioned something about having to share a room but you had always assumed that you would at least sleep in separate beds. And judging from the slightly confused look on his face, Albedo hadn’t expected a situation like this either.

“Well,” you said slowly, and Albedo hummed in response. “I guess we have to share. It’s not a problem for you, is it?”

That was so typical for him. As intelligent as he was, he just didn’t pick up on other peoples’ concerns and moods most of the time, and he probably didn’t even notice how awkward this whole situation was. But what were you supposed to do? Tell him that it definitely was a problem for you to sleep in the same bed as your boss and make a scene because you were afraid that you couldn’t control your feelings when he was so close to you?

Most certainly not.

So, you just shrugged and said, “No, of course not”, even though you already knew that you would definitely regret it later. Up to this day, you had managed to keep your crush on Albedo a secret but you weren’t sure if you could maintain your fake coolness when he was sleeping right next to you. But since you knew that you had no other choice, you simply had to bite the bullet and hope for the best.

Albedo cleared his throat, snapping you out of your thoughts. “Do you want to grab something to eat?” he asked. “It’s been a while since your last meal.”

“Um, no, thanks,” you replied. “I’m not hungry. I’m just really, really tired.”

As if to prove your words, you yawned, and a brief smile flashed over Albedo’s face. “You should get ready for bed, then. We don’t want you to drop with exhaustion.”

Half an hour later, you were curled up under soft blankets, the pillow under your head as comfy as a cloud, and your eyelids felt so heavy that you could barely keep them open. And still, you couldn’t sleep.

Your thoughts were racing, non-stop revolving about the fact that in a few minutes, Albedo would lie down next to you, maybe bidding you good night, completely unaware of the emotional turmoil he constantly brought upon you.

You sighed and closed your eyes, hoping that you would maybe fall asleep before Albedo went to bed but at the same time, you knew that it was pointless. You were too restless and too nervous to fall asleep, no matter how often you tried to reassure yourself that it wasn’t a big deal to share a bed with Albedo. He wasn’t psychic, he couldn’t read your mind and as long as you didn’t act like a flustered teenager around him he shouldn’t be able to tell that you had developed romantic feelings for him. Everything would be fine.

But your stupid heart still skipped a beat when you heard the creak of the bathroom door, then Albedo’s quiet footsteps approaching the bed. You felt the mattress dip a bit as he climbed into bed where he tried to get comfortable without disturbing you.

You tried to keep your breathing as quiet and steady as possible but every nerve in your body seemed to be stretched to the breaking point. Your heartbeat was hammering in your chest, so loudly that you were convinced Albedo could hear it. And suddenly, you realized that the whole situation was even worse that you had expected initially. You hadn’t been prepared for the urge to snuggle up to him or for the subtle scent of his cologne filling the air. There was no way you would get even an hour of sleep, not when Albedo was so close to you that you could bury your face in the crook of his neck if you shifted just a tiny bit closer to him. Not when all you could focus on was the sound of his calm breathing.

Then, you heard him whisper your name, and it took every bit of willpower in your body to keep your eyes shut. “(Y/N)? Are you still awake?”

You didn’t reply, mostly because it would have been awkward to say Yes after pretending to be asleep but also because your mouth felt way too dry to speak.

“I’m glad that you agreed to accompany me on this trip,” he continued, his voice still barely louder than a whisper. “I never really told you but, and I doubt that I ever will, but I’m so happy when I’m with you. Thank you for being by my side, (Y/N).”

Your heart had started to beat even faster with every word he said, and at this point it felt like you had just finished a marathon from Mondstadt to Liyue. Although you knew that you probably shouldn’t read too much into his statements, you couldn’t help but ask yourself if it was actually possible that he shared your feelings and that you were more than an assistant to him.

And you knew that there was only one way to find out.

Slowly, you opened your eyes, looking at him in the soft light of the bedside lamp. His beautiful eyes widened in surprise, a faint blush blooming on his cheeks as he stared back at you. “I- I thought you were already sleeping.”

“No,” you whispered. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“So, you heard what I just said?”

“Every word,” you admitted. You couldn’t really say where the sudden burst of courage came from – maybe it was a side effect of your tiredness – but after a few seconds of silence, you quietly added, “I feel the same way about you, Albedo.”

He gulped. “… really?”

“Yes,” you said softly, allowing yourself to reach out and brush a strand of hair from his forehead. He smiled. “I wish you would have told me that sooner.”

You grimaced at him. “You didn’t say something either.”

He chuckled quietly. “A mistake, I admit it.”

“I forgive you,” you said with a grin. Now that you knew that he deeply cared about you too, you suddenly felt all giddy with joy, and then, before you could hold yourself back, you shifted closer to him and gently pressed your lips to his.

Albedo’s hand moved up to cup your cheek as he returned the kiss. His lips were soft and fitted perfectly against yours, almost as if the two of you were made for each other.

When you pulled away, Albedo let out a shaky breath. His pupils were blown wide as he stared back at you with an intensity that caused a shiver running down your spine. “Kiss me again,” he demanded.

You laughed but obediently leaned in to brush your lips against his once again.

Taglist: @blissmal; @aimicoos

#albedo x reader #albedo genshin x reader #albedo genshin imagine #genshin impact x reader #albedo x gn!reader #genshin impact fluff #genshin fluff #genshin x reader #genshin impact imagines #gn!reader #gender neutral reader #reader insert #fluff

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wheresmynaya · 3 years

Text

Hate to Date Ch.7 | Brittana

A/N - And just like that, Lockdown 6.0 is upon us LOL. Good news, more time to write. Bad news, boredom looms. Anyway, thank you to those who have left lovely reviews and/or have gifted me with a coffee through ko-fi. I hope you all know that those emails are some of the first I read when I wake up in the morning - instant happiness! 🥰

Available on ff.net (x) ao3 (x) & under the cut!

Being ambushed by parents ends up turning into a trend for Santana when the following weekend Maribel decides to make a spontaneous trip to New York. Apparently there’s some banquet dinner Eddie is attending which Maribel’s accompanying him to.

The invite was extended to Santana as well, but those dinners are always super boring so she blew it off with an excuse about spending time with Brittany instead since their schedules have been so busy.

What she didn’t expect is for Maribel to make an unexpected pit stop at hers and Puck’s place beforehand, hoping to at least say hi to the happy couple.

Problem is – half of said couple isn’t here.

“Mami, we’re just really busy with this assignment,” Santana tries – hoping that it would be enough to deter her mom for awhile considering Brittany isn’t around. “It’s really getting down to the wire, can’t we see you tomorrow?”

“Ay Santana, I’m already on the way,” Maribel replies in a huff. “It’s only a quick visit and we’ll be on our way.”

“Can’t you just like…skip it and continue on your way?”

“I haven’t seen you since New Year’s and I came all this way to see you – “

“You’re not even here for me, you’re here for Eddie.”

Suddenly there’s a pause and Santana wonders if that little comment just got her into some hot water.

“Why don’t you want to see your mother?” Maribel asks instead. “Are you hiding something from me? You and Puck aren’t up to something again, are you? Roping in Brittany?”

Santana’s eyes go big and it feels like she’s just swallowed a handful of sand. Her heart rate’s picking up and she’s struggling to come up with an answer. She feels like she’s got a hot spotlight on her; thank God her mom can’t actually see her right now!

“We’re not,” Santana finally says. “Like I said, Brittany and I are just a little busy with this assignment…but I guess we can take a break for you.”

“That’s my girl,” Maribel praises. “We’ll be around in about twenty minutes.”

Santana gulps, “Great. See you then.”

Once she hangs up, she grabs the nearest pillow and yells into it. The muffled screams have Puck running out of his room so fast that he clips the doorframe with his shoulder. A loud thud echoes throughout Santana’s room as Puck stumbles and looks around frantically.

“What? What’s wrong?” He asks.

“We’ve got a Code Red,” Santana tells him.

His eyes drift down to her lap then back up as he starts to grimace, “Oh. Do you like…need things?”

Santana scrunches her brow but then she realizes what he’s talking about.

“No, not that Code Red,” She explains. “Mom’s on her way. I need to get Brittany over here ASAP!”

“Oh shit!” Puck curses and takes off to the living to start tidying.

The last time Maribel came around for a surprise visit, she basically tore Puck a new one. Long story short, his version of clean isn’t the same as Maribel’s and they spent an entire afternoon together going through the various cleaning products that should be used around the house and what they should be used for.

Meanwhile, Santana rushes to make the call. She just hopes that Brittany won’t give her a hard time for this, hopefully she answers the damn phone!

“Hi?” Brittany answers questioningly.

“Hey,” Santana replies.

“Did you butt dial me or something?”

“What? No.”

“You just – you never call me.”

“Yeah well…I don’t have much time to explain, but I need you to come over like right now.”

“Uhh, I’m kind of in the middle of something.“

“Brittany, please,” Santana begs. “My mom’s on her way over and she’s fully expecting you to be here too.”

“Oh! Okay, yeah. Why didn’t you lead with that?”

“Because I’m freaking out, that’s why!”

“Okay, well don’t freak out. It’ll be fine. How much time do I have?”

“Not much.”

“Great. Thanks for the warning.”

Santana rolls her eyes, “Look, it took me by surprise too.”

“Alright well, find your cool. We can’t have her suspecting anything’s up.”

Santana nods, already feeling a little calmer. “Just hurry, okay?”

“I’m on my way now. Don’t worry.”

When Maribel comes knocking on Santana’s door, the brunette loses all cool once again because Brittany’s still nowhere in sight. Santana’s looking at Puck, but he has no idea what to do either. Maybe they can stall until she gets here, but how? Maribel would totally think something’s up if they refuse to let her inside!

“Just let her in?” Puck whispers, “We can say Britt went to pick up our take-out?”

“And further confirm that I don’t fucking cook here? No way.”

“Well, what else can we do?”

“I don’t kn –“

“Santana?” Maribel calls out from the hall after another knock. “Hello?”

Puck’s eyes go wide, “She can hear us.”

“No shit, she knows I’m home.”

“Okay, okay. I’m thinking, fuck! Why am I so stressed out?”

Santana and Puck go back and forth trying to come up with some way to stall, but it’s impossible under the pressure.

“I think we have to let her in,” Santana tells Puck in a grave tone.

Puck looks at her uneasily, “I think so too.”

After checking her phone once more for an update from Brittany – there isn’t one – Santana goes to let Maribel and Eddie in. They’re both dressed to the nines, must be a fancy banquet dinner.

“Hi!” Santana greets, attempting to mask her uneasiness.

She’s quickly embraced in a motherly hug while Puck compliments his coach on his sick suit.

“How are you, mija?” Maribel asks as she cups Santana’s cheek. “You’re looking a little pale.”

“Am I?” Santana feels the nerves rattling within her. Where the hell is Brittany?!

“Yes,” Maribel looks her over. “You’re not getting sick are you?”

Santana swallows dryly, “Just tired.”

“Because exams are coming up,” Puck clarifies.

“That’s right,” Santana nods. “Lots of studying to do if I want to ace them.”

Maribel nods, seemingly pleased by Santana’s work ethic.

“Yeah, plus her and Britt have also been super busy with this assignment they’re doing together,” Puck adds. “It’s a lot.”

“Ah yes,” Maribel looks around. “Where is Brittany?”

Santana clenches her jaw and looks to Puck. There’s a guilty smile on his face as he secretly mouths out a sorry. Still though, she has to think on her feet.

“She’s in the bathroom,” Santana replies. It’s not her best work, but it was the first thing she thought of. Maybe they can work with it?

“Yeah, I think she had a bad salad for lunch,” Puck tries again.

Santana glares at him and mouths a shut up that goes unnoticed by Maribel and Eddie.

“Oh, that’s unfortunate,” Maribel frowns.

“Those salads are always a hit or miss,” Eddie confirms. “I try to stay away from them.”

“Don’t listen to Puck. It’s nothing like that,” Santana assures them. “Anyway, exam prep; super intense, long nights, tedious studying. I’m so ready for it to be over.”

Maribel looks apologetically at her, “Don’t work too hard.”

“That’s not what you taught me,” Santana quips.

“I know,” Maribel smiles. “I hope you’re at least wearing your glasses when you’re meant to. You know what all that reading can do to your eyes.”

“I am…”

“And rest, you still need it,” Maribel insists. “A tired mind won’t retain a thing.”

“That’s exactly what I’ve been trying to tell her.”

The four swivel around to find Brittany coming out of Santana’s bedroom. Her cheeks are a little pink – probably from the run over – but she’s her usual cool and collected self as she saunters over.

Santana’s never felt so relieved to see the girl! Question is though, how the hell did she pull off such an entrance?

“Brittany! Hi,” Maribel greets happily. “Are you feeling okay?”

There’s a glimpse of confusion as Brittany looks to Santana for an explanation.

“Mami, I told you she’s not sick. She was only in the bedroom to finish up a call with her mom,” Santana lies.

“Yeah. That was my bad, Mama Lopez,” Puck speaks up.

“Right,” Brittany quickly catches on. “Just my daily phone call with mom. Sorry about that, we can get carried away.”

“Oh don’t be,” Maribel smiles then glances to Santana. “Where’s my daily phone call?”

Santana fights the eye roll, “I’m clearly not as great as Brittany.”

“Now that’s a first,” Brittany smirks as she curls her arm around Santana. “I think you’re plenty great though.”

Santana finds herself blushing, “Thanks.”

There’s another pleased smile on Maribel’s face as she admires the couple. It’s a look Santana has rarely seen when it comes to her past partners and it makes her chest fill with pride. Even months later, her and Brittany still got it!

“Well, as promised this is only a quick visit,” Maribel tells them. “We really need to get going now, but while I’ve got you here: when are you coming home for a visit?”

Santana and Brittany exchange a look. They weren’t looking to make a visit for another few weeks, at least until after Spring Break. Free time is hard to come by now that they’re getting closer to the end of the semester.

“You know Abuela would like to see you both again,” Maribel adds.

Santana’s brows rise, “Would she now?”

“I think she’s warming up to things,” Maribel says vaguely but Santana gets it. “Wouldn’t hurt to come see her though. You know seeing pictures of you two together on Facebook has become a highlight for her.”

“Told you we’re cute,” Brittany jokes as she hugs Santana to her side.

“I should’ve known, she likes every single one them,” Santana quips.

“She wants to spend time with you,” Maribel explains and looks to Brittany. “She wants to spend time with the both of you.”

Santana quirks a brow at that, “Really? Has something changed?”

Maribel only shrugs. “You’ll have to ask her for yourself.”

Santana and Brittany glance at each other, both suddenly curious about Abuela’s change of heart.

“How about you come down for Spring Break?” Maribel suggests.

“Uhhh,” Santana stammers as she looks to Brittany, “We’re going to have to talk about it first. Brittany might have to – “

“Spring Break is fine with me,” Brittany shrugs.

“I thought you were planning on going home?” Santana lies – trying to get Brittany to catch on. “Spend time with your family?”

The blonde only shakes her head, “Nope. I’d rather stay here with you.”

Santana feels herself deflate; usually Spring Break is her time to finally let loose but she guesses there’s not much else she could get up to since she’s fake dating Brittany. She might as well just use the time to reinforce that she’s capable of being in a long term relationship.

By then, her and Brittany would be together for four months – that’s the longest relationship yet! Surely, that’ll have to mean something to her family.

“Well sure,” Santana sighs in defeat. “I can’t imagine spending my Spring break any other way than by returning to Lima.”

Maribel gives her a gleaming grin, “Perfect.”

Once Maribel and Eddie head off to their banquet, Santana and Brittany collapse together on the couch. Puck hands them both a beer before cracking one open for himself and taking a seat opposite them.

“Way to sell it,” Puck raises his bottle. “Great work! It was cool to see you two in action like that. I can see why everyone eats this shit up. You’re pretty believable.”

“Glad you enjoyed the show,” Santana quips.

“Looks like I came right on time too,” Brittany says.

“Yeah about that,” Santana looks to Brittany. “How the hell did you get into my room?”

“The window?” Brittany shrugs. “I’m surprised it wasn’t locked.

Santana’s eyes go wide, “You climbed through the window?”

“Well yeah, how else would I have gotten in? Through the vent?” Brittany jokes.

“Good thing we’re on the first floor,” Puck chuckles.

Brittany nods and clinks her bottle with his. Meanwhile Santana just stares at the blonde with her jaw slack. Not only did she run over here, she went through the effort of climbing through the window too!

The girl is crazy.

Santana doubts she would’ve gone to the same extent. No way she’d try getting her ass through a window, that’s just too much. But still, she supposes some thanking is in order.

“Well, I appreciate you going through all that,” Santana says bashfully. “I didn’t expect my mom to just pop up like that so…thanks for coming here so quickly.”

There’s a half-smirk on Brittany’s face and Santana anticipates her poking fun at how Santana’s actually thanking her for something, but it doesn’t come. Brittany just continues smiling as she clinks her bottle with Santana’s.

“That’s what fake girlfriends are for,” She tells her.

Over the following days, Santana and Brittany often run into each other at the library. It’s not Santana’s preferred place to study but it’s hard for her to concentrate sometimes with Puck around.

Although Santana and Brittany are in the same place, they often sit separately.

Brittany keeps to her lone table in the study area while Santana sits somewhere in the upper level because she likes the view of the exit. It’s kind of like seeing the light at the end of the tunnel, that tunnel being the designated hour she makes herself study.

However, on one particular day all of the tables in the upper level are occupied. Santana finds herself scowling at the randoms before making her way down to the level beneath – where the study area is kept.

Like always, Brittany’s sitting alone near the back and Santana finds herself walking over to her without a second thought. She wasn’t planning on sharing the table with her, just maybe say hi and leave her be, but as Santana approaches the table she finds something unexpected there:

Spanish for Dummies

Intrigued, Santana’s eyes roam the table and find all sorts of similar books on the Spanish language mixed in with Brittany’s actual coursework. Then Santana takes a peek at Brittany’s laptop, trying to figure out what has her so consumed that she’s yet to notice her standing there.

There’s a little green owl going over conjugations – Spanish conjugations – and Santana watches as Brittany jots down notes as she mouths whatever words she hears through her headphones. Santana’s completely dumbfounded and pulls up a chair, the motion finally causes Brittany to jolt and turn.

Blue eyes spark with surprise before the headphones quickly come off. The girl looks like she’s just been caught with her hand in the cookie jar, but Santana can’t help the fascination.

“Santana!” Brittany gasps. “Wh-what are you doing here?”

“It’s the library,” She answers simply. “I’m here to study.”

“Oh, duh. Of cour – “

“Are you teaching yourself Spanish?” Santana interrupts.

Brittany looks from her screen to the books on the table to Santana. She seems a little timid as she minimizes the program on her laptop. Santana wonders if she’s going to attempt to lie, but there’s too much evidence against her. There’s no way she could convince Santana that she’s doing otherwise.

“Yeah,” Brittany admits with a nervous laugh. “I am.”

Santana quirks her brow, “What are you doing that for? Surely not for fun?”

Brittany shrugs, “The shows on Univision are great but I’m tired of reading subtitles.”

“Really?” Santana doesn’t seem convinced. “That’s like…a lot of work. Besides, I thought nerds like to read?”

Brittany gives her an unimpressed look, “Well…I also figured that if I knew a little Spanish then it’ll give Abuela and I something to bond over. I remember your aunts mentioning this one show she likes so I’ve kind of been binging it.”

“You’ve been binging telenovelas?” Santana asks in disbelief.

“Well yeah, the drama is addicting.”

“Oh wow,” Santana sits back. “So you’re serious about this?”

“Aren’t you?” Brittany replies.

“Yeah, but this is a new level.”

“Don’t you want to be as convincing as you can be?”

“There’s convincing and then there’s this,” Santana jokes. “Your over-achiever tendencies are showing again.”

“You jealous?” Brittany fires back. “I know how much you love it when your mom compares us.”

“I’m not jealous,” Santana turns up her nose.

Brittany smirks, “Just checking. Afterall, this whole thing was your idea.”

“Technically it was Puck’s.”

“Whatever,” Brittany says. “I’m going to do all that I can to make this work because I’m committed. You continue doing…whatever it is that you do.”

Santana tenses her jaw at the jab. It reminds her of the game they played before– the constant one-upping of each other – and she wonders if they’re still playing it.

She thinks about how she accidentally introduced herself to Brittany’s parents as her girlfriend. She remembers how Brittany now has to keep up this façade with them too thanks to the slip-up. She thinks about who this Artie guy is and why Brittany’s parents were wondering where he went.

But most importantly, she thinks about how underwhelming she is as a girlfriend.

She’s nothing like Brittany; she isn’t kind and sweet and she isn’t someone people take home to meet their parents. Santana’s the girl that helps you get over your ex, she’s the one college girls experiment with, she’s down for one night stands, down for no-strings-attached kind of hook ups – she’s not actual girlfriend material.

And oddly enough, she kind of feels bad that Brittany’s stuck with her for the time being. This fake relationship thing wasn’t meant to go beyond convincing Maribel, but that’s exactly what’s happened now thanks to her big mouth.

“You really don’t have to do this, you know,” Santana says after the guilt starts setting in.

“I want to,” Brittany tells her.

Santana sighs; yet another reason why they’re so different.

“Learning a language just to get Abuela to like you?” Santana explains. “Don’t you think that’s kind of going overboard?”

“Not really. It’s kind of fun.”

“Fun?”

“Well yeah, I’ve always wanted to learn another language,” Brittany replies. “Why not start now? Plus I meant what I said about the subtitles thing. It would be so much easier not having to read.”

Santana chuckles as she shakes her head, “How do you find the time? I’m swamped with studying and assignments and cheer practice. Here you are learning another language for fun.”

“I kind of have a photographic memory.”

Santana rolls her eyes, “Of course you do.”

“I’m joking,” Brittany smirks. “I have a bunch of techniques that help cut down on the amount of time you’re actually studying so you don’t spend all your time doing it. I could…teach you some if you want?”

Santana lifts her chin, “I don’t need a tutor.”

“I didn’t say you did,” Brittany laughs. “Why are you always so quick to be on the defense?”

Santana crosses her arms and looks away, “I’m not.”

“Uh-huh,” Brittany grins. “I’ve got a study session with Puck on Thursday. I think it’s actually going to be at your place. We can not share study tips then if you want?”

Santana lets the offer roll around in her head but she doesn’t want to seem too eager.

“I might be around, depends if practice lets out on time.”

“Okay,” Brittany nods then looks at her laptop screen before glancing back at Santana who has yet to move. “So are you sitting with me now or…?”

“Oh!” Santana jolts to stand up. She gathers her bag from the ground and looks around for an empty table, but they’re all occupied.

“I’m not kicking you out, you know,” Brittany tells her without looking away from the screen. “You can stay if you’d like.”

Santana looks around indecisively. She’d rather study alone, but that doesn’t seem to be an option at the moment. She can’t go home either with Puck around, so she guesses staying with Brittany is the next best thing.

“Okay,” Santana replies. “I’ll stay.”

“I’ll clear some space for you,” Brittany says.

Santana moves to the opposite end of the table while Brittany gathers her things in order for Santana to have more room on the table for hers. They sit silently like that working on their respective things for awhile, getting lost in their work.

Brittany ends up leaving the table for a moment and Santana barely notices until she’s placing a coffee in front of her.

“Oh thanks,” Santana smiles at the unexpected gesture.

Brittany doesn’t say anything, just returns the smile as she sits back down.

Another moment later when Santana gets peckish, she pulls out a bag of trail mix. She barely gives it a second thought when she places it between them so that Brittany can have some too if she wants.

When Thursday comes around, Santana ends up leaving cheer practice on time for once. She’s quick to get out of there so that she can wash up and change out of her uniform before Brittany arrives, but she finds that the blonde is already there by the time she gets home.

“What up, Lopez!” Puck calls out to her as he sits with Brittany at their tiny dining table.

Brittany looks up too, her eyes moving from their work to Santana who lingers by the front door. There’s a small smile that begins to curl her lips and Santana finds herself returning it with her own little grin.

“Hi,” She greets as she kicks of her tennis shoes. It was meant for Puck but it seems that it’s directed at Brittany.

“Hey,” Brittany replies.

“How was practice?” Puck asks, just now lifting his head from the work before him.

“Got bumped up to flyer,” Santana says casually although it’s pretty exciting news. She comes around to the kitchen for a drink, “Erica apparently has brittle bones from what Coach says.”

“No way!” Puck cheers, “That’s so awesome!”

“What’s a flyer?” Brittany asks, looking between the two.

“The girls that do stunts in the air,” Santana answers.

“Oh,” Brittany’s brows rise. “That’s…isn’t that kind of dangerous?”

“You worried about me?” Santana teases as she comes around to sit on the stool next to them. She crosses her legs, her cheer skirt hugging her thighs tightly. “Didn’t you say cheer was boring?”

Puck grins as he looks to Brittany for a rebuttal, but the blonde looks stumped.

Actually, the blonde looks distracted.

When Santana realizes that she’s staring at her legs, it’s like a personal victory for her. It was only a matter of time before the skirt wins!

Puck notices the distraction too and glances between his friends, a knowing smirk starting to form.

“Anyway,” Santana says as she finishes off her glass of water.

The sound of her voice breaks Brittany from her trance, but blue eyes are dark with something Santana’s familiar with but has yet to see on her. It makes her smirk; she’s missed having that kind of power over someone. It’s the sexual magnetism, it never fails her.

“Might hit the shower now,” Santana adds before looking to Brittany. “You going to be here much longer?”

Brittany nods, “Yeah. I only got here a little before you did.”

“Okay,” Santana can’t help the flirtatious tone now that she knows she’s got Brittany wrapped around her finger. The teasing is the most fun she’s had in awhile! “Maybe you can show me some things once you’re done with him?”

Brittany gulps, “Yeah sure.”

Puck notices what Santana’s doing and interrupts, “Uh…what’s happening right now?”

“Can it, Puckerman,” Santana waves off although her smile remains devilish. “What’s the point of having a fake girlfriend if I can’t fake flirt with them too?”

Brittany’s face goes a little red as she finally snaps back to reality.

“You call that flirting?” Brittany jokes.

“Fake flirting.”

Brittany shakes her head as she smirks, “I still don’t understand how you pick up any girls.”

“Judging by the look that’s been on your face since I walked in, I think you do.”

Puck looks back and forth between the two again like he’s watching an intense tennis match.

“How about I order a pizza for later?” He suggests in attempt to break up the bickering before it escalates.

“Sounds good,” Santana says without taking her eyes off Brittany.

“Yeah,” Brittany nods. “Sounds awesome.”

“Cool,” Puck replies and looks to Santana. “Go shower now. You’re distracting everyone.”

“She’s not distracting me,” Brittany said pointedly.

Santana quirks her brow and smirks, “Keep telling yourself that, Britt-Britt.”

She lets her hips sway in that well-practiced way as she leaves the room. She doesn’t have to look to know that Brittany’s yet to stop staring and she struggles to hold back the laughter as she gets ready for a shower.

Despite the teasing game she played earlier, Santana sits in Puck’s place at the tiny dining table across from Brittany with a scowl on her face. This studying thing? She’s had enough of it.

“This is pointless. Education is pointless. I’m gonna become a stripper instead,” Santana huffs.

“You'd probably make so much money!” Puck jokes from his place on the couch.

“Probably? Please,” Santana lifts her chin. “I'd make it rain every night!”

Puck laughs and throws his arm over the back of the couch to look at the pair.

“What do you think, Britt?” Puck presses with a smirk. “Think Santana would make it rain?”

Santana smirks too and looks to Brittany for answer.

“I think…I'm kind of hungry,” Brittany says. “How far away is the pizza?”

Santana’s smirk falls at the way Brittany deflects the question. Since Santana’s return, Brittany’s been a little quieter. Santana figured she’s just stuck in study mode and that she’d loosen up eventually, but she’s still waiting.

“I should probably head over now actually,” Puck realizes after checking his phone.

“Take me with you,” Santana jokes. “I think my brain is turning to mush.”

Brittany sighs, “Don’t be so dramatic.”

“You know that’s a struggle for me.”

“True,” Brittany jokes. “Hey, if we finish this chapter tonight I’ll let you use my pretty pens to take notes?”

"Tempting, but I don't need your pretty pens,” Santana says flatly. She rests back in her chair and stares at the ceiling. “What I need is alcohol and several orgasms. I clearly didn't think this fake dating thing through. I've never been so sexually deprived.”

Puck goes to grab his keys, “And on that note – I’ll be back in a few.”

Meanwhile, Brittany just snickers to herself but she isn’t laughing with Santana and it has the brunette frowning.

“What?” Santana questions as Puck leaves.

Brittany shakes her head, “It must be so hard for you to keep it in your pants for once.”

“You have no idea. Who knew that the last time would be the last time. I sure didn’t!”

Brittany shakes her head again and goes back to her work. It makes Santana feel a little on edge and straightens up in her chair.

“I'm obviously joking,” Santana adds and it makes Brittany look up. “What's it to you if I wasn't though?”

“What are you talking about?” Brittany asks.

“Your interest in my sex life.”

Brittany scoffs and looks back to her work, “I'd hardly call it an interest.”

Santana folds her arms across her chest, “So you're secretly some kind of prude?”

“It's not that.”

“Then what is it?”

Brittany sighs and looks up at her again, “Why are we even talking about this?”

Santana notices the change in her tone and perks up. She abandons her work all together in favor of leaning in.

“Because it's way more interesting?” Santana presses. “I know you're trying to deflect, you might as well just answer. If not, I'll assume the reason it gets your panties all in a twist is because you're secretly jealous.”

“I'm definitely not jealous.”

“So it’s the other option,” Santana says. “You’re a prude.”

“No!” Brittany huffs. She softens when she realizes she raised her voice. There’s a timidness to her when she explains, “I just, I guess I believe in developing the feelings part first before the physical happens.”

Santana softens too but for a different reason. It’s more so confusion than anything else.

"Why?” She asks.

“Because with feelings it's better,” Brittany says simply.

“Are you kidding?” Santana quips. “It’s better when it doesn’t involve feelings. I think it’s better when it doesn’t involve eye contact.”

“Wow. Seriously?” Brittany looks at her sympathetically. “That’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard. God, who hurt you?”

Santana didn’t expect her comment to strike a nerve. The memory of short blonde hair and a cunning smile sneaks its way past Santana’s defenses as she mutters, “One guess.”

Brittany looks at her curiously before something clicks, “Oh. The girl.”

Santana doesn’t like where this is going and pushes away the overwhelming feelings that beg to bust through. She walls herself up, holds her chin high and swallows back the lump.

“Yeah well,” Santana brushes off. “I think it's pretty unrealistic to go out there thinking every potential lay has to be relationship material first. Where's the fun in that?”

Brittany continues to eye her like she’s wounded and Santana hates it.

“The fun part is getting to know someone first so when it does happen,” Brittany pauses as she bites her lip. “It's meaningful.”

Santana averts her eyes, because staring into Brittany’s makes her feel far too exposed. Instead she retreats in on herself to place she’s comfortable, she takes the attention off of her.

“Gross. Who knew you were such a hopeless romantic,” Santana jokes.

Brittany sighs through a soft smile, “Call me old fashioned I guess.”

“Super old fashioned,” Santana quips. “Like, are you telling me you've never had a steamy quickie with a random? Everybody's got one.”

Brittany looks away and as she smirks, “Of course I have. I’m not that innocent.”

Santana perks up, “Really? Miss Goodie Two Shoes getting down and dirty without before being properly courted? God, I want details…”

Brittany snickers, “Not happening.”

“What?” Santana shifts in her seat excitedly. “Come on, what's a little girl talk between friends or are you the type that doesn’t kiss and tell because lame.”

Brittany looks up at her and smirks, “You saying we're friends?”

“Will it get you talking?”

Brittany laughs, “We should get back to work now. You've derailed us for long enough.”

“Come on, Britt-Britt,” Santana coos jokingly. “We've been at it for hours. I'm burnt out, sober and in dire need of sex.”

“None of that is my problem.”

“Sure it is,” Santana jokes. “The least you can do is tell me a couple of your kinky stories to get me through the night.”

“No.”

“Please?”

Brittany gives her a look, but Santana just bats her eyelashes. It makes Brittany laugh and she softens once again.

“Actually, I might be able to help you out.”

Santana sits straighter, “It was only a matter of time…”

Brittany rolls her eyes, “Get over yourself. Not every girl on campus wants you, including me.”

Santana laughs, “Whatever helps you sleep at night, Britt-Britt.”

“Anyway,” Brittany continues, “I'm talking about a swanky party – a ball even.”

“A ball, you say?” Santana’s interest is piqued.

“Totally.”

“You've got my attention…”

“Well, there’s going to be an open bar, free food, an excuse to dress up and let loose. That ticks off two out of three on your list.”

Santana quirks a brow, “And the catch?”

“No catch.”

“There's gotta be a catch.”

“Okay fine,” Brittany slumps. “It's the Brainiacs’ Ball.”

“The what?” Santana deadpans.

“The Brainiacs’ Ball,” Brittany clarifies. “It's open to all the academic decathlon clubs across the city, this year we’re hosting. The team with the highest winning percentage is named and also the award for Most Brilliant Brainiac is given out. It's the biggest night for the club.”

“Oh, hell no,” Santana chuckles. “There’s not enough free alcohol in the world to get me to go to that. Count me out.”

Brittany starts to frown, “What? Why?”

Santana shakes her head, “One of your matches was enough. I'm not going to a party where I have to be surrounded by all of you at once.”

“It won't be that bad,” Brittany sighs. “It's a night for celebrating. No trivia unless you count the bad puns you might hear.”

“I've seen the guys on your team,” Santana explains. “I can't be liable for the feelings I'd definitely hurt if I were to be around them. I’d be triggered by pocket protector.”

“But you'll mostly be with me,” Brittany tries.

“That doesn’t really help your case.”

Brittany gives her a look, “Well, I kind of need you to go.”

“You need me to go?”

“Well yeah, I don't want to be the only one there without a date,” Brittany reasons. “Plus wouldn't it be suspicious if you didn't go considering we're a thing?”

Santana lets out a laugh, thinking that she’s finally caught on.

“So that it explains it,” She says.

“Explains what?”

“The coffee the other day, sharing study tips, being here,” Santana goes on, “You’ve been setting yourself up to ask me to your dumb ball.”

Brittany tenses, “'First of all, it's not dumb.”

“Sorry. I should've said nerdy,” Santana clarifies.

“I wasn’t doing those things for this,” Brittany tells her. “I was… I did them to be nice. We don’t always have to be at each other. It doesn’t always have to be a competition.”

Santana shakes her head as she gets to thinking. She knows Brittany’s cunning too, she knows that she can play games so who’s to say she wasn’t playing this time?

“I'm not going,” Santana replies. “You can tell people I'm sick or something.”

Brittany lets out a bitter laugh, “Right. So this relationship thing only works when it's in your favor?”

Santana frowns at the harshness of Brittany’s tone, something that doesn’t feel right coming from the blonde.

“What are you talking about?” Santana huffs. “That’s not – “

“We always do what you want,” Brittany interrupts. “Whatever makes you look good but this one time I ask you for something and it's just a flat out no?”

Brittany’s face has gone a little red and Santana’s further surprised – she didn’t think it was this big of a deal. She doesn’t grasp why Brittany’s so worked up all of sudden. Why would she want someone there with her if they didn’t want to be there in the first place?

“Look, it's better if I don't go because if one dork in clunky black glasses wearing suspenders and a hideous bowtie crosses paths with me I won't be able to contain myself,” Santana argues. “I'll end up hurting someone's feelings and you said it yourself, it's a night for celebration.”

Brittany looks at her like she’s hit a new low. Hell, maybe she just did.

“You're unbelievable,” Brittany huffs as she stands and starts gathering her things.

“What?” Santana watches her with a sudden ache in her chest. “You’re leaving?”

“Clearly,” Brittany mutters. “I can’t be around you right now.”

“All because I don’t want to go?”

Brittany shakes her head, another bitter laugh escaping her.

“No,” She says gravely. “It’s because you’re the most selfish person I’ve ever met.”

Santana tenses at the way her words drip with disdain, but at the same time it puts her on the defense.

“Well sorry that I’m not like you,” Santana argues. “Sorry I can’t just slip into character with ease and be your perfect fake girlfriend whenever you want. Sorry I’m not on all the time like you are.”

Brittany just stares at her for a moment, studying Santana’s face before she speaks again.

“Just when I think I’ve figured you out,” Brittany continues. “Just when I think you’re actually a half-decent person and that maybe beneath this prickly exterior of yours, there’s actually something – someone – deserving of…of a friend you go and prove to me that I’m wrong.”

Santana slumps back in her chair, dejected and defeated.

Even if Brittany didn’t physical hit her, those words sure did. She can’t even speak as she watches Brittany gather the last of her things and storm out. What’s worse is that she swears she sees blue eyes tinging red just before she turns away.

Santana slaps her hand at the table when the door slams shut behind Brittany. She instantly feels the sting of wood on her open palm.

Why? Why does she always have to screw things up like this?

Puck comes through the door just a minute later, looking confused as well.

“So I just passed Britt in the hall,” He says hesitantly.

“Yeah, she left.”

Puck slowly closes the door behind him, “Why?”

“Because,” Santana lets out a long puff of air. She feels the lump forming again in her throat, strange and unwelcome. “Because I’m an idiot.”

“Dude,” His face falls. “Please tell me you didn’t try to make a move on her. The games earlier were cute and all but – “

“No,” Santana quickly answers. “I didn’t do that.”

“Then what happened?” Puck asks. “She looked really upset.”

Santana presses her lips tightly together, she’s almost ashamed to admit the truth.

“She wanted me to go to some ball with her,” Santana says dismissively. “I told her no.”

“You told her no?” Puck quirks a brow.

“I can’t.”

“You can’t?” Puck frowns. “After all the stuff she’s done for you, you can’t?”

“Look, I can see where I fucked up okay?” Santana snaps. “I don’t need you adding to it.”

Puck shakes his head as he backs off. “You really are an idiot.”

Santana agrees but she doesn’t tell him that.

“You know it’s not a good idea,” Santana tries convincing him. “It’ll be nothing but those academic decathlon nerds and not just the ones from Brittany’s team. It’ll be like ten times that! They’ll be from all over the city and you know how I am around the general public especially when I’m provoked. I could screw up and expose us both. It’s too risky.”

Puck doesn’t say anything, just listens to her excuses.

“I can’t do it,” Santana tells him with finality. “I can’t. Brittany might be pissed at me right now, but she’ll see it’s for the best. I’d just ruin her night because I don’t know how to act anyway. She’ll come around, she has to.”

“Sure Santana,” Puck dismisses and goes to flip open the pizza box. “So…does this mean I can have her pizza too?”

Santana just shakes her head, “Shut up.”

#Hate to Date #Brittana #Brittana Fanfiction #Enemies to Lovers #fake dating au

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sadachmesarthim · 3 years

Text

towers for your honeycomb chapter 3: no i do not condone underage drinking i just think it's a good plot devic-

content: the boys have One Beer Each™, peter both sets and completely ignores his own boundaries, author remembers the communion chapter from "how to read literature like a professor" and bastardizes it, both of them have anxiety but neither say anything about it, smoking

words: 2k song: outskirts of paradise - bad suns

Looking Tony in the eye was like staring at the sun. Peter could barely hold his gaze, always finding an excuse to turn away.

He was sat in front of the other man a few weeks later, sharing drinks and pizza at a new brewery down the road. It’d cost him his liquor license, and potentially a clean record, if anyone found out, but Richie (their most beloved regular) offered to let the pair try the latest house brew if they ever swung through.

Peter wasn’t one for beer, but he’d accepted Tony’s invite anyway.

He wasn’t entirely sure why. Since their fight, they’d worked all of maybe three hours together. No other shifts, they avoided each other at meetings, and neither were particularly willing to reach out off the clock and apologize.

It was like the world was screaming at them to stay away from each other.

Peter wasn’t sure he wanted to listen.

After his shift that morning, Peter found Tony outside, leaning up against the hood of his car & working through his second cigarette. He drummed on the side of his thigh, keeping his empty hand busy as he waited for Peter to come out. Tony jumped at the sight of him, tossing the half finished cig down a storm drain.

“You know those lead straight to the ocean, right?” There was more amusement than anger behind his words. Peter wasn’t entirely sure what Tony was up to, but he was too tired to start shit. He crossed to the passenger side of his car, tossing his belongings to the floor.

“Even if it didn’t go through the city’s filtration system – fuck the fish.” Peter rolled his eyes. Funny as he was, Tony always had to be contradictory.

“Don’t you have, like, a school of them on your shoulder?” Tony’s normally visible salmon tattoos were safely tucked away behind a denim jacket Peter’d never seen before.

“Irrelevant.” Peter rounded the hood and turned, facing the other man. “Did you need something or were you just here to argue about my town’s plumbing system?” He huffed the words out, arms crossing in front of his chest expectantly.

“I, uh…” He suddenly went silent. The ground crunched under Tony’s feet, gravel scraping asphalt under his shoes. They were a rattier pair he owned – more tape than sole, oil staining the canvas.

“I wanted to know if you’d come to lunch with me. Today. Like, right now?” He hesitated at the last few words, like he wasn’t sure he could say them out loud. “I, uh. I’m pretty sure I have some things to say to you, and Richie’s got some good stuff waiting for us at the Pub House…”

Peter was astounded. “Who are you, and what have you done with my Tony?” My Tony? What? “I- why should I trust you? I’m sure as hell not getting in a car with you.”

Tony’s face fell. A bit of- what, disappointment? flew across his face. Peter would’ve missed it had he not been staring, impatient for his answer. Tony, floundering at the rejection, couldn’t give him one.

“Okay, maybe- how about this. I’ll think about it. Give me five minutes to go wash up and I’ll be back.” He turned & headed inside, not waiting for a response.

The cool water felt good against his burning, salt-stained cheeks. Peter hadn’t realized just how tired he was – opens had always taken it out of him, and the early spring temperatures didn’t always prevent the stand from turning into a heater during rush hour.

The soap in the stand was always too fragrant for his taste, but it did the job – it felt good to wash away the day’s work and come back looking like a new man. He smoothed his eyebrows down and dried himself off, wetting his hair a bit as he finished.

He wound up with grind in it again, brushing it out with a comb he found in the first aid kit. One of these days he was going to have to start wearing hats to work. Shampooing his hair every single day was taking its toll on his curls, and he wasn’t a fan of burnt coffee smell.

Stepping back, he squinted into the warped mirror in front of him. Much better.

Back outside, Tony’d lit up his third cigarette of the day. The shakes’d largely abandoned him, allowing his anxiety to drift inward. The sticks only did so much – he missed the higher, stronger hit of his Suorin, but he was trying to quit (ironically enough).

He was actually able to finish this one by the time Peter made his way back outside, looking significantly better without $5 worth of product on his face.

“Okay, some rules.” He came up, stopping just short of Tony. “You’re paying for both of us. We leave whenever I want, without complaint. We go straight there and come straight back - it’s eight blocks, I don’t want any bullshit scenic routes.” His tone was firm – something Tony’d never encountered with him before.

“Yes. Yes, anything. Okay.”

Tony’s car was a lot nicer than Peter anticipated. He’d recently sold his truck, swapping it for a silver Mini Cooper instead. It was a pretty little thing, just up his alley.

It was also fucking obnoxious. He’d bought it with a modified exhaust and had plans to make it even louder. You could almost always hear him coming, little pop pop pops audible for quite a ways.

It was… less clean than Peter expected. Tony was always so well put together, so well-maintained - seeing stray gum wrappers and drink cups littered around the interior was almost jarring. He didn’t realize he was staring until Tony spoke up.

“She’s nice, isn’t she?” Peter nodded. He silently took in his new surroundings, nerves on fire. He’d never done well around strangers, in new places. His mind’d always screamed at him, danger unsafe bad run, overriding his sensibilities.

“Hey, are you good? I can take you back if you need.” They’d barely left the Outback parking lot.

“No- no, I think I’ll be okay. Just… not where I thought I’d end up when I woke up today, y’know?” Peter tried to laugh it off, but he’d always been pretty transparent.

Tony turned a corner, cutting back into the lot they just came from and turning the car off. “Seriously, Peter. If you don’t want to come to lunch with me just say so. I’ll take you back to your car and we can pretend it never happened.” Okay, seriously, who the fuck is this guy and what did he do with Tony?

“No, I- I think I’m okay. Seriously. Let’s just go and get it over with - I kinda want to hear you grovel anyway.” He settled further into his seat, failing to shake away the agitation.

The flatbread was actually really good. It was more of a hipster take on pizza - white sauce and pearl onions definitely making it stand out - but it wasn’t a bad lunch by any means.

The beer definitely wasn’t Peter’s favorite. He was barely sipping by, trying hard to keep a straight face as he swallowed. Damn Richie anyway.

It’d started off awkward enough - discussing where to sit, small talk about their week, the weather. It felt more like a bad first date than an apology, but-

“I really am sorry. For what happened in the fridge.”

Oh.

“Okay. Why?” Peter tightened the hand around his glass, bracing for Tony’s next words.

“I.. I was kind of an asshole when I was younger, too. I figured I could make a fresh start here with a brand new town of people that didn’t know or assume anything about me.

“I was doing okay for a little while, too, but I don’t know man I just.. something happened and I just- I don’t know why I’m a dick to you. But I’m trying not to be. This is that, like, ‘first step’, I guess?” Peter nodded along, attentive.

"So, I don't know. I'm sorry for being a dick to you at work. I'm sorry for being a dick to the girls. I shouldn't yell at you or drag your family into this bullshit - I'm sorry, Peter."

There it was again, that name. His first fucking name.

“I- thank you, Tony. It’s a start, and I certainly haven’t forgiven you, but… thank you. Seriously.” Tony sighed, shoulders visibly relaxing. Peter let go of his glass and wiped it off, standing and walking around to Tony’s side of the table.

“Okay then, time for a do-over! Hi, I’m Peter Parker. I’m 19 and I’ve worked at Outback North Espresso for a little over 9 months. What’s your name?” He stuck his hand out, waiting for Tony to make the next move.

Tony laughed, pushing his chair back and standing to meet the other teen. “Okay, uh, I’m Tony Stark, I’m 18, and I’ve worked at Outback for almost 6. Nice to re-meet you, Peter.” He shook Peter’s hand, awestruck at just how soft it was. He quickly steeled his face and sat back down, releasing Peter and allowing him to do the same.

Once he was sat back down at his side, Peter looked up, confused. “Wait, you’re still 18?”

Tony laughed. “Not for long. My birthday’s at the end of next month.”

“Wow, I can’t believe I’m older than you!”

Tony rolled his eyes. “That’s - it’s literally three months, that barely counts.”

Their debate lasted well into the afternoon, alongside several other discussions. Peter’s childhood in Richland, and what it was like growing up there. What Federal Way was like, and why Tony left. Peter could tell he was remaining intentionally vague, but didn’t push it.

Their beers were warm and the pizza was long gone by the time they abandoned their table. Tony guided him out the back, hand high on his arm.

Once they were back in the car, Peter’s anxiety returned. It was like he’d spent the last few hours speaking to a completely different person, and now that he was sitting mere inches from Tony…

He wasn’t scared. He wasn’t. He wasn’t… sure, exactly. What it was.

Tony spoke up when he noticed the tension in his passenger seat.

“Hey, we’ll get you back to your car soon, I promise. Eight blocks, remember?” His right hand made its way to Peter’s knee, digging soft circles into the denim. Just like in the fridge.

“Please don’t- don’t touch me. Without asking.” It came out harsher than intended.

“Okay, all good. No worries. We’re like, two minutes away.” Tony eased off the clutch, turning right out of the parking lot and onto the road. The windows rolled down and Peter let his head fall back in relief. Fresh air always helped him clear his head.

It really was a short drive - right turn, left turn, right turn - and they were back at Peter’s car. The doors unlocked, and he was out in an instant. A bit too fast to be respectful, if he was being honest, but he knew he needed out. Tony stopped him before he was able to get in his car.

“Hey, for real. Thank you for today. I’m sorry if it was too much.”

Peter looked over and down to meet his eyes. “I- yeah, of course. No, yeah, thank you. For the apology. I’m sorry I freaked out on you. But no this- it was good. Yeah. Thank you, Tony.”

He turned, unlocking the door and closing it before either could say anything else. After turning the key he sped off, without throwing even a glance behind him.

Tony watched as Peter peeled away, reaching for the box of Pall Malls in his cupholder. He lit one, shifting into first and heading in the opposite direction.

Not bad. Not good, but not bad.

lmk if u want on or off the tags list!

@snowstark @kaleidoscopeluli @parkerrbitch @carelessannie @bluestarker @longlivestarker

#starker #peter parker/tony stark #.mine #peter parker x tony stark #ironspider #coffee shop au #.text #.fic

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prose-for-hire · 3 years

Text

Claimed

Part One // Part Two

Pairing: Angel x vamp!reader

Request: as promised I'd like to request a part 3 to So wrong it’s right/Natural attraction

[Desc: Third part. An old friend of Angel’s comes to town and makes him wonder where your affection truly lies]

Requested by: Anon

Warning: Swearing. Implied sex/sex reference. Biting. Blood. A little violence.

You let me handle the plot so, as always, things got carried away. The timeframe moving from the previous part is either a while later or diverges a little from the show depending on where your imagination wants to take you. 🖤💖

You were slumped on the sofa in front of yet another re-run. So, incredibly bored. As if the lack of his presence had made life unbearably boring. When he was around he made you feel alive. Made you excited - as if you wanted to be someone he could hold affection for.

But all of this embarrassing hope had been dashed. You hadn’t seen him in so long, you only had the delicious memories of your last stolen moments with him.

But without him, the colour had been sucked out of the world again. It was so bleak that you were stuck inside moping over him hopelessly. God, when had you gotten this way?

It had been too long. You missed him so badly you ached. Yearned in this guilty way to be even just in his presence. This wasn’t just lust anymore. The excitement of sex or trading blows with him. Somewhere inside you knew that it was all of him that you wanted. Craved.

Mind, body and even that stupid soul of his.

He had crawled into your dead heart. Made a home there. Leaving you suddenly full of life. Wanting to be more. It still irritated you, at how much influence he now held over you. But you couldn’t fight it. Didn’t want to anymore.

But he had been away recently. Dropped you as soon as he heard some Slayer was in trouble. He had been away in some ugly little town called Sunnydale. She needed his help. You soon learned from Angel’s team this Slayer was his ex.

You dropped in on them every so often now to check in when you were bored and thought you might as well help them save the world or whatever. You were fun to be around, you didn’t hold back and they couldn’t help but like your company. So you stuck around them, enjoying the feeling of having something close to a group of friends.

It was new to you, but you secretly enjoyed it. You spent a lot of time sharing your knowledge and trying to make their lives easier. Something you wouldn’t have even considered doing. Not before him.

But he had left you sorely lacking ever since he skipped town without so much as a word. You had really hoped that he might tell you himself, not get Wes to pass on some vague message about his ‘weekend plans’.

The television buzzed soullessly as you stared through it. The only vision you wanted to see being him. And you were just sat there. Not even having the heart (or the attention span) to open a book. All you could think of was him. You were so bored. You were even considering masturbating for the millionth time to distract you from the way you needed him.

You started to move as if to do just that, when there was a massive thud at the door. Someone was knocking pretty urgently.

Shit. Debt collectors. You owed a lot of people a lot of kittens. You muted the tv and stumbled over your feet in the opposite direction from the door. You decided for everyone’s sake it would be better if you disappeared. Pretended not to be in.

You were almost panicking a little, not really sure if you had the mental or physical strength at the moment to take on a fight. So you did something too embarrassing to even describe properly. You rolled under your bed. Hid.

After some more urgent knocking, whoever it was got bored of waiting and just kicked the door in. As you had been expecting. You were hoping whoever it was looking for you was either too stupid to check under the bed for you or thought better of you than to even consider looking there.

The door was broken clean off its hinges. And you stayed still. Hearing two pairs of footprints stomping through your home. You were considering sliding out the window and onto the ledge while they looked around your living room. But then you heard something.

“Y/n?” His voice sounded urgent. Your chest swelled at the sound of his voice. Angel.

You rolled your eyes though. At what you were doing. God this was embarrassing. It was either stay hidden and risk not getting to see him or admit you had just hidden under a bed like some soon-to-be-dead loser in a shitty horror flick.

You decided you would just have to bear it. You rolled from under the best giving him the best scowl you could muster (you couldn’t help smiling a little at seeing him again).

He had the decency not to say anything about you rolling out from under the bed, although he had to hold back a small smile about it. He would tease you later, he was sure. Hopefully if there was a later he thought to himself.

“Funny how a weekend trip can last the full fourteen days now, isn’t it?” You hinted. You had missed him. You wanted him. He had left you longing.

“Look, it’s a Hellmouth stuff happened-”

“Too bloody right-” Someone else spoke up but you cut the stranger off. You hadn’t noticed him at first, your eyes only on Angel.

“Who the fuck is this?”

“Look, he’s-”

“And why the fuck is he just stalking through my house like he owns it?” You snapped, snatching a rare book of yours back from his hands.

The pair shared a look at your outburst as if you were the unreasonable one. You smelled it then. They both had souls. You eyed them both, not sure how you had found yourself the only sane, normal vampire in a thirty-mile radius.

“Name’s Spike” he offered and you squinted, recognising the name.

“Oh. Old flame right? Did you go through every ex’s town on your way back from Sunnydale or just the ones you thought were attractive enough to make me jealous?”

“Spike is not an old-”

“One time! It was one-!”

“Well, that hit a nerve” You muttered, rolling your eyes. Great. You had more competition for Angel’s affection. And God, did you want all of his affection laid on you. You wanted him so badly that it almost made you throb with need just from this brief interaction.

You were just staring now as he spoke. The way his eyes glistened in the dim light. His features chiselled as if made just for you. He made you feel things you weren’t sure you could even name. Some long-forgotten emotion that made your chest swell and your stomach feel like there were baby bats in there.

“I thought you said they were a help. Fat lot of good this one is considering their fourth wank of the day in front of bloody Time Team” You snapped out of your Angel-induced daze to scowl once again at the blonde man and his, unfortunately, accurate depiction of the way you were currently living.

They turned conversation quickly to try to convince you that you were needed. There was yet another plot to take over LA. Someone had informed them on the Hellmouth. To reverse it, they needed three vampires, ones that have enough good in them. No human could stand the pain of it. Angel insisted the third one is you.

He had faith in you. In some way, it made you fill with pride. But, again, this wasn’t your life. You had never wanted to save the world. He mentioned that there was a ritual you could do to check, to at least prove him right and to begin the reversal of this apocalypse was needed.

“And tell me again why I would want to go through all that pain rather than, say, relocate?” You muttered, already knowing you would agree. For him.

“Y’know... because you’re good now, right?” Even as he said it, Angel knew these were the wrong words to use. You scoffed at him. You had never claimed this. You just liked the company of the team. Enjoyed a good fight. Enjoyed… the proximity with him.

“I’m okay, thanks. Don’t care. Sorry. Don’t let the door hit you on your way out”

“Listen here, pet-” The other vampire appealed to you. Which was also the wrong move.

“Why is this Billy Idol impersonator talking to me? Is it a joke I’m too cool to understand?”

“Oi- look here-”

You didn’t speak this time, you just went to punch the man in the face. But Angel caught you before either of you reacted. Wrapped a strong hand around your wrist. Kept it there.

His grip tightening in a way that made you smirk. You had missed this. God, you had really missed this. He lowered your hand, his still firmly grasping your wrist. And you just stared at him as he did. Hoping he would lean in and catch your lips again. Tear the fabric of the walls apart just with a look.

“Enough” He warned. Touch lingering as his eyes did on your form.

You would let him wreck the house if you thought it meant you could have him pressed against you again even for a second. He was dangerous to you and you loved it. He, on the other hand was still more cautious of the way you navigated your relationship. Of how he showed just what you meant to him.

He thought about you all the time. More so, while he was away. He was addicted to you. The way you moved, spoke. Held yourself. Had such entrenched opinions and he might even deign to say morals (loosely, of course).

He thought more of you than he had ever done before. Dreamt about you. Thought about what you could be doing, wanting to know what you were thinking. What made you tick. He held on to every intimate detail he could discover.

Remembered it in such crystal clarity. Because it was you.

He decided to get you on side, he would appeal to the more logical side of you. Which, surprisingly, worked. He managed to convince you to put your un-life on the line. Because it would help your new sort-of friends. To save Fred and the others, you could try it.

You finally relented. You almost didn’t so soon, hoping that he might descend to fighting you over it. Some contact with your skin. It was needed after so long. You nodded though and they nodded and you started for the door. Stepping over it as you left.

“What a bloody delight” Spike murmured so that you could hear it.

“Can it, Blondie” You hissed as you strode behind them, your usual confidence evident to all around.

Angel side-glanced at you, a small smile tugging at his lips at seeing you again. Even if all of your barbs were being thrown Spike’s way. It was so good to see you.

Angel had never been so sure that he wanted you around. Permanently. He just wasn’t entirely sure how to admit this. To himself or you. You always left him wanting more. That demon part of you matched his. The demons had claimed the other long before either of you had embraced how you felt.

Neither of you had dared ask the other how they felt. What they wanted from this relationship. It may shatter the illusion you both had. That there could be a future there. That at least some of your eternity could be theirs.

You were staring blankly at a carved tablet, one that Wesley had found in connection with this stupid apocalypse you had been roped into stopping. You weren’t really reading, just skimming it. You’d catch up later, you always did. Right now, you were thinking about Angel. He was all you were ever thinking about at the moment.

“What’s that? Picture book?” A British accent asked. Spike.

“No” you said shortly. God, he was dumber than a bag of rocks. What had Angel ever seen in him? He rubbed you up the wrong way. And not in an exciting way either.

Wesley explained what it was as you had a rant in your head, just staring at the tablet.

“All that eternity and you can’t even read. What exactly do you do?” You couldn’t help it. It slipped out. He was a fly you wanted to swat away. Squish into nothingness.

You glowered at him, but knew there was some big stupid prophecy so Spike had to stick around. You did what the powers wanted just enough to save your own skin. And, well, if you staked him God forbid, they tried to make you a champion in his place.

Angel frowned at your words. He wanted you to be talking to him. Ragging on him at how he couldn’t read them either. Wanted the charged tension that always stretched between you back. But since he had returned you had appeared more distant. Less smug about the way you rendered him simultaneously infuriated and obsessed with you.

You were laughing with the team when Spike stalked in after calling up his precious Slayer and talking loud enough to wake the dead. Or, at least wake Angel who had been trying to sleep. Instead he had joined you and the rest of the team. Your face had lit up when Angel entered the room but he hadn’t noticed. Or, you thought he hadn’t anyway.

The laughter died when he entered and he scowled. Spike had enough of you. How nobody appeared to accept him but even with your ‘evil’ nature and lack of soul these people embraced you with open arms.

“Why’s every bugger hangin’ on their every word? Hello, I’m the one with the bloody soul here”

“Because nobody likes you Spike” Angel shrugged from the doorway.

“Yeah, because having a soul makes you suddenly likeable and some all-encompassing good right? You’re kidding yourself - choices are what make us not writhing around in the sand with some dumb demon for a couple months”

Everyone had braced themselves, expecting your usual rant about not having a soul not meaning anything. That you could make good decisions. You could do what you wanted and still not be evil. But you had decided to just make a cheap shot.

“Piss off. Like you could stand it anyway”

Angel had been watching with a frown. Didn’t like the way you gave Spike such attention. He thought it was the way you used to give him attention before you began to deepen your relationship.

He wanted you to be focusing on him. Only him. He missed you. In his bed. The way you looked contorted in pleasure. His.

When he thought about it, truly thought about it, he missed talking to you. The way you could make him laugh. Speak to him the way nobody else could. You embraced every side of him. Even the parts that he struggled to embrace himself.

He found himself almost needing that interaction. Needing you. Desperately. Not just your body but your mind too. All of you in fact. He ached for it, quivered with need. He didn’t care you lacked your soul anymore, he just needed you. Thirsted for every side of you.

You kept glancing at each other. You weren’t his partner but he really wanted you to be. He was finally able to admit it to himself. He just didn’t know how to ask. How to tell you what he wanted. He wanted it just you and him. Not to have to smell any of the particularly nasty lingering scents of lovers you had taken since he had been away.

Angel kept making snide comments about Buffy and Spike at any opportunity. This always made you scowl because he seemed so bothered by them. Spike smirked smugly. Which made you scowl even further. It was mostly to distract himself from his feelings from you. But you didn’t know this. You wanted his mind to be on you again. He hadn’t even pulled you aside during any slow moments like he usually would.

On a particularly boring day, while they were taking a break from the research that was making everyone have a headache (except you and Wesley), talk turned to Spike’s new soul. And why he had fought for one. For this Slayer.

“I think it’s romantic!” Fred cooed as you caught on to what had happened.

“For love? You got a soul for love?! That’s so cute, did it come with a complimentary heart shaped box? A dozen roses?” You cackled and Spike looked like he was about to thump you. Pretty ruthlessly too. But Angel pulled you away before he could. Apparently he was the only one allowed to berate Spike.

He took you by the shoulder and pressed you against the wall in the corridor once you were alone. You smirked, face lighting up expecting his lips on yours. Just like the last time you had been close in this way. But he just half-heartedly chastised you instead.

“Cool it off” he warned. You were disappointed with his tone, you missed the way he would excite you. Mix with anger and passion the way you had missed so badly.

“Why? Because it makes you uncomfortable? It’s foreplay for us. You know it, I know it” You plucked the nerve just to see what would happen. Making his blood boil. You saw it then. That hint of jealousy. This flicker of the demon side of him, he wanted to claim you as his.

“Whatever. Do anything you want after the case, just not here” He consciously tried to even his voice this time, hide the growl. But his chest rumbled dangerously at even the thought of you and Spike. He was clinging to his human form as the demon protested.

This is what made you tug on the nerve, near severing it. You leaned into him, so that your lips brushed his ear. Your tone seductive, one he would usually enjoy.

“Don’t be jealous, baby, I’m very good at sharing myself out. Especially while you were away-”

You were cut off by his hands tightly gripping your shoulders. Even as a vampire, you were sure you would bruise. Your stomach flipped at the fire behind his eyes. The need for you to not stray from him. He slammed you back against the door you had just left out of, near shattering the glass behind you. God, you had missed this. So badly.

You couldn’t help smirking. You were ready to take him right here. Fucking or fighting. Either one would do it for you. So long as you received his full attention. Just you and him.

He had come back so disaffected. His face mostly neutral. You thought he had barely looked at you, let alone touched you. Even in this way. You would take what you could get and savour every second of it.

You didn’t realise just how hard it was for him to be back in Sunnydale or all of the baggage he had left there (some of it that he had had to bring back as well). Dredging up his past had confirmed something to him. That he wanted you with him. Wanted you to be his. He wanted something more than what you were already doing. It scared him. Made him nervous, which is why he had kept a distance from you.

Even though it guilted him that this was selfish and something that would make him happy. Even though you were rough around the edges and morally dubious. Even though you had never expressed softer feelings of your own.

You meant something. Everything. And he couldn’t deny it now. Couldn’t begin to fight it anymore. He didn’t want to.

That was why he didn’t like you interacting with Spike. Because he felt this so strongly. That you belonged with him. Not with anybody else. But you had never labelled your relationship and he didn’t know how to even begin to tell you.

“If you’re not gonna do anything about it, let me go” You warned. Hoping he would do the opposite. He gripped tighter for a moment and you got excited but then he just let you go.

Disappointment washed over you and you frowned. You had so wanted to taste him on your tongue again. To have his body, hot with desire, pounding against yours.

As time went on, Angel began to get more and more jealous watching you and Spike interact. You began to notice it more. The way his furrow deepened whenever you glared holes in the man. Mistaking the interaction for something that excited you.

But he didn’t say anything. Barely looked at you. Which left you so sore. So needy for him.

So, you took it into your own hands. Of course, you didn’t actually speak to him about it. Oh, no. Instead, you dialled it up. Speaking to Spike much more. Making Angel so jealous he would shake. Aiming to make him want you more.

The ritual couldn’t be conducted for a few months yet, just before the steps to the scheduled apocalypse had begun. So there was a lot of waiting around and planning. However, your mind was less on that and more on how to get Angel to touch you again.

You had an idea. You gestured with your head to get the blonde vampire to come over and speak to you. The vampire was hung up on the slayer and you were hung up on Angel so neither of you had any particular interest in the other.

“Look I don’t like you, you don’t like me. But you wanna annoy Angel right?” You offered, giving him a knowing look. You weren’t stupid, Spike had an obvious and complicated past with your- the man.

“I’m listening” He squinted. And you didn’t waste any time, you whispered in his ear your suggestion.

Along with your obvious intelligence, you could be very persuasive. Near manipulative (it was how you had survived this long and gotten yourself out of many, many debts).

So, the next day you swung your plan straight into action. It wasn’t a particularly clever plan. But it was enough for you and Spike to know it could end badly wrong. Like, dust on the floor wrong should Angel be in a particularly bad mood.

You and Spike turned up to the building with his arm slung around your shoulder. You had asked to wear his jacket but he told you to sod off. So, you compromised and had him sling his arm over your shoulder told him to whisper something. Anything. Encouraging him to be as crude as possible. Implying that you had spent the previous night together.

You were speaking to the room but your eyes were on Angel the entire time. Watching the way his thoughts began to spin out of control behind his eyes. He was shaking with anger. Filling with pure jealousy. The way Spike was allowed so close to you. How he pressed against you the way he should be pressed against you. Natural touch that should be his.

He couldn’t just stand there. Watching. He just walked up to you, snatching your hand in his and dragged you from the room. If he didn’t he would have exploded then and there.

“Problem?” You asked, that infuriating tone you always used. He just directed you by the back of your head to move your ear next to his mouth.

“You’re mine” he growled and you couldn’t help the way your stomach flipped in excitement. Made you weak for him. Your eyes lit up. But you wouldn’t let him see you submit that easily.

“Prove it” You challenged. And he did just that. He pulled you into him, crashing his lips to yours. The rough embrace made your heart soar with happiness. He wanted you. He really wanted you.

As you made your way to the bed you stopped in your passion every now and again on the way. Slamming you into the walls, more furniture lost to your desire. You pushed him back onto the bed smirking down at him. He reached for you and pulled you down against him.

Lips crashing. Hands grasping. Skin slapping.

He claimed you as his. The feeling, it was shared. His eyes telling you that he was yours. He clutched you, while you grinded against his body. He made you feel alive. It was primal. This animal attraction never ceased. But this connection was deeper than anything either of you could name.

Your demon forms shifted, facing each other again. As they always did when you were together. They had missed their equal so desperately. You moved with him. As if you were one. He bit down hard, fangs embedded in your neck. You moaned in his ear and it made him bite harder still.

Your blood tasted so good in his mouth. He hadn’t done this in so long. Hadn’t trusted anyone this way. This bond, it ran deep.

You directed his head further into you as he did this, grasping at the hair on the nape of his neck. It was pure pleasure. Blood oozed down your chest as his mouth moved from the bite on the side of your neck. He pressed some open-mouthed kisses down your collarbone, following the trail of your blood. He licked slowly up it, catching every drop. His eyes bored into yours. Telling you what you already knew. You were made for him.

He pressed further into you, with a urgency that matched yours. He was finally embracing his demon. The way you had hoped he would for so long. You wanted all of him. To do this, you would have to give all of yourself. So, you did.

You stayed in bed together a lot longer than you usually might. You were just lying in bed together. You were on a slant, the bed had been lost to your passion. Frame splintering and collapsing. He would have to replace it. You were leaning on your side facing him. God, you had missed this. He had left you aching, empty without him.

He hadn’t so much as implied wanting to touch you like this since he had returned from Sunnydale. Just spent his time squabbling with Spike. So, this had been a needed release. Building up over so long.

“I missed this” You admitted, not quite meeting his eyes.

“Yeah?” He asked and you just nodded your reply. He found himself reaching for you, stroking your bare skin. You met his eyes, this tender touch he had never afforded to you before. It was alien but you wanted more of it.

“It was hard. Bein’ back there” He said slowly, referring to Sunnydale, “Seeing them both. Together as well, it hurt. Didn’t know what to do about it”

“Still hung up on them then?” You sighed, looking at a pull in the cotton. Twisting it in your fingers for something to do. Anything to distract from the way you had begun to hurt at the thought of him not feeling the same way as you did.

He shook his head but you didn’t see it. His hand stroking down your arm and resting on your hand. It was the most tender he had ever been. Action a lot subtle that you had ever shared. You found yourself wanting more of it.

“No. ‘Cause when I saw you again I, uh knew… knew that I’d rather be with you than anywhere else” He said slowly. He said it awkwardly, the words strung together as if they didn’t quite fit next to each other. But he meant it. He wasn’t sure if he had ever meant anything as much before in his entire life.

You didn’t know what to say to this so you just nodded. It was the best he could have hoped for. When you weren’t teasing, it was hard to reveal how you felt. You laughed though, mentioning you didn’t even like Spike anyway. You had just wanted him to pay you more attention again.

You then muttered something about not knowing what Angel had ever seen in him. Angel gave you a look but you didn’t get it (he felt that it was because you and Spike were too similar, that’s why you didn’t get on). Thankfully, he liked you a lot better than he liked Spike though.

You smiled at each other, both of you feeling even slightly more secure. You hadn’t been able to admit that you wanted to be exclusive, but you had both now implied it. Which was the best either of you could wish. You found yourself almost wanting to be his, the way he had hissed it in your ear. You couldn’t recall feeling that way before.

There it was again. That feeling that frightened you. Hope. It had crawled into your heart and only spread the longer you spent with him. An ugly thought popped into your head. One that embarrassed you immensely.

As you watched his face turn into that small smile beside you in bed. Understanding stretching between you. A glimmering hope that still frightened you more than anything else ever had. His jealousy still a delicious taste in your mouth. The wreckage of the room surrounded you but the atmosphere was almost... soft.

It was a thought he had already had himself and started to accept. You shuddered as you thought it though. Finding that maybe you truly had found your anti-soulmate. In Angel of all people.

#Angel btvs #Angel btvs x reader #Angel x reader #Angel btvs imagine #Angel imagine #angel btvs x you #angel the series #ats #ats imagine #ats x reader #ats x you #angel the series imagine #Buffy The Vampire Slayer #buffy the vampire slayer imagines #btvs

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pterodactylterrace · 3 years

Text

Guys Like You Chapter 8

Title: Guys Like You

Chapter: 8

Chapter Summary: It’s just 2.5K words of smut.

Rating: 18+

Warnings: Smut. That’s really all this chapter is.

{Prologue} {Chapter 1} {Chapter 2} {Chapter 3} {Chapter 4} {Chapter 5} {Chapter 6} {Chapter 7}

The tension between the two was almost tangible the next week and a half on set. One would catch the other staring and respond with a suggestive smile. They would stand just a little too close during breaks. Stolen glances and gentle touches ran rampant, both waiting for their next opportunity alone together.

Therein lies their greatest problem. Being alone together. You see, their lack of sealing the deal wasn't a matter of effort on both their parts. Henry had Faye come back a few days later, willing to forgo his early morning exercise if it meant spending the night doing 'cardio'. As it turned out, Briar was still terrified sleeping in a room by herself in the strange house. They had tried letting Kal stay with her, hoping to kill two birds with one stone and stop the canine's constant wines from the other side of the door. Using that technique, they made it just to Henry with his shirt off and his hand down the front of Faye's shorts before being interrupted again. This time both Kal and Briar were outside the door begging to be let in.

The look of desperate exasperation on his face was a memorable one. That night ended with Briar and Kal squeezed between them, but sleeping peacefully at least.

A few days after that had been their next attempt. Lesson learned, this one took place at Faye's home. Now Briar had her own room to stay in, so that should be one distraction eliminated. Kal had a full bowl of kibble and water set out in the kitchen and his bed was placed in the small living room between the couch and the coffee table. Unfortunately, Henry had just wrapped up a physically demanding day on set and ended up snoring on the couch with Briar sleeping on his chest by 7 pm. Faye had felt too bad for the poor guy to wake him up for more exertion, plus Briar would likely throw a fit if she were moved now. Instead, she threw a blanket over the pair and retreated to her room alone.

Tonight, though. Tonight was going to be the night. They had the location worked out for the fewest distractions, and it was even a short day for Henry. This was finally going to happen. The pair tried to be discreet throughout the day but ultimately found it hard to keep their hands to themselves. Well, Henry did anyway. It seemed he was sneaking handfuls of her bottom every chance he got. She would turn to grab something off the makeup table behind her and feel a hand on her backside while he casually pretended to just be trying to look around her to see what she was doing. He would slide behind often her and run his palm across her ass as he went, giving her a cheeky pinch as he went. Finally, when it was time for Faye to head home for the day, Henry wrapped her in a bear hug, one hand on her lower back, the other firmly gripping her backside as he lifted her up, whispering promises to get out of his costume quickly to meet up with her at her home.

Now, here they were, the door to the bedroom barely closed before Faye was pressing Henry back against it, her arms around his neck as she tugged him in for a longing kiss. His hands found her hips, pulling her closer, more than happy to return her affections. This was happening. This was really happening and Faye was wasting no time. She practically ripped Henry's shirt off in her haste, greedy little hands mapping over every inch of exposed skin she could reach while Henry worked on his belt.

Faye's shirt was next, her bra being hastily removed after. Henry shoved his jeans down his legs, kicking them from his feet and pulling Faye back in for another hungry kiss, large insatiable hands gripping her ass and lifting her up with ease, her legs automatically winding around his waist.

"Lock the door." Faye panted against his lips, her fingers sliding into his curls as she squeezed his waist tighter with her legs, trying to gain some friction against her heated core. Henry reached behind him, blindly grasping for the handle, finally finding it and turning the lock.

He carried her to the bed, gently laying her on the blankets, slowly moving back to take her in again. "I'm never going to get tired of seeing you like this." He breathed, his fingers ghosting down her sides and hooking in her leggings, dragging them and her underwear down her legs reverently, groaning softly when he saw his glistening prize.

"Condom." Faye instructed, crawling back to the pillows and rummaging through her side table drawer.

Henry chased her up the bed, attacking her side and hip with playful kisses and nips, pulling back when she handed him the foil-wrapped protection. "Fuck." Henry groaned, his face falling in distress when he looked at what was in his hand.

"What?" Faye asked, tilting her head questioningly.

"Do you... have anything else?" Henry asked, sitting back on his heels, turning hopeful eyes up to her.

"No... why, are you allergic?"

"No, it's not that. It's just... too small." Henry sighed, a faint flush coloring his cheekbones.

"Too small?" Faye asked skeptically, sitting herself up on her elbows. Typical excuse.

"I'll use it, it's not that big of a deal, I can get it on, but it's more likely to break," Henry explained, looking despondently at the packet in his hand. "Also... don't be offended if I don't finish. I swear, it's not that I don't find you insanely attractive, but these squeeze me really tightly and I can't feel much when I use them."

"Henry..." Faye started, giving him an unbelieving look.

"I am not trying to get out of using protection. I'm responsible, I promise! I got checked for everything at my last annual check-up and I'm clean. I'm just telling you what can happen."

"What exactly are you working with?" Faye asked, sitting up and hooking her fingers in the waistband of his underwear, Henry leaning back to allow better access as she quickly pulled them down, grunting softly when his erection thumped against his lower stomach. "Oh shit." Faye swore, her eyes going wide when she took him in. She'd had a feeling he was 'gifted' from the times she had felt him through his clothes, but she had no idea exactly how 'gifted' he was.

"Are you ok?" Henry questioned after a beat, shifting uncomfortably under her intense gaze.

"That's... fuck. Yeah, we're going to have to take this slow. That thing is huge. Jesus... is that your dick or a third leg?"

"I wasn't being a prick when I said it was too small." Henry chuckled nervously. "Are you on the pill?"

"No, I tried a few different ones when I was younger but I always had horrible side effects." Faye admitted, a curious hand sliding along his shaft pulling a deep content sigh from deep within his chest. She'd never been with an uncut man before.

"Fuck." Henry groaned, his hips twitching into her touch. "I could... shit, just like that." He gasped when her thumb gently slid back his foreskin, circling the hypersensitive spot just beneath the crown. "Fuck... " Henry trailed off, his eyes falling closed as he allowed himself to just feel.

"How good is your pull out game?" Faye questioned, her other hand gently cupping his balls, massaging them the best she could in her tiny palm.

"No misfires." Henry chuckled, hope sparking in his belly. "Not to kill the mood, but are you... like... fertile right now?" Henry asked, gesturing vaguely to her lower stomach.

"It's a crap shoot, honestly. Never been regular, I have no way of knowing."

"Fuck." Henry groaned.

"Not that I don't think you're a great guy, but I don't know if I'm willing to risk being a single mother of two." Faye mumbled softly, continuing to work him with her hand.

"I don't plan on going anywhere." Henry scoffed, pulling her closer to claim her lips. "But I won't do anything that makes you uncomfortable. How about you sit on my face and we take it from there?"

"I thought you were joking about that." Faye squeaked, her eyes going wide.

"No, I'd love to have that pretty pussy riding my jaw." Henry whispered against her lips, slowly trailing down to her neck with playful kisses. "Have you screaming my name from on top of me." A gentle nip at the junction of her neck, causing her to gasp. "Using that amazing ass to pull you even closer." He descended lower, teasing her nipple with his lips, his tongue darting out to flick against it. "What do you say, beautiful?"

"I... fuck... what about you?"

"Worry about that later." Henry dismissed, rolling onto his back next to her, his greedy hands dragging her thigh over him to straddle his chest. "Right now, I'm hungry."

"Shit." Faye gasped as his hands gripped her ass, dragging her up to hover over his mouth, being met almost instantly by his impatient mouth on her heated core. He licked slow, deliberate stripes through her glistening folds, catching every drop of arousal he could before he began his assault on her sensitive bundle of nerves. The gasps and moans falling freely from her mouth spurred him on. He pulled her even closer with his hands on her ass, wrapping his lips around her clit and sucking it desperately.

Faye was vaguely aware of one of his hands leaving her backside, but only became fully aware of what it was doing through her lust filled haze when she felt a long thick finger slowly pressing inside of her, curling at just the right moment to press against the most sensitive spot inside of her. "Fuck! Henry!" Faye groaned, torn between chasing his mouth or pushing back against his invading finger as he moved it in small teasing wiggles inside of her, just enough to drive her insane with need.

His eyes snapped up to her face when she called his name, a cocky smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth as he added a second finger, massaging her inner wall with more purpose. All it took was one firm lick to her clit and a deliberate curl of his fingers for her to come undone, gushing onto his hand and jaw as she panted his name desperately, holding onto the headboard for dear life as she rode out her orgasm.

Henry gently slipped his fingers out, watching her closely as she moved to sit beside him instead, pushing her sweaty strands from her face as she tried to catch her breath. He absently sucked on his still wet fingers as he watched her, waiting to see what her next move would be. Would she be too tired to continue? Would she go back to teasing his shaft until he lost his mind? Might she possibly return the favor?

His ponderings were drawn to an abrupt close when Faye had finally caught her breath. Before he realized what she was doing she was laying between his legs, her lips teasing the head of his cock as her hands rubbed along his inner thighs. Her tongue followed the thick vein on the underside from the base to the tip before taking him into her mouth. She started out slow and modest, his thick shaft already stretching her lips; her jaw had to open impossibly wide to prevent scraping him with her teeth.

Slowly, she sank deeper and deeper, her tongue flicking along the underside, her hands busying themselves with pumping his shaft and cupping his heavy sack. Her cheeks hollowed out as she pulled back, releasing him with a lewd pop. Her hands kept working him as she stared up at him, content to watch him squirm for the moment.

"I've never done this with an uncut guy before." Faye admitted innocently, her eyes falling to his cock as her hand easily slid up and down. "This is certainly easier to do, but you need to tell me what you like."

"You can just... push it back and do what you'd normally do." Henry explained through his panting, his hips jerking up desperately into her touch. It had been so long since he'd had anything other than his fist to get him off, and he could tell he wasn't going to last very long tonight.

"So, just push it back?" Faye repeated, her tiny, agile fingers slowly pushing his foreskin back, watching his face for any sign of discomfort. How far back? Just enough to get it out of the way? All she knew for sure is she didn't want to be rough and end up hurting him, especially in such a sensitive area.

"That's good. You're ok." Henry praised, his fingers sliding through her hair, urging her closer to his twitching cock.

Faye licked along the head, growing more confident at his increasing moans. He was certainly vocal. She took him back into her mouth, her tongue focusing on the tip as her hand worked his shaft again. His hips continued twitching up into her mouth, occasionally pushing too far and causing her to gag. She took him as deep as she could, tears falling from her eyes as she fought her gag reflex. She slowly pulled back, sucking hard as she went, her hand pumping him faster, her head bobbing along with the rhythm.

"Shit." Henry hissed, his head falling back against the pillows, his hands gripping her hair tighter. "Fuck, Faye. I'm close." He warned, his hips twisting beneath her as he fought the urge to thrust up into her warm mouth. "I don't... I don't care where but if you don't want it in your mouth, you need to move." He gasped, the pressure building at the base of his spine until it grew too much to handle. He let go with a loud roar that sounded vaguely like her name, pumping himself up into her mouth with each wave of his orgasm until he was left a blissed-out, sated mess beneath her.

"Sorry... Didn't know if you swallowed." Henry apologized, his hands falling from her hair to cup her jaw.

"Not a problem if I know it's coming." Faye assured, crawling back up the bed to curl into his side.

"Tomorrow, I am going to the nearest pharmacy and buying out their entire stock of condoms." Henry determined, kissing the top of her head.

"Just the XL ones, or are you going to take everything they have?" Faye teased.

"I'm taking everything. If the universe keeps getting between us having sex, no one else should be able to do it either." Henry pouted.

"Pass them out to all your buddies. Be like their Fairy Rubber Mother. Make sure they know they don't fit your massive cock when you do it too." Faye giggled, kissing his chest gently.

"Damn right. If I have to carry this monster around all day, everyone should have to know about it." Henry chuckled around a yawn.

"Get some sleep, Bear. We have to be in early tomorrow."

#henry cavill #henry cavill x ofc #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill fanfiction #guys like you #guys like you fic

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tenspontaneite · 3 years

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Beyond the Moon Gardens - Extracts (1)

For lack of anything else to post today, I’m releasing some extracts from one of my non-public fanfictions – Beyond the Moon Gardens – as my participation in the @raayllum valentine’s event.

Information on and context of the story itself is below the cut. The 10k of snippets are also below the cut.

(General overview of the content of the snippets: established rayllum, fluff, domesticity, horn care, silliness, cuddling.)

Story information:

‘Beyond the Moon Gardens’ is a successor to ‘In the Moon Gardens’. The former was written in a month in late 2020, and has been worked on sporadically since. The latter was written in approximately three weeks between December 2019 and January 2020. Both are currently incomplete. I do not intend to publish either to the public in full, but may well post further extracts in time.

‘In the Moon Gardens’ is a story about Callum and Rayla getting married; however, the circumstances are deeply unpleasant and the experience is traumatic. ‘Beyond the Moon Gardens’ is considerably longer, and is focused on trauma recovery, hurt/comfort, relationship development, and fluff. The story is structured around a plotline involving rescue and disaster relief efforts in a Sunfire elf city called Lux Marea.

All snippets presented below take place on day 7 of the story’s timeline. They have been carefully curated for fluffiness for the purposes of Valentine’s day, and do not contain any of the hurt/comfort or post-traumatic scenes prevalent in the story at large. Some extracts have been edited to slot together and minimise empty space.

I may potentially post further snippets throughout the week if people are interested.

The extracts:

(Snippet 1: domesticity, fluff, city descriptions. Context: Callum and Rayla are staying in fancy diplomatic quarters in the city, where they arrived somewhat earlier in the day.)

Rayla turned away from her reflection and went for the door.

She glanced around, and found Callum in his own robe sat at the sofa in front of the window. Surprisingly, he wasn’t drawing. He was just staring out across the city, looking pensive.

“Not drawing?” She asked, and he startled, looking up at her in surprise.

He blinked. “Oh. I didn’t hear you.” He said sheepishly as she approached.

She snorted, and moved around the sofa’s edge to plant herself down beside him. “So I noticed.”

Callum smiled at her, looking for all the world like the best thing that had happened to him today was her sitting down next to him, eyes settling on her like he’d be perfectly happy to do nothing but look at her forever. She withstood that expression for only a single second before she had to lean in and kiss him. He made a pleased sound, reaching out to rest a hand on her back, fingers stroking reflexively over the thick wool of the robe. “You smell nice.” He said happily, turning his face sideways to tuck his nose behind her ear. He was undoubtedly getting a face full of wet hair that way, but he didn’t seem to mind. “Fruity, sort of.”

“They’ve got a lot of soaps in there.” She said, and her voice came out more soft than amused. Stars, but she loved him. “It’s nice. There’s all these soaps, and towels, and I think bath oils too.”

“You think?” He inquired, curious, still with his face in her neck. He pressed a kiss to her damp skin.

“Didn’t check them out properly or anything, but there was a drawer full of some fancy stuff. Bottles and the like. Looked like it might be bath oils.”

With a final kiss to the edge of her jaw, he pulled back to resume staring at her contentedly. “We’ll have to have a look later.” He said, and paused to give her an appreciative once-over. “That dressing gown looks nice on you.”

She rolled her eyes. “You say that about literally everything I wear.”

“That’s because you look good in everything.” He claimed staunchly, and honestly, he wasn’t looking half-bad in his dressing-gown either. The colour was familiar on him, but the casual comfortableness of it was weirdly pleasing to look at. Made him look cosy and cuddlable.

Rayla shook her head, then leaned in to kiss briefly along his jaw. It prickled a little. “You might want to see if they’ve got razors in there.” She said dryly. “You’re starting to prickle.”

He blinked, startled, and raised a hand to his jaw, feeling along it. Mercifully, he grew facial hair extremely slowly, making it less of an issue on the move, but it did still grow. He’d last made an attempt at shaving some two weeks ago, and that had sufficed up to now. “Elves don’t grow beards, though.” He said, after a moment. “I’d probably better just stick with mine.”

Once or twice, they’d made an attempt at shaving his bristles with Rayla’s swords, which had been kind of nerve-wracking, and plenty memorable. For lack of proper razors to be found in Xadia, they’d eventually ended up getting him a small knife that he claimed was alike enough to a ‘straight razor’ to work, though it periodically needed to be sharpened to an absurd degree. It was all very strange to her, even after a good half year of living with him. “Maybe.” She agreed at last, and gave him a sniff. Fresh from bathing, his state of uncleanliness was far more obvious to her nose than it had been before. “You should be getting washed up first though. You’ll make your dressing gown stink.”

He snickered. “Bet I reek to you now that you’re clean.”

“Just a tad.” She prodded him in the side until he started moving. “Off with you. Wash up.”

Evading her hands, he leaned in and planted a final kiss on her forehead before leaving, disappearing into the bathroom while she shook her head at him. She heard the water start up quite soon after, and eventually ended up staring out of the window like he had.

The city was still bright, both with sunlight and with the ongoing glory of the temple’s radiance. Settling into a sort of quiet lassitude, she watched it with eyes half-lidded, following the patterns of steaming light as though the smoke from a fire.

It was a striking city. Unlike Lux Aurea, which was so much gold it hurt to look at, Lux Marea was a thing of contrasts. The buildings were all built from the same dark stone as the bathroom had been done in, a grey that cast deep black shadows behind the gaze of the sun. And yet – every building was lined with gold. Accents on the corners, or moulding between the bricks, or running in thick channels up the walls…it gleamed, rich and distinct against the stone. Some of the largest, richest buildings had elaborate golden murals on their sides, luridly metallic and shining in the sun. All of that gold was glowing with magic now.

Rayla wasn’t much for aesthetics. But even she could appreciate the beauty in that view. She watched it for a while longer, lulled a little by the twisting patterns of glowing haze rising from the buildings, then stood and went to find something to do.

(Snippet 2: Calum and Rayla investigate the supplies their fancy bathroom is stocked with, discover bath bombs and are confused, Rayla points out various horn-care items, and Callum makes her very flustered by offering to use said items)

After that, they went through and classified each of the mysterious drawer goodies a little faster. They found more varieties of lotion, some weird nearly liquid soaps, and a pot of some mysterious mini chalky spheres whose purpose neither of them managed to guess until Callum’s hair dripped on one and it sizzled. “Is it supposed to go in water?” Rayla wondered, befuddled.

“No idea. Try it.” He suggested, and they took the rinsing pot, filled it with water, and dropped the thing in. It fizzed and foamed magnificently, releasing pleasant odours and bits of dried flower as it dissolved, and both of them stared at it with fascinated consternation.

“Is that for baths?” She asked him, befuddled. “What’s the point?”

“…Fun, maybe?” He offered, reaching out to swirl a finger in the foam. “It looked pretty cool, after all. Maybe you’re supposed to throw them in the bath for the fun of it?”

“Fun foam and nice smells?” With a huff, she put that pot aside as something to maybe experiment with if she felt like it. “Well, maybe.” She snorted, and in the last unexplored corner, found something highly important. “Oh thank god.” She said, in that way she’d absolutely picked up from Callum, and he looked over with interest.

“What did you find?”

She brandished it triumphantly. “Toothbrushes.”

“Oh thank god.” He echoed instantly, peering over. “My teeth feel disgusting.”

“You’re not the only one.” She withdrew both toothbrushes from the drawer and set them aside. “Well, at least we know what everything in there is now. Mystery solved.” She went to close it, but was stopped with a hand on her wrist.

“Wait, but what about those?” he asked, indicating the small collection of things she’d already set to one side of the drawer with the horn-scrub.

“Oh.” She’d forgotten he wouldn’t know those on sight. “Right. Well, this thing here-“ She plucked up a narrow, vaguely curved implement with a soft-smooth coating. “-is a horn buffer. For making horns smoother once you’ve already scrubbed all the rough bits out with a proper scrub.” She planted it in his hands, since he seemed fascinated by it, and withdrew a sort of soft spongey thing with a texture like felt. “Horn polisher. Same thing, kind of.” He took that as well, and she pulled out a pot of thick paste that turned out to be exactly what she thought it was when she uncapped it. This one had obviously attempted to smell as pleasant as possible, but it still had a very strong and distinctive edge to it. She wrinkled her nose. “Horn polish.” She said, closing it up again. “To be applied and used with the polisher. And lastly-“ She picked up one of the remaining bottles, “horn oil.”

He looked weirdly interested. “What’s the oil for?” He asked, leaning in. “I mean, I guess the rest of it’s to make your horns smooth and shiny, right? So what about this?”

“It’s kind of fancy and unnecessary, and expensive, so not everyone uses it, but usually you put it on after scrubbing or polishing.” She explained, withdrawing the bottles one at a time. “They smell nice, which is good after the polish, and letting it sink into the horns is supposed to make them healthier and glossier-looking. You can technically put it on multiple times a day if you’re really into your horn presentation, but pretty much no one bothers.”

“Because it’s expensive?” Callum guessed, and she made a so-so noise.

“Well, there’s that.” She said dryly. “But it’s just kind of a lot of hassle, you know? If you’re already washing and doing your hair and keeping your horns not-gross, it’s just extra fuss you don’t really need.” She shook her head. “It’s less effort than full on polishing, I suppose, but I’ve never been bothered about polishing my horns except on special occasions anyway. It’s a lot of work.”

“Huh.” He said, in a sort of weird tone of voice. Rayla turned to him, and found his expression similarly strange. Thoughtful, interested, and a little bit furtive.

She eyed him suspiciously, picked up an armful of the supplies they’d set aside, and stood up with them. “What’s that look for?” She asked archly, setting things onto the broad side of the bath. He followed her lead, picking up the rest of it and standing, looking a little shifty.

“What’s what look for?” he asked innocently, putting it all out in neat rows.

“I know that face.” She told him, unimpressed. “I’ve told you so many times I know that face. That’s your dumb idea face. So out with it.”

For a moment, Callum looked sheepish. Then he cleared his throat, and looked at her, and she reflexively fell silent. “I…was wondering if you’d let me do your horns.” He said at last, and she made a strangled noise in the back of her throat.

“What?”

(Snippet 3: tail end of the horn-care discussion, domesticity, Rayla bemused by the concept of room service, Callum pestering Rayla for details on how horn care works, and discussion of one of Rayla’s newer hobbies)

“That’ll be nice, then.” He said, sounding very at peace with the idea. “I can wash and comb out your hair, maybe. Give you some hornrubs.”

Her cheeks heated. “Callum.” She complained. “That’s so sappy.”

He pressed his face close alongside hers, and she could feel his smile against her cheek. “Treat you real good.” He said, very contentedly. “I’m gonna spoil you rotten.”

Rayla managed a strangled, deeply embarrassed sound in the back of her throat. A little indignant, she protested “You can’t just say things like that.”

“I can, and I did.” Callum grinned against her skin, and leaned in further to kiss her near the corner of her lips. “Love you.” He lifted a hand from around her waist, fingers settling at her jaw with a gentle suggestion of movement. Feeling near to bursting with mortification and adoration, she grumbled wordlessly but followed his hand, allowing him to lead her face around so he could kiss her on the mouth.

“You,” she muttered, into his lips, “need to get dressed.”

He paused, then huffed a surprised breath over her skin. “That’s right, I’m still just wearing a towel.” He remembered, ruefully. “At least I’m drier now.”

“It’s been ages, of course you’re drier.” Rayla shook her head at him, then nudged at his arms until he let her go, extricating herself from his embrace. She had difficulty looking him in the eye when she turned, after all of that. “…Get dressed.” She repeated, softer, and shoved the dressing gown he’d hung nearby into his arms. She leaned in, kissed him once on the lips, and then turned away to leave the bathroom.

She settled on the sofa, ensconcing herself beneath the soft blanket she’d found, and stared out at the city while her heart recovered. Sometimes, she loved Callum enough that it was a little hard to cope with, like she was afraid that the emotion in her would rupture if it built too far. He was used to her retreating a little at times like that, just long enough to breathe and feel slightly less overwhelmed.

He took long enough in the bathroom that, eventually, she guessed that he was shaving. That disappointed her, a little. She liked to watch him when he shaved. It was always so strange to her, something quintessentially human; a bizarre banal grooming ritual that reminded her again and again that he wasn’t an elf, he really was a whole different kind of being to her, and his humanity was made of so many little things. He never failed to chuckle at her for how she watched him shaving, but had grown very used to her keeping him company for it.

She sighed, and looked out on the city under the sun, and regained her emotional footing. By the time he emerged, clad once again in the dark red dressing gown, she had her equilibrium back and looked up gladly at his return.

“Where’d this blanket come from?” He asked, bemused, coming over to join her. She held one end up so he could sit down under it with her.

“One of the drawers. There’s a bunch of stuff in here.” She informed, and once he was seated she didn’t waste any time in reaching out to run her fingers along his still-damp jaw. It was so smooth. She murmured, pleased, cupping his face between both hands.

He coloured a little, looking across at her with soft eyes. “You’re so weird.” He told her, sounding utterly besotted, and she leaned in to kiss him lightly along that jawline.

“Love you.” Rayla said contentedly, and drew back just enough to nestle firmly against his side. He wove an arm around her back and turned his head to kiss her at the brow.

“Love you too.”

After a good bit of cuddling and watching the city together, Callum admitted to wanting a drink and Rayla to not knowing whether their waterskins were still filled. They were, as it happened, but-

“You know, if you wanted fresher water, or moonberry juice, we could just ask for it.” He pointed out. “All we’d have to do is open the door and ring a bell and someone would come up, and we’d ask for a drink, and they’d have it up for us just like that.”

She shook her head, utterly exasperated at the idea. “That’s so weird.” She said, and then actually considered it. “…Let’s do it.”

He laughed, and obligingly got up and went to the receiving room to fetch the bell. He mostly-closed the intervening door for her sake, so that when a servant responded to the ring she didn’t feel particularly on edge about it. They couldn’t see her. It was fine.

After a short conversation with the servant, they were off, and Callum shut the outer door before returning. “Five minutes.” He said, and true to his words, there was a knock at the door not too much later. He went to answer it and brought back an actual platter, balancing an entire jug of moonberry juice, an entire jug of water, and two glasses.

“Did you ask for a whole jug?” She asked, disbelievingly, as he set it down on the low table ahead of the sofa. “Or the water?”

“Nope. Actually, they passed along their apologies for not leaving a jug of water in here in the first place. Apparently that’s their usual thing to do, but since they were hurrying for us it got forgot.” He poured her a glass of juice, and then some for himself, and sat back.

She snorted. “What a terrible standard of service.” She said, mockingly. “I mean really, forgetting to leave us wee little glasses and chilled water, what is this place coming to?”

He snickered at an inopportune moment, very nearly making a mess with the glass he’d been in the process of drinking from. “Don’t say that around Vervain, I think she’d actually explode.”

“Right there on the spot.” Rayla agreed. “It’d make a terrible mess.”

They traded a few light-hearted quips on the subject of the accommodations while they had a drink, then they set it all aside for later. Callum, who was clearly angling for it, managed to get her onto the topic of how exactly a proper horn care-and-polish was supposed to go, and she spent pretty much the entirety of that torn between being increasingly embarrassed and increasingly amused. He was so interested, like she was sharing arcane magical knowledge instead of stupid basic grooming tips.

“I mean, I’ve seen you using your horn-scrub on the road sometimes, to file away rough or flaky bits, right?” He was saying, while she leaned over to lay against his chest. He reflexively put an arm around her even while gesturing with the other one. “You kind of go…with the sort of curvy lines in your horns? Like one at a time?”

“They’re called ridges, Callum.” She informed him, incredibly amused. “And yes. You need to file along them all one by one, and be careful to keep the shape too. If you do it badly you’ll flatten out the tops of the ridges and it looks really stupid.”

He stared down at her horns with fascination, and lowered his gesturing hand to trace the shape of – she presumed – one of her horn-ridges in detail. She made a flustered sort of murmur at him, but he seemed too busy to notice. “Right, so, hm.” He almost seemed to be speaking to himself. “Yeah, if you just file it from the top it’d all flatten out. So you have to sort of work around each one? Following the curve?”

“That’s why Moonshadow horn-scrubs are so much more complicated.” She informed him. “We need the wee fiddly parts to get between all the ridges and file it right without losing the shapes. Takes forever. Our horns are more of a pain than almost any other kind of elf’s.” She grinned up at him. “Unlucky for you.”

“Are you kidding?” He asked, incredulously. “This is great. Means I get so much longer to spend on you. You never let me spoil you enough.”

She processed that, and groaned, burrowing her face into the wool gown over his chest. “You’ll change your tune soon enough.” She muttered, but wasn’t entirely convinced. Callum really was an incredible sap when it came to doing things for her. “It takes so stupidly long.”

“I’m counting on it.” He declared happily, and she huffed.

“You’re ridiculous.” She informed him, and after nearly ten more minutes of him trying to wrangle intricately detailed horn-polishing knowledge out of her, just rolled her eyes and said with exasperation “It’s like polishing armour, Callum. Or boots. You just buff it up, then go at it with polish on the polisher for ages. There’s not much of a trick to it.” She paused, but did add “Gets kind of messy though. The filing stage puts horn dust and bits everywhere, and once you start polishing you get like…murky polish liquid all over your hands. Better put a towel down.”

Eventually, after enough sitting around that the cuddling alone wasn’t engrossing enough anymore, Callum did go and get his sketchbook and immediately sat down to begin producing what Rayla was certain would be the first of many, many drawings of the city. He drew it as seen from above first, and Rayla settled in to watch with half-lidded eyes.

She’d grown very used to spending time watching Callum draw. In large part, this was because he tended to spend a lot of his free time doing it, and she was often around when that happened. It was quite satisfying, to sit there and observe as the shapes on the page took form. But even so…

There was only so much of watching him draw that she could do before she started getting bored. Throughout their journeying, it had rarely got to that point. What with the time constraints of camp-craft and travelling, there’d been little enough spare time that Rayla hadn’t felt compelled to find anything else to do. Now, though, she found with surprise that her fingers were itching for her knives.

“Huh.” She said to herself, with interest, and Callum turned his head to peer at her.

“Hm?”

“My knives.” She said, and then realised this wasn’t especially helpful. “My carving knives. Just realised I’m hankering for them a bit. That’s never really happened before.”

“Oh.” He thought, then looked pleased. “Looks like you’re starting to make a habit of it after all. That’s really nice.”

“Less nice when I don’t actually have the knives.” She snorted, and considered her empty hands.

Rayla, on the whole, tended towards active ways of passing the time. She liked to train, and she liked to exercise, and if Callum was free she always liked to go flying with him. But inevitably, after half a year spent together, there had been plenty of afternoons and evenings in their off-time when she was too tired to go out for training, or Callum was spending time drawing and she wanted to be around him, and she ended up with nothing to do.

He’d been the one to gently pester her into taking up some sort of hobby. At first she’d just grumpily sharpened her weapons over and over again, but with enough work he’d got her to try other things. He’d suggested either knitting or whittling, on the basis that both involved the use of stabby implements, and she was a fan of those. Knitting she hadn’t taken to. But whittling…

At first, she’d just done it because he’d prodded her into it, and she didn’t hate it, and there was nothing better to do, so she might as well. But now, considering her empty hands with consternation, Rayla realised for the first time that she actually kind of wanted to be doing it. When had that happened?

He leaned over and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Pick up some things in the city tomorrow, maybe.” He suggested, and turned back to his drawing.

“Bit of a waste, when I’ve got a plenty good enough set of knives at home.”

“You don’t need to get a full set. But it could be nice to have a couple of the main ones around, for travelling with.” He shrugged. “You can practice on any random bits of wood, right? So it’s mainly the knives you need.”

She snorted. She’d learned enough to know that the type of wood one chose was, in fact, very important. But…yeah, for messing around like she did, random wood was usually fine. If splintery. “Maybe.” She said in the end, already thinking of the knife she used most. “It’s not a bad idea. Clothes and supplies are the priority, though. So maybe if there’s anything left after that.”

“We’ll need cold-weather gear, if we’re going through the Shiverthorns in winter.” He remarked, and huddled into the blanket like the mere thought was making him cold. “Thick cloaks and stuff.”

“Which are expensive.” She reminded. “And also heavy. It’ll slow you down.”

He shrugged. “I figure that’s okay. We won’t be in a huge hurry to get back, after all.”

(Snippet 4: Callum and Rayla discuss dinner options, watch the sunset, and investigate the light fixtures. Context: in this story, I worldbuild Sunfire elves as some weird blend of French and Roman.)

He hummed by way of agreement, and pulled her tighter in to his side. “For now, let’s try not to worry about that.” He said, determinedly. “Today our job is to relax and rest up, and that’s it.”

Rayla sighed, and shifted around to lay part-way across his front, face half into the red wool at his chest. “I can probably do that.”

They cuddled for what actually didn’t end up being that long, because there was a knock at the door. It echoed sharply through the polished wood, even with the intervening door closed. Rayla, who’d heard no footsteps of any kind due to the ostensible soundproofing, stiffened immediately.

Callum blinked, then carefully extricated himself from her. “I’ll go get it.” He said, and she didn’t object. She didn’t relish the thought of being seen by strangers when she was in her bathrobe. That was private.

He unlocked and opened the receiving room door, closed it behind him, and then unlocked and opened the outer door. There was actually a decent degree of sound loss between there and Rayla’s current spot, so she couldn’t hear what was being said beyond stray words. After a while, Callum said something in a distinctly goodbye-ish sort of voice and the encounter ended. He considerately locked both doors for her on his way in.

Over his arm, he was holding a neat stack of clothing and armour. “Already?” She asked, startled, and watched as he set it all down on the bed.

“Already.” He agreed, seemingly pleased. “I guess their drying spells really are useful. Look, they’ve cleaned your armour. And our boots.”

Rayla lifted herself from beneath the blanket to go over and look. All of their things looked fresh and new, bereft of the dull beige hues imbued by travel and sleeping in dust and dirt. It half looked like they’d re-dyed some of it, honestly, to get the clean colours back. She lifted Callum’s scarf from the pile, sniffed it, and hummed at it.

“Laundry smell?” He asked, amused, and she shrugged.

“Unsurprisingly.” She considered putting it on him, but in the end decided she was enjoying the look of him in the bathrobe, all cosy and comfy-looking. “What else were you talking about?”

“Hm?”

“With the servant.”

“Oh.” He paused to collect his thoughts. “Dinner stuff. He wanted to tell me the options they’ve got, so we can order ahead of time.”

Rayla made a thoughtful noise, and drew him by the wrist back over to the sofa again. “And?”

“You want me to list it all off?” She nodded, and obligingly he went off listing the various items on the menu, many of which were evidently examples of bizarre Sunfire ideas about cooking. Snails, really? Frog legs? Her nose wrinkled at that one, and Callum’s lips quirked. “They serve glow toad too.” He admitted ruefully. “I mean, I guess I heard they were delicious, but it’s one thing to hear it and another thing to have it on the menu, you know?”

She made a face. “Ez would never forgive us.”

“Bait would never forgive us.” He agreed, snickering.

“And besides – ew.” Rayla shook her head, and waved her hand. “What else?”

He went through all of the selections, drinks and desserts included, and then finished up by saying “He left a sort of booklet thing behind with it all written down, if you want to look over it.”

She stared at him with exasperation. “Callum. You really just stood there and said it all when you could have just handed me the bloody menu?”

“Well, you did ask.” He said, like this was reasonable, and she sighed fondly at him.

“You dumb prince.” She told him, affectionate, and leaned in to kiss him on the cheek before going to look for the menu.

By this point, it was around four in the afternoon, and the sun seemed to be making a very definite bid for descent. She retrieved the Booklet of Food Options and retreated to the sofa with it, where Callum had already planted himself to watch the city. There was a hint of yellow-green in the bright clear sky, and the angle of light from the sinking sun was casting some particularly dramatic shadows. The temple was still gleaming with light off to the side, and the golden circuitry through the city still exhaling. She stared at it for a moment, certain that tonight’s sunset really was going to be spectacular, and then opened the menu to start looking.

It had been long enough since lunch that the sight of so many food options was plenty enough to make her start considering the idea of an early dinner. In an hour or two, maybe. Some of it was too weird or too exotic to consider, but there was a lot that wasn’t.

She passed the booklet over when she was done making selections, but Callum seemed too occupied with the burgeoning sunset to want to look at it. She snorted, leaned in to kiss him on the cheek, and then leaned comfortably into his side to watch the city.

The sun fell over a period of around half an hour, sinking lower and lower, until the sky filled with such intense yellows and deep reds that it seemed almost to have caught fire. The grey slate of the city turned bloody red in the light, every golden trace lit up and shining in the growing dark. The few wispy clouds left in the sky were shining too, until the sun began to pass beneath the lip of the sea on the horizon, and the blue-green edges of the dusk glittered with stars.

“That,” He said, very softly, when dusk was ebbing into twilight, “was a really incredible view.”

Rayla had little artistry in her heart, but she’d appreciated that sunset. She knew that by contrast it must have touched Callum deeply. She looked at him, taking in his expression, finding it every bit as amazed and awed and happy as she could have hoped for. Her heart fluttered, happy for that he was happy, and in the warmth of that contentment she reached over to cup his cheek with her hand.

He looked at her, leaning into the hand, and offered her a small and very soft smile. Her thumb smoothed over his cheek as he lifted his hand to settle atop hers. Wordless, she leaned in to kiss him, warm and brief, and lingered there close by his face for a long while after their lips parted. He sighed very quietly, entirely happy and entirely at ease. It was peaceful in a way she’d dearly missed.

Feeling utterly suffused with warmth, Rayla nestled in beside him, fingers hooking lightly in the soft red wool of his robe. His arm came around her, and both of them sighed, and both of them settled, and it was quiet.

Neither of them felt the inclination to move or speak for quite a while. The sky was dark and full of stars by the time she shifted, and the city’s golden circuitry shining boldly through the shadow. The Moon, ascendant in the sky, was very nearly full.

“Might not be so bad after all, staying here a while.” She said, finally, and pressed her lips to his neck. “Comfy, nice bathroom, nice views…and the food options look kind of incredible, honestly.”

He chuckled, soft and fond. “Bit of a weird honeymoon.” He murmured into her hair. “But I’ll take it.”

She huffed. “Honeymoon.” She repeated, shaking her head.

Well. She supposed if they’d had to go through that whole forced marriage ordeal, they did at least deserve to get a nice holiday out of it. Even if most of that holiday was going to be spent working, the not-working parts of the day looked to be a lot fancier and more luxurious than they were back home.

“Yeah, I guess so.” Was her conclusion, in the end. “Did you decide what you’ll be eating?”

“Pretty much.” He kissed her brow. “You ready to order? It’s still kind of early.”

“Eh. It’ll do.” She shrugged, and listed off her selections. He kissed her again, then gently untangled himself from her limbs to go off and summon a servant.

The room had gone darker while the sun set, and the soft yellow glow of the fireless light fixtures along the walls had grown more prominent. Now a little curious, Rayla took the opportunity to investigate one, and on closer inspection found it to be some sort of…weird bioluminescent plant. Or maybe animal? It had long rigid tube-like structures that had plainly been cultivated into ornamental shapes, that looked almost like some sort of stone, though it had obviously been painted or dyed the usual deep red. It exuded a number of softly glowing yellow-orange tendrils from the openings at the end of the tubes, short and blunt but weirdly pretty.

She reached out cautiously to touch one, and at once the tendrils retracted inside the tube, the light dimming. Startled, she drew back to watch it, but the tendrils didn’t start to tentatively reappear again for another minute, during which she heard the light murmurs of Callum conversing with whatever servant he’d summoned.

When Moonshadow elves wanted light after dark, they just used enchantments, or glowstone, like normal people. Fancy Sunfire elves, however, apparently favoured plants. Or animals. She honestly wasn’t sure which this one was. Some sort of land-coral?

“I ordered the food.” Callum said, when he returned. “They said it’ll be about half an hour. And they’ll bring it all up at the same time so we don’t get disturbed twice.”

“Perfect.” She pronounced, with satisfaction, and then dragged him over to meet the light fixtures. Predictably, he spent a good ten fascinated minutes investigating the weird glowing polyps, and then a while longer sketching one out, and was half-way through that when the food arrived.

(Snippet 5: after dinner, Callum and Rayla engage in some silliness, then cuddle. Domesticity.)

“I’m so full I’m not going to move for a week.” Rayla announced, after staggering her way back through to their sofa, followed by an amused Callum. “It’s going to take at least that long to digest all of that.”

“That might make it tricky to get supplies.” He said, pretend-thoughtful. “But I’m sure we can work something out.”

She snorted, patted him on the shoulder, and then promptly pulled him into her side when he started looking at her in the imminent-cuddles sort of way. He hummed contentedly, turning his face into her shoulder, breath warming the wool over her collarbone.

“This bathrobe is so comfy.” He said happily, words muffled by wool. “It’s so nice.”

Having had very similar sentiments about his bathrobe earlier, she quite agreed. “Shame they didn’t include wool pyjamas, really.”

He didn’t offer any response for that, just snuggled, putting an arm around her waist. It was almost a little uncomfortable, really, what with how full she was, but she didn’t protest. She just held him close, smoothed her free hand over his hair, and looked out over the city. In the dark, watching the vaporous light rise felt very much like watching fire. It was very entrancing.

Some time later, Callum started to show signs of beginning to fall asleep on her. She looked down at him, snorted, and then nudged him until he stirred. “If you fall asleep now you’ll be up too late.” She informed him as he made plaintive noises at her. “I’m not having you exhausted and useless for your magic channelling nonsense tomorrow.”

“But you’re too comfy.” He complained, and she smirked.

“That sounds like an invitation to be less comfy.”

He opened an eye to peer at her suspiciously. “What do you mean, ‘that sounds’ – hrk!” His words cut off as, unceremoniously, she swept him up with an arm under his back and another under his knees, on her feet with a quick shift of her weight and his. She grinned down at him, finding him instantly and distinctly awake. “….Honestly this is still pretty comfy.” He said, weakly, when he’d spent enough time staring wide-eyed at her to recover his words.

Rayla pretended at thoughtfulness. “That sounds like a challenge.” She said, and he looked alarmed.

“It wasn’t! It wasn’t!” He protested, to no avail; she stepped around the sofa, judged her angle, and tossed Callum at the bed.

He wasn’t particularly aerodynamic, but her aim had been good enough anyway; he sailed neatly between the posts at the corners and impacted decadent Sunfire quilting with a muffled oof. She was laughing at him outright when he turned, staring at her with a sort of red-faced stupefaction that told her exactly what he thought of the whole experience. “Your face right now,” she managed, doubling over to snicker in his direction. Hilarious.

“You know, there’s a saying,” he began, a little dazed. “About trusting someone as far as you could throw them.” He pushed himself up on his elbows. “You could probably trust someone a lot, is what I’m getting at.”

“…I actually do sort of know how far I could throw you, now that I think about it.” Rayla said, thinking back. “It comes up in assassin training sometimes. Throwing teammates at walls and the like, to give them a leg up. I lobbed someone about your size around six, seven metres once.” She paused, and added “Lengthways, I mean. Throwing someone upwards is a lot harder.”

This did not make him any less wide-eyed. “That’s like, over twenty feet,” he marvelled, looking at her with plain admiration. “You’re amazing.”

She huffed, reflexively bashful at the praise, and shook her head. “Amazing at throwing people, at least.” She said dryly, and went over to stare down at him from the foot of the bed. “How’s the bed?”

“…Very nice, actually.” He said, after a pause for consideration. “You’re pretty bad at making things less comfy.”

“You’re definitely awake now though.” She pointed out smugly. “So my work here is done.”

He snorted, sitting up fully to beckon to her. Obligingly, she bent forwards to meet him with a brief kiss. “Hard not to wake up when someone throws you half-way across the room.”

She rolled her eyes. “It was not that far.” She said, and after a moment made the executive decision to fall forwards onto the bed, face impacting the plush duvet and sinking in. Her feet hung from the edge, and Callum giggled.

“Hehehe toes.” He said, and reached out to poke one. He found her four-toed feet amusingly charming every time he was reminded of them, which would have been funnier, except her feet were pretty ticklish and she twitched every time he prodded like this.

“I will kick you.” She warned, and he subsided with another snicker. Instead of messing with her any further, he shuffled over and started playing with her hair. “Mm. Better.” With a sigh, she closed her eyes and tipped her head forwards, face smooshing deeper into the bed. His fingers carded through her hair, nails trailing lightly at her scalp.

“You didn’t brush it.” He noted, carefully working out a couple of tangles, and she shrugged.

“Couldn’t be bothered. ‘Sides, it only tangles again when we cuddle, anyway.”

He hummed, and went through it again more purposefully, parting it carefully around her horns as he looked for and eliminated a few knots. He brushed around her hornbeds and she shivered. Apparently noticing the reaction, he did it again, more deliberately, chuckling at the way she murmured and pushed her head into his hand. “You look like a shadowpaw when you do that.” He said, affectionately, scritching gently around her horns. “Headbutting people’s hands when they pet you.”

“Anyone else and I’d be cutting off their hands, trust me.” She mumbled at him, already a little indistinct and fuzzy around the edges of her thoughts. Hornbed-scritches did that. “…Suppose the shadowpaw’d do that too. Except they’d bite the hand off instead, if they didn’t like you.”

“What I’m hearing is that if you were an animal you’d probably be a shadowpaw.” He sounded very fond.

“Mm. Guess so.” What would he be? Something doggish, probably. Friendly and playful and loyal, and then all teeth and fierceness when threatened. That sounded about right…

She drifted, a little. It was hard not to, when collapsed onto a comfy surface with one’s hornbeds being rubbed. He stopped after a while though, evidently noticing her drowsiness, and stroked a hand over her head between the horns as he chuckled. “Now who’s falling asleep?” He teased, and she made a half-hearted rude noise at him.

“’s your fault.” She muttered at him, indistinct around the duvet in her face.

“Uhuh.” He sounded amused, and stroked the back of her head again.

(Snippet 6: very detailed depiction of horn care, which in-setting is considered intimate)

She was suddenly very glad he’d interrogated her so persistently on the procedure earlier, because she wasn’t at all certain she’d have been able to tell him anything more sophisticated than ‘um’ when he was literally about to do her horns for her.

“You’re so cute.” He told her affectionately, obviously very aware of her current emotional state, and then finally set soapy hands onto her horns.

“Oh my god.” She muttered, cheeks flaming, feeling the weight of his hands, the subtle pull at the rest of her skull. She had never been quite so aware of her horns as when he started soaping them up and washing them, and it didn’t take long at all for the warmth of his skin to soak far enough through the keratin so that she could feel it in the living horn. A little while later, he applied the coarse-bristled-brush-side of the horn-scrub to her left horn, and she made a tiny embarrassed sound at the ceiling. “You should scrub them harder than that.” She managed after a moment, since he really was being too gentle about it. “Horns are tough, you know.”

He hummed with interest, and obliged, scrubbing hard enough that it pulled at her head a little. The towel-pillow had been a very good idea of his, really. “How much horn care do you normally do?” He asked, curious, getting the washcloth to rinse her horn before scrubbing again. “I’ve seen you file them, but…”

“…Usually just this. A good scrub to make sure they’re clean, and then filing down the rough bits.” Rayla offered a mortified noise. “But it’s been weeks and I’ve not even done that. They’re probably so dirty…”

“Shush, they’re fine.” He huffed at her, and kept on at her left horn until he was satisfied with it, moving over to the other one. Rayla regarded the ceiling with a persistently red face the whole while, cheeks feeling nearly as warm as the half of her body that was still in bathwater. “I wonder if your face is going to be this red the whole time.” He remarked, when he’d apparently finished with the washing.

“Probably.” She muttered, self-consciously, and felt her gut squirm when she felt the first experimental scrape of the fine filing parts on her horn.

Callum laughed softly, and started setting to work with the file. “If you say so.”

For all that he’d never done this before, the muted sensory feedback Rayla gleaned from her inner-horns and her ears suggested that he seemed to be doing fine with it. He readjusted the file enough that she could be relatively sure he was respecting the curve of the ridges, and worked slowly along the shape of each one, from the hornbed to the pointed tip, over and over again.

As she’d told him, it was a long process. It took a long time. Long enough that, contrary to her words, her embarrassment did start to burn out a bit, the red of her cheeks easing until she only felt a little flushed, a little flustered.

“I see why you thought the cloak would be a good idea.” Callum said ruefully, a while in. She could only imagine how much horn-dust and flaky bits of keratin must be littering it. “This does get kind of messy.”

“Told you.”

“For now this is just making your horns go sort of…pale, and scratched-looking.” He commented, working the file around one of the ridges on the underside. “I guess it goes dark again once you start buffing it?”

She made a small despairing noise, but agreed “Yeah, basically. Honestly all you really need to do is wipe it over with a wet cloth and it’ll stop looking like that. But…”

“But I’m not stopping there.” He said, with evident satisfaction, and a little more heat rose in her cheeks.

He was slow and meticulous about the filing, but got through it a lot more quickly than she could have if she’d done it herself. It was hard to work on your own horns – the angle was bad, you couldn’t see what you were doing, and adjusting to get the undersides was a huge pain in the arms. By contrast, doing it for someone else was just…a lot easier.

Finally, he set the scrub down and went for the washcloth again, soaping up and rubbing her horns clear of dust, poring over them for any spots he’d missed. When he was finally satisfied, he said “and now I buff them?”

“Mmhm.” She confirmed, bringing her hands up to hide her face for a moment. So, at her confirmation, he started on that part next. He evidently hadn’t expected how vigorous the buffing and polishing stages of horns were, because she kept telling him to press the buffer harder, and he kept making worried noises about it, and she had to keep assuring him that no that’s how it’s supposed to be, and eventually she start started laughing helplessly at him.

“I feel like I’m going to hurt your neck,” he complained at her, when the strength of the requisite motions pulled at her head. “Or like, hurt your hornbeds, or something.”

“I’ll be fine, Callum.” She assured him, still laughing, mirth and embarrassment squirming in her chest. “This is just how it goes, you know.”

“At least I brought you a pillow.” He sighed, and obligingly kept on. A fair while later, when he was done with the buffing and had washed her horns again, he leaned back a bit to admire his work. “That really is looking a lot smoother and shinier.”

“And you’ve not even done the polishing yet.” Rayla felt very weird then, laying back, eyes fixed on the ceiling. She’d been through embarrassment, and then amusement, and now…now, there was something else. She felt almost calm. Almost settled, like she’d finally started to grow used to this. Like the novelty of his hands on her horns had worn through.

Now, she felt kind of comfortable. At ease, in a way. Her mind was drifting in the way it did when Ethari or Runaan had helped her with her horns before, like this was just a normal thing. A normal thing that took ages, and that one had to daydream through to pass the time.

“I’m actually really looking forward to seeing what they look like when I’m done.” He was saying, as he put the buffing things down and went to get the bottle of polish and the polishing tool. “I’ve never seen your horns all done up before.”

“Maybe now you’ll finally understand what I mean when I say my horns have gone gross.” She pondered, and he laughed. “Finally you’ll know what well-kept horns are supposed to look like.”

“I have seen other Moonshadow elves’ horns, you know.” He informed her, obviously amused, and she heard the cap of the polish opening. A moment later, she smelled it, because there was really no mistaking that smell. “Yours still look nice no matter how long it’s been since you scrubbed them.”

Rayla made a disagreeable noise at him, and he snickered back, and then finally set about the polishing.

She’d told him, earlier, that horn-polish was pretty potent stuff, and that’s why you applied it to a sort of spongy cloth attached to a handle, rather than scrubbing with it by hand. At full strength, it actually melted the outer surface of the horn – just a little, just enough to meld it all down into a smooth, gleaming, perfect surface. Diluted polish was fine if you did it regularly, but with how long it had been for her…she’d told him to keep it undiluted. And it stank.

Her nose wrinkled, even with all the pleasant soap smells competing, and held her neck lax as Callum worked on her horns vigorously enough to pull her head back with every other movement. That was just how it went, so she wasn’t bothered. The towel was enough padding that it didn’t hurt, so she just laid there and let him work.

“Think I might actually nearly be done.” He pronounced at last, sounding genuinely a little out of breath. She’d told him it was hard work, and evidently he’d found that out for himself. He sounded very pleased, though. Like he’d done a good job and knew it, and was plenty proud about it. “Just got to wash all this polish muck off, right? Soap your horns up again.”

“That is the last stage.” She agreed, trying to glance up at him, but all she could really see was the top of his head. “Aside from oiling, I suppose.”

(Snippet 7: aftermath of horn care, domesticity)

It was then, by the sink, that Rayla finally removed the towel from her head, and Callum made a loud noise of pure joy at her. She stared at him, alarmed, and then noticed where he was actually looking. Oh.

“Shiny!” He exclaimed, gleeful, and reached out to stroke her horns. “Oh my god.”

“Callum!” She complained, but she was already laughing, because honestly she should have predicted this reaction. He practically groped at her horns, bright-faced and beaming, and she flushed all the while she stood still and let him. “Are you going to let me see them any time soon?” She asked him, dry. “Or are you just going to stand there groping them?” He subsided at that with a very high-pitched giggle.

“Hehehe,” he offered, and then “yes, go look! You need to tell me how well I did.” He took her by the shoulders and turned her to the mirror, his face lingering by her shoulder in her reflection with the enormous grin still very much in residence there. He was such a dork, honestly.

Finally, Rayla tipped her head forwards and inspected her horns. They were…shiny. Very shiny. Every ridge had been filed and buffed and polished to a gleam, and when she turned her head, the light glimmered off of them like they’d been waxed. Her eyebrows went up, and she lifted her own hand to feel along one. It was smooth. Entirely dry, but as she ran her finger along one ridge, it felt so smooth. Their dark colour was actually glossy. “…Wow.” She said, a little admiringly, and tilted her head to watch the light move. “That is shiny.”

He looked absolutely delighted by that response, as if he’d needed her go-ahead to be certain that, yes, that was definitely impressively shiny. She smiled, helpless to stop it, and turned her head to kiss him on the cheek; her reflection mirrored her.

“You did a great job, Callum.” She told him fondly, her cheeks pink at having seen exactly how great a job he’d done. Stars, but the second anyone saw her they’d know exactly who was responsible for those horns. “My horns haven’t been this shiny in years.”

Callum looked at her like she’d hung the Moon, like this praise was enough to render him utterly overjoyed. He tugged her around enough to kiss her, deep and excited and full of energy, so much so that she made a muffled noise of surprise into his lips. It caught her off-guard, and she was feeling a little breathless and a little dazed when he drew away a few moments later. “You have to let me do this again.” He told her, beaming. “I’m going to keep your horns this shiny, just you wait.”

Her cheeks flamed, and she ducked her head, suddenly flustered. “You can’t just say things like that.” She complained at him, and of course he looked utterly unrepentant. He leaned in and kissed her, then moved and kissed her on one cheek, and then on the other cheek, and his hands were already up and stroking along the wide bases of her horns again.

“Smooth,” he commented, gleefully, fingers warm around her horns. His face was very, very close to hers. “They’re so nice.”

The heat in her face decidedly didn’t abate. “Oh my god, Callum.” She mumbled, shaking her head, and he just kissed her again. Feeling increasingly dazed, she said into his lips “you know, it’s a lot faster if you’re doing it regularly. You can skip the filing and just buff and polish instead.”

He considered this excellent news, if the way he kissed her was any indication.

Finally, she summoned the force of will to reach up and peel his hands from her horns, stepping away. It was not easy, because – because when he looked like that, so elated and alive and full of delight, when he kissed her so enthusiastically, it was hard to think of pretty much anything. She looked across at him, incredibly flustered, and couldn’t see anything except how beautiful he was. “You, calm down.” She ordered him, gruffly, and led him by the shoulder to the basin. “We came in here to brush our teeth, you numpty. Not fondle Rayla’s horns.”

“But Rayla’s horns are really really pretty.” Callum pointed out cheerfully, and she made an involuntary noise half-way between embarrassment and pleasure.

“Be that as it may, Rayla and her horns want you to brush your teeth now so we can go to bed.” She said, and she shuffled over to the basin to make good on her words.

(Snippet 8: Callum and Rayla go to bed finally. Cuddling, fluff.)

It proved as magnificently soft and comfy as she might have expected, when she peeled back the covers and climbed in. Callum meanwhile was perusing the canopy with consideration.

“Curtains or no curtains?” He asked her, and she considered it.

“Curtains.” She decided, and watched with satisfaction as he reached out and unhooked the bed’s attendant drapery. She reached to the one closest to her, and he got the rest; it all fell into place, a rich dark red that blocked out the light from the room around them and cast their bed into soothing shadow. Something settled in her then, that hadn’t quite been at ease in the unfamiliar surroundings, or the openness of the room. She sighed, and burrowed down under the duvet, laying her head back on the pillows.

He joined her, lifting the covers and slipping in, closing his eyes for a second in obvious profound enjoyment. “This is so much better than hard cold floor.” He murmured happily, and she smiled, tugging him to her with a hand at his shoulder. He went gladly, and within moments they were pressed close, legs tangling, the warmth of his skin comforting against her own.

“Been a long few weeks.” She sighed, resting her forehead against his, and he lifted a hand to stroke her cheek.

“Kind of an understatement.” He murmured back. “I’m glad we’ve got a chance to rest now.” A pause. “Sort of, anyway. Aside from the work.”

She understood his meaning, though. There was something strangely safe about the idea of the time they’d spend here, whether it would be a week or longer than that. This wasn’t home, where there’d be people to explain things to, or where they’d have to adapt their old life to fit around what had happened. This was a new place – unfamiliar, but easier to cope with for that unfamiliarity, in its own way.

Here, she thought, they’d be able to find their footing a little. Settle a little more into their new normal, before the vagaries of travel and normal life needed intrude again.

“Me too.” She agreed, at last, and reached a hand across to press lightly around the back of his neck. He made a soft, pleased sound, then shuffled to give her better access, face smooshed into the pillow. She kissed him on the cheek, and he peered at her with one green eye, a smile fluttering on his lips.

“…Thanks for letting me do your horns.” He mumbled back, eventually. “I liked it.”

Her heart fluttered. “I’ll repay you sometime.” She promised, and moved her hand to smooth down along his upper back, enjoying the warmth of his skin. “Tomorrow, maybe. Give you a nice backrub or something.”

“Sounds great.” He shifted closer, tucking his face against her shoulder with a sigh. She kissed him at the top of his forehead, stroking him gently from the nape of his neck to his shoulders and back. He made quiet contented noises at her, drowsier and drowsier, and steadily began to drift off.

She lingered there, holding him, trailing fingertips over his neck as he settled into sleep. It really had been a long day for him, for all that they’d spent the latter half of it indoors and resting. Now, finally, he’d be able to sleep properly, in a bed comfortable enough to ease the ache of his overworn muscles. Now, finally, without the city’s doom hanging over them, they could rest a little.

Rayla smiled into his hair, nestled against him, and closed her eyes. She wasn’t aware of falling asleep, but it took her anyway; almost between one moment and the next, she was gone.

#rayllum #rayllumvalentines #moon gardens #these snippets will probably not get posted to ao3 #i'd like to reiterate that I have no intention of posting the entire story either #but i hope you can enjoy these extracts regardless #i adore this fic tbh #it's a delight to write #which is probably how i managed to write 120k of it in one month #still proud of that #one heck of a personal record really

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redstainedsocks · 3 years

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Internal Affairs, Liars and Lairs

I’ve been staring at this for too long and I have no idea if it makes sense anymore but I’m done, I’m just posting it, and if it’s not clear where Zach’s head is at or what’s going on my ask box is open for questions and I’ll explain my worldbuilding there xD

Warnings: mentions of past torture, vaguely referenced past noncon, talk of human trafficking, trauma responses, dis-association, medical drug use, incorrect use of pain relief, aftermath of whump, traumatic memories, talk of being buried alive, messed up head space, thoughts of wanting to be back with whumper and carrying out whumper’s wishes (please let me know if I missed anything!)

[Previous]

The debriefing room was comically like an interrogation room. One wide table, low lighting, recording devices. Zach hovered in the doorway, uneasy. He bit the inside of his lip, worrying at a half-healed abrasion until he tasted blood. Could he keep secrets in here? Would he be capable?

“It’s sound proofed,” Jordan said, coming up behind him and interrupting his thoughts. “It’s the only reason we’re using it. So no-one that you don’t want to overhear can listen in. Whatever you say in here stays between whoever you feel comfortable knowing things.”

Zach looked over his shoulder at Jordan. “Not going to hound me for details like a bad cop, then? Make me sit here until I sweat it all out?” He was trying for light hearted but it fell flat, his voice cracked with nerves.

“No, Zach. There are some things we need to know, but only in your own time. No-one is going to force anything. This is to help you, as much as it is to help us.”

That would be a novelty, Zach thought. When was the last time anything had been done with his own well-being in mind?

He slunk into the room, sticking to the wall, wondering which chair was to be his. There were two on each side of the table. Bryson and Jordan sat on one side, Lacey came in and sat on the other and gestured for Zach to join them. So, this is who it was going to be?

“We’ll start small for now, Zach. Anytime you need a break, just say the word, we’ll stop, no questions asked. All right?”

Zach nodded, looking at his hands. He wanted to pick at his fingernails, comb hands through his hair, jiggle his leg, but with all eyes on him he was tense and still, no outlet for the energy running through his veins, the anxiety making his heart beat faster.

“Lacey is just here to collect some data, Jordan will help make sure your health is taken care of. I’m here because I’ve known you the longest. Are you comfortable with all that?”

Zach glanced up at his old mentor, frowned in confusion. “Does it matter?”

Bryson reared back in surprise, eyebrows raised. “Of course, yes. We want to debrief you not interrogate you. You should be comfortable, anything you say here will not be repeated outside these walls unless you agree to it.”

“No… no, I mean, we—we have to do this. I’m never going to be… okay with what we have to talk about. So, it’s, it’s...” Zach hung his head. “I would like to just get it over with?”

Bryson reached a hand across the table and squeezed his wrist for a moment. “We’ll take it slowly. Archer, or anyone else, can come in or leave at your behest.”

Zach nodded again. “What first, sir?”

They began with his escape, what he recalled from the hours and then moments before the phone call. Lacey tapped away at her laptop, inputting things and looking at data as they worked backwards, trying to build a map of the places he had passed and for how long he’d run to try and pinpoint where he had fled from.

“And how did you get away that day?” Bryson asked.

The question rolled around Zach’s mind like a marble, or a maelstrom. It all hinged on this. “I… I had been, well, pretending. No, not pretending, um. Giving in, a little. Being, they called it good. But, pliant? I suppose. Not causing trouble. I don’t know—I couldn’t say why or really when it started I just couldn't anymore and I wanted… I knew they would pay me less attention if I behaved the way he wanted.”

“Zach, take a breath,” Bryson coached him. “You don’t have to explain the details, tell us in simple terms.”

Zach closed his eyes for a moment and thought about the most straightforward way to say it. “I saw an opportunity and I took it. But I don’t know if… if they let me, or if I really, actually, got away on my own.”

Bryson considered him for a long moment. “And he was hurt, when we found him?” He asked Jordan.

“Mhm, yes, two cracked ribs, plenty of abrasions. Newer bruising as well as old.”

“Zach is that consistent to the amount of injuries you typically sustained, or did any of them happen during your escape?”

“Only the soles of my feet were hurt when I ran,” he answered honestly.

“All right, then, we’ll circle back around to this.”

It went on like that. Questions. Answers. They checked that he knew basic information like the day and month, asked how much of his work with the team he recalled before his abduction. They asked how he got some of the scarring that had been revealed during his hospital stay, if there was anything pertinent to how he might recover or ongoing problems that he knew he had. It was a dance of back and forth as he tried to work out how much to give away, which parts of his shame to air or keep secret. Zach’s head spun and he gripped the table so that he didn’t feel like the room was tilting around him.

“Do you know where you were held?” Lacey asked, as she scanned the map she had begun to make. “Anything you know will help us narrow it down.”

Zach closed his eyes, his mind tumbling in an entirely different direction to the meaning of the question. The phantom touch of hands on him, gripping, invading his space. There wasn’t one part of him that had gone untouched, not one part of him that hadn’t been exposed. Held down. Held by his wrists, by weight on his back, by hands groping, chains restraining, ropes winding around and around.

“Zachary?” Bryson’s voice broke through the ringing in his ears. The panic was still palpable, but contained, he raised his head from where he’d pressed his face to the cool metal of the table. He couldn’t remember doing that, but he faded in and out of the present sometimes, and didn’t question it.

“There wasn’t only one place. And no, I was blindfolded or… or otherwise not allowed to see every time I was moved.” The same way you brought me here, he thought sullenly. All control taken, he was never permitted to know.

The room was silent until Bryson declared he required coffee, and that they should break for at least a few hours if not the rest of the day. Zach didn’t move from the chair until everyone else had left, and then he went to the bathroom and tried to keep down the meagre lunch that Archer had made him.

They didn’t start again until a day later. Zach had had a restless night, and the pain from his healing injuries was worse until Archer reminded him the pain medication the hospital had prescribed was in one of the drawers in his room. Once the effects took hold Zach felt almost lightheaded, much calmer, and he wondered if one of the tablets was a mild sedative. He hadn’t asked, he’d just swallowed them whole and known whatever came of it was exactly what they thought he needed.

It turned out it made him chattier and he couldn’t be as anxious about his answers. The darkest recesses of his mind whispered how that was their plan all along. To take his ability to think clearly and hold back. They wanted to talk about heavier subjects, some of the details of his ordeal, and here he was, words tumbling from his mouth before he could hold them in.

“Can you tell us who took you?” Bryson asked after the first few questions were out of the way.

That, of course, was an easy question to answer. “Decker. First. And then, when he sold me on—”

“Sold?” Lacey interrupted, squeaking the word out before Bryson’s hand waving could stop her. Zach looked between them, trying to gauge how they were reacting. He knew it wasn’t normal, to say it so casually. It had just been a feature of his life enough times that the sting of it was gone, mostly.

“Umm, yes?” He replied, not sure where the confusion lay.

“But why?” Lacey asked, pointedly ignoring the glares that Zach could feel boring into them from across the table. “You can’t just sell people that’s not--Sorry, I know, it’s just. Fuck. Zach, I’m sorry.” She reached for his hand and he let her squeeze it for a moment before pulling away with a grimace. His hand tingled where she’d touched him, he rubbed at it under the table, both chasing the warmth and wanting it to continue, and wanting to scrub his hand clean of it.

“Why don’t you tell us in your own words what you remember of these events?” Bryson said, clearing his throat and gesturing for Jordan to take an extra set of notes.

“Every-every one, sir?” That would be painful, he shuddered at the thought.

“An overview will be fine,” Bryson said, gently. “Help us understand what you mean.”

Zach wet his lips, tried to find moisture to stop his voice from cracking. “So after, once he’d got what he wanted from me, when.” He took a breath to steady the sudden onset of nerves. “Once I’d betrayed you all, he said he was going to sell on the opportunity for other people to learn what he knew.”

“After you succumbed to his torture? That was not a betrayal, Zach,” Bryson said, and though Zach wasn’t watching his eyes to be sure, he was certain Bryson held steady and believed what he said. Perhaps that wasn’t a betrayal, maybe thinking of it that way was a lie, told to him often enough that he’d started to think of it as a truth. But it didn’t matter, because what he was doing now…

“Yes. Right. Anyway, he didn’t just want to sell the information. He just offered our other rivals, people who felt they’d been wronged by us, or who wanted to get out ahead of any future altercations, a chance to… to get their hands on me and take the same opportunity. Or anyone else who felt wronged and wanted someone to take it out on.”

Lacey stood, her chair shuddering back as she pushed to her feet. Zach glanced up and saw Jordan looked a little unwell too. “I have to, I can come back, I just would like a moment.” She spoke slowly, calmly, but Zach noticed the trembling fist by her side, the only hint that she was distressed. He watched it all in a detached way, wondering what he’d done wrong to upset them. It was so tiring being the cause of everyone else’s actions and trying to judge their reactions. It was easier to let it all wash over him, it would either hurt him, or it wouldn’t, it wasn’t for him to decide.

“Of course, send Archer in instead,” Bryson said.

Archer came and hovered near the door once Lacey left, and Jordan pushed his chair further back, and took some deep breaths.

“So you were tortured for information, forced to endure the same treatment over and over again?” Bryson asked, and Zach thought he heard a wobble in the voice that was usually so steady.

“Yes. Um, partly anyway. In the end… in the end I just answered straight away. I couldn’t. I couldn’t do it over and over again. And often they threatened civilians, random people, if they found out that I lied. I couldn’t watch anyone else get hurt because of us--because of me. Sometimes I was just sold to people who wanted someone to hurt though, and I was… I was a good candidate for their revenge.”

The room was heavy with unsaid words, with the weight of the knowledge he’d just dropped in their laps. And Zach knew it wasn’t even the worst of it. He was sparing with the details of what had come after all of that, they didn’t need a laundry list of the horrors that now made up his nightmares.

The silence went on a long time, long enough that Zach was startled back into the present when Bryson cleared his throat and spoke again. If any silent communication had happened between the rest of them, Zach had missed it.

“So which of our old enemies did you take your leave of four days ago?” Bryson inquired.

Zach’s mouth twitched in a small semblance of a wry smile. He huffed, almost laughing, though not sure why it was funny. “Decker.” He could image the raised eyebrows and confused expressions even though he didn’t look up from the table surface. “He wasn’t done with me. The others… that was just the first six months, maybe? He took me again, I’ve been his since then.”

Zach was still his now, the threats and promises that had been made were a slowly tightening noose around his neck.

“Do you have any idea how they faked your death?” Archer asked eventually, as he leaned forward, one elbow on the table, dipping his head to try and catch Zach’s eye. “That’s the one bit we’re still not able to piece together. Do you even know where you when—” Archer’s swallow was audible. “What was happening to you, then?”

Zach looked up through his eyelashes, caught sight of Archer’s red hair.

“I remember,” he said, his voice airy. Dreamlike. He felt himself detach from it. “It was when I was still with Decker the first time, but I think he was nearly done with me.” He frowned, playing back the memories, slotting his injuries into place in his mind. The crossbow bolt entry wound was healed but the scar was still red. He had no fingernails left at that point, which made what came next both a blessing and more painful.

He teased the memory out. Yes, after that, he’d been left alone—completely isolated—for two or perhaps three weeks so that the worst of his wounds could heal and he could regain enough fight that the auction would be appealing. Just enough energy that the next buyer, the next set of torture, could knock the fight right back out of him.

“What do you remember?” Archer asked.

Zach thought he heard him swallow, he felt all the air in the room go still. He’d lost his breath too. “They showed me, the… the footage, the death certificate. Pictures of you all grieving. So I knew no-one was looking for me.”

He heard the gasps, heard Archer swore as Bryson tried to calm Jordan down, who was ranting about the coroner’s report. “It’s not your fault Jordan,” Bryson said. “None of us could have known, it all looked exactly as it should.”

“None of this is how it should be,” Archer’s voice was calm, a controlled quiet. Zach remembered that Archer sounded like that when he was close to losing his cool.

“It’s okay,” he said. “I died.” He thought that would make them all feel better, his foggy thoughts told him it was right, to explain like that.

“What?” Archer said, turning Zach bodily by the shoulders so they faced each other.

He nodded, trying to smile, and not show how scared he was of that memory. “They buried me.”

“I know we did, but… that’s not, what you mean is it?”

“There was a box, and a hole, and they played out the funeral for me, so I knew. What it was like. And, and when I came back out there was nothing left for the old me, I couldn’t be me anymore, because he died”

He’d clawed and clawed at the wooden box and inescapable horror of it, but had no fingernails to find purchase and no strength to break out. It was so small and hot in there, and later it got cold, so very cold as he couldn’t fill his lungs anymore until they’d dragged him out limp and weak. Not even a scream left in his body.

“Zach, Zach are you saying they, that one of the tortures was—” Jordan began.

“Don’t!” Archer interrupted. “Don’t make him say it.”

They all took a break after that, with so much left unsaid.

“Let’s just go back,” Bryson said the next day. “I’d like to revisit your escape, if you’re up to it.”

Zach thought he was. Jordan had explained that he didn’t need to take all of the pills at once that morning and he felt much more clear headed. He was still tired. He wanted this to be over, but he wasn’t sure what ‘over’ would look like and that scared him too. He pushed it all down and attempted to focus on Bryson’s question.

This was it, the moment. To go back, or to go forward. To come clean, or betray.

Words dried up in his throat, and his mind swam with possible ways to answer that simple question.

“Zach? Is that something you can handle today?” Bryson asked.

He must have been quiet for too long. He took a sharp inhale of breath, filled his lungs until they felt fit to burst and then breathed out slowly. He nodded. “It’s… I get confused. But I can try.”

“What do you get confused about?” Bryson asked, a kindly smile playing on his lips even as his brow furrowed in question.

“What happened, and, and when?” Zach picked restlessly at his hands. “Decker had--has--plans. I tried not to get too wrapped up in them, I didn’t want to know, I didn’t think it was worth knowing because I was never getting out of there… only then I did.” he scrubbed a hand down his face. “It’s confusing. I’m not sure how much to say--I mean how much you need to know. There’s so much.”

“Alright,” Bryson said. “You are safe here, anything you say will only be to help you, and us, not to hurt.”

There was a flood of emotions in Zach that he had kept at bay for years. Squashed and compressed down until they only came screaming out of him at the end of a whip, or the ferocity of a forced fight, or the violent intimacy laying his body bare beneath another. Dribs and drabs of grief and terror that made their way out through small cracks before he could close them back up and stem the tide.

These soft spoken words, said by people who cared so much and so openly, chipped away at the defenses he thought he had. The reassurances, the kind touches, the offers of food and rest… all of it was so strange to him now, and bit by bit hot tears kept wanting to make themselves known behind his eyes. He blinked them away, choked them back down.

“I don’t know where I fit in—into his plans,” he said, trying to buy himself time.

These people cared. They cared so much. They’d brought him back into their embrace and kept him safe and every bruise he had was fading, every cut healing. How could he ignore that?

Because you don’t have a choice. Decker’s voice whispered in his ear and he shivered.

Didn’t he? Wasn’t everything a choice? It was just a choice of who got hurt; him, or them.

His plan had always been to lie in a way that was closest to the truth, Decker had said that was easiest but nothing felt easy now. Still, he had no other instructions than the ones he’d been given. He had to stick to the plan.

“He wanted me to help him. He said… if I agreed he’d let me go. So, I agreed.”

Bryson shifted, Archer put his head in his hands. “He asked you to work for him, once he let you go.”

Zach’s pulse pounded in his ears. He felt himself nodding, numb to it. “I just did it to get away, I never meant it. I-I don’t think I meant it.” He frowned. “I just knew if I acted broken enough, uhh, if I went along with it, that was my way out.”

“He wanted you to be a double agent?” Archer asked.

“He wanted me to be his, I convinced him that I was.”

“But you’re not, right? It was all just… you said it was a trick? A ploy?”

Zach turned and saw the sincere, open question on Archer’s face. He wanted so badly to make Archer feel better. “That’s what I tried to do, yes. Must’ve worked, right? Because I’m here?”

Archer leaned over the space between their chairs and smothered him in a hug. He breathed in the scent of Archer, felt the heat of the closeness radiate until all of him was warmer.

“I just wanted to come home, I didn’t see another way,” he mumbled into Archer’s shoulder. “I didn’t want to agree to his games.”

When Archer pulled away Bryson was studying him intently. “This isn’t what you said on our first day.”

Zach gulped. “What did I say then?”

“You said that you saw an opportunity and you took it, but that you didn’t know if that was by your own doing, or orchestrated for you.”

“Yeah, yes. I meant that I didn’t know, I don’t know, if I was convincing enough, or too convincing. If I was clever enough to pull it off. Maybe—maybe I really broke? I don’t know.”

“But you’re here now, and you want to stay here with us? Safely? And not return to Decker?” Bryson asked. “We will protect you no matter what, of course, you’ve been through hell and under no circumstances would we let you be taken again, but you need to understand that if you’re not sure where your loyalties lie we cannot let you remain here.”

Zach licked his lips, his face burned red with some mix of emotions that he couldn’t name. Shame, maybe, a desire to hide and the embarrassment of being seen.

“I don’t want to be tortured anymore,” he said.

Bryson nodded. “Of course. That’s natural. But we need to know, can we trust you? Are you still one of us?”

They’d brought him to their headquarters and Zach knew that in itself was a sign of trust he hadn’t earned and he didn’t want to be reprimanded for it. If he was honest, he wasn’t sure. He didn’t know. He wanted to be good, he was looking for a way to let this play out and for nobody to get hurt, he just wasn’t sure that was possible.

An honest lie, Zachary, that’s all it takes.

“I hope so, sir.”

[Taglist: @haro-whumps @whumpthisway @hurting-fictional-people @lonesome--hunter]

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basicjetsetter · 3 years

Text

Part IV

♡ Pairing: Peter Parker x Black!FemaleReader

▹ Warnings: Little angst, Lot of anxiety, Fluff if you squint

▹ Words: 2.8k

▹ A/N: This chapter’s a bit on the short side, but it establishes a lot. Happy reading!

You’re not exactly sure how you pull it off, but you somehow manage to elude Peter for five straight days.

Playing the impromptu game of hide-and-not-be-seen was touch and go for the first two days, mainly because you weren’t sure what time you’d see Peter in the diner’s entrance. All you knew was that he’d show up early, whatever that meant. Almost every chiming bell sent your heart into overdrive, and whenever you thought you saw him, your stomach performed painful somersaults as you mapped out all likely escape routes.

No place in the diner was safe. Hal’s has a pretty simple layout: front entrance, booths to the immediate right, and bar with barstools to the immediate left, all in a shotgun fashion. If one were to try looking for someone, especially from the front entrance, all they’d have to do is marginally widen their field of vision, which is why the first two days were tricky.

The next day after the first run-in, about three hours earlier than his initial arrival, Peter came in through the front door, buddying up with Chris and asking for you.

You were clearing off an unoccupied table, piling dirty plates, when Chris called out, “Hey! How’s it hanging, Peter?” With the stack of dishes still clenched in your hands, you dropped down and crawled under the booth, coming face to face with an unsavory assortment of chewed-up gum underneath the table, holding your breath for dear life. Peter stayed for about ten agonizingly treacherous minutes as Chris failed to locate you.

On the second day, a sluggish Tuesday morning with only four regular patrons at the bar and no one in the booths, Peter had just walked through the entrance as you were coming out of the back, hand-carrying three of Hal’s famous Thin Mint Milkshakes. Without a thought, you spun right around and dashed in the opposite direction, busting through the employee door and colliding straight into Wendy. You’d never seen someone throw such a fit, but then again, you’d be pretty pissed too if someone coated you head-to-toe in milkshake.

That day was… eventful, to say the least, but it gifted you with the best estimate for Peter’s arrivals. Early meant 11:30 a.m. on the dot. Lunch. You tested out the time the next day, waiting behind the employee door and peering out the medium-sized port window. At 11:30 a.m., right on cue, was Peter, dapping Chris and ordering a slice of Banana Cream Pie to-go while also asking for your whereabouts, staying for only half an hour.

He left you a note each time he departed.

Can’t seem to catch you. I’ll try again tomorrow :) – Peter

Is this not a good time for you? I’ll stop by later if you want – Peter

Is everything alright? Text or call anytime you need me. I’ll be there – Peter

From the second note on, you found yourself captivated by his neat little scrawl and the way he always signed his name at the end, as if you’d forget it was him. You’d read them on your way home and right before falling asleep, trying and failing not to picture him smiling at you while you absent-mindedly smiled at his words.

Your friendly boy-next-door is so easy to fall for, but you just can’t do it. You can’t allow yourself to fall. Nobody would be there to pick you back up.

Some nights, you lied awake drafting a message that would effectively convince Peter that things wouldn’t work between you, that you’re a lost cause, and he should probably find some other connection if such a thing exists. But then, unfailingly, you’d think about his concerned little notes and sadly acknowledge that he deserves more than a measly text. After showing up to Hal’s for almost a whole week just to get to know you, Peter deserves the truth.

Your heart is not ready for a Soulmate, and it might not ever be.

By the fifth day, you spend a good chunk of time pondering over the right words to say to Peter while simultaneously hiding in the kitchen, pretending to prepare more fries. You never looked forward to hiding from him, but what other option did you have? Going out there and letting your coworkers and boss know he’s your Soulmate? They wouldn’t shut up about it, especially not Chris, the open romantic.

When your shift ended that day, and you walked up to Chris so he could hand you Peter’s fifth note, he emphatically shook his head.

“On behalf of my new friend, Peter, I can’t in good faith give this to you,” he stated, tucking the folded paper into his back pocket and crossing his arms. “Not until you tell me why you’re dodging him.”

You frowned, crossing your arms too. “It’s really none of your business, Chris.”

“True, but it’s his.” The little dig got to you, making you wince. Chris continued softly, “Look, he won’t tell me what’s up with you two, either. And, trust me, I've asked. It's just... I’m kinda involved now, being the messenger and all, so shouldn’t I know some of the situation?”

“No…?” you hedged.

Chris didn’t budge.

You couldn’t think of a lie on the spot, and a half-truth would only further complicate things. Treading the fine line of what’s too much information and what’s not enough left you frustratingly tongue-tied. What’s specific enough to still be vague? Chris stared at you expectantly with a petulant little lift in his brow, ignoring a customer’s disgruntled calls for a refill in the napkin dispenser.

In the end, you huffed out a resigned breath and hesitantly admitted, “Peter's someone I knew from high school—a really nice guy.” For Chris’s benefit, you added, “He just likes to check up on me every now and then. You know how I don’t get out that much…”

And in a heartbeat, Chris morphed from a tough enquirer to a softened pile of dough, sagely nodding his head as if he knew all too well how reserved you are and how much of a losing battle it is persuading you to venture out. Or maybe it was because he understood how difficult it is to reconnect with people you unwilfully lost touch with for five years.

How everything and everyone fell right back into step with everyday life, like five years was just five minutes, continues to boggle your mind. It’s not normal. You won’t ever pretend that it is.

The disgruntled man shouted, “Can I get any damn service around here?”

Chris immediately broke from the conversation and left you behind the bar, off to go charm the customer’s socks off and earn a nice $10 tip even though he clocked out ten minutes ago.

You went on your way home, the ever-present anxiety of confronting Peter growing by the second.

Hours later, dressed down to your pajamas and reading his words over again, you’re still thinking about it, dread now gnawing on your insides.

You couldn’t even enjoy your newfound peace of mind. Ever since the voice stopped, Peter twined into all of your thoughts: his notes, his visits, his smile, your connection to him. There had to be a reason why destiny paired you. Besides being your Soulmate, what is he to you? What are you to him?

Unrest barred you from sleep for most of the night, and when you woke up the next morning, showered and ready to tackle another day, it hit you.

It’s Saturday—your day off this week—and you’re not scheduled to go back to work until Monday.

You could put off telling him… but what would be the point? It’d only prolong the inevitable. You needed to come clean today.

Picking up your phone, you steadily tap in his memorized cell number, then type:

-Hey Peter, it’s Y/N. Can you come by my place? We need to talk.

Three minutes later, he texts back.

-On my way.

✦ ✧✦ ✧

A nice, early summer breeze billows around you, doing its best to calm down your erratic nerves as you wait for Peter on the roof.

Are you doing the right thing?

Will Peter be okay with this?

What if he isn’t?

You jump out of your skin at the muffled Thwip and sudden appearance of Peter standing a few feet away.

His chestnut hair is windswept, and he’s wearing regular clothes, a faded blue Midtown High hoodie and denim jeans. You weren’t sure why you expected him to come dressed in his suit. It could be because you heard the sound of his web-slinger first and immediately thought of Spider-Man, but it’s more likely that your brain hasn’t connected that they are one and the same. You don’t see Spider-Man when you see him. All you see is Peter.

He’s tense, not moving an inch closer and keeping his shoulders pinched up like he’s on the defense. You can’t guess why he would be.

Gulping down a hard lump lodged in your throat, you stutter, “H-hi.”

He gives you a polite smile that doesn’t reach his sullen eyes. “Hey”

You both begin at the same time.

“Peter, I—”

“Look, Y/N—”

Ice floods your stomach, freezing your veins and squeezing your pounding heart. He has something to say to you? About what? You subtly jerk your head up, signaling for him to speak first.

Peter clears his throat, looks down at his shoes, then back up at you. “I know you’ve been hiding from me.”

“You do?” you squeak, eyes wide.

“Yeah, and it’s okay.”

Your voice hikes an octave. “It is?”

He nods. “Yeah. It’s fine. I get it.” He stops to scratch the back of his neck and dejectedly rambles on, “I’m not the safest person to be around, and it’s all super weird and a lot to take in. Like, a lot. My Aunt May freaked out too when she found out. Anyway, I… I get it if you don’t, y’know, don’t want me.”

“Wait, hold on,” you interrupt, trying to wrap your head around what he said. “You think… you think I don’t want you because you’re Spider-Man?”

“Well, yeah.” He says it like there couldn’t be any other possible reason.

You lower your gaze to the ground, unable to meet his curious gaze. “No, Peter, that’s not it.” Tears prick your eyes, but you fight like hell to keep them from falling. Steeling yourself, you quietly confess, “It’s me. I can’t be your Soulmate because…” A rebellious tear rolls down your cheek. “Because I’m not ready.”

As soon as you spoke the truth out loud, laying yourself and your broken soul bare, you dimly sense the previously severed string quiver deep down inside your chest. It’s the first time you felt it in five years, and it’s not how you remember it. It’s not severed, but it’s not whole either. Its presence only reminds you of what you can’t have, what you aren’t ready for.

In the ensuing quiet, you swipe the tear off your cheek and look at everything except Peter. Yellow tulips are blooming on someone’s balcony in the neighboring apartment building. A handful of fluffy clouds float in the piercing blue sky. An orange tabby cat is sun-bathing in a window.

It’s such a beautiful day. Yet, here you are, struggling not to cry on a roof.

Peter breaks through the silence, murmuring, “To be honest, I’m not ready either.”

“Really?” You ask, a little too hopeful, bringing your eyes back to his. They look so weary yet resolute.

“Yeah. I was actually freaking out that night we met.” He timidly grins, and your heart flips. “I didn’t know what to say, then I screwed up and forgot to ask if you were okay after I had literally just saved you from falling. Not really a glowing first impression.”

Astonishing yourself, you laugh. You couldn’t help it. There was absolutely nothing remotely hilarious about that night, but the way Peter described it, as if it were a blunder solely on his part, was so ridiculous that it was funny. Peter joins in, too, his laugh coming out airy and wondrously addictive. That smile you couldn’t stop thinking about for a whole week brightens his face.

When the laughs fade, Peter soberly says, “Even if we aren’t ready, maybe we can try being friends, just to see where things go? I mean, we were meant to be together for a reason, right? This could be it.”

You unconsciously nibble on your lower lip, considering his proposal. It hadn’t occurred to you that he might want to be friends. Would you want to do that? These days, you aren’t really open to platonic relationships, and Soulmate or not, being in a friendship would require some sort of connection. You don’t like those much.

Be that as it may, Peter seems like the type to respect your many boundaries, and that’s exactly what you would prefer in a friend at the moment. Someone who doesn’t pry. Someone who doesn’t uphold generic expectations. You could go for a diner talk every once in a while.

Besides, it’s just a little friendship. Most are surface level, and some don’t even last a year. What’s the worst that could happen?

You sincerely smile at Peter, wondering about the last time your smiles were sincere, and say, “Okay. Let’s be friends.”

His face radiates joy. “Seriously?”

“Yeah, I think we can do that. But I have a few terms.”

Peter eagerly nods, waiting.

You try not to focus on how his happiness thrills you. “One, don’t tell anyone we’re Soulmates. I don’t really want any of my coworkers to know.”

His smile drops into a sheepish wince. “I kinda already told Ned. But he won’t tell anyone, I swear.”

“That’s okay. It’s mostly my coworkers I’m worried about,” you reassure. You weren’t going to berate him for telling his best friend. If things were different, you’d have done the same. “Two, don’t ask me to hang out with your other friends. I don’t do big friend circles.”

“Got it,” he militantly nods again. “It’s mostly just Ned and me anyway.”

“And three,” your grin broadens. “If Chris asks you what’s going on between us, be super vague.”

“Done.” He smirks back at you, then extends his hand. “Friends?”

When your hand touches his, and you shake on it, the warmth of his palm thaws out all your remaining anxiety. “Friends.”

✦ ✧✦ ✧

When Monday rolls around, a tiny ball of doubt weighs you down.

It’s not that you were afraid of talking to Peter. You were actually looking forward to getting to know him now that you officially became friends. It’s the future you’re stuck on. What happens if you get too attached to this friendship and want more? What if friendship is all he wants? What if it’s the other way around?

If you were honest with yourself, you’d know which way the gage is leaning, and it’s not in your favor.

You’re cleaning off the bar top when Peter comes in, doing his usual greeting with Chris before settling down on a barstool in front of you. He’s a little high strung, leaning his chin on his hand, then thinking against it, only to do it again. It was oddly comforting to know that he was overthinking too.

The corners of your lips tug up in a soft smile. “Hi, Peter.”

Your face warms as he smiles back. “Hey, Y/N.”

Chris barges in, leaning his elbows on the bar top and gaping incredulously at you and Peter. “Woah, woah, woah! Did I miss something? Since when are you two speaking in public?”

Peter checks his watch. “About thirty-seven seconds ago.”

“Oh, come on, dude. At least tell me what happened.”

You and Peter share a knowing look like two conniving co-conspirators sharing an inside joke, and you giggle as Chris huffs in annoyance. He glumly storms off when you two stay hushed, muttering, “Fine, next time you need a middle-man, count me out.”

“Does he hold grudges?” Peter asks after Chris walks out of earshot.

You’re still shaking with giggles. “Not at all. He’ll be back to his happy self in less than an hour.”

Peter only stays at Hal’s for twenty-five minutes, but they were the funniest and most intriguing twenty-five minutes you ever worked.

The conversation began slowly at first, but each question loosened the formalities. Peter asked about easy things: when did you get into art, when did you start working at Hal’s, and when was your birthday, all while digging into his slice of pie. He caught on fast enough to know the topic of parents was off-limits, and he thankfully chose to stay away from any talk of the blip.

When you asked him questions, he was open and responsive, jumping at the chance to talk about his passion for bio-sciences and Star Wars, sometimes covertly mentioning some of the duties he has a Spider-Man. Not a minute was wasted. You talked while serving customers and cleaning tables, keeping up the joke of staying quiet when Chris tried to meddle.

It all turned out smoother than you expected. Almost too smooth, and you’re not sure if that’s good or bad.

You are sure about one thing, though. You like having Peter as a friend.

...

Part V

#peter parker #peter parker x black!reader #peter parker x reader #spider-man x black!reader #spider-man x reader #soulmate au #post endgame #pre far from home #peter parker soulmate au #peter parker angst #peter parker fic #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker fanfic #marvel fanfic #black!reader #slow burn #how to trust a heart #peter parker fluff

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rizlowwritessortof · 3 years

Text

Scars

Dean and Devon’s relationship has always been stormy - but can they work through the scars of their past to find each other again? Sequel to The Fine Line

Her shoulder was on fire.

Every running step Dean took, every time his foot landed on the ground beneath, the impact sent searing pain through her body. She fought for breath as unearthly, keening moans escaped her lips at the agony she was enduring. “Sam!” Dean shouted as he reached the campsite, and his brother appeared from behind the tent.

“Dean! What happened?” Sam leaned inside the tent, grabbing a blanket and tossing it down, then helping Dean lay Devon on the ground. She was clenching her teeth, trying to keep from screaming, her body quaking, her eyes rolling back in her head.

“The chupacabra. It’s dead, but it was fast, got Devon before I could even get off a shot.” Dean was kneeling down by Devon as Sam grabbed the medical bag and began rummaging through. "Sam, get me the whiskey. I’ve gotta disinfect this fast.“ He put a hand to Devon’s face, his lips pressed tightly together. "Dev, we’re gonna fix you up, okay? I promise. Hang in there, baby.” Sam handed the bottle to his older brother and knelt on Devon’s other side. Dean cut away Devon’s shredded t-shirt, pulling it carefully from the wounds, and cut through her bra strap to remove it as well. The claws had torn three deep gashes from the top of her left breast all the way over her shoulder, deep canyons in her soft, pale flesh. Dean looked at Sam, tortured determination in his eyes. "You ready?“ Sam’s jaw clenched as he swallowed hard, then nodded, putting his hands on Devon’s good shoulder and her thigh. Dean felt sick as he removed the cap from the bottle, closed his eyes for a second, then gritted his teeth and poured the alcohol over the gaping wounds.

Devon screamed, her body attempting to thrash about, but they held her down as much as possible to keep her from further injuring herself. When she lost consciousness, Dean squeezed his eyes shut tight, thankful that she had a few moments’ relief from the pain. "Son of a bitch,” he whispered.

“Dean. We need to get her to a hospital.”

“Yeah. Okay. You drive.”

Devon stood staring at her reflection in the mirror, her fingers absently tracing the scars that began on her shoulder and ended just inside the top of her bra. A year and almost eight months had passed, and the pain was still as fresh in her mind as if it had just happened. In fact, sometimes there was still pain, nerve damage from the deep wounds the monster they had been hunting had inflicted on her. And sometimes - a lot of times - there was other pain, too.

A pair of strong arms slid around her from behind, and she felt beard against her neck as a kiss landed there. "Hey, Devon. My turn for the shower? Or do you wanna join me?“

"I’m already clean, Jack, but help yourself.” She shrugged him off her neck and and turned, pulling out of his arms, walking out of the bathroom, heading for her dresser to pull out a pair of well-worn jeans and a soft old t-shirt. His blue eyes followed her for a moment before he closed the door, and Devon heard the shower start.

She dressed and sat down on the edge of the bed, guilt nagging at her. Jack was a good guy, a great hunter, they’d helped each other out on a hunt once and had been seeing each other ever since. But it was starting to mean more to him than it was to her, and she didn’t like the voice in her head that was telling her she was using him. She stood, sighing, and headed for the kitchen.

She was sitting on the sofa, her legs tucked beneath her, when he came out of the bedroom, and she had to admire him as he finished pulling his shirt over his head. He was a big man, tall and solid, a redhead with striking blue eyes, any girl would be proud to be seen with him. She answered his smile with one of her own as he perched himself on the edge of the coffee table in front of her. "I have to go. Can I call you later?“

"Yeah. Sure. I’m heading to work in a bit. You have a case, or…”

“Nah, at least not yet. Helping a buddy work on his ride.” He leaned in to kiss her softly. "So, I’ll see you tonight, right?“

Devon gave him a vague smile. "Yeah, probably.” His eyes searched hers for a moment, then she looked down at the mug in her hands.

“Baby…”

Her gaze rose sharply to his face again, tension evident in her clenched teeth. “Don’t. Don’t call me that.”

Jack took a deep breath, looking away, and spoke softly. "Sorry. I forgot.“ He stood, turning towards the door. "I’ll call you.” Devon closed her eyes as the door shut softly, letting the pain wash over her once again.

She walked into the diner and almost turned around when she saw the hulking figure of Sam Winchester seated at the counter, smiling and talking to Nicole. Then she squared her shoulders and walked the rest of the way in, going behind the counter to deposit her purse on the shelf beneath. "Mornin’, girl! Look who just popped in,“ Nicole said cheerfully, her eyes never leaving Sam’s face.

"Hey, guys. Sam, how are you?” she answered, then went around to hug Sam, letting his long arms envelope her and his warm affection surround her for a moment before pulling back.

“I’m good. We just got back from a long trip, decided to hit Bobby’s for a while. You doing okay?”

“Oh, yeah, you know me. I’m fine.” She smiled at him, the best she could muster, and headed for the kitchen, Sam and Nicole’s eyes on her the whole way.

Nicole looked up at Sam as he raised her hand to his lips. "I’m worried about her, Sammy. She’s just - it’s like part of her is closed off.“

"Yeah. Dean’s ‘fine,’ too,” Sam answered quietly. "I’ve tried to talk to him, but…“

"I know, she’s the same.” Nicole sighed. "She’s still seein’ that Jackson - he’s a really nice guy, but…trust me, it’s just a distraction.“

"Well, there’s not much we can do about it.”

Nicole smiled up at Sam, sorrow in her green eyes. "I know. They’re both too stubborn to admit they need each other. And too stubborn to say 'I’m sorry.’“

Devon took a silent step back into the kitchen, flattening herself against the wall by the door as she heard Nicole’s words. Her eyes closed, and she could hear their fight all over again as if it had just happened; Dean, furious with her as she packed for a hunt, throwing things out of her bag as fast as she put them in. Dean telling her she couldn’t go, that she was done, that if she’d listened to him in the first place, she wouldn’t have gotten hurt. Dean telling her that all she’d do is get one of them hurt or killed. Dean telling her that she had no business being a hunter.

God, it still hurt so much that it hurt to breathe. She had screamed back at him, told him to get out and never come back. That Winchester pride had reared its ugly head, and he had sworn he wouldn’t, that she didn’t have to worry about seeing him again. He had grabbed his bag and stormed out, slamming the door behind him, abandoning anything at the apartment that wasn’t in that duffle. She still had his things, the few that there were, in the bottom drawer of her dresser. And she hadn’t opened it since.

The rest of that day passed in near silence, Devon working to keep busy and out of the line of fire of Nicole’s worried glances and "Are you okay, girl?” or “Do you need to talk?” She felt as if she were about to fly into a million different pieces, each blowing a different direction, and she longed for the day to end so she could get home and lock herself away, avoiding everything but the bottle of Irish whiskey in the cupboard. Sam showed back up as they were closing up, and she brushed past him with a quick good-bye to him and her best friend, mumbling that she had a date. Nicole met Sam’s glance, shaking her head slightly as she locked the door.

“You okay, Devon?” Jack spoke softly next to her ear as she sat, his arm around her, at a table against the far wall. Smoky’s was busy, it was Friday night, and a large group of bikers had taken up most of the front half. Fine by her, she wasn’t in the mood to be social, was perfectly happy hiding in the shadows at the back of the bar. She picked up her beer and drained what remained in the bottle.

“I’m fine.” She answered him without looking, fingers picking at the label on the bottle.

“I’ll go get us another beer. Be right back.” The big man stood and headed for the bar, leaving Devon without her shield against the other humanity in the place. A large, well-built biker with a blond ponytail smirked and took a couple of steps in her direction, but an epic eye-roll from her changed his expression, and he moved on to another target. She threw her Nike-clad feet up on the chair across from her and leaned her head against the wall, her eyes closed, trying to let the alcohol in her system wash away any coherent thought.

“Hey, Dev.”

The sound of his voice snapped her eyes open and set her heart pounding, and she looked up into his startlingly green eyes.

“Dean.” She was acutely aware of his gaze travelling over her, lingering on the scars above the scooped neck of her tank top as she put her feet on the floor and straightened.

“How are you?” He asked softly, and she met his eyes for another millisecond before answering.

“Half-drunk, working on getting all the way. You?” Jackson arrived just then, two beers in his hands, looking between the two of them before setting Devon’s beer down in front of her. She muttered her thanks, taking a long pull from the bottle. "Jack, this is Dean. Dean, Jack.“

Jack stuck out his hand, and Dean shook it firmly. "Winchester? Dean Winchester? Man, it’s great to meet you. I’ve heard stories…”

“Yeah. I’ll bet,” Dean answered, glancing at Devon.

“I’m Jackson Munroe. Man, every hunter’s heard about you - and your brother. Sam, right?”

Dean glanced around, but no one there was paying them any attention. “Munroe. Yeah, Bobby’s mentioned you. Says you’re good.”

“Not Winchester caliber,” Jack said, grinning, as he sat down next to Devon.

“Trust me, it’s impossible to live up to that,” Devon said, her quiet words sharp as she rose from her chair and headed to the ladies’ room.

When she returned both men were seated at the table, engaged in conversation. She took a deep breath and squeezed her eyes closed for a moment before approaching, reaching down beneath her chair to grab her purse.

“Devon, you okay?” Jack asked, concern on his face as she slung her purse over her shoulder.

“Fine. Long day. I’m heading home.” She turned to go, but a big hand on her arm stopped her.

“I’ll drive you. You’ve had quite a few.”

“I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not.” Jack stood, turning back towards Dean. "Nice talking to you, man. Maybe we’ll see you around.“

"Yeah. Maybe,” Dean answered, his eyes on Devon, who stared stoically at the floor. Jack put his arm around her and they made their way through the bikers milling around in the front of the place, the bell on the door chiming as they left. Dean stared after them, downing his shot, and gesturing to the waitress for another.

Devon locked the door, leaning back against it for a moment before walking to the kitchen, pulling the whiskey from the cupboard. She had told Jack she wasn’t feeling well, finally talking him into going to his own place for the night, ignoring the guilt nagging at her about how she was treating him. She wasn’t lying. She wasn’t feeling well. She wanted to cry. She wanted to punch something until she was so exhausted that she couldn’t stand up. She wanted to drink herself into oblivion.

She downed one shot after another until her head was spinning and her stomach was burning. Then she headed for her room, stripping down as she went, climbing into the shower and letting the water, as hot as she could stand it, pelt her head and shoulders as she finally, for the first time in months, let go and cried. She let the pain wash over her in waves as she sobbed until she could barely breathe, her throat raw and her body shaking. When the water began to cool, she shut it off and climbed out of the shower, drying herself numbly, then trudging to the bedroom to throw on a freshly laundered pair of panties and an old Metallica shirt. She pulled back the covers and fell into bed, letting exhaustion and alcohol send her into unconsciousness.

She woke a couple of hours later, a dull pounding in her head and her stomach rolling rebelliously at her treatment. She moaned loudly, sitting up, her head in her hands, before the awareness that someone was watching her set in. She turned her head slowly, very slowly, to see the large, dark figure leaning in the doorway. "What th’ hell are you doing in here?“ she said, her voice a little slurred and raspy.

"Are you okay, Dev?”

She rose to her feet, swaying unsteadily. "I wish everybody would stop asking me if I’m okay. I’m fine, damn it, just leave me alone!“ She lurched into the bathroom, dropping to her knees in front of the toilet, emptying her stomach into the porcelain. She felt his fingers pull her hair from her face, holding it out of the line of fire as he knelt on one knee beside her.

"Can’t hold your liquor, I see,” he said, a small smirk on his face as he put a steadying hand to her forehead.

“Screw you,” she said, sagging weakly against him.

“I don’t think you’re up to it, sweetheart,” he said catching her as she passed out once again. "Good thing I’m here, you’d have been sleeping on the bathroom floor,“ he muttered as he hiked her up, then lifted her into his arms. He carried her back to the bed, covered her and stared down at her, brushing the hair from her eyes.

He left the room, heading for the front door, then changed his mind halfway there. Instead, he plopped down on the sofa, one arm behind his head, closing his eyes. But sleep eluded him as that night played back in his mind, the night he left, the night she told him never to come back.

He did feel guilty. He had been really harsh with her, but she just didn’t get it. He didn’t want her hunting anymore. The thought of seeing her torn up like that again… He’d never forget it. And she never knew, never understood that she almost didn’t make it. Sam had driven like a Formula One driver to get her to the hospital while Dean had held her in the back seat of the Impala, trying to staunch the bleeding from the tears in her shoulder and chest. But by the time they had gotten there, she had been in shock, and she almost didn’t pull through. And then the cleaning of the wounds, and the stitches… So many stitches. And he had refused to leave her, sat at her side as she clutched his hand, at least when she was conscious. He couldn’t go through that again, and he knew that the only way to make sure of that, to make sure she wouldn’t carry on the hunter’s tradition of dying young and bloody, was to force her out. It worked for a while. He lost her, but she was alive. And safe. For a while. And then she got the itch. He kept tabs on her, through Bobby. Through people he knew, connections he had in the life, Nicole. But none of them could get through to her, and none of them could stop her. Sam even tried at one point, but… She was just as bullheaded as Dean himself, so that didn’t work either.

He finally drifted off, wondering why he had come to the apartment in the first place.

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

#scars #sequel to the fine line #dean fic #dean x devon #dean x oc #reblog to fix tag links

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angstyaches · 4 years

Text

Song and Dance

Wow, this is the first emeto fic I’ve posted in a while. Please enjoy, and stand by for the next fic to see what’s going on with Charlie and Shayne.

CW: emeto, nausea, anxiety, conflict, blood

Swallow the World: The Ouija Board, Pt. 5

“I’m sorry, darling,” Felix said as he finally found his voice.

Elliott steered with one hand on top of the wheel, the other scrubbing absently at the stubble on his chin. His eyes were obscured with his sunglasses, since the sunset was almost directly ahead of them, and his gaze didn’t move from the road. He was clenching his lips down, but Felix could tell he was hiding lengthened fans under there. He never could seem to control them when he was worked up.

We could have played it off as a coincidence, even with Shayne there to recognise me, Elliott had growled when they were still at the park, though Felix had known if he wasn’t worried about the others overhearing, he would have been yelling. Felix had been too tense to say anything back there, his stomach sitting high in his throat as Elliott had scolded him.

I can’t believe you cracked so easily and told her. Everything’s got to be a big song-and-dance with you, doesn’t it? Another episode of the Felix show.

“Elli,” Felix whispered in the passenger seat now. He put a shaky hand on his boyfriend’s thigh, which he often did when they were driving on long, straight roads. “I said I’m –”

Elliott batted the hand away, and Felix sank back miserably in his seat. It felt horrible, not knowing if Elliott was even going to attempt to forgive him for running his mouth. It just felt wrong to let the sweet, oblivious Rin believe it was all a coincidence that she’d found a seller with a certified Ouija board so easily, when really the Aldridges had sought her out with it.

“If there’s trouble with Nancy and Ryan, I’ll make sure they know this was all my fault.”

“That’s not the point, Felix.”

Felix’s belly clenched at hearing Elliott use his full name. “What else is there?”

Elliott face tilted up towards the rear-view mirror, but Felix knew he wasn’t checking the road. He was checking on the three passengers in the back seat. The pretty, red-haired Rin and the blonde boy with the possession scar had been taking turns letting Shayne rest his head on their shoulders or laps. Felix had also noticed the two boys holding hands every time he’d looked back there.

“We’ll talk about it later,” Elliott said.

Felix bit his lip. He didn’t know if he could last until later. How much longer could he realistically sit here with this guilt? It felt like a physical thing, pressing on his lower windpipe, making his eyes sting and his heart race. After suffering from indigestion and feeling vaguely queasy all day, his stomach was extremely upset, worsening now that he started pay attention to it. Waves of nausea crawled up his chest, gurgling in the back of his throat and threatening to wrench open his jaw.

On any other occasion, Felix would have started kicking up a fuss straight away, begging Elliott to pull over as quickly as he could, shoving the door open before the car had even come to a complete stop. But the tension in his windpipe was keeping him quiet, keeping him low in his seat.

“Darling,” he said. “I feel sick.”

After a few seconds, he realised Elliott must not have heard him, because he didn’t hear the indicator being flicked, didn’t feel the car being directed off the road.

“Elli, I’m going to throw up,” Felix said, his voice only slightly louder than last time. He glanced up to see that Elliott had turned his head to look at him, but had already gone back to focusing on the road. His hand didn’t move towards the indicator.

Felix sank a little further forward in his seat, rubbing his belly gently in the hopes of settling it. He swallowed against a burp, not wanting to annoy his boyfriend any further, or alarm any of their guests in the back of the car.

Another episode of the Felix show –

He sat forward a little, resting his head against his hands, hoping it would centre him, but his head was spinning. What else had he done, exactly, to make Elliott this angry? Would his frail nerves and even frailer stomach really hold out long enough for him to get Elliott alone, to get him to explain his failure to him, to tell him how he could fix it?

Everything’s got to be a big song-and-dance with you, doesn’t it?

Felix’s belly tightened painfully as Elliott took a wide bend a little too fast, making him gag. If he was, indeed, a ridiculous drama queen who over-reacted, then this was his boy-who-cried-wolf moment, for sure.

He tucked his head even lower, chin towards his chest, as part of his sketchy roadside lunch came up with a gurgle. It crashed into his lap and stuck thickly on pale blue denim, run through with streaks of red from his lollipops. He cringed at the sight of it all soaking into his favourite skinny jeans, but it was better there than on the floor of Elliott’s car.

A tearless sob rattled him as he lifted his face to ask Elliott if he wouldn’t mind pulling over now, but before he could, he saw Elliott’s fingers flick the indicator on, heard the soft clicking of the light.

Felix held a hand over his mouth, waiting for Elliott to finish braking before undoing his seatbelt and opening the door. He closed it fully before walking five or six paces past the back of the car, tears blurring his vision, retching with his mouth wide open. He heaved several times onto the side of the road, spattering the tarmac with blood and Diet Coke and questionable sushi until his insides stopped shuddering. In the back of his mind, he miserably wondered if Elliott was going to come and check on him; he also wondered how he was going to clean his jeans off before getting back in the car.

When he heard a door open and close behind him, his heart lifted slightly, but he could instantly tell it wasn’t Elliott by the footfalls. Elliott’s were so distinct to him now, as distinct as his voice or his sonic call. His second preference would have been Rin, since she’d been so nice to him earlier.

He looked over his shoulder and saw the blonde boy, whose name Felix hadn’t exactly caught, lingering by the side of the car. Felix felt like he should say something, like sorry for making the car stop while they were trying to get their friend home.

Instead, he jumped in surprise as the blonde boy grabbed his own head with both hands and leaned forward. He retched loudly, and although nothing came out of his mouth, Felix could tell that that whatever was happening was painful.

“Oh, gosh, are you okay?” Felix choked out.

The boy nodded wordlessly, gave another dry retch, and extended one hand towards Felix. He was holding out a packet of tissues, and he flapped it a little impatiently, indicating for Felix to take it.

“Oh! Thank you,” Felix said as warmly as he could with his throat tied in a knot. He stepped a little closer to take the tissues. “That’s really nice – gosh, I don’t even know your name.”

“It’s –” The boy pressed the back of his hand to his mouth, frowning slightly. “It’s Charlie.”

“Hi, Charlie,” Felix said. He pulled out a tissue and started trying to mop the sick off his jeans. “Sorry if the puke is making you feel sick too. If you see any blood; I swear it came from a donor.”

“That’s good to know, actually, but it’s not that.” Charlie gave a weak laugh, running a hand across the side of his head. “I think I just needed some air.”

Felix scrubbed a tissue down one thigh. “Does – does he even care that I’m throwing up?”

“Oh, um… Elliott?” Charlie glanced back towards the car. “He sort of screamed into his hands and put his head on the steering wheel when you got out.”

Felix’s belly clenched again, and he took a break from cleaning his jeans to focus on not bursting into tears. Elliott had a lot of moods, but when he got in a mood where he simply did not want to deal with Felix, that was when Felix got scared. Elliott had been putting up with him for so long; was he finally fed up, ready to reject him?

He scrubbed at his jeans again, whimpering in distress, wondering what the hell he was supposed to do.

“I think you’ve done all you can here.”

Felix looked up at Charlie, wondering if he’d been reading his mind. “What?”

“Your poor Tommy Hilfiger’s.” Charlie grimaced, pointing towards Felix’s jeans. The scrubbing seemed to have gotten to the stage where everything that was going to come off had come off; the rest was already soaked into the pale denim.

“I’m afraid you might be right,” Felix said.

“I’ll get you something to change into when we get to my house,” Charlie offered. “We’re about the same size, though you might have to roll up the ends.”

Felix blinked in surprise, pulling out a fresh tissue to wipe his face down with. “Why are you being so nice? You might be in a lot of danger because of me.”

“Maybe.” Charlie’s face was a little sickly-looking. His smile seemed to be wound so tight, Felix thought it would snap right off. “But right now, all I care about is getting Shayne home, and I’m don’t think giving us a lift back was Elliott’s idea.”

Felix shook his head. Elliott had been very, very against it, in fact. Convincing him to do it anyway was probably one of the reasons he was so mad.

“Thank you, Felix,” Charlie said. “How do you feel? Your face is getting some colour back.”

Felix touched his cheeks self-consciously. He wasn’t exactly excited about getting back in the car with Elliott, but he’d already delayed their journey enough already. He wished he could work up the nerve to ask Charlie to swap seats with him, but he reckoned Charlie would want to stay near Shayne. Plus, Felix wouldn’t have felt right, forcing someone else to deal with Elliott in his current mood, especially when it was his fault.

He kept himself low as he got back into the passenger seat. As Charlie climbed into the back, Shayne peeled himself away from Rin and reached for him. Elliott’s knuckles had turned white on the steering wheel.

Felix jumped as he felt a soft tap on his shoulder. He twisted around to see Rin holding out a little packet of mints. She smiled and shook a couple of the tiny white sweets as Felix lifted his palm.

“Thank you, Rin,” he whispered, blushing when she winked at him and sat back in her seat.

“Everyone good?” Elliott asked flatly, staring through the windscreen. This prompted a muted round of affirmative grunts and nods. Those were the last sounds before the last quiet twenty minutes of the journey, at least until Charlie sat forward to politely give Elliott directions to his house.

---

“Are you okay?”

Felix flinched. Charlie and Rin had gotten Shayne from the car to the front door with combined effort, and Charlie had told them to wait while he got Felix a change of clothes.

“Yep,” Felix said, staring at the dashboard. He rubbed at his neck and stared twirling his hair as he felt the weight of Elliott’s gaze on him. His heart jumped when he felt Elliott’s hand rest against his tummy. He sensed his boyfriend leaning over the gap between the seats, and he was fairly sure he knew what was coming.

“W-wait,” Felix mumbled, feeling his face flush. Elliott tugged on his chin, making him look up. “Darling, my mouth probably still tastes like –”

Felix’s eyes fell shut as Elliott’s lips brushed against his, pulling back with a soft pop.

“Just tastes like mint,” Elliott said.

Felix opened his eyes, the residual nausea in his belly melting into something soft and fluttery as he saw the worried look in Elliott’s eyes.

“Usually when you’re feeling sick you pretty much leap out of your seat. What happened?”

“You were so angry.” Felix swallowed. “I was trying to behave more like – more like someone –”

“Normal?” Elliott rubbed playfully at Felix’s belly. “I don’t want normal, Fee. I want you.”

Felix broke into a shy grin, turning his head to burp quietly as the gentle pressure on his stomach stirred it up.

“I thought we were on the same wavelength earlier, and then you went off-script,” Elliott said steadily, using his free hand to smooth some hair behind Felix’s ear. “It felt like a betrayal, and that’s why I was angry.”

“Elli, I’m sorry, I –”

“Buuut,” Elliott said, softly tracing his fingers across Felix’s stomach. “Now, I’m glad you weren’t on that wavelength with me. Because you did the right thing, Fee, like always. It’s stuff like that that made me fall in love with you.”

Felix smiled, squeezing Elliott’s leg. “You still want to keep me?”

Elliott’s gaze was intense and serious as he nodded. “I’m sorry if I made you doubt that for a second. ”

#felix #elliott #elliott and felix #my ocs #swallow the world #nausea #emeto #tw emeto #carsick #anxious sick #angst #charlie

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susiequaz12 · 4 years

Text

Carrot Top- 6: Howe

Alright, here it is! This one is arguably less whumpy, with a little comfort (cause heaven knows Andrew needs some comfort). I ended up splitting this in half with a different part that I’ll probs post soon cause it’s already edited.

Some world background stuff that I’ll address again- There’s a genetically modified group of people called peculiari that are born with enhanced genetic abilities. There are four main groups: Shapeshifter, Superhuman, Nature Bender, and Mind Reader. Andrew is a shapeshifter. I introduce a Nature Bender briefly here, but that character will probs become kinda important later on.

Tags: @imagination1reality0, @just-a-raccoon-with-wifi, and @thehopelessopus

CW: medical references, needles (an iv), blood, throwing up, restraints, stitches, treating wounds, mention and descriptions of injuries.

- - -

Andrew woke up on fire.

Every ounce of his body burned with each shifted breath and jostled movement.

He quickly realized he couldn’t move very much though. His hands felt free, but at the attempt of pulling his knees to his chest, he realized his ankles were secured with straps, keeping him tied to a- a bed?

No, he thought. It wasn’t comfortable enough to be a bed, but not uncomfortable enough to be a table or cot of some sorts. It was somewhere in between, like, like a medical bed. One that you’d find in a hospital, or an examination room.

The first few seconds he came into full consciousness were filled with panic. He didn’t know where he was, or where he had been. All that registered in his mind was pain. Red hot- searing and cold blue- aching, pain.

A soft hand came atop his chest, pulling a blanket back over him that he didn’t know he’d knocked loose, shushing him gently, pushing him back down to the bed.

“Hey now, you’ve been through quite the ordeal, just breathe for me. You’re gonna be fine.”

Andrew’s eyes barely registered the man that the words were coming from. His vision swimmed in his head as the shapes and figures around him were fuzzy. Nothing clear, but not unidentifiable. An instant wave of relief washed over him as he realized the man wasn’t Splice. He was- a- a doctor.

Doctors are safe.

Doctors are supposed to help people.

Maybe he’d been rescued, put in a hospital, and Ali and Justin were waiting outside until they could come in to visit. Yeah, that was it. This was all just a nightmare.

But doctors don’t tie non-dangerous patients down to the bed.

So either he was in a real hospital, and they discovered his powers and thought he was dangerous, or he was still here. With Splice.

Andrew didn’t like either of those options.

The doctor grabbed his arm in a gentle hand, and as he pulled it away from him, Andrew noticed the IV, and the tubes and cables connecting him to various machines in the room. The man uncapped a vial and inserted an unfamiliar liquid into the IV, his eyes scanning the tube as the liquid slid through, and into his system.

He placed his limb back onto the bed, and then a cautious arm wrapped underneath Andrew’s lower back, lifting him up and forward.

Andrew winced and groaned out at the pressure put on his back.

“Hey now, it’s okay. I just gotta redress these bandages. You can go back to sleep once I’m done. It won’t take long.”

The blanket fell around his lap and he looked down at his stomach, seeing rows and rows of white, medical bandages, blending in with his pale skin. His eyes then went to his wrists, where dark bruises were starting to form from where the restraints had dug into them for so long. He had no doubt that there were some to match on his ankles.

He didn’t even want to imagine what his body looked like underneath the bandages.

The doctor sat on a rolling stool by the bed and started to undress the bandages, carefully pulling away the blood-soaked fabric. As his hands brushed across the markings, Andrew couldn’t help the shiver that took his body. He expected more pain to come at the touch, but there was just a dull, thudding ache across his body. That thudding ache echoed behind his eyes from hours of crying, and straining to see without his glasses.

After a few minutes the bandages laid in a pile on the floor to be scooped into the garbage can across the room. Andrew’s eyes glanced down. He saw the array of red, spattered amidst the white strips, and then his eyes traveled to his chest, where the blood originated. Oozing out of the cuts and slashes down his torso in a slow and steady crawl. If that wasn’t enough to set his stomach in motion, the bruises and the welts that crawled all over his chest and limbs surely would be.

The doctor quickly noticed the lurching that came from Andrew’s stomach, and rushed across the room to grab the garbage can before holding it underneath his head. However, there was nothing to throw up but more water and fluids. His body then decided to try and hack out his lungs as well. It was as if they were a poison, a toxin that his body needed to get rid of. He dry-heaved, tears streaming down his face as he couldn’t breathe, the sobs and coughs wracking through every limb as he choked and sputtered to try and get his body under control.

The doctor kept a firm, but gentle hand on Andrew’s back, as he hacked his lungs out, before finally settling down to some slight wheezing. His body would’ve collapsed back into the bed if not for the hand holding him upright.

“You always throw up at the sight of blood, or was this just a special occasion?”

Andrew wheezed out a reply, surprised at how raspy and broken his voice sounded. “No- only when it- when it’s mine.”

There was silence for a few minutes as the doctor scrambled around the cart of supplies, before pulling out a jar of what looked to be some sort of ointment or cream. He proceeded to clean the cuts and welts from the beating with a rag and disinfectant, before applying the ointment and wrapping him up again.

“My name’s Howe.”

Andrew raised his head in a response, eyes glancing to the Doctor. He seemed young. Like he could be fresh out of college, not any older than 25.

He gestured towards himself with the bottle of cream in one hand, gloved fingers applying it with the other. “I’m a Nature bender. I deal with plants mostly. Natural remedies, ointments, as well as your regular medical stuff of course.” Andrew felt the cold ointment against his back, before the doctor- Howe- moved to his chest. The mixture was pale green, smelling vaguely of mint and some sort of forest.

“This is my own recipe, I’m pretty proud of it. It’s meant to soothe, so it’s good for irritated skin or rashes, but it also prevents infection from entering the body, while helping the skin regrow and heal faster.”

“Wow.” Was all Andrew managed to breath out. It did feel incredibly relaxing. Soothing- like he was in a spa. He could take a whole bath in the stuff.

Howe laid it on thicker where the whip had met his flesh, and where Splice had carved with his knife. His skin had been rubbed raw from the ropes, so by the time they had finished, nearly the whole bottle of cream had been used up.

“I tell you all this to ease your nerves.” Howe began to say. “So you know that I’m a real doctor. I graduated from medical school just a year ago before being…uhh- hired. I’m not just one of those people in a lab coat that Splice has to run his experiments and tests or whatever.”

Before Andrew could ask any questions, he was laid back down and tucked underneath the blanket.

“Now I just need to check that hand again, see how it’s doing and you’ll be good to go back to sleep okay?”

Andrew nodded. He felt tired, the soothing ointment working through his body mixed with painkillers made him feel strangely relaxed.

Everything that happened instantly came back to him when Howe started to unwrap the bandages on his hand. Andrew tried to pull it back towards him, shield it close to his chest.

“Hey, hey, I’m not gonna hurt you.” Howe stated, keeping a firm grip around Andrew’s wrist. “I just gotta check up on those stitches I gave you, make sure it’s all still clean and then I’ll bandage it right back up. Promise.”

As soon as the bandages fell away, Andrew’s eyes fell to his lap. He didn’t know if he wanted to look at it. If he even could look at it.

He realized he hadn’t attempted to move the hand since it had happened. It had just hung there limp. So he was grateful when he felt the cold touch of Howe’s hand, as his fingers brushed gently across his palm and around his fingers.

He caught a glimpse, and it thankfully didn’t look as bad as he thought. The wound was clean. The marking from the knife only marred by rows of stitches holding the skin closed tightly. It was raw, and red and irritated, but other than that, it didn’t look too terrible.

Andrew was scared to ask, but he needed to know.

“Is- is it gonna be okay?” The doctor glanced up. “My- my hand. Is it gonna be okay?”

Howe deflected the question, looking back down again.

“Do you feel this?” Howe trailed a finger up and down the side of Andrew’s thumb. The boy nodded. “Can you wiggle your finger for me?”

Andrew tried, but all he managed to do was get a slight twitch, barely noticeable if you weren’t looking for it. The boy tried to slow down the panic that was rising in his chest. He tried to wiggle a finger again, but all he managed to do with his efforts was send new spikes of pain shooting through his hand. He hissed through his teeth, groaning from pain and frustration.

“Not yet.” Howe stated. “Give it some time to heal. It’ll be stiff for a long time, but if you work at it slowly, you should regain most of the normal function.”

“Most?” Howe released his hand back to him with the clean bandages, Andrew pulled it tightly to his chest. “What do you mean most? Wait…”

Howe pushed him back down onto the bed, placing the blanket over him. “You suffered pretty severe damage to the nerves, tendons, and blood vessels in your palm. I managed to reconnect as many as I could given the circumstances, but it’ll take a long time to heal. We won’t know how much function you will actually have until much later. For now, all you can do is rest.”

Andrew wanted to ask many, many more questions, but he was incredibly tired. Even being awake for just a few minutes had wore him down. His body sank into the bed, and right as he started drifting to unconsciousness, a familiar figure walked into the room.

“Hey carrot top!”

#whump #medical whump #treating wounds #oc #original writing #carrot top #stitches #bandaging wounds

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delimeful · 4 years

Text

WIBAR Intermission: Making Adjustments (1)

welcome to the first chapter of the intermission! if you’re new to this AU, you can find the first chapter here and the ao3 story here!

warnings: tension, blood, fear, nightmares, medical torture, needle mention

Virgil’s first impression of their ship was that it looked a lot less futuristic than Star Wars would have had him believe.

It was less ‘fighter jet’ and more ‘classic UFO’ in style, cylindrical and all curves instead of edges. The panels on it seemed to be made of some obsidian-like metal, glinting in the storm’s light. He didn’t know how it compared with other ships, seeing as he’d spent most of his time in space stuck in a cell on one, and thus didn’t have many references.

Oh his shoulder, Patton shook, spraying water from his ruff of feathers like a dog after a bath. Virgil squinted as a few droplets hit his face, and ignored the odd staring that the thin, willowy alien- Logan?- was doing. If Patton’s friend had something to say to him, he could say it outright, because Virgil wasn’t a mind reader.

... Were there aliens that could read minds?

Patton tapped his shoulder with a clawed finger, pointing at a slight imprint in the ship. “There’s the door! Luckily, we’ve got one of the bigger models since Roman is on the larger end of the alien size scale! You’ll fit just fine.”

“Lucky isn't the word I would use.” Virgil’s shoulders rose slightly as he caught the grumble from a few feet behind him, unheard by Patton’s duller ears. If he wasn’t so on edge, he’d be annoyed. If Roman was going to shit-talk him, he could at least do it in something other than Common so Virgil didn’t have to listen to it.

It was already difficult enough just letting the Crav’on walk behind him; everything in Virgil screamed danger at even the smallest movement from the bulky alien. At a squat five foot, Roman wasn’t able to loom over Virgil, but his spike-like scales were all fully extended, making him look like a mix between an angry cat and a porcupine. His rigid, shell-like ears kept twitching, and frankly, Virgil was expecting to get one of those scales through his spine any minute now.

Patton shifted eagerly, his feathers fluffing in a way that meant he wanted down, and Virgil swiftly crouched to allow the Ampen an easier trip to the ground. Both of the others twitched at the fast movement, and he barely repressed the urge to flinch in response. Showing his nerves would only make them more anxious. Conceal, don’t feel, ect.

As promised, he only had to duck his head slightly to get through the ship’s main entry door, and the hallways were luckily tall enough that he could pass through in his customary slouch. He couldn’t help but stare like an idiot as Patton led him through the ship’s passages, getting glimpses of other rooms full of the alien versions of furniture and books. Such normal, everyday objects, but for a while he’d never thought he’d get to see them again.

Roman and Logan accompanied them, as though the moment they let Patton out of their sight, he’d vanish. Though he suspected this in large had to do with the Ampen dragging around an entire Human, he could understand it. He’d also do just about anything to keep Patton safe, after all. He couldn’t blame them for it when he himself had a panic attack nearly every time the Ampen had left for a town to get supplies without him.

“Here!” Patton announced, guiding him into what was probably a bathroom. The Ampen leapt up onto the counter, pulling a white cylindrical container from one of the shelves. “We’ve got plenty of bandages for when Roman gets himself into trouble. Can you rinse that scratch off for me?”

Virgil nodded and spent a moment fiddling with the sink while Roman protested loudly, something about defending his honor and trouble finding him. Once he managed to get the water running, he carefully peeled his sleeve away from his cheek, wincing when the fibers pulled at the newly clotted blood. Logan appeared at his side and offered him a dark cloth towel, making him jump in surprise. “Uh, thanks.”

After a fair amount of delicate washing and applying some basic disinfectant spray, Patton gestured for him to crouch. His eyes flickered to the other two, who were watching him with fascination and disgust, respectively. He… didn’t particularly want to be more exposed than he already was in front of them, Roman especially, but it was Patton asking, and what right did he have to deny Patton anything? He folded down into range of his little clawed hands, trying not to shiver at the cool air on the back of his neck.

Patton carefully applied gauze and tape all along the injury, making him feel like an underdressed mummy. “There! They’re pretty shallow, so they should heal up in no time with your healing rate!”

“Thanks, Pat.” He quickly rose back to a standing position, shoulders slouched.

The Ampen beamed at him, and Virgil felt more than saw the other two aliens stiffen. He let the edge of his mouth curl up in response, but carefully didn’t show any teeth. Never let it be said that he didn’t learn.

“Patton.” Logan reached out with one of his upper arms, settling crystalline fingers onto Patton’s shoulder. The Ampen leaned into the touch with a melodic hum. “Perhaps we could settle in the living quarters. We have a lot to catch up on.”

Virgil glanced between them, remembering that they were Patton’s real friends, and they’d been looking for Patton for ages, and had somehow managed to track them down where a huge smuggling organization had failed. Patton no doubt missed them just as much, his antennae fluffed out the way they were when he was truly happy.

He wasn’t about to ruin their happy reunion by making the others uncomfortable or worse, afraid. He couldn’t do that to Patton, even if his chest ached with the certainty that his welcome would only be temporary. Maybe the less he intruded, the longer they’d let him stay?

He cleared his throat awkwardly, drawing their attention. “I’m tired. Is it okay if I…?”

Patton frowned in worry and Roman sneered, but Logan was the one to speak, extra arms tucked behind his back politely. “Of course. We have a guest room, though it’s not particularly furnished at the moment.”

Virgil’s shoulders dropped a little at the idea of having some space to himself to breathe. “Yeah, that works perfect. Thank you.”

Once they reached the room, Patton was beckoning him down into a crouch again so he could check his head for ‘human illnesses’. Virgil chuckled quietly, still all-too-aware of the foreign eyes on him.

“No fever, Pat. I’m a little… too-much, right now.” He carefully moved Patton’s hand from his forehead and patted it like he was handling precious glass. “I’ll be okay. You said… they’re safe, yeah?”

Patton nodded exuberantly. “I would trust them with my life, Vee.” He paused, antennae flicking back and forth in uncertainty. “I… can I come check in later?”

Virgil felt himself soften further, well aware of Patton’s nerves at separating. He felt the same way, after all. “Always.”

Patton nodded again, gently bumping his head against the underside of Virgil’s chin before finally withdrawing. He watched as the three of them began to walk down the hall, Patton waving with a tiny hand and Roman shooting him a glare, and then ducked into the guest room, making sure to leave the sliding door partially open.

It was plain but had all the necessities, which was all Virgil really cared about, considering he’d been sleeping on the dirt ground for the past month. He checked the perimeter of the room carefully, exploring every corner and door.

Rationally, he knew there shouldn’t be any danger hidden away here, but he was too used to making sure his and Patton’s campsite wouldn’t be found by any stray locals. Habits that kept one alive were hard to break.

Eventually the paranoid itch in the back of his mind was satisfied, and he crawled into the bed, which was more of a hollow egg-shape, stuffed full of mounds of soft bedding. It was easily large enough for him, thankfully, and he settled in to sleep.

…

Sleep didn’t come.

Ridiculously enough, it was because he was too comfortable. The room was cool and quiet and dark, with no weather or local insects to worry about hurting Patton, but it was also wide and exposed to anyone who walked past his door. The bedding was soft and smooth, but clean enough that he felt bad for sprawling his dirty body across it.

He wondered vaguely if he could maybe shower, and then dismissed the thought. He didn’t even know what the supplies or facilities were like on this ship, and he really didn’t want to be without his clothes until he was sure one of the others weren’t going to attack him.

After what seemed like hours of tossing and turning, he gave in and dragged a thin blanket along to one of the odd circular storage cabinets in the room. It had a flat bottom, and it was hard and enclosed from any passerby, and that was enough for him. He had to fold his body slightly to fit in it fully, but he’d slept in worse conditions. Much worse.

Within moments, his eyelids drooped, and he was out.

He woke up strapped to a table, which was never a very pleasant way to wake. Above him, aliens in full-body protective suits muttered and babbled clinically in Common that was too complex for him to understand. He couldn’t struggle, stuck in his body looking out as he was stuck with needles and tubes.

At least this time whatever drug they had used to paralyze him was keeping him from feeling the pain.

His vision blurred in and out of focus, mind drifting as he watched bits and pieces of himself be cut away.

Suddenly, all the harvesters seemed to vanish, stepping back out of sight. He wished he could turn his head to see them, make sure they weren’t doing anything without him knowing, but what difference did it make? It wasn’t like he could do anything about it.

The horror of the situation only began to settle in fully when the Machine appeared at his side. His eyes locked onto its glossy surface immediately, his breaths coming quicker and quicker as gloved hands strapped cold bands around his forehead and wrists.

They flipped him over, and even though all he could see was the table, he knew the moment they’d attached the barbed metallic strip to his back, right along his spinal cord. His nerves jumped, feeling jolting through them again, minutes too late.

He had already been dumped in the arena, a room with cold white walls and windows set into the ceiling for harvesters to look down on him and whatever unlucky bastard they threw in with him today.

His gaze was drawn back down to the door lifting on the other side of the chamber. Speak of the devil.

Virgil rolled to his feet, ignoring the ache of his body to prepare himself. Almost all of the aliens they paired him with came out of the door ready to maul him, be it from anger, or drugs, or simple terror. He’d gotten enough scars trying to talk them down, enough to know the futility of it.

When the door rose, however, he knew the face behind it. Patton?

It was as though the past months had never happened, like they were meeting in that cell for the first time again. Patton shook and trembled, scrambling back against the door as it swung shut after him. Virgil felt something in him ache at the sight.

He opened his mouth to reassure him, tried to kneel and reduce the difference in height between them, to look as nonthreatening as possible. Patton, I would never hurt you.

His body was silent. It took a step forward without Virgil’s input. And then another. And then he was suddenly there, inches away from the Ampen, hand reaching out for his throat and Patton let out a desperate wail, the one he’d only heard once, just before their escape—

Virgil jerked awake like he’d been electrocuted by a guard taser, choking on his own spit as he struggled to breathe.

Just a dream. Just a dream.

He tried to concentrate, reaching out with a feather-light (never careless, never harmful) touch for the reassuring, fluffy weight of his friend against him. All he found was air, and his fear levels shot up into panic attack territory. Where was Patton? Patton wasn’t there, Patton was gone, Patton was-

Patton was home. Patton was safely bundled into bed with his real family, the ones that didn’t have violent, horrifying nightmares.

The memories of the past however many hours hit him, then, and his hands fell limp back to his sides. He shouldn’t be feeling this way, he knew, because Patton was safe and happy here, and that was what the Ampen deserved. That was what mattered, not his stupid little hurt feelings over the fact that Patton’s friends definitely hated him. He dragged a hand over his face tiredly, mouth sour with the knowledge that he was a bad friend.

All intent to sleep gone, he attempted to reach for the cabinet door, only to find empty air. He blinked, squinting in the dark, and found it easily enough. He’d apparently kicked out in his nightmare, because his right foot was stuck in the detached cabinet door, driven through the white material like it was cheap plaster. Oops.

This made it considerably more difficult to maneuver his body out of the cabinet, but he managed without driving the splintered door into his ankle too much. Still stung terribly when he pulled it off though, leaving several fresh new scrapes. Hopefully those wouldn’t get infected.

The door to his temporary room was still partially open, thankfully, and he quietly nudged it further to slip out into the hallway. The lights had been dimmed partially, probably to simulate night and keep them on a routine sleep schedule. The smugglers hadn’t bothered with light cycles for his cell, leaving one corner of the room darkened at all times for whenever he got exhausted enough to sleep. It was a nice change.

Aimless beyond an urge to ascertain Patton’s safety, he wandered the ship near-silently, glancing at any open doors he passed and attempting to figure out what the purpose of them was from what little he could see in the rooms. There were helpful labels on some of the doors, but he still didn’t know how to read the written form of Common. Patton had offered to teach him, but there wasn’t much time to waste writing in the dirt while they were on the run.

Still slightly out of it from his nightmare, Virgil almost walked right into one of Roman’s sharp-edged scales before realizing he was there. He froze, breath catching in his lungs as he waited for the bulky alien to notice him there at his side. The alien turned his head slowly, the horns atop it forming a distinct crown silhouette.

Roman’s red eyes were just light enough in color to be picked out from the rest of his face, and Virgil watched in disbelief as they passed over him without a second glance. The alien shuddered slightly, the movement making his scales rattle and shift, and then turned away to tromp back down the hall.

Night vision, Virgil suddenly recalled, thinking about how often he’d had to guide Patton through terrain in the dark. He’d thought it might have just been an Ampen thing, but it looked like Roman’s species didn’t see into shadows too well either. He let out a slow breath, watching as Roman began his circuit anew. He could only assume that the area he was patrolling was where the others were resting. Of course Roman would be up to guard them from the human.

Guess he wouldn’t be able to check on Patton after all.

Suddenly more tired than before, he waited until Roman’s back was turned and then bolted back the way he’d come on silent feet.

Well. It wasn’t like he hadn’t spent sleepless nights alone before now. A few more on a new ship wouldn’t hurt, since he couldn’t imagine it would be long before he was back to sleeping out on hostile planets.

#sanders sides #g/t #giant/tiny #ts virgil #space au #wibar #ts roman #ts logan #ts patton #wibar int: ma #watch it burn and rust #wibar intermission #*winks at you all* surprise!#writing #my writing

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eerythingisshaka · 4 years

Text

PTA II

[Trevante Rhodes x Reader]

Word Count: 2.4k

Angsty Fluff

Part 1

Looking at your desk, you wonder how it’s gotten even more junky since working from home. A rainbow of notebooks and sticky pads scatter its surface with reminders and past lesson plans that beg for organization. You pick them up in clusters, doing a vague clean up as you check the clock on your computer to see you have ten minutes until showtime. Your kids will be logging in for their Zoom classroom to begin.

You’re starting a new chapter on the Civil War today and although you knew it like the back of your hand, you freaked out at the moment, not able to find your presentation in any of the appropriate desktop folders. Unfortunately your virtual desktop was every bit as messy as your physical one. Clicking through the dated lesson plans, you finally find what you are looking for, opening it to prepare for sharing as your breakfast sandwich dings in the microwave. You meander through the obstacle course of your living room to grab your meal to go, almost burning your hand from its fresh heat as you sit back down, just in time to start off the lesson.

“Good Morning class! Happy Monday!”

“Good Morning!” They all say in scattered succession, your greeting back.

You dig right into the lesson at hand with dates, names, places, and all that is in between. The kids were assigned a chapter before the weekend to prepare for discussion and luckily most of them seemed to have at least skimmed the topic beforehand.

“Ok guys, now we have a few more minutes before I have to assign this week’s project, so does anyone have any questions?”

One young man, Nemour raised his hand. “Yes, do you think, um, like could this happen again, do you think?”

You couldn’t hold back the gag on your face from the insightful question. “That’s a good question. And I know it really fits with some things that are talked about in politics today. I won’t say that it never is going to happen, but I also will not scare you into thinking that it will. Civil Wars are happening today in countries all over so it is not a subject that is new or forgotten. But use the events that lead up to it and think about what we do that could avoid the conflict or what are tells that signify that war is imminent. Thank you for that question Nemour because it segues us into this week’s project…”

Displeasure washed across several of your students’ faces but you have been blind to that behavior for years now so you began the rundown: three page essay on any aspect of the Civil War they may choose.

“You may email me and we can discuss your idea and if it is a topic that can fill three pages. I want a citation page, credible sources. See me if you need a review on what a credible source is. I will see you again tomorrow guys. Be safe!”

The blips of each person signing off is your background noise as you put aside your notes once more, dropping your pen in the process.

You pick it up and hear something in the background of Nemour’s video.

“Nemour?” You call out the student’s name but they must’ve forgotten to sign off. You begin to hang up yourself, when someone comes into frame.

“Nemour, I told you to clean up your room before school started so I could get this laundry done, damn!”

You recognize the shirtless man strutting with a laundry basket under his arm as Trevante Rhodes, Nemour’s dad. You had a run in with him before that left you more than flustered but you stuck to your morals to ensure nothing came of it. Luckily, Nemour’s been doing well and no one has messed with his things, so any teacher-parent meetings are only the ones required by the school.

“Ahh ah ahh ah ah AHHHHH! Caught up in the rapture of love…” He sang out loud, setting the basket on a table to free his shoulders up for some bopping.

You can’t look away and didn’t dare end the session as the show was just getting started. Trevante rolls his shoulders, pumping his fists victoriously in rhythm with the song. You take a bite of your breakfast sandwich covertly appreciating the show.

“I love you here by me/ You let me love fly free…”

He spins around quickly on his toes ending on a pose before the next verse. His body is an artist’s dream with each flex he made. You could tell before that he is a fit man but nothing beats seeing the evidence unadulterated. His thick torso kept steady by his deep abs, kiny hair peppered across his chest for flavor. And those arms, what can be said about these family style, thick cuts-

“Ms (Y/N)?” You snap out of your inner study and forget you are in full view of him seeing you. Hanging up abruptly flashed through as an option but it made no sense now you were caught.

You shuffle some papers as he takes out his AirPods and comes closer to the camera. “That is you!”

You look up in feigned surprise, coughing up your previous bite of sandwich. “Oh, Mr. Rhodes! Did Nemour forget to sign off. Oh well, I was just going to-”

“Nemour!” Trevante yells out. The soft patter of feet become louder.

“Yeah?” he asks.

“Your teacher is waiting on you, whatchu doin?”

“No no! I wasn’t waiting!” You say fervently.

Nemour peeks over his dad’s arm. “Hi Ms (Y/N). Did you need me?”

You smile disingenuously. “No, I was just about to sign off. Just don’t forget that project, ok?”

“Yes ma’am.” He runs out the room as his dad calls out.

“Talk to me about this project when I’m done talking to your teacher!” Trevante takes a seat, looking pleased with the predicament. You are mortified, sitting your your head in your hands.

“So...how you been? You look well.” Trevante says with an enthused smile.

You look to him and return a tight one. “Thanks. I can’t say I’ve done much of anything but good to know I don’t look worse since our last talk.”

Trevante leans forward with his chin in his hand and you try not to imagine sinking your teeth into it. “Please, you’re blessed to not need much. Natural beauty.”

You take in the compliment with an inhale. “Sure, thanks,” you say, noticing a spot of jelly landed on your chest, probably after that last bite. You rub you chest to get the tiny stain out.

“Wow, that looks damn good,” Trevante says when you’re done.

You hold a hand to your chest, gasping in outrage. “Mr. Rhodes! I really don’t take kindly to forward comments referring to my body!”

Trevante purses his lips together, resting his chin on his fist. “I...meant that sandwich. I can see it below there.”

Your mouth hangs open staring from the sandwich to the meal in front of you. “I am...so sorry...”

“Don’t worry about it. Hey, how was your date?” he asks quickly with a forgiving look.

You think of his question with confusion before you realize that you had brought up meeting someone on Valentines Day after the meeting with him last time.

“You remember that?” You ask, slightly impressed.

He nods. “Of course. I’m that kind of person, receptive to information and it sticks. That’s why Nemour so good at school, gets it from Daddy.”

“Good to know. But the date didn’t go as well as I hoped it would…”

Trevante cocks his head to the side inquisitive. “Huh. Where’d y’all go?”

You roll your eyes automatically. “He told me to meet him up at this mom and pop diner, which I’m not stuck up! If the food is good, I’m practically down for anything!”

“Ok, ok, so what was the problem?”

“He knew the family that owned the place, so his meal was free. We ordered like a late night breakfast thing and it wasn’t good. My food was both bland and overseasoned and the eggs I asked for were runny when I wanted a hard scramble.”

“Oh no,” he shakes his head.

“And in the end, even though his meal was paid, I had to pay for mine because he’s ‘in between things right now’. Then I had to give him a ride home and he offered his bed to me since his mama was asleep on some Xanax.”

Trevante rears his head back covering his mouth with his fist during his hoot-and-holler. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to laugh, but that was pretty damn bad.”

You laugh graciously. “I know, but he was cute and I swear he seemed to have more potential than most other guys on the apps so maybe it was just a bad day?”

“You are giving these playas too much credit! And apps? Shoot, you could pull any ole dude off the street on a Tuesday just taking out the trash.”

“Mr. Rhodes-”

“Trevante works. Sometime Tre, sometimes Te but hold the Mr. Rhodes for me, please.”

“Fine, but only on here, I can’t call parents by their first names in public, it’s just too formal for me.”

Trevante gets a sneaky grin on his face, scratching his beard stealthily. “So, you want to talk to me on here more often?”

Your jaw drops, aghast. “Mr… Trevante, I never said that. You’re always putting words in my mouth.”

He shrugs. “I’m sorry. It’s just so pretty, I can’t help but wanna hear it say things I wanna hear.”

You twist in your chair, barely composing yourself with his sly talk. “Wow! You never quit!”

“I will when you do!”

You face each other in a standoff over each other’s screen. He was slowly tearing down your walls as much as you tried to reinforce them with professionalism.

“Ok,” you say.

“What’s ok?”

You sit forward, building up the nerve. “IF we were to discuss things outside of schoolwork and your son, how would that go?”

Trevante rubs his hands together. “Well, first-”

You put a finger up. “Remember that I have a busy schedule with assignments and we are in quarantine so no way we could be in the same room or eat out.”

Trevante looks off into space, thinking. “Ok, so when do you usually turn down for the night?”

“For bed? Probably ten if I am lucky.”

He nods, rubbing his chin philosophically. “What are you having for dinner?”

“...probably this pasta thing I picked up at the store…” you say reluctantly.

Trevante claps his hands together. “That’s it! Ok, I gotta go but let’s talk later, aight?”

Before you could question him further, he hangs up the video call. You sat there pondering what just happened. Trevante is pretty straightforward with you but that ended on an unusual note. And then you began to think back to his smile and body and laugh and compliments, making your head curl toward your lap with giddiness.

“God he is so fine.”

Later that evening you are laid across your couch in full snuggy mode: bonnet on, pimple cream where needed, tshirt and titties freeballing. You set your reheated pasta meal down to cool and look through your emails one more time before calling it a night. You have more than one concerned parent who will message you at ungodly hours about why Timmy and Jane aren’t getting an A+ average and their stress allows you to sleep peacefully as you’re reminded how unbothered you are since students make the grades, not you.

As usual, there is one new unread message to check out and of all people it is Nemour’s dad. No subject line, but the body of the email asking you to log on to video call him.

This was sent almost an hour ago, so you feel pretty secure that he is not on and let your curiosity lead you to the app.

Not long after, you get an invitation from Trevante.

“Hey!” he says, smiling wide (this time with a shirt on) after you accept. You begin to smile back but catch a glimpse of you in video and feel instant regret.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, slurping some spaghetti up.

“I forgot what I looked like, I should’ve waited to talk in the morning,” you say apologetically.

Trevante waves a hand at you. “Don’t worry about all that. You getting ready to wind down, right?”

You pick up your dinner and show him on camera. “Pasta and all.”

“Great, so the date is on! How was your day since we last spoke?” he asks, slurping more spaghetti and taking a bite out of some garlic bread.

You scoff, poking at your penne. “So this is why you didn’t answer me? This is your plan for a date?”

He holds his hands out humbly. “A brotha gotta try. You so busy and remember we are in a quarantine so I can’t have you coming here with those beautiful germs of yours.”

“Wow, sure ok. Throw it back at me. Got it.”

You take a bite of your pasta as ladylike as possible, giving a rundown of your day which wasn’t much to take note of as Trevante noisily slurps his spaghetti making you laugh.

“What’s up?” he asks, wiping his mouth.

“I...well your meal looks better than mine. At least you make it look better.”

He licks his lips before smiling, lighting your spirit as you smirk into your food.

“What can I say, I get down in the kitchen when I can. I wasn’t bout to heat up some frozen mess and call that a meal, you know? I gotta eat real food!”

You drop your fork. “Ok, Mr. Anita Baker! I know when I’ve been disrespected!”

Trevante gets nervous having offended you. “Wait wait! My bad, ok?”

You point at him with all authority. “My food is my business.”

“No problem, I’ll hold back, but not too much on Anita. And maybe I’ll order you some DoorDash or something next time.”

“If,” you warn.

Trevante gives you a playful face. “If not, I’ll just tell Nemour to quit doing his homework and we can conference about it.”

“Oh bye, he’s too smart for that!”

Trevante laughs. “You probably right. Look, I don’t mean to push, but I’m glad you made time to see me here tonight.”

His eyes look at you genuinely pleased and you feel that familiar giddiness creeping up.

“I’m glad you invited me. Just this little bit is better than my last date, so points to you.”

Trevante stares at you contently. “You know if we were outside, this is when we’d kiss.”

You look up to the ceiling. “Here you go!”

“I felt the moment! Don’t lie!”

You look at him defiantly. “Too bad we won’t know until that time comes.”

He wags a finger at you. “See? You keep thinking these are conversation ending phrases, but you baiting me. So there’s a next time ahead of us! Hit me up for a Netflix Party and Chill.”

“Good night, Te,” you say exasperatedly.

“Have a good day at school tomorrow.”

You hang up first and sail backward, laying across your couch feeling like you ran a marathon. This could all still be forgotten. You aren’t too deep to deny him. He called this a date but come on, did it count? You sit up to poke at the remnants of your meal and think about his lips slurping up the spaghetti hungrily. And the kiss that would have sent you to bed happily.

Part 3

Masterlist

Tag

@chaneajoyyy

#trevante rhodes fic #shakafic

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