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danniburgh · 3 years

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Morning Delight (Javier Peña x f!reader)

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader

Summary: You have a boyfriend and he’s really great, but Javier Peña is selfish and he’s jealous and he wants you all for him.

Word count: +2.1k

Warnings: well; smut, (p in v), fingering, spitting (just a bit), unprotected sex, (please wear condoms) 1 degrading word (sl*t), infidelity (not condoning it), me trying to make terrible metaphors,

A/N: i got an ask and while writing what was supposed to be a small drabble it grew and well now we are here, writing a os when i have 4 waiting in line to be written :) (bold phrases are the asked prompts)

Masterlist // Read on ao3 // ko-fi

comments and reblogs are eternally appreciated 💓

“Hello, gorgeous,” Brandon, your boyfriend, allowed himself into the office you shared with your partners, the three of you lifted your heads to see him and you gave him a smile, he was standing in front of your desk holding a paper bag and a carton cup “brought you breakfast,”

“You shouldn’t have, baby,” you received the food from him and he leaned down to give you a short kiss, “thank you,” you muttered and he wrinkled his nose.

“See you for lunch?” he asked you softly and you nodded. He then walked out giving you a last glance and winking through the open door.

You could feel the stares of your partners, one of them heavier than the other, you looked at Steve and he had a teasing smirk adorning his face. You rolled your eyes and tossed him the paper bag, he quickly caught it and without hesitating opened it and rummaged around it, then you looked at Javier, sitting across the room from you and noticed the deep frown that made his face quirk and his brown eyes harden, locking his gaze on yours. He said nothing to you nor to Steve when he passed the bag to him.

Steve cleared his throat absentmindedly from his desk and kept on taping while eating and you broke eye contact (or stare contest) with Javier, returning to do what you were doing.

Soon enough you finished all your reports and you stood up to return some of them to the records room, when you entered and were about to close the door a foot got in between it and the frame to stop it from closing, the sudden action startled you and before your brain could fully comprehend what was going on the door opened, Javier got inside the room and closed the door, locking it.

“What the hell are you doing?” he asked under his breath, you frowned,

“What?”

“Don’t play fool, baby,” he stepped closer to you, and when you were about to tell him, yet again, to not call you that, he spoke again “what do you think you’re doing kissing that boy like that in the office?” you snorted.

“What?” you couldn’t stop yourself from laughing “who do you think you are?” the rhetoric made Javier’s jaw clench and he gave another step closer to you, towering over your body, you looked at his hardened face and at his dilated pupils, you sighed at the way his body warmth was just starting to mingle with yours “wait, are you jealous?” you questioned with a smirk “really?”

His chest puffed as he filled it with air and deflated when he let it out, almost blowing on your face, he was so close you could feel the way his body was reacting to you and the way you were looking at him. Then Javier licked his lips and you knew exactly what that meant.

“Don’t,” you whispered, it was his turn to smirk to you “don’t you dare,”

“C’mon, chiquita,” Javier let his hand stationed on your hip as he made you get impossibly closer to him, pressing you against his body “’s not like it would be our first time,”

“My boyfriend would kill us,” you warned, actually worried, you liked Brandon, you really did, he was different than Javier and for you that was an excellent thing; Brandon wasn’t afraid of tell you what he wanted or how he felt, he was a fantastic listener, he was funny and charismatic in the sense that you would ask him for directions on the street if you were lost, he was cute and sweet and someone you could see yourself dating for a long time. But Javier... Javier had you wrapped around his finger since the first time he had laid eyes on you, since he had touched you, since his hands made your skin feel like burning from the inside out, since his kisses lingered on your body for days.

“That boy won’t do shit, even if he finds out,” his tone dropped an octave and his other hand landed on the small of your back just above the hem of your blazer and the waistband of your skirt and you instantly became putty under his touch.

“Fuck,” your voice was so low it could had been confused for a soft sigh, and as your body warmed up against Javier’s hands, his mouth trapped yours and started devouring it.

Javier’s kiss in the past had been hardly soft, some of them were cautious, some were firm, you weren’t expecting anything gentle, but the way he was kissing you was unprecedented for you, he was moving against your lips as if he wanted to absorb your every thought, as if he wanted to be your main source of oxygen, as if he wanted to breathe you in and never breathe you out. Javier’s hands slipped down your blazer and your blouse and he started massaging your breasts over the soft cloth of your bra.

“Why is that boy so special? huh?” he muttered against the skin of your jaw as he nibbled it and down your neck, your hands could barely respond to your brain, curling around his neck, playing with the hair of his nape as you knew he liked, forgetting everything about Brandon and about the place you were at the moment, the only thing that invaded your mind was Javier and his smell of coffee, cigarette smoke, the aftershave he put on in the morning and how much you fucking missed his rough touch. “what does he do to you that you let him kiss you in front of everyone?” his voice was rough and low and it sounded like a feral grumble and it made you moan, one of his hands slid from your chest to your thigh over your skirt and then slowly moved upwards, lifting it. Jesus Christ, he was doing it so slow you were sure your skin would scream against his touch if it could.

“He–he,” you tried to say, he cut your sentence before it could really start when he kissed you again, this time rougher, formless, just two mouths moving against each other as his hand under your skirt played with the hem of your panties and slowly, painfully slow, moved inside of it to your mound. Your skin was on fire, you were sure you were about to combust right then and there. “Javi–” his finger played with your clit and you felt your knees weaken, he tightened the grip on your back and he started circling the bundle of nerves leisurely “more” you begged and you could feel his smirk on your skin.

“What was that?” he teased, adding another finger to his ministrations, pressing against your clit almost achingly, he knew you, he knew you so damn well.

“More, Javi, more,” you said and brought yourself back to his mouth, licking his lips, his circling went faster and you smiled contently against his kiss.

“Has he ever touched you like this, chiquita?” he asked under his breath and you shook your head as he dragged his fingers through your slit and into your cunt “has he ever made you this wet?”

“Oh, oh sh–shit, Javi,” you moaned and he bit your lower lip and moved back to your neck, his fingers curled inside you and he already knew where exactly to press to make you come undone on his hand, the heel of his palm pressed your clit and his fingers stretched you so deliciously it was really a wonder why you two had stopped fucking. “god, Brandon could never,” you mumbled as you bit his shoulder over his jacket, he bit your neck when you mentioned your boyfriend’s name and that was the last drop, your orgasm hit your belly and made your legs shake, you bit his jacket harder to muffle your moan as he helped you ride down your climax.

“C’mere,” he removed his hand from your panties and you whined softly at the loss of his touch, Javier pulled you from the center of the room to stand in front one foggy, yellowy window that barely allowed any light into the room “turn around,” he said, it wasn’t an order, he wasn’t like that, but in the heat of the moment he said things with such authority you barely contradicted him, you did and then realized what he wanted to do.

“Against the window? are you insane?” you frowned, and he gave you a hooded-eyed smile.

“You know me, baby, pull your panties off,” you saw him unbuckle his belt and unbutton his pants and with a teasing roll of your eyes you did. There had been a long time since you fucked in that room at all, Brandon found it too risky, but not your Javier Peña, for him this was delightful. You slid your skirt up and let it crumple around your waist “that’s my good girl, so fucking ready for me to fuck her,” Javier didn’t waste anytime and rolled down your panties, he gently kicked your feet to separate your legs and you leaned down as far as your surroundings allowed you. You felt his hands grip your hips, and you got ready for him to slide in when instead you felt his tongue flattening against your soaked folds.

“Shit,” you whimpered and dropped your head back, curving your back and pressing your pussy against his face, god he shouldn’t really be doing that, you were gone far too long already. The sudden moment of clarity soon went to shit when he spit on your pussy and stood up and with practiced dexterity he slid his cock inside you. You let out a small whimper as he stayed still for a few seconds and rounded his arm around your waist for leverage.

“I want you to scream my name, baby,” he whispered in your ear and you shivered under him, he started pounding into you and making your mouth produce the most dirty sounds you thought it could ever produce, “c’mon, preciosa, fucking scream,” you shook your head as he slid his hand under your blouse and bra and played as he could with your nipple, your moans and gasps grew louder and you tried, really tried to muffle your noises, you tried to bring your hand to your mouth but Javier nimbly moved the arm that embraced you and trapped both your hands with it, angling his hips to hit inside you harder and rougher, you moaned again, “louder, I want Brandon to hear you,” your breath hitched as you remembered your boyfriend and Javier chuckled behind you, thrusting into your cunt faster as he could “I want him to hear how his dear girl likes to be fucked,”

“Javi–Javier, I’m so close,” you clenched around him and he let out a small groan “more, more, I’m almost there,” you demanded, pressing your hips against his as he hit the small spot inside you that made your eyes roll inside your head.

“So fucking greedy, baby,” he said through gritted teeth, you felt his warm tongue licking the shell of your ear and you moaned again “what would people say if they knew you were such a slut for me?” Javier whispered in your ear and then bit your lobe, taking you to the edge and then dropping you off the cliff, you drowned the scream that was rising in your chest and instead let out a growl that made you sound like a feral creature which at the moment you pretty much were. Javier felt your walls clench around him, making it almost impossible to keep thrusting into you and it drove him off the cliff as well, cuming inside you and filling you with a familiar warm thickness.

The room was silent for a few seconds, as you were trying to recover from the orgasms you just had pulled out of each other. Then it filled with your panting and the ruffling of your clothes being straightened and put back where they were before that… slip.

“Shit,” you mumbled as Javier helped you button your blazer “we really shouldn’t have done this,” your eyes dropped to the floor, Javier said nothing for a few seconds, he stared at you, as if studying you, as if he was trying to bring himself to say something.

“Break up with him,” he spat, you frowned and looked at him in pure disbelief, who did he think he was? “I want you for me,” your frown only deepened, he for the first time since he had been your partner left you speechless “fuck, I get so jealous when I see you with that… with him,” he mumbled and you saw him actually doubt himself, “I think… I think I’m in love with you”

“Oh, fuck me,” you let out, amazed and happy that he had told you the words you were waiting to hear from him since god-knows-when. And sad and angry that you had to break Brandon’s heart like that.

“I think I just did,”

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rowanaelinn · 3 years

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Fire on Fire - chapter four

chapter three // chapter five

Aelin slammed her car door harder than necessary, sighing once she was comfortably sitting in her seat. She buckled her seatbelt and turned her head to the man sitting next to her in the passenger seat. "I'm not going to buckle your seatbelt for you, you're an adult, not a child."

Arobynn just chuckled and did it himself. “Always a delight to deal with you, darling.”

Aelin had to take a deep breath or she would snap. Getting mad at him wouldn’t work, it never did. It would just make him mad at her, and it wasn’t worth it. “Call someone else next time, then.” She said as she started driving. Aelin wished she had drunk a coffee before or taken anything that could help her stay awake. Arobynn lived one hour away from this bar, the night was going to be very long. “I forgot, you have no one else.”

“Be careful how you speak to me, Aelin.” His words were harsh even if they were slurred by the alcohol. Aelin hated the part of herself that was scared at his threat. So she didn’t answer, focused on the road, and put on some music to try to distract herself.

Aelin thought about last night, how bad her night of work was until she danced with Elide. Aelin had always loved to dance, she remembered all the times she forced her parents to sit for an hour so she could show them everything she learned that week at the dance studio.

When she turned eight, Aelin started doing dance competitions and she was good, very good, actually. She went to nationals twice, the first time she ended up in fourth place, not good enough. The second time she was in second place, it was better but still not good enough. Aelin Ashryver Galathynius was born with the need to be the best at everything she did, she didn’t understand why. Maybe it was because her parents had always been first in their own way and Aelin wanted to be like them.

After an injury at fifteen, she had to stop dancing. She still remembered crying in Aedion’s arms for an entire night. If Aelin thought about it, she would realize that’s the moment everything started to go downhill in her life. But she tried to avoid thinking about it, if she didn’t think about the problems, they didn’t exist.

“Why are you dressed like a whore, anyway?” Arobynn broke the silence and Aelin’s heart clenched. She hadn’t been hurt when Rowan made comments on her outfit because as much as she hated him, she knew he respected women and just wanted to hurt her. Arobynn never had an ounce of respect for women, he had proven it multiple times, that’s what made his comment horrible. “Not that I’m complaining in any way.” Aelin’s eyes left the road for two seconds to see him with a disgusting smile on his lips and his eyes fixed on her thighs. It took all her self-control not to vomit right there.

“I was working,” she simply said. She didn’t have to justify herself but Arobynn didn’t like to be ignored.

“You work at a strip club now?” He snorted. “Why do you even want to work? I told you I could pay for everything you need.”

He did, and it had been generous. Too generous from Arobynn to come without a price. “And I told you I could do it on my own.”

“Well, you don’t seem to earn a lot of money wherever you work since I’m still the one paying for your college tuition.” He said with a light tone but Aelin caught what he really meant. You’re only here thanks to me, be grateful.

“How many times do I have to thank you for it?” She asked with a sharp tone. Aelin had never been very good at staying calm. “I told you I would pay you back-”

“Bullshit,” he tapped his foot on the floor of the car, almost screaming. Unusual for him to lose his temper. When Arobynn was mad he favored hurting people with words. It was very rare for him to be physically violent. She jumped in spite of herself. “Do I look like I care about the money?” No, of course not. The money he used to pay for her college was like pocket money for a ten-year-old child, he didn’t see the difference in his bank account before and after paying for it. “I don’t understand why you want to work and live in a shitty apartment when you could be cared for and live in a manor.”

“ Your manor.” She said coldly.

“Yes, mine. How is that a problem?” He was angry, Aelin could see it at the way his hands clenched on his tights, the way his right leg kept fidgeting, or at the way he pronounced every word that came out of his mouth as if they were full of venom.

“You are my professor, Arobynn. I am your fucking student and not only this but I am also your teaching assistant. Do I really need to explain how wrong it is?”

“I am trying to take care of you, Aelin. I would expect you to be nicer.”

“Right now I am the one taking care of you!” She screamed, done with his bullshit. If someone had told Aelin five years ago that her favorite author was like this, she wouldn’t have believed them. “Even if I don’t want to.”

“I’m waiting for the day you crawl for my help, Aelin.”

She didn’t answer, instead, she kept her eyes on the road. She thought about her favorite books and how happy they made her. Maybe she would read one when she gets back home, it was too late to sleep anyway. Twenty minutes later, she parked her car right in front of his house. It was big, too big for a single man.

Aelin looked at her professor as he unbuckled his belt. “Have you graded the papers we gave you last month? Students will need them this week.” She asked but knew the answer. He just smirked at her and winked.

“You know me better than this, sweetheart.”

Aelin sighed and got out of her car, following Arobynn. He wasn’t walking straight and somewhere in the back of her mind she hoped he wouldn’t get hurt. Aelin knew Arobynn wasn’t a good man, he was a real piece of shit. But he had been there for her when she was at her worst, he didn’t do a lot but he had been there. He gave her opportunities she would never have had alone. And even if his interest in her was bad, he believed in her. He read every single one of her stories, gave her advice to become the best writer she could be. He let her access his contacts. If she ever made it on the best-seller list, it would be a little bit thanks to this man.

He opened his door and Aelin didn’t wait before going to his study, not caring about what he did. She quickly found the folder full of papers. She went through all of them and left hers and Lysandra’s on Arobynn’s desk. She couldn’t grade them, even if she wished she could grade Lysandra’s, but Arobynn didn’t want her to play favorites.

She turned but found Arobynn watching her at the entrance of the study. He had a glass of whiskey in his hand, of course, he would start drinking again the minute he got home. He walked towards her and she was struck by the size difference between the two of them. He pinned her with this lover’s gaze. She looked at the face she once found beautiful and swallowed. She wanted to move but couldn’t.

“What would I do without you, sweet Aelin?” He purred, letting one of his knuckles caress her cheek and before he could brush her lips she turned her head to the side. This gave him just more room to lean in and place a kiss on her cheekbone, his lips were soft and warm. Slowly, Aelin pulled back. “Tell me what I have to do for you to let me lay the world at your feet.”

Aelin said nothing as she walked away from him.

The moment Aelin entered her bathroom she fell on her knees and threw her guts up in the toilet. She could still feel Arobynn’s hand brushing her thigh in the car, could still feel his eyes on her or his hot breath on her ear.

When she closed her eyes she could remember the first time she saw these grey eyes four years ago and how different it felt to have them on her.

Aelin couldn’t hear the music over her friends’ laugh and her own.

When a waiter passed her she took the opportunity to take another glass of champagne and give him her empty glass. Her head was already spinning in the most delicious way.

"Ten bucks says he goes back with him tonight," Nehemia said, her eyes fixed on Aedion and the handsome blond man he was talking to. They were at a charity event, Aelin had agreed to accompany her parents only if she could bring her friends. Her three friends practically lived at home, so they agreed.

“Ten bucks?” Aelin asked as she took a sip of her drink. “How boring you are. Five hundred says they make out in a cupboard here.”

“You’re the only rich girl here, you know that?” Sam asked as he took her under his arm, forcing her head to rest on his chest. Aelin laughed loudly as she pushed him away, trying not to spill her drink on either of them.

“You are so loud, Aelin,” Lysandra complained but she wasn’t better. If anyone drank as much as Aelin did it was her best friend.

“I think our little Aelin,” Sam said, his voice full of fake seriousness, as he took her head in both hands, Aelin giggled at his fake frown. “Is slightly drunk.” Sam finished, and before Aelin could say anything he bent to kiss her. She lost herself in him, putting her arms around his neck. After a few seconds, they pulled apart but Aelin rested her head in his neck, breathing deeply in his lavender scent. She would kick his ass later for using her soap.

“Fireheart?” Aelin heard her mother call, she turned around but tripped on her long dress. Sam caught her before she could fall and the group of four friends exploded with laughter. They had all had a little too much to drink if they needed so little to laugh.

Aelin hid her glass behind her back, remembering that her parents had forbidden her to drink. They didn’t want their sixteen years old daughter to be seen doing inappropriate things. Sam took the glass discreetly and she knew he would get rid of it as soon as possible. Aelin's parents would never suspect Aelin's perfect boyfriend of helping her disobey her parents.

What her parents didn't know was that her three friends were her partners in crime, especially Sam.

“Aelin, honey.” Her mother said as she stopped in front of her. Sam’s hand rested quietly on her hip, a silent reminder that no matter how the conversation turned out, Aelin was not to get upset.

But Evalin was not alone. "My dear, I'm sure you know Mister Hamel?" She asked, knowing full well that Aelin knew him. She had dozens of copies of all his books all over her room, his writing was just amazing.

Aelin turned her head to admire her idol's face. He was handsome, for a thirty-seven years old man. If Aelin was honest, she had always had a thing for men older than her.

When her eyes met his gray ones, Aelin tensed. Absolutely everything about this man screamed power. From the way he stood to the little smile on his face as he held out his hand for Aelin to place hers in. His hand was warm but not soft, she could feel several scars. He placed a kiss on the back of her hand before saying softly, "It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Galathynius."

The memory of that night made her throw up a second time as she fought against tears. Everything about this memory was painful. She had worked so hard to keep these emotions locked inside of her for years, she couldn’t break now. Not after everything she did to forget.

“You got drunk?” A deep voice asked and Aelin whipped her head toward that voice only to find a shirtless Rowan, arms crossed, watching her from his doorframe. She didn’t secretly marvel at his muscles like she usually did whenever he was shirtless, tonight, another proof of how bad she was feeling. “Is that why you’re so late?” His voice was hard, the same voice he usually used whenever she was around.

“Were you worried?” She asked, sarcastically. She didn’t have the strength to fight now, and yet… She couldn’t help when he was around.

“Your cousin and best friend were worried sick. Are you so selfish that you don’t care?”

“I’ll talk about that with them, then. I don’t need you here.” Her voice was as hard as his, while she usually was more teasing. Aelin saw him frown at her tone but she didn’t give a shit, she needed to be left alone. “But if you want to know, I wasn’t getting drunk, no.”

“Then what were you doing?” He snapped and Aelin didn’t understand him. Why did he want to know that? Shouldn’t he have been happy she wasn’t here? Why did he even come into the bathroom? Aelin supposed he heard her throw up, it’s not like she was a very discreet person. Did he come here just to mock her? “What has put you in such a pathetic state?”

“Get the out,” her voice was weak, trying not to think about one of the worst nights of her life. You look pathetic , Arobynn had told her two years ago. But Aelin couldn’t help it, everything about that night disgusted her. When she looked up at Rowan she thought she saw concern in his eyes but she probably was hallucinating because a second later, his eyes were cold as ice.

He laughed, even if his laugh didn’t have any humor in it. “You know what, Aelin? Keep throwing up all you want. You’re worthless.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

There was a long pause and when Aelin thought he wouldn’t say anything else, he opened his mouth. “I understand why your parents cut you off. Who would want a disappointment like you as their daughter?”

“Don’t ever talk to me again.” She said silently, and when he closed the door, Aelin let the tears run down her face. For the first time in his life, Rowan hurt Aelin.

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#rowan x aelin #rowaelin fanfiction #rowaelin #throne of glass fanfiction #fire on fire #rowan whitethorn #aelin galathynius

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ibis-gt · 3 years

Text

chapter one of mercenary au! there may be more if i can dig uo the proper motivation... anyway here u go. requisite meetcute, 3k words, content warning for mentions of past family member death.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Light shone through the bedroom window of one Luther Algers. The beam moved steadily, achingly slow, as the sun rose in the sky, until it finally reached the perfect angle to shine on his face and, when the sensation made him blink awake, directly in his eyes.

He groaned and rolled over, rubbing at his face with the heel of one hand. He would’ve tried to fall back asleep, but his thoughts caught up to him too quickly.

Today. He knew what today was. Today, he set off for Pentel. Today he gave up his freedom for the good of his kingdom.

Okay, so maybe that was a little dramatic. It sounded like he was going off to war or something. In truth, he was going to get married. It would be a lovely ceremony, lots of people in attendance, a splendid banquet, good feelings all around.

It just would’ve been nice if someone had asked him if he wanted to be married. Or told him who he was marrying.

But that wasn’t how this worked. It was an arranged marriage, one meant to strengthen the peace treaty between Pentel and Contigo. Traditionally the marriage should have been between princes or princesses of both kingdoms, but since Contigo’s king was childless, Luther had been chosen to seal the deal. Luther’s father was a high-ranking noble with a fair amount of money and influence, and he owed the king a favor. He seemed an obvious choice.

Well, no point in putting it off any longer. It would be about two weeks’ journey to the city of Pentel and once he arrived there were still details about the wedding to hammer out and his fiancee to meet. He rolled out of bed and dressed in the outfit that had been laid out for him last night. All lace and ruffles, with a runed belt, the symbols for first encounters and strong bonds etched across it. His job from here on out was to look pretty and smile on command. Like some kind of trained dog.

Before he had time to really properly wallow in his discontent, his father’s voice rang out from the foyer.

“Luther! It’s time! Don’t be late!”

“Coming!” Luther called, skipping out of his room and descending the stairs as quickly as he could. He caught sight of his father just as he exited the front door to their palatial estate. Luther took a moment to catch his breath and make sure his clothes and hair were in order before he followed, stepping out into the daylight. Outside, a line of splendid carriages sat, with people milling about between them. A trip like this was expensive, even beyond his father’s means, but since it was a matter of national importance the king was footing the bill. Servants flitted to and fro with last minute additions to the carriage train’s luggage, attended the important guests who would be traveling with Luther, and were generally busy as bees. Everyone was decked out in their finest finery, which seemed odd to Luther. Shouldn’t they save it for the last day of travel, when they’d actually arrive? But he supposed that they’d be stopping along the way for food and rest, and they’d need to look their best.

“You could’ve had breakfast if you’d been up earlier,” his father grumbled in lieu of a ‘good morning’, “but as it is either you can wait until lunch or see if there’s anything they can dig out of the provisions for the road. Now, your carriage is the one in the middle of the group. You’ll be in with two diplomats and a manners coach. They’ll teach you how to act and speak to Pentel’s royalty, topics to avoid, so on and so forth. There’s a historian in the carriage behind you, try to meet with them at meals and - are you listening to me?”

Luther was not listening. He was staring wide-eyed at a figure standing near his carriage. The man was dressed in armor, with strong boiled leather covering his chest and stomach. Metal pauldrons, gauntlets, and shin guards, slightly tarnished from time and use, glinted dully in the light. An oversized hammer hung from his belt. A few strands of black hair had come free from his long ponytail, and a scraggly beard clung to his chin. Probably the most interesting thing about the man, though, was that he looked to be about twenty feet tall. He could’ve picked up Luther’s carriage under one arm and walked off with it. He was watching the pair of them intently, ignoring the people bustling around between the carriages with packages and bundles for the road. Luther tried to drag his attention back towards his father. He could’ve sworn he saw someone actually walk between the man’s legs out of the corner of his eye.

It was rude to point, and probably unnecessary, so Luther said as delicately as possible, “Who’s that, uh… rather tall man?”

“Ah. Your bodyguard.” Luther’s father turned and waved at the giant.

“My - ?” Luther started to say, but lapsed into awed silence as his new bodyguard walked over to them. The ground practically shook under the weight of the man’s footsteps. He blocked out the sun as he stood before the two of them, and Luther suppressed a shiver that was half from the chill of the shade and half from the sheer size of the man. He was even more intimidating up close than he’d been at a distance. Luther felt practically pinned in place by the intensity of his gaze. Luther’s father continued speaking as though there weren’t a colossus standing mere feet away.

“As you know, your safety is my top priority,” he said, turning back to face Luther. “I’ve hired this mercenary to protect you on the journey.”

“I… see,” Luther said, glancing nervously up at the giant. “And… what is your name?” He raised his voice a little just in case the man had trouble hearing him.

“You can call me Cam, sir,” the giant replied. A hint of a smile played at the corner of his mouth before his face resumed the professional mask. His voice was gravelly and incredibly deep. Luther felt it vibrate in his chest.

Luther’s father glared at his son. Luther knew he didn’t really approve of fraternizing with those of a lower station, but it would have been so rude to just continue talking as though Cam weren’t there. Besides, that was such a stupid prejudice. But he didn’t dare disobey his father any further, so he did his best to listen as his father ran down a litany of instructions to ensure the journey was as productive and successful as possible. Largely it boiled down to Luther learning a lot of very boring things very quickly so he could present himself as the best Contigo had to offer.

Finally, his father put his hands on Luther’s shoulders and gave him the closest thing to a smile he could manage.

“You’re doing a good thing, son,” he said. “Good for both our kingdoms. You’ll be perfect. And you’ll be very safe.” He sounded like he was trying to convince himself more than Luther. Since Luther’s mother had died in childbirth, his father had been very protective. Overly so. To the extent that it bordered on paranoia. It didn’t help that an assassination attempt had been made on his father’s life after his involvement with an unpopular ruling about taxes that shifted the burden to the mercantile sector. His father had been convinced from that day on that home was the only safe place for him and his son. Luther hadn’t been allowed out unless accompanied by at least three handpicked guards, all of whom were serious buzzkills and never let him do anything fun.

That was probably why his father had gone so overboard with his protection on this trip, Luther supposed. Anyone wanting to cause trouble would hopefully be scared off by just the sight of the giant bodyguard walking alongside the carriage train.

He snuck a glance at the giant again. Cam was still standing right next to them, keeping them in his shadow, but was now looking out at the horizon as though scanning for threats. He was probably just as bored as Luther was, having to listen to his father prattle on. The thought was oddly hilarious, and Luther bit the inside of his cheek to keep from giggling as he met his father’s eyes.

“Well, I suppose this is goodbye, then,” Luther said. “I’ll be sure to write to you often.”

“Yes. Goodbye, Luther.” His father said the words as though he wasn’t entirely sure what they meant. He brought his son into an awkward, hesitant embrace, and quickly let go again. He’d never been good at showing affection, not through words or actions. Truth be told, Luther would’ve been jumping for joy at the chance to get away from home and his controlling father, if it weren’t for the fact that he was just going to end up in a no doubt equally controlling situation. “You go on ahead. I’ve got a few things to clear up with your bodyguard here.” Luther saw the small grimace that Cam attempted to hide and smiled to himself. He seemed like he’d be good company, at least.

As he set off towards the carriage that would be both his salvation and his prison for the next two weeks, he caught only a few words of the fairly one-sided conversation his father had with the giant. It sounded mostly like strict instructions not to talk to Luther except in times of extreme emergency, and a few other nitpicky details he didn’t quite hear. There was a rumbling, “Yes, sir,” from Cam, and then the giant’s thundering footsteps, drawing nearer. Luther’s heart beat faster as Cam approached. His stomach started to knot in anxiety. He knew the giant had been hired for his protection, but having such a large being walking so close behind him hit his fight or flight reflexes, and he’d never been much of a fighter. Luther forced himself not to look over his shoulder. He climbed into the carriage and settled himself on the cushioned seat, then finally shot a sideways glance out of the window. Cam had resumed his post in front of the carriage and all he could see from inside was a section of the giant’s leg.

Luther’s heart sank as he stared glumly at the ceiling of the carriage. The most interesting person on this journey, no doubt, and he was under orders not to say a word to him. He hoped he could break down the giant’s walls eventually. No doubt he had countless exciting tales of action and danger that would be loads more entertaining than listening to dry old historians and prim diplomats lecture him about how to hold a fork.

~~~

They had been on the road for only a few hours, but it had dragged like an eternity as the diplomats prattled away. Luther could barely hold any of it in his head. His eyelids drooped, he swallowed yawn after yawn, and he had to consciously stop bouncing his leg every five minutes. They’d finally decided that was enough for now, clearly dissatisfied with how poorly he was paying attention. Luther stared out the carriage window. He would’ve had an excellent view of the rolling green hills in the distance if it weren’t for Cam.

The giant was trudging along beside the carriage, easily matching the pace of the horses with a measured stride, and mostly blocking Luther’s line of sight to anything else. Luther realized Cam was going to have to walk the whole way, basically alone, since everyone in the carriage train seemed afraid of him and avoided him whenever possible. That was almost worse than having your ear talked off by stuffy old men telling you how to act. Luther knew Cam was under orders not to talk to him, but how was Luther’s father going to find out, anyway? He reached up and swung the window open, leaning his head out to call up to the giant.

The motion of the window opening caught Cam’s eye, and he glanced down just in time to see Luther’s curly-haired head poke out. Whatever the kid was saying was lost in the rumble of the cart wheels and the thunder of the horses’ hooves. It must’ve been important, though. The kid’s father had been very clear that he was engaging in extremely important business and should not be bothered or distracted by Cam. He could practically still hear the man’s thin, unpleasant voice. “Only in the utmost emergency should any communication pass between the two of you.” Well, this looked like an emergency, if he was interrupting his business, and how was the guy going to find out, anyway?

“Can’t quite hear you, sir,” Cam said. “Maybe we could talk when the carriage pulls to a stop at the next town?”

Oh, god no, I can’t wait that long, Luther thought. In fifteen minutes these old fogeys were going to try to start lesson number two. He leaned a little further out and on an impulse yelled, “Pick me up!”

Cam caught that one loud and clear, although for a moment he thought he must have misheard. But there wasn’t much else that could have been. He shrugged and said, “Open the door, then.”

Luther couldn’t believe that worked. He’d half expected the giant to laugh or shake his head. The diplomats stared at him open-mouthed.

“S-sir, I don’t think you should - ” One of them began nervously, but that only strengthened his resolve. He unlatched the door and swung it open with a confidence that completely crumbled as Cam’s huge hand reached in and grabbed him around the middle. It was a delicate maneuver since the carriage was still rolling, but Cam managed it deftly, lifting Luther up and setting him on one shoulder, then laying a hand across his lap to keep him in place. He'd had to crouch to reach into the carriage and Luther felt his stomach drop as Cam straightened up. The ground fell away at an alarming speed, and then he was swaying gently back and forth with Cam's stride, hair blowing in the breeze.

"So, what were you going to say?" Cam asked.

"Uh, um, I, uh.... Hi?" Luther squeaked.

Cam's eyebrows knit in confusion. 'Hi?' Did the guy just want to say 'hi'? Really?

"Hello," he replied.

Luther was silent, fidgeting for a moment. He'd lost his nerve completely. He was up so high and so intimately close to Cam's face. He couldn't even find his voice enough to ask to be set back down.

Oh my god, Cam thought, that was really it. Well, that was embarrassing. Didn't really need to go to all that trouble. But the guy seemed content to sit there for now. He decided to try some small talk.

"Enjoying the journey so far? It must be pretty stuffy in that little carriage. Good to get out and get yourself some fresh air."

"O-oh, um, yes. Quite stuffy. The air is, uh. Nice." Luther could smell Cam very distinctly. Sweat, salt, steel, and leather. An earthy combination, but not entirely unpleasant. It was so different from what he was used to, and honestly a welcome change. It was a lovely day, a little on the chilly side, but Cam's hand on his lap kept him quite warm. Even the cold steel pauldron below him was heating up pretty quickly. "I’ve, uh, never met a giant before."

Oh, there it is. He'll have all kinds of invasive questions, no doubt. Cam suppressed a little sigh. "Honored to be your first, then." Technically not exactly true. Cam was only half-giant. But to sheltered nobles who didn’t know better it didn’t matter.

But there was no follow-up. Possibly Luther caught the tired edge to Cam's voice and wisely decided to drop that line of discussion. The silence that followed wasn't as awkward as Cam thought it would be. The little noble smelled faintly floral and citrus-y. The scent was light, not at all cloying like some other rich folk's perfume. Cam found that he kind of liked having him on his shoulder, actually. It made him feel like a protector, as opposed to before when he felt like he was just tagging along uninvited.

Luther was glad that Cam had his eyes fixed ahead on the road, because he was blushing so hard his face must have been lobster red. The giant was unexpectedly gentle. He'd half expected to be accidentally crushed in Cam's grip at first, but Cam had much more control than that. The hand across his lap was a firm, comforting pressure, and he was grateful for it. His own hands had been held tight to his chest, but as he relaxed he lowered them slightly. He hesitated, then rested them on the side of Cam's hand, anxiously glancing at Cam's face as he did so. No reaction. His hunched shoulders slumped, and he let out the breath he’d been holding.

Now that Luther felt more comfortable, he could enjoy the sensation of being carried. It was quite the way to travel. He looked out across the fields and watched a pair of birds in flight. The advantage of Cam’s height allowed him to see so much farther than usual.

Cam snuck a sideways glance at Luther. He had his head turned slightly away staring out at the horizon and seemed much more relaxed with a slight smile on his face. Cam suppressed a smile of his own. The little noble was pretty cute, he had to admit. His carefully-arranged brown curls had gotten mussed and out of place when Cam picked him up, and they now fell much more naturally around his face, framing it nicely. He could just about make out constellations of freckles across his delicate face, and warm, curious brown eyes that tracked an arc across the sky. An expression of wonder and amusement perched lightly on Luther's face.

Cam realized he'd been staring at Luther too long just as Luther looked back in his direction. Cam yanked his eyes away and focused on the road again, desperately keeping up the blankest poker face he could manage. He realized he was nearly about to walk right over the carriages and course-corrected as subtly as he could, cursing himself for getting distracted. This was just another pretty noble he had to protect and he couldn't afford to mess this job up. The payout would be huge, along with bi-weekly payments as long as he hung around after the wedding. Nearly a real steady job. He heard Luther stifle a giggle on his shoulder and his brow furrowed, his neutral expression drawing down into a frown. He hadn't been nearly as subtle as he'd hoped, then.

Blessedly for Cam, Luther's carriage door swung tentatively open again, and one of the diplomats poked his head out.

"It's, ah, time for the next lesson," he called over the clatter of the horses' hooves. "If we could have the young gentleman back, please…?"

Cam nodded his agreement and shifted his grip on Luther, leaning down again to place him back in the carriage. "Watch yer head," he muttered, and Luther ducked inside, giving Cam a wistful glance over his shoulder.

There. With any luck, those would be the last words they ever spoke to each other.

#writing #cam and luther #mercenary au #g/t #giant tiny #mostly exposition but also some interaction in there that i rly like :3

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gifted-burnout-archive · 4 years

Text

The Other Side of Hollywood

Part Four

Word Count: 6.3K+

Author’s Note: It’s the end of episode seven! The chemistry is real, the stakes are high, the secrets are being revealed. I went straight from writing Part Three into writing this, and I have a feeling I’ll start writing the next part immediately...

Thank you for reading the nonsense I write.

Warning: our ghoul bois get sad...

Part One here, Two here, and Three here. Masterlist here. Boom, let’s get into it.

Y/N had spent almost all of her afterlife surrounded by grown-ups. It was by chance, of course, that she was the youngest one at the Hollywood Ghost Club, but until Willie showed up about ten years before, that’s just how it was. And while every night at the HGC was a party…

There was nothing quite like a high-school house party.

The fact was Y/N was meant to be somewhere else. She was scheduled for bar duty that night at the club, but with a note on her room door reading she felt unwell and already asking someone to cover her shift that evening, she had the chance to venture out into the world beyond, to forget what had happened after Luke left the club… The jolts, the yelling, the feeling that her stomach was on fire and burning her from the inside.

So, in keeping with what she could vaguely remember about the high school parties she attended in the 90s, she did her best to dress up: she ditched her scruffy band tees and torn up shorts for a knee length black dress she had found about 20 odd years ago. She had discovered it in the costume department’s back corners, falling in love with the camisole top with the lace border and the flowing skirt with pockets from the moment she set eyes on it. Caleb had told her to take it, keep it for herself, and after a few good washes and alterations, it fit her like a glove… Then she didn’t have anywhere to wear it for two decades.

She had rummaged through her cupboards and found a nice pair of heeled combat boots to match, and with and box of treats for the boys she had swiped earlier that evening under her arm, one last check in the mirror and a final application of a vintage pink lipstick, she poofed out her room to the address Luke had given her, which she had transferred to a post-it note once she was alone, the ink on her arm already fading.

She landed with a thud of her heavy boots a second later, her carpet having shifted to what Y/N could only assume was Julie’s patio. She did a 360, quickly figuring out where she was: a fence to her left, trees to her right and a garden gate behind her, Y/N opted to go forward, heading in the direction of chatter and multi-coloured string lights.

There wasn’t much Y/N could remember about her life on earth, and what she did was pretty miserable: however, walking into the party gave her a strange sense of nostalgia, of déjà vu. She slipped her way through the crowds, for a moment forgetting no-one could see her, setting down the bag of goodies she had brought by the doors of the garage, which upon a second glance looked more like a studio from what little she could make out through the windows. She watched as kids, no doubt from Julie’s high school, milled around and chattered together, talking about school work and how glad they were that Friday had come around at last, how excited they were to see the band play. She couldn’t join in on anything, she knew that, but it didn’t bother her, and Y/N found herself a comfortable spot on the garden’s back wall, her legs swinging as she watched the world go by.

“What are you doing here?” A voice caught Y/N’s attention, looking forward and to her right to find the voice linked a handsome blonde haired boy, who looked rather displeased with a girl that she recognised: the girl from the pop group the other night at the bar.

“Julie is one of my oldest friends, Nick.” She snapped back. “I’m sure she just forgot to invite me.” She folded her arms, and the poor kid beside her sighed.

“Look, we’re not getting back together, Carrie.” He said with a deadpan voice, and Y/N couldn’t help but lean closer.

“I’ve heard that before…” Carrie replied back with a smirk, turning her attention back to the stage. “Something doesn’t add up about those holograms.” She pondered, placing a manicured hand on Nick’s lapel. “I wouldn’t trust her, if I were you.” She added, the conversation ended as a familiar face appeared nearby, Flynn boosting herself up onto the wall, her foot going into Y/N’s leg as she turned around, microphone in one hand and an odd looking box in the other. She set down the latter object pointed for the stage, and quickly connected it to some sort of plug.

“What’s up everybody?” Flynn asked, Y/N scooting along the wall a little to stop Flynn from stepping into her again. “Time to put your hands up, do a little dance, yup, here’s the new anthem from Julie and the Phantoms.” Flynn announced, jumping off the wall and running to the front of the crowd as two kids no more than 12, who Y/N speculated were Julie’s younger brother and friend, opening the studio doors that had been decorated with papier mâché to reveal Julie.

The sight of the girl, covered in butterflies and smiling so bright, brought an ache to Y/N’s heart, though she didn’t know why. It was one of fondness, watching the girl walk to the piano with a shy wave to the crowd of her peers almost had Y/N feeling proud.

“Thanks for coming everyone.” She said as she sat down, taking a nervous breath, and scanning the crowd to lock eyes on Flynn, and then, further back, Y/N. Julie smiled at her, prompting Y/N to smile back and hold her thumbs up in support. Another breath, and Julie began the song.

“Running through the past, tripping on the now. What is lost can be found, it’s obvious…” Whoops and cheers emerged from the crowd as Julie began to sing. “And like a rubber ball, we come bouncing back, we all got a second act, inside of us.” The machine just above Y/N whirred into life suddenly, and out of thin air, the band appeared behind Julie, causing the audience to gasp and cheer while Y/N just smiled wider.

“I believe, I believe that we’re just one dream away from who we’re meant to be, that we’re standing on the edge of…” Julie’s voice was unequivocally unique, the sort of sound you found once in a generation. And with the boys behind her, Y/N was confident in the conclusion she had come to the night before: they were the best band she had ever seen. “Something big, something crazy our best is yet unknown, that this moment is ours to own, cause we’re standing on the edge of great!” The boys came in, providing an echo of the chorus’ tagline as Julie belted some beautiful high notes.

It was in this section of the song that Luke’s eyes finally moved from his band mates and onto the crowd, scanning over the audience and just soaking in their reaction. On that stage, he felt alive, free, and undoubtedly happy: in fact, it’s how he felt whenever he managed to get his hands on a guitar, when he got to play, when he wrote music.

And as his eyes landed on a certain girl in black at the back of the crowd, he realised it’s how he felt when he was with her, as well.

“Yeah, we all make mistakes, but they’re just stepping stones to take us where we wanna go, it’s never straight no…” Luke sang, his eyes focused in on a spot in the back of the room no-one in the audience could see: but his bandmates could. Julie quickly noticed where Luke’s eyes had landed and grinned at Reggie, who raised a brow before he glanced between Luke and his point of fixation, a smile on his face. Alex caught on pretty quickly from his raised vantage point.

“Sometimes we gotta lean, lean on someone else to get a little help until we find a way.” With a quick nod, Luke passed the melody to Julie and took the harmony line, rolling his eyes at the stupid grins his bandmates had. They had noticed who he was looking at. “I believe, I believe that we’re just one dream away from who we’re meant to be, that we’re standing on the edge of something big, something crazy, our best is yet unknown, that this moment is ours to own, cause we’re standing on the edge of great!” Julie came out to the crowd, singing a portion of the song to Flynn in front, even taking the chance to wave at Nick, which more than ticked off Carrie from Y/N’s point of view. As they finished the chorus, Y/N found herself needing to be closer, and pushed herself off the wall, walking through the crowd and stopping in the front, her arms folded and a smirk on her face as she lifted a hand to wave her fingers in hello to Reggie, who had to gulp in response.

“Shout, shout! Come on and let it out, out! Don’t gotta hide it. Let your colours blind their eyes, be who you are, don’t compromise.” Julie climbed up the piano as she sang and sat herself on the top, throwing her head back as she sang in a way that had the déjà vu hitting Y/N all over again. “Just shout, shout! Come on and let it out, out! What doesn’t kill you makes you feel alive… Oh, I believe.” Julie sang, Luke stepping forward towards her, playing a guitar solo underneath her. “I believe that we’re just one dream away from who we’re meant to be,” The pair shared a smile as Luke free-styled alongside her. “That we’re standing on the edge of great!” Julie stood up as she held the high note, throwing her arms out and giving it everything she had, to the applause and cheering of the crowd as the boys sang the rest of the chorus behind her.

“We’re standing on the edge of great, on the edge of great. Great, on the edge of great. Great, on the edge of great.” The boys sang along as Julie re-joined them, Luke’s eyes finding Y/N’s once more and a dopey smile came on his face. As the chorus came to an end, Alex and Reggie vanished into thin air, and Luke swung his guitar behind him, grabbing his mic off its stand as Julie sat back at the piano, the pair singing the outro together.

“Running through the past,” Luke sang, walking to the front of their stage, coming face to face with Y/N. “Tripping on the now… What is lost can be found, it’s obvious.” He sang softly to her, winking in the second before he disappeared, a group of girls right behind Y/N bursting into a fit of giggles while the true receiver of Luke’s affection stood rather breathless in front of them, practically glowing under the string lights.

After the performance had finished, Flynn taking control as DJ for the rest of the night, Julie was quick to push her mother’s piano back into the studio with the assistance of her dad and Nick, and then close over and lock the doors to stop anyone wandering in before joining her guests. The doors closing and the turn of the lock was the signal the guys needed to relax after a performance well done, all three collapsing onto chairs around the room with happy sighs, the sounds of the party continuing muted by the thick oak doors.

Before any of them could say a word, a hand appeared through the wood and chapped on the door’s inside, the stamp on her wrist making it clear who had arrived.

“Come in!” Reggie yelled, swiftly receiving a punch from Luke who scrambled to pull off his beanie and run a hand through his mess of waves. Just as he stood up, Y/N walked through the door, a smile on her face and a box under her arm.

“You guys…” She started, shaking her head. “I am amazed every single time.” She admitted, setting the box down on the coffee table, only to be met with silence, no-one quite sure who was meant to speak first. “Open it. Please.” She urged, Alex flipping the top off the box to reveal a selection of delicacies from the club: burgers, pizza, meatball subs, and a half of a chocolate fudge cake.

“Keep her.” Alex ordered Luke, his eyes not looking up as he reached for a burger. “She remembered to take off the cheese.” He added with a grin, digging into the burger. Reggie looked into the box, picking up one of the meatball subs, and with a quick glance to Y/N to make sure he was good to help himself, Reggie sat beside Alex and let himself dig in.

“I… I didn’t think you would make it. Shouldn’t you be at the club?” Luke asked, having to clear his throat to stop his voice cracking. He kept his eyes on hers, though his peripheral could gauge how gorgeous she looked in the dress. “Do they know you brought the food?”

“I’m already dead, there’s not much Caleb can do to reprimand me now.” She said with a shrug. “Plus, it’s not my first time sneaking out. I mean, it’s been a quarter of a century, but it’s like riding a bike: never leaves you.” Y/N assured with a smile, Luke smiling right back and holding out his hand. She took it, letting him lead her to the couch as her eyes took in the space the boys seemed to call home, her smile only getting wider.

“So, uh, proper introductions, right?” Luke suggested. “Guys, this is Y/N. Y/N, Alex and Reggie.” He gestured to his two closest friends as he spoke, both of whom were stuffing their faces with the food Y/N had brought along. Alex was first to clear his mouth of food, swallowing his bite of pizza and sending a nod her way.

“It’s nice to meet you again. You’ve certainly got Luke smitten…” The comment earned a pillow to the face, Y/N and Reggie laughing simultaneously. “I just mean! I just mean he’s got good taste, usually. It’ll be nice to get to know you.” Alex defended himself, and Y/N felt the blush rise on her cheeks.

“There’s not much to know, but I can answer any questions you’ve got.” She glanced back at Luke, who quickly shook his head at the boys behind her.

“You’ve opened the flood gates now Y/N…” He muttered, throwing an arm across the back of the couch, his fingers brushing against her shoulder. “Best get comfy.”

“Ok, ok.” Reggie asked through a bite of fudge cake an hour later, the rest of the room recovering from a laughing fit after Alex’s recounting of a story from when the guys were all kids that involved a play park slide, a frog and Luke’s parents finding said frog in their toilet later that night. They were asking questions back and forth, Y/N asking the guys a question before they asked her one back. It had been on plenty of tangents, but Reggie seemed to have a list of questions lined up, and with Luke’s thigh as her pillow as she lay on the couch, Y/N felt more than happy to comply and answer. She had spent most of the hour in the position, save from when Luke jumped up to fetch her his song writing journal, which currently lay on her chest. “Favourite song from the collection.” Reggie asked, and she glanced back up at Luke before smiling.

“I’m a sucker for a sad song… Unsaid Emily.” She answered, and Reggie nodded in approval, sharing a look with Luke that Y/N couldn’t quite decipher.

“Ok, most hated artist. Before or after death.” Alex asked, stretching out with a hand resting on his stomach. Most of the box’s contents were gone.

“Easy. Trevor Wilson.” She answered, causing the three guys to look over in shock. “I mean, the lyrics are exquisite… But he’s a horrible person, I could never support him as an artist, alive or dead.” She explained, and the guys shared a laugh, Luke taking one of her hands in his and threading their fingers together.

A knock on the door sent four pairs of eyes across the room, and it was quickly followed the door opening and Julie slipping into the studio, beaming from ear to ear. The music outside had quietened down, and with Julie’s arrival it seemed like the party might be coming to a close.

“We haven’t really met yet.” Y/N said quickly to refrain from an awkward silence settling. She sat up quickly from her position, Luke unlinking their hand to make it a little easier on her. “I’m Y/N.”

“Julie. Nice to properly meet you. And thank you, for coming along tonight. Certainly put Luke in better spirits.” Julie took a seat herself, her eyes stopping on Reggie as he took another bite of cake. “Ghost food?” She guessed, and was met by four nodding heads.

“I don’t know if Luke ever passed on my compliments from last night, but you guys are amazing.” Y/N offered, and Julie sank into the chair with a smile on her face, not quite listening to whatever had been said.

“Don’t mind Julie… She’s in her own world.” Luke said with a smile, and Y/N nodded.

“Oh, I know the look of a lovestruck girl when I see it.” She bit her lip, taking a moment. “I’m going to guess… The blonde kid who helped with the piano?”

“Nick.” The boys said in unison, and Julie sat up straight at the sound.

“Hey!” She pouted, but it didn’t stay long. “Ok, so, he may have… Kissed me goodnight?” She squealed, and Y/N let out a gasp of excitement, leaning forward to listen more as the guys shared glances, not sure whether to be happy or concerned: Julie was their friend, and the past few weeks the guys had become rather protective of her.

“Cheek, lips?” Y/N asked, and Julie blushed.

“Cheek… But after we danced together today at school…” Julie’s shoulders came up to her ears and she let out a happy sigh.

“Oh, he’s just waiting to ask you out.” Y/N concluded, and the three guys sent her a look, almost warning her not to tempt Julie. “What? The girl’s got a crush, leave her be. She wouldn’t stop any of you.” Y/N defended, glancing back at Luke with a cheeky grin.

Luke couldn’t help smiling back: God, she was beautiful.

“Have you told the one with the immaculate fashion sense yet?” Y/N asked, snapping her fingers as she tried to remember the name.

“Flynn?” Julie suggested, and Y/N nodded, sitting back against Luke, much to the boy’s delight.

“Exactly.”

“What about me?” The voice that came from the door was the girl in question, Flynn quickly shutting the door behind her and coming over to hug Julie from the back. She still wasn’t quite used to her best friend talking to thin air, but it was getting a little more normal. “Where can I sit?” She asked, glancing around the vacant couch and chairs, knowing the boys were sitting somewhere.

“Just here.” Julie pointed to a vacant chair. “Y/N was just complimenting your fashion sense.” Julie explained, gesturing to the air.

“Y/N? The girl from last night? The one you could see?” Flynn asked, waving at the spot Julie had just picked out. “Sorry, hi. I’m Flynn.” She said, and Y/N couldn’t help the smile on her face. If only she had been friends with these two in high school…

“That’s the one.” Julie nodded, and she paused for a moment, listening to someone Flynn couldn’t see. “And according to Reggie, you stood in her earlier.” Julie informed, earning a giggle from Flynn.

“I… Nope, this is weird.” Flynn sighed, standing up and beginning to pace, and Julie stood up in response, worried. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry… It’s just. It’s weird not seeing, or hearing them…” Flynn admitted, and Julie nodded in understanding, placing her hands on Flynn’s shoulders to stop the pacing.

“I know… It sucks… for all of us.” Julie confirmed to her best friend the feelings of the ghosts lounged over her furniture, but the words seemed to strike an idea in Flynn’s head.

“Can you guys all sing something?” She asked, looking in the general direction of the couches, managing to meet Reggie’s eye contact, who sat up a little straighter, waving his hand to make sure she couldn’t actually see him. “I mean, you all appear when you sing with Julie, I’d get to see all your stupid faces again.” Flynn shrugged.

“It’s not a bad idea.” Alex posited, pulling his drumsticks from his back pocket.

“Ok, but Y/N picks the song.” Reggie suggested, to the shared chuckles of the ghosts and Julie, who quickly explained that the guys were up for it, just picking a song. The girls sat back down as Y/N sat up and flicked through the marked pages of Luke’s book, stopping on ‘Bright’. She handed the book over to Luke with the song picked, and he grinned, closing his eyes for a moment before his guitar appeared in his hands.

The sound of drumsticks against wood filled the air around Flynn before it was joined quickly by a soft guitar, and the soft hums of three boys in perfect harmony, setting Julie up to sing.

“Sometimes I think I’m falling down, I wanna cry, I’m calling out for one more try, to feel alive.” Julie sang along, Flynn watching in awe as it seemed the light started to shift around the couches and armchairs. “And when I feel lost and alone, I know that I can make it home, right through the dark, you find the spark. Life is a risk, but I will take it, close my eyes and jump. Together I think that we can make it, come on let’s run.” Flynn let out a squeal as the guys suddenly appeared out of thin air, Alex drumming away on the table edge as Reggie and Luke sang harmonies under Julie, the latter strumming the guitar.

“And rise through the night, you and I, we will fight to shine together, bright forever.” The lyrics were distorted a little by shared laughter in the room thanks to Flynn’s squeal, but the music was still beautiful, nonetheless. “And rise through the night, you and I, we will fight to shine together, bright forever.”

On the other side of the spectral veil, Y/N sat crossed legged on the couch, reading along as the band sang, her head swaying gently as she watched them perform just for Flynn, and in some ways, her.

“In times that I doubted myself, I felt like I needed some help.” Luke sang, trying to keep his eyes on his guitar with very little success. “Stuck in my head, with nothing left.” As Reggie and Julie joined in on separate harmony lines, Luke’s eyes travelled up to Y/N’s. “I feel something around me now, it’s so unclear, lifting me out. I found the ground I'm marching on.” Luke sent a wink to Y/N, who let out a laugh. From Flynn’s point of view, it very much looked like the band’s lead guitarist had winked at a pillow.

“Y/N, I swear if you don’t start singing to at least try and become visible, you can take your compliments about my dress sense back because we can’t be friends.” Flynn spoke over the boys and Julie singing the chorus, and Y/N sat up straight, glancing down at the words on the piece of paper and looking back up at the band around her, each one of them urging her to give them something, Luke most of all. It wasn’t just the fact that Flynn wouldn’t let it go until she saw Y/N, but Luke knew how amazing she actually was.

“Come on Y/N, please?” Julie pleaded, thinking it was at least worth a shot. Y/N found herself taking a deep breath and nodding, Luke tilting his guitar to point to their starting point.

“In times that I doubted myself,” Luke began to sing with just the tap of Alex’s stick accompanying him, but on the last word a female voice arose from the air, joining on a high harmony line. “I felt like I needed some help. Stuck in my head, with nothing left.” The notes became clearer by the minute, and Flynn let out a gasp as a girl started to fade into existence. She was sat cross legged on the couch in a pretty black dress, her eyes screwed shut as she sang along with Luke, who couldn’t stop smiling at her.

“And when I feel lost and alone, I know that I can make it home.” Julie joined in for the last lines of the bridge, Luke dropping out to leave the two girls singing. “Fight through the dark and find the spark…” Y/N found her eyes finally opening on the song’s last line, glancing over to find Flynn looking straight at her, to find everyone looking straight at her. As Luke strummed the last chord of the song, Y/N flashed into thin air, the boys following soon after.

“I saw her! For a hot minute there I thought Luke had some sort of imaginaey girlfriend, maybe you guys were just letting him have his moment, but that was a whole person on that couch.” Flynn jumped up from her chair, pointing at right where she had seen Y/N, who was wide eyed and staring at the music on her lap.

How did that happen? How was she visible without Caleb’s help? It just didn’t make sense to her. And with the thought of Caleb came the harsh reminder of what she was trying to do: how she was trying to make the guys, make Luke, give up their dreams with Julie. Willie’s words were ringing her head, and they quickly had her hyperventilating.

“Y/N, hey, are you alright?” Luke asked, placing his hand on hers, and she looked up nodding quickly.

“I just…” She started, but couldn’t quite find the words.

“It’s awesome, right?” Reggie said with a grin, and she nodded slightly, knowing not to correct him.

“Girls! Girls, pizza’s here!” A man’s voice shouted from outside the studio door, Julie and Flynn sharing a glance before Julie jumped to her feet.

“I’ll see you all tomorrow?” Julie promised, and the guys nodded, waving her and Flynn off as they left for the main house.

“I… I think I ought to go as well, actually.” Y/N spoke up after a moment of silence, still trying to process what had just happened. “Someone will probably try checking on me soon, if they haven’t already.” She said, quickly getting up from the couch and placing Luke’s journal on the table. “It was… It was really nice to meet you guys.” She smiled, starting a quick walk out, the trio watching her walk through the door.

“You going to go kiss her or what, Luke?” Alex spoke up after a moment, the guitarist looking up at his bandmates, then the door, and suddenly jumping to his feet to follow Y/N out.

“Y/N, Y/N wait!” Luke called out as he ran through the door, bumping into the back of her and sending her towards the ground. In a lightning quick move, he managed to catch her before she hit concrete, looking down at her wide eyes and shocked face.

“You really ought to watch where you’re going, Denim.” She breathed out, letting Luke help her back to her feet, though the distance between them only became smaller.

“I wanted to thank you for coming tonight, properly.” Luke said softly, his hand finding hers and their fingers interlacing. Y/N looked up into his eyes, finding their lips inches from one another. It was so tempting, to just give in to her better judgement and kiss him, to tell him everything: but then everything flashed before her eyes, and she couldn’t find the courage to do it. What would he think of her, once she told him what she had helped Caleb do to them?

“Don’t do that.” She whispered softly, her heart breaking at the sight of Luke’s smile turning to a frown, a coldness worse than the winds at the beach coming over her as he took his hand from hers and moved away.

“I’m sorry I thought that was what…” Luke started, and Y/N jumped to her own defence.

“It is!” She admitted, looking down at her shoes. “Just… I’m not ready yet.” She lied, but Luke seemed to believe it wholeheartedly. “I’m sorry.” She added, more for herself than Luke: at least she would know she apologised to him.

“Don’t apologise, Y/N. There’s nothing to forgive.” Luke assured her, pulling her into a hug. She hugged him back tightly, her arms wrapping around his neck as he held her up on her tiptoes.

If only you knew, Denim… If only.

“See you around.” She said with a smile and they pulled away, Y/N capturing the image of him waving goodbye in her head as she vanished back to her room at the hotel, hoping she could just slip into her bed until morning.

A floorboard creaked behind her in the dark room, and it seemed she wouldn’t be so lucky.

“Well, hello, little sunset.”

After Julie and Y/N’s departures, the guys found themselves outside, taking turns shooting for the basketball hoop that hung just above the studio doors. Luke took a few paces back with the ball before shooting and sinking the shot, receiving a cheer from Alex while Reggie scooped up the ball from the ground, spinning it between his hands.

“Feels like we should be celebrating, or something…” Reggie said with a shrug. The night had been a success, sure, but when a night had gone well back in the 90s, they would have gone out on the strip, seen a movie, done something big to celebrate. “What do you wanna do?” He asked, but they were interrupted.

A jolt hit them all at the same time, the pain from it so severe that it sent both Reggie and Luke to the floor, and had Alex doubling over in pain.

“Not that.” The blonde muttered, holding his stomach as he tried to straighten up, the pain fading almost as soon as it arrived.

“That wasn’t like the other ones… It’s getting worse.” Luke said softly, pulling himself up from the drive-set and dusting off his trousers.

“Why is this happening to us?” Reggie asked, leaning on his knees for support as he tried to get his breath back, the confused expressions on his bandmates’ faces giving no answers whatsoever.

“It’s because you guys are in serious trouble.” Out of thin air, Willie came into view, walking towards the three boys with a look of deep concern as he saw the aftermath of a jolt. They turned to look at the intruder on their conversation, Alex taking a step forward at the appearance of his… Whatever he and Willie were.

“Willie?”

“We need to talk…”

Willie knew the best way to keep off of Caleb’s radar was to a) move during club hours and b) stay walking. He wasn’t sure how, but Caleb had a sense for when people poofed in and out of his hotel, or when one of his workers did anything.

He had done his best to explain on their walk over to the Hollywood strip, but the guys still had plenty of questions.

“So, all these jolts that we’re feeling is because Caleb put his stamp on us?” Luke had to clarify, not sure he got it quite right. He had been seeing red the whole walk over, zoning in and out of the conversation.

“He’s threatened by you!” Willie exclaimed, the quartet coming to a natural stop so Willie could lay out their situation plain and simple. “He wants you under his control. I mean, you’re the only ghosts that can be visible to lifers without his help.” Reggie was about to correct him, tell Willie about Y/N and her visibility only a few hours before, but Alex stepped up first.

“And you let him do this to us?” He asked Willie, not quite sure what to think of the handsome skater boy. Sure, he had told them what was happening, but he still helped in making it happen.

“I can’t stop him. He owns my soul!” Willie defended himself. “All right? He owns everybody’s soul at that club. If he even knew I was here talking to you he… he would destroy me…” Willie trailed off, allowing Luke to step in.

“Everybody’s soul?” He asked, Reggie and Alex sending a look his way, something close to pity. Willie just nodded. “So, was she in on it too? Did she help?” Luke demanded an answer, and Willie sighed.

“Y/N is Caleb’s right hand… She’s been at the club for a quarter century I-” Willie paused, looking down. “Look, I may have found Alex but… But I came into this unwillingly. Y/N on the other hand… She wanted the challenge… I’m sorry.”

Willie’s words hit Luke straight in his core, and he found himself walking back and leaning on the closest wall, running his fingers through his hair as he tried to come to terms with the information: Y/N wasn’t morally grey like Willie, she was straight up a bad guy, maybe even worse than Caleb. She had seen Julie and The Phantoms perform; she knew how much their music meant to every single one of them.

“So if we don’t join his club, then the weird power outage thing continues until there’s no power left at all?” Reggie asked, sending a worried glance Luke’s way, but knowing if the distraught guitarist missed something he and Alex would catch him up.

“Yes.”

“What exactly happens when the power goes out?” Reggie asked the first of his follow up questions.

“That’s… That’s it… You’re done.” Willie gulps as he spoke.

“Uh-huh. Yeah. And what exactly do you mean by ‘we’re done’?” Reggie asked again, growing impatient.

“You just!” Willie finally got to the answer the trio needed. “You don’t exist… Anymore. Not anywhere.”

“What?”

“So we have no choice?” Luke spoke up for the first time in a while, pulling himself to his feet with a wipe of his watery eyes. “We have to say goodbye to Julie, give up everything we’ve built together, and work for Caleb? Work with her?” He asked, anger bubbling over. Not just at the predicament they found themselves in, but the fact that saying her name would remind him how he felt about her: in spite of all this, he still wanted her, still liked her. “That’s some club you got going on.” He muttered when Willie hesitated on his answer.

“But there is another option. That’s why I’m here. Just… Please. Hear me out.” He pleaded when Alex rolled his eyes, the boys falling silent to let him continue. “All right. If you guys could just figure out what your unfinished business is, you do it in time, you could cross over and be free from all of this.”

“Ok, so what’s our unfinished business?” Luke asked.

“I don’t know, but since you all died at the same time, you know, it might be something you need to do together.” Willie tried to offer a suggestion, but Alex was having none of it, stepping forward to push Willie a step back.

“Ok but why should we listen to a word you say?” He asked with a scoff, only to look up and meet those big puppy dog eyes that had him falling for the skater in the first place.

“Because I care about you, Alex.” Willie admitted, and Alex backed down. “And I hate that I brought you, and your friends into this mess. I uh…” He was getting teary eyed. “I can’t be away much longer… I’m sorry. For everything.” And with that, he vanished, leaving the three bandmates on the sidewalk alone.

“This is all my fault…” Alex started, shaking his head in disbelief. “I… I met Willie, Willie introduced us to Caleb, to Y/N, and now…Now we’re screwed…” He trailed off, Luke letting out a sigh.

“We all wanted to go see Caleb… And I went back to the club to see her I…” Luke ran a hand through his hair.

“We have to go tell Julie.” Reggie added to the conversation, receiving a stern look from both Alex and Luke.

“No, we can’t do that. All this means is more loss in her life.” Luke argued. First Julie’s mom, then them? That was too much for her to bear alone. “But if we don’t want Caleb to own our souls we have to figure out our unfinished business.”

“Yeah, man. And how are we supposed to do that?” Alex asked with a shrug of his shoulders. “All right? There was so much we wanted to do.” Luke nodded in defeat, glancing just past look in search of something, anything that might make light of the situation. Instead, he did a double take at the neon sign on the strip, one he had walked past the night before. “What is it?” Alex asked.

“Yeah, but the night we died, there was one thing we all wanted to do together.” Luke walked past the pair, Reggie and Alex’s following to where Luke’s were focused.

“Play the Orpheum?” Reggie asked the rhetorical question, all three now focused on the neon blue sign across the street.

“Getting that gig was literally impossible.” Alex reminded. “Even after people knew who we were, we had to hustle, call in every favour we had. It took years.” Another jolt went through them all, as bad as the last if not worse, sending all three doubling over in pain.

“Yeah, well,” Luke coughed out, taking a moment to stand up straight again. “We don’t have years.”

Part Five is here...

Tags: @im-a-writer-right @elioelioeli0 @jenjen889 @walkingonshunshine @parkeret @lolychu @leahstypewriter @j-mar-memester @sunsetcurve-h @musicconversedance @gracefulpenguin @shae-is-not-ok @talksoprettyjjx @smol-book-nerd @lord-of-the-fried @siennanoelle01 @deadpoolgirl23 @theatricalfangirl @deepsleepnat @hhyunj1n @lovesanimals

#luke patterson #luke patterson x reader #luke patterson x y/n #jatp luke x reader #jatp luke #jatp #julie and the phantoms #fanfiction #fanfic #jatp au #reader insert #the other side of hollywood #luke patterson fluff #fluff

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leggything · 3 years

Text

Package Notification Pt.1

Package Notification

The subject line caught my attention as is flashed in the corner of my monitor. I clicked on the notification and read that a delivery had arrived at my apartment and would be held at the front desk until I was able to retrieve it. I wasn’t expecting anything but quickly put it out of my mind, it was probably a free trial I forgot to cancel or something. I deleted the email and went back to the report I had been drafting, hitting the back button on my phone a couple of times to replay the last few seconds of the podcast I had been listening to.

I left work a bit early. It was Friday and I wanted to beat the crowds on the train home. Unfortunately I wasn’t quite early enough to find a seat so by the time I walked through the door of my building I was only thinking about my bed.

The desk attendant perked up as I stepped in, “Hey Andy,” he said “I was just sorting the mail and a package came for you. Let me quick grab it.”

“Oh thanks so much Sean,” I said, pulling my headphones out of ear, “I would have totally forgotten.”

“No problem dude,” Sean replied as he rummaged behind the desk. He was a sweet kid, just out of college. His family was close the folks that owned our building so he usually came back to help run things over summers.

“And— here you are!” He said, as he popped back into view, blowing away a stray curl that had fallen in front of his eyes, “see you around!”

“Thanks again Sean, happy Friday!” I said, waving as I opened the door to the stairwell.

I turned the package over in my hands as I climbed the three flights to the apartment. It wasn’t a meal delivery kit or a pack of razors as I had suspected, just an unassuming grey plastic package with a normal UPS label. No return address for some reason. After fumbling for my key I unlocked the door, set my bag down and slipped off my shoes. Friday at last. It felt good to kick my shoes off after standing for so long.

Package still in hand I went to the couch and tore open its grey plastic as I sat down. Inside the bag my hands felt smooth woven fabric and something else that was stiffly textured. Out of the bag came an embroidered tunic and, as they unrolled in my hand, a pair of soft grey footed tights. My face flushed as I realised what I had received. A ballet costume.

I felt a mix of confusion and excitement. I certainly would have remembered if I had ordered something like this. I loved ballet, the beautiful precision of movement, the romance of the storylines, but really I was in it for the dancers. I loved watching them move, muscular yet flexible, lithe and powerful. The way their costume tights hugged every curve of their calves and thighs, squeezing each cheek of their powerful asses and the curve of their pronounced bulges, it was heaven. I definitely didn’t place the order for this costume, but it certainly didn’t come to me by mistake.

Reluctantly setting the tights and tunic down on the table, I glanced into the package again, looking to see if there was anything else. No shoes or dance belt, but there was a small piece of paper. I reached back in and pulled out the rough piece of card-stock. A note was printed on in flowing script:

Hope this turns your dream into reality.

Now I was nervous. I wasn’t exactly open about my, ahem, love of ballet. My closest friends and previous partners didn’t even know, and yet someone had anonymously sent gear to my home which meant my big secret wasn’t as secret as I thought. I pulled out my phone, there was one person who I had connected with online about ballet stuff, but they definitely didn’t know my address and I hadn’t heard for them in a week or so. Nonetheless I sent out a text:

Hey, I just got some ballet gear in the mail. You didn’t send me anything did you?

I was a little nervous and needed to chill out so I went into the kitchen to grab a beer from the fridge. Taking the first sip, I glanced back out to where the ballet outfit sat on the table. The anonymous package thing was weird, but it was also definitely hot. And though I loved looking at ballet dancers and often had fantasies about what it would be like to be one, I had never actually gotten up the courage to actually take a class or buy a pair of tights.

Taking another sip of my beer, I walked back out to the couch. I set down my beer and picked up the tunic. It looked and felt well made, different shades of gold and yellow thread in a brocade foliage design against white backing. It was short and tailored in at the waist, probably a bit snug on me, but on a slim dancer it would sit perfectly above the waist - emphasising their toned abdomen and, when facing away from the audience, their powerful glutes. I was getting a little turned on thinking about it. Whether I fit or not, I had to try it on.

I unbuttoned my shirt and slipped off my slacks, tossing them on the couch along with my socks. I hesitated a bit before taking off my underwear, the outfit hadn’t come with a dance belt, but I figured it’s be better to have a vpl than underwear lines. I was half hard already, even if I had a dance belt it probably would have still looked awkward. The soft fabric of the tights brushed against my bare legs as I picked them up off the table and held them up by the suspenders. At least they’d feel sexy to wear, even if I wasn’t quite fit enough to fill them out very well.

Sitting down on the couch I slid my leg into the grey tights, wiggling my toes into the seam at the bottom of the foot. They tingled a bit as I pulled them up over my calves and thighs, the soft tight fabric rubbing against the hair on my legs. As I pulled them up over my crotch they held my balls tight against me and pinned my now full erection against my belly. So much for a dance belt! Pulling the suspenders over my shoulders, I was greeted by the surprising sensation of the back seam of the tights snuggling up in between my ass cheeks. I didn’t have much of a butt to speak of, but somehow the tights still held tight to what little I had.

The tights ended just below my chest, and though I definitely didn’t have the ballet dancer build I still enjoyed seeing and feeling the uniform texture of grey fabric from my abdomen to my feet. I ran my hands along my legs, feeling the weave of the tights thrum with every touch, and my cock straining against the fabric.

I pulled my mind away from the hypnotic sexy feel of the tights, a little upset at myself that I hadn’t tried dressing up like this earlier. But I still had the tunic to put on. I wasn’t sure if I should have put something under it, but the lining was surprisingly soft and breathable against my skin. I stood up, slid my arms into the sleeves, and began hooking the fasteners that went up the front. The waist wasn’t as snug as I had feared and the structure of the garment helped straighten my posture, encouraging me to stand a bit taller than the hunch my desk job had trained me into.

Hooking the last fastener under my chin I looked down and realising I had come to stand with my heels together and my toes turned out, in what I knew to be “1st position.” And as I dropped my arms they fell nicely open and rounded at my sides, allowing my chest to open up and my shoulders to rotate backwards in perfect ballet posture. I chuckled a bit to myself, maybe I picked up more from watching so much ballet than I thought.

I tried to imitate the movements I had seen ballet dancers do, not crazy leaps or turns or anything, just pointing the toe out, to the side, to the back. I knew from somewhere they were called “tendus.” I let my arms move out to the side and above my head in time with my feet. I bent into a deep plie, letting my gaze follow my outstretched hand as it traveled out, to the side, overhead, and then started to repeat the same combination on the other side. I probably looked ridiculous trying to imitate the precise movements I had only watched, but it felt wonderful to move in the outfit.

As I continued to try new things, ronde de jambe, fouetté, attitude; I couldn’t remember where I picked up all these names, the costume felt like it fit me better and better. With each breath in my chest filled out the tunic a little better and my arms and shoulders felt stronger and more sure in their positions. Letting a breath out, my abdomen felt more compact and stronger in the long waist of the tights, my core offering steadier and steadier support and balance to my movement.

I moved from attitudes to a combination centred around arabesques, standing strong on one leg while reaching up and out with my upper body and back with the other leg. I took a couple of steps forward and went into the first arabesque, feeling strength and stability pouring into my standing leg, the grey tights stretched against my thighs, hips, and butt as I raised my other leg further up and behind me. My legs felt stronger and stronger as I continued around the room, my tights more snug and supportive as they nestled into the contours of my legs and sunk further between my ass cheeks. To finished the combination I moved to fifth position and took a small plie to lift up onto the balls of my feet, sous sous. Lifting my arms strong and graceful above my head I felt every muscle, from my calves to my core to my triceps working together to keep me balanced and poised. Satisfied, I descended into a plie and rose back up to finish the combination.

I stood there for a moment, relaxing back in first position and then blinked, blinked again. I looked back over at the table where my beer stood abandoned. Outside the window the sky was almost dark, how long had I been dancing, and how had I known how to do all that stuff? Feeling a little out of control I started to undo the top clasp of my tunic when I caught a look at myself in the hall mirror.

I did a double take, it couldn’t be me. I looked down at myself and then back at my reflection firm pecs, toned abs, powerful thighs clad in grey. It was me and fuck I was built. I turned around to see my now glorious ass, each cheek hugged beautifully by my tights, and noticed the cleft that had appeared on my toned calves - visible even though I stood flat footed.

I couldn’t help but touch, partially to make sure it was all real and partially because I was my own wet dream. I ran my hands along my firm legs and my slender waist and started to undo the tunic to check out my upper body. My laser focus while dancing had killed my boner but as I undid the tunic’s clasps I felt myself start to get hard again. It felt different though, still pleasurable but a different kind of pleasure. Breathing heavy with arousal I looked back to the mirror. I could see myself growing, but it wasn’t just my cock’s outline straining against the spandex, it looked and felt like my balls were growing too, my whole crotch swelling up against its spandex prison. The more they grew, the more intense the pleasure became, but it didn’t exactly feel like an erection.

I it felt almost like a balloon blowing up - a balloon in my crotch filling with anticipation and pleasure. Looking down, I noticed that as my genitals kept growing they began to lose definition, probably due to how stretched out the fabric was getting. As my bulge strained against my tights, my breathing quickened and my crotch continued to get smoother and rounder. My pelvic pleasure balloon steadily expanded until I felt my whole body was surely going to explode with ecstasy and then suddenly— it stopped. Still breathing heavily and still quite aroused I saw, between my newly muscled legs, the perfect smooth round ballet bulge, maybe a little on the big side, but otherwise the most beautiful tights-clad bulge - exactly like I was wearing a dance belt under my tights.

But I wasn’t wearing a dance belt. Was I? Trepidatiously I reached down to stroke the fabric and was greeted by the most pleasurable sensation. It didn’t feel at all like I was touching a padded dance belt, it felt like I was touching my own skin. I continued to run my hand over my bulge, a little moan escaping my lips as I stroked it’s contours. It felt like touching the sensitive head of my cock, my whole crotch felt as sensitive as the most nerve-laden part of my dick.

Equally aroused and terrified I slipped off the tunic and the straps of my tights. As I began to undress I noticed the wiry patch of hair on my chest had disappeared, and as I slid the tights further down to my waist, saw for the first time my beautiful hairless toned core. I ran my hand along my abdomen, wanting to feel every new inch of my body and also afraid to slide my grey tights any further down. But I couldn’t put it off forever. I slid my tights off the toned globes of my ass, over the deep v of my hips and then, my breath hitching as the tights fabric slid away from my sensitive crotch, revealing my perfectly smooth and hairless crotch.

My crotch looked exactly the same as before the tights came off - a round bulge just like you would see on mannequin. I couldn’t help but touch myself again, the intense pleasure felt slightly different without the silky tights over my sensitive skin. I closed my eyes as I touched myself, it was a completely different sensation than stroking my cock. Instead of moving in fits and spurts of arousal towards the edge of orgasm, this felt like a continually building sensation, like that balloon expanding again - a pleasure that continued to grow and grow with no sign of impending release.

After thoroughly exploring this new sensation I decided to move to the bathroom to get a better look at myself. I pulled my tights back up to my waist, the feeling of their fabric moving over my crotch almost pulling me into another session of dickless masturbation, and padded to the bathroom.

I flicked the light on and, before I could pull my tights back down for inspection, was distracted by my own face. Maybe it was the glow of arousal but I could swear I looked invigorated, more lively. My eyes looked twinklier and my teeth looked brighter, whiter even. As I looked at my reflection, I noticed the stress induced strands of silver in my hair and the dark circles under my eyes start to fade. Before my very eyes my short cropped hair grew out into a perfectly coiffed hairstyle and my jawline softened slightly - the stubble on my chin fading away. I couldn’t help but smile at myself, a smile that would be perfect for stage lights. Stepping back from the mirror and looking at myself, inexplicably standing in first position again, I realised I had been given the perfect body for ballet, a body I could have only dreamed of.

Finally seeing my whole self, I decided the mystery of how it all came to be mine could wait until tomorrow. Tonight I would just enjoy it. I flicked off the bathroom light and retired to my bedroom. The mostly full beer bottle and the work clothes from my earlier self lay abandoned by the couch as I lay in bed, touching and discovering the pleasures of this new body until I fell asleep.

#male tf #transformation #male transformation #ballet tf #ballet tights #men in lycra #men in spandex #men in tights

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ragweed98 · 3 years

Text

This is my first, tentative post, it's borderline smut with Roger Taylor. I've only ever edited and brainstormed with the amazing writer @a-bisexual-phantom

So I guess tension as a warning?? Mild cliffhanger as I can't write the actual act for the life of me?? I tried to be accurate!!

You were so excited for the opportunity to intern with Queen, not only was it a huge learning experience but you had the feeling that you were watching history go down. Some aspects of your job included anything and everything anybody else needed, paperwork, snacks, occasionally breaking up fights between band members when the manager wasn't able to.

You loved the little farm house that the band would be recording their album at. You really hoped the quiet countryside would provide maximum song-writing atmosphere for everyone. Once everyone got settled into their bedrooms, yours being the closest to the bathroom probably due to the fact that you were the only female, you decided to explore a little bit as this may be your only chance before being buried in paperwork.

After looking through the studio, you began exploring outside and you discovered a few worn paths that went who knows where. Naturally you picked one and immediately started walking down it. You weren't scared of getting lost or running into any murderers. Along the first trail, the plants were growing together overhead, creating a tunnel of green that the last of the sun shone through.

You made your way back and decided to grab a torch so you could continue your adventure into the night hours and then departed to the second trail of the trip. As you walked you dragged your feel, shuffling through the leaves, smiling to yourself at the noise you created. Your smile grew, splitting across your face as you came to the end of the trail, as you took in the sight before you.

It was a gorgeous lake, "perfect", you thought to yourself "for relaxing".

The fact that you had no swimwear was a trivial thought, and easily fixed since you were most likely to be the lake's only occupant.

You walked back to the house around three a.m. water droplets clinging to your hair. The door didn't creak, but as you crept down the hall towards your door the floor squeaked with every step you took. Though you thought you were in the clear as you entered your room, you failed to notice a door open and a shaggy blond head poke out to see who was squeaking in so late.

With three and a half hours of sleep under your belt you started making a huge breakfast for everyone at about 6:30 a.m. As the smoke from the grease filled pans hissed up, the aromas of bacon, eggs, and much needed coffee coaxed everyone out of their rooms. Everyone filtered in, sitting down sleepily, looking like rock and roll zombies. You set plates out for everybody to dish themselves up, Roger grabbed the last two plates, setting them down to dish up next to you on the counter and put his other hand on the other side of you.

"Someone had some late night adventures last night", Roger whispered in your ear, his raspy voice laced with sleep.

You turned to face him intending to ask why he had been up at that hour too when you realised since the whole band was still in their pyjamas you came face to chest with the shirtless drummer. With the toned arms of Roger Taylor on either side of you, you put on your best professional, no nonsense face about half a foot away from his. You couldn't put much more distance between you and him due to the kitchen counter and he seemed to know that as he smirked, leaning forward slightly with his whole body.

"Mr. Taylor, that's quite enough", you said in a soft stern voice.

"Oh you two are adorable." Freddie said at the same time Deaky started complaining about Roger not being able to go five minutes without blatantly flirting with the band's intern.

"Roger, please leave Miss L/N be, as she is here to help Miami help us with our career." Brian said without looking up from his songbook and coffee.

Roger sighed at Queen's comments, then looking at you, drawled, "it doesn't seem as though Y/N wants me to move..."

His eyes widen as you suddenly put your hands on his bare shoulders and use him to hop up on the counter in front of him, lift your legs over his arm, back onto the floor and walked off with your plate, saying since his ego was so big and heavy you moved so he wouldn't have to strain himself. Freddie barked out a laugh, congratulating you on rendering Roger speechless.

"It's not often he doesn't know what to do with his mouth." You chuckled.

"Especially when a beautiful girl is involved," Freddie said, causing the drummer to blush as he continued gawking like a goldfish.

It had been a few weeks of stress filled song writing and you were attempting to enjoy a shower when you heard thumps coming from outside the bathroom. You ignored the commotion and finished your shower, toweling off only to realise you hadn't brought clean clothes to change into.

You wrapped your towel around your body securely and cracked the door to peek out and seeing that the coast was clear you calmly walked towards your open door. As soon as you went to close the door, hands grabbed your waist and pulled you behind the door, against the wall, your hands pushing at the possible kidnapper.

You let out a yelp only to be silenced by a hand over your mouth as a body pushed up against you HARD. Roger opened the door back up until it was touching his back and put a finger to his lips, touching both of your noses as he did so. Freddie thundered down the hallway and tiptoed into your room brushing by the door as he entered. Roger pulled your leg up around him and leaned all the way into you to give the door an inch to swing inward as Freddie walked back out of your room, having unsuccessfully found anyone.

"We're playing hide and seek, Love" Roger breathed in your ear as he let his hand slide down from your mouth to lightly rest on your throat, smirking at your current attire.

"Well, Mr. Taylor, you should have said so." You said as you decided to get him back for his 'unprofessionality' as Brian referred to it. "FREDDIE! ROGER'S IN--" Roger cut you off with his hand, cursing as Fred's footsteps pounded back into your room.

"Oi, Roger! Put her down" Freddie yelled at the drummer who realized you were still flush around him in his hiding spot. He glared at you as he let you push him off you this time and slipped over to your dresser. Freddie shoved Roger out of the room for you to change, thanking you for your service in the game.

As the door clicked shut you let the façade of professional indifference fall as your face blushed red hot at the situation and proximity you had just come out of. Deciding that taking another shower would be doing too much, you changed into shorts and a tank top and took a dry towel to head to the lake. You poked your head out to see that it was Roger free, strode down the hallway and headed down the stairs, listening all the while for band members.

You stopped by the kitchen for a coffee and ran into Freddy when you opened the lower cupboard to grab a lid to take your coffee with you. Managing not to react too wildly you grinned at him and asked if Roger was seeking now. Freddie nodded and Mr. Taylor came in from counting outside to find you putting the lid on your coffee thermos having closed Freddy's hiding spot back up.

"Well if it isn't my newly declared hide and seek enemy," Roger greeted you with fake hurt puppy eyes.

"All is fair in love and war Mr. Taylor" you said, sipping your coffee you grimimced then turned around to grab some sugar to add to the bitter bean water, knowing exactly what held the drummer's gaze now that you were facing away from him.

"Maybe," Roger said slowly, stalking towards you, "you and I could help each other….you know in the game" his pause implying the other game he was playing, with only you.

He continued walking slowly toward you as you continued slowly walking backwards until your back hit the counter and he smirked. You set your coffee down and jumped up to sit on the counter, crossing your legs and picking your coffee back up.

Roger stopped at the counter you were seated on, placing his hands on the counter right up against your leg and under the crossed one.

"Perhaps you should make it up to me, losing me the game I mean" his thumbs coming up to rub your legs.

"What if I tell you where Freddy is currently hiding at this moment?" You asked, fighting a shiver from his rubbing.

"Mmm I had something else in mind but I suppose that will do for now." His hands came up to rest on your still crossed legs, making it abundantly clear to you what else he had had in mind.

"Mr. Taylor it is a bit unprofessional to put your hands on a working intern as you have today-"

"Are you saying this?" He gestured with his head, "professionally does nothing for you?" He grinned cockily.

"What I'm saying is that A. I'm not a groupie, I'm here to work in a field I enjoy, B. I'm not one of your countless harlots, C. You're just horny because you've been here a few weeks and I'm the only female in a hundred miles and D." You leaned in close to his ear as Freddy silently closed his cupboard door and tiptoed to a different hiding spot, "you are a terrible seeker" you leaned back to sip your coffee.

"Well I convinced you to tell me where Freddy is, so I can't be that bad, speaking of which Love, you have yet to actually tell me where he's hiding, unless you want me to...continue convincing..."

"The cupboard, behind you."

Roger opened the cupboards behind him to find nothing.

Turning back to you, his face like that of a predator, stalking his prey; his eyes looking straight through your bones to your core. Uncrossing your legs to get down, Roger walked back up to you in one long stride, leaning right up against the counter, pushing your legs apart with his hips as he did so, causing you to fall back, catching yourself on one hand. Caught off guard you set your coffee down perhaps harder than you meant to and put your other hand on his warm chest to prevent him from getting closer than he already was.

"You lied"

"I said I could tell you where he was at that exact moment, he moved since then, while you were...preoccupied."

Placing his hands on your hips his eyes bore into you, "well then I suppose you still owe me for costing me my title at world champion hider. Do you have a preference as to when I should collect?"

Roger smirked as though you were trapped when really you knew all you had to do was say 'no' and he would back down immediately….though you never would.

"Mr. Taylor, I wonder if you could perhaps be more specific as to what sort of debt I am owing you, then I could be more helpful-"

Roger Taylor's soft lips cut you off, sampling the coffee in your mouth and you sighed into the kiss.

"Sorry Love, couldn't play our game much longer with you looking so fucking delicious," Roger pulled away to gauge the situation, wanting to make certain he wasn't crowding you.

"Oh-ho no, you don't get to do that and just walk away mister! Get back in here!" You ordered him, snapping him back to you with your legs.

"Yes Ma'am," Roger saluted, clearly bemused by your little show of dominance. He slid his hands under you and turned to leave the kitchen.

"And just where are we headed now?" You inquired, tying your legs around him, doing your best to hide your smile at his cockiness.

"Ahh well, I just thought- I mean I..maybe," confidence gone he stuttered "we were-umm going for a swim?" His eyes fell on your towel.

"Good answer, now let's go 'swim' before the rest of Queen realizes you're not actively seeking them."

His smile returned a bit shy as he stopped and fell into your eyes before the words "so fucking gorgeous" whispered from under his breath causing your cheeks to heat up.

#queen #roger taylor #smut #queen smut #ben hardy #ao3feed #my life #long reads #x reader #txt fluff #kpop headers #kdrama #kpop rp #kpop gg #kpopgfxnetwork #kpop girls #kpop edits #k pop 2021

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blackmissfrizzle · 4 years

Text

Say It

Characters: Kevin Atwater x black!reader

Summary: Kevin wants you to voice exactly want you want. Again, yay! Can I request a fic with Kevin where he plans a surprise for his girl’s birthday? Maybe he decides to pop the question 😊. I just want more cute (and a little smut) fics for our boy. Requested by @jackburtonsays

Warnings: Smut

A/N: Finally some smut for our boy, Kevin. Also listen to Say It by Ne-Yo. The lyrics are bolded.

@jackburtonsays I hope this is everything that you wanted & I’m so sorry it took forever to come out!

Typical, Kevin couldn’t show to dinner tonight. Usually, you wouldn’t mind because you understood the demands of his job but today you couldn’t help but feel abandoned. It was your birthday and Kevin promised he would be here.

“I know it sucks, Y/N, but Kevin wouldn’t have missed this if it wasn’t important.” Kim rubbed your back as you two walked into the restaurant.

You gave Kim a reassuring grab of the hand and a tight smile. “I know. I just wish it was different.”

Kim squeezed your hand and led you into the private room. “HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” You were greeted with air horns and streamers. It was bittersweet. You were surrounded by friends and family, but the person you wanted there the most wasn’t there.

Getting settled in your seat, Hank told you he had a surprise for you. He disappeared behind the door while Kim covered your eyes.

Your heart seized up when you heard an extra set of footsteps return with Hank. Pulling down Kim’s hands you were thoroughly disappointed when you saw it was Adam and not Kevin.

“Adam!” You threw a dinner roll at him that he managed to dodge. “What?! You’re not happy to see me?”

“Of course not!” You crossed your arms and pouted like a child.

“But I brought you a present.” And just like that Kevin popped out with a black turtleneck, a purple suit jacket with matching slacks, and a gold chain with a bouquet of flowers and a big ass smile. “Happy birthday, baby.”

Squealing you jumped into your boyfriend’s arms, making everyone around you laugh. “That’s really rude, you know. I was ready to give you the silent treatment.”

“Aww, baby,” Kevin rocked you side to side. “I could never miss this. You’re too important to me.”

You led Kevin to the table where you could enjoy everyone’s company. It’s been awhile since all of your friends and family could hang together, so this was the perfect birthday present. There was great food and conversation, what more could you ask for?

Although Kevin was thwarting your attempts to be matchmaker. He told you Kim and Adam would get back together on their own. Other than that, he doted on you the whole time. His arm either slung across your chair bringing you closer to him, so he can kiss your temple and whisper ‘I love you’ or his hand rubbing up and down on your thigh.

Eventually, you got tired of everyone’s company. Well except one person. “Tired, babe?” Kevin asked, noticing you getting restless. “Not particularly, but I’m ready to go home.” You fingered his chain and looked up at him through your eyelashes. Kevin made a big ‘O’ face when he figured out what you meant.

Under the table he texted Adam to start clearing out. Adam sent his friend a knowing smirk and got up to say his goodbyes. Soon, everyone followed suit and wished you a happy birthday once more then left.

“Had a good time,” Kevin questioned, kissing your neck while you unlocked the door. “Yeah, I’m about to have a better one.” You looked back at him and finally unlocked the door.

Not saying a word, Kevin led you to the bedroom, leaving you at the door while he sat on the bed. “So, tonight I want you to look me right in my eyes and I want you to tell me exactly what you want me to do to you. You ready?”

Shyly, you nodded your head and began shedding your clothes. For someone who was giving him ‘fuck me’ eyes all night long, you always got shy in the bedroom. Usually, Kevin never made you verbalize all the raunchy, dirty, nasty things you wanted. He just sexily asked if it was okay and your ass happily said yes.

“Damn, you’re so pretty, baby.” Kevin began to palm himself over his slacks. “No!” You surprised yourself at your dominance. “I only get to touch you like that,” you looked at Kevin questioningly. “Are you asking or telling me?”

“Telling.” You asserted, nodding to yourself. “Now take off your clothes,” you whispered against his lips.

A big smile graced his lips as he stood up. “Yes ma’am.” Your breath quickened as each article of clothing dropped to the floor. “You know this whole night, I could see how much you wanted me to fuck you. Your body she was talking to me.” Kevin’s eyes never left yours. Even though he was giving you control, he never lost his dominance. “Even now I can hear it moaning, begging loud and clearly.”

His hands went to the clasp on his chain, but you stopped him. “No! Keep it on and the rings too.” Kevin raised his hands in surrender. “Now lay down.” He complied with your orders. His hard dick flopping against his stomach as he scooted back.

“What do you want to do now?” He asked when he saw you just standing at the foot of the bed, retreating within yourself. “I don’t know.”

“You do know. Girl, don’t be shy, show me how bold you can be. Open your mouth and tell me where you want me.” With his encouragement, you told Kevin you wanted him on his back with his wrists tied to the bedframe. “My belt’s on the floor.” You scooted off him and got the belt. Once it was in your hands you looked at as if it was Mandarin. Kevin caught on and knew you didn’t know the first thing about tying someone up, since you were always the one being tied up. He kindly walked you through it until you were satisfied with your work.

“Now what?” He asked as you straddle him. Gaining an unknown confidence, you wrapped a hand around Kevin’s neck and sunk down on his length. “Now I use you however the fuck I want.”

You bounced up and down on Kevin’s dick, occasionally rolling your hips. “You’re so fucking beautiful, baby girl. Make this dick yours.” Kevin praise and encouragement spurred you on further, chasing a close but also far away pleasure.

Riding Kevin, dominating Kevin was fun, but not as fun as when he was control and he could see it. Also, he couldn’t stand not having his hands on you. “Having fun, baby?” He smirked up at you, loving your struggle to make yourself cum on his dick. “Can’t get there without me, can you?”

“Please,” you broke down at the first sign of dominance. “Nah, you still have to use your big girl words. Tell me what you want.”

“I want…I want you choke me and fuck me so hard I see stars.” Kevin arched his brow while giving you a lopsided grin. “Oh, you want that? Say the word.”

“Fuck me, Kev.” Like nothing Kevin broke out the belt and flipped you onto your back. “You couldn’t handle it huh, baby? You couldn’t even tie me up properly.” Kevin snapped his hips into you, showing you how it was done. “Its okay, I’ll demonstrate on you another time.”

Unlike you, his hand fully wrapped around your neck. “You love it when I fuck you like this?” His tone was condescending while he pumped himself into you. Words were useless at this point. How could a simple yes describe the insurmountable pleasure you were experiencing? But a nod wasn’t gonna work for Kevin. “Nah, say it.”

“I love it when you fuck me like this, Kevin,” you gasped as you clawed at his back. Once you finished that sentence it was like he had renewed vigor (though it wasn’t like he lost it all), he pulled you flushed against him, fucking into you.

The rate he had you bouncing up and down on his dick had you sounding like a damn jack hammer. “So damn gorgeous.” He put one of your nipples in your mouth, causing you to scratch at the back of his head. “Please Kev, make me cum.” You whimpered into his ear.

Your nipple popped out his mouth. “Now you’re finally catching on. Next round you’ll do better, but right now I gotta give the birthday girl her gift.” Kevin sped up and reached down to rub on your clit. “I love you, baby girl.” Your orgasm hit you right after that and Kevin followed right after.

If Kevin didn’t already have his arms wrapped around you, you would’ve fell off the bed thanks to how hard you were shaking. When you finally caught your breath, Kevin laid you down right beside him. “Happy birthday,” he pecked your lips. “Where do you want me next?” Cupping his chin, you returned his kiss. “I’ve always been fond of these lips.” Licking his chin, you tugged on his bottom lip. “But I love them more on my pussy.”

Kevin pushed your legs back and slid down your body. “Anything you wish, birthday girl.”

As usual, you woke up before Kevin because of your stupid bladder. You were half out of it, but you knew you shouldn’t feel a hard object on your finger while you were washing your hands. Turning on the lights, you inspected your hand and got the surprise of your life. “KEVINNNNNNN!”

Running out of the bathroom, you found Kevin not in the bed but on the floor on one knee. Your heart was beating faster than it was last night. He couldn’t be doing this, could he? You would’ve known something, Kevin was horrible at hiding gifts from you.

“Good morning,” he smiled at you like he wasn’t just about to change your world. “Good morning,” you repeated, but with your throat clogged up.

“I followed directions. I’m not proposing on your birthday.” He referred to your conversation about how you would like to be proposed to. “Well, last night you proved that you know how to follow directions.” Your smile matched his.

Kevin laughed to himself. You couldn’t pass up the opportunity to crack a joke. “That’s it, that’s why I’m on one knee. I wanna spend the rest of my life laughing at your jokes, I wanna spend the rest of my life dodging being your taste tester,”

“Hey!”

Kevin pulled you by your left hand, rubbing on the engagement ring. “I wanna spend the rest of my life loving you. So, can you do me the honor and marry me?” He looked up to you nervously with puppy dog eyes. He looked so adorable that way, but you couldn’t keep him hanging like that.

“Yes.”

“Yeah?” A tear rolled down his face. He was in disbelief that you said yes.

“Yes, silly. I want forever with you.” Kevin lifted you up in his arms and twirled you around while he kissed you.

Best birthday ever.

Tags: @ourlittlesecretsoveragain @starrynite7114 @sambucky8 @mygirlrenee @richonne4life @readsalot73 @chaneajoyyy @enamouravecleslivresetlechocolat @jassydwill11 @jackburtonsays @my-rosegold-soul @amorestevens @vsfavs @muse-of-mbaku @night-of-the-living-shred

#black!reader #kevin atwater #kevin atwater x reader #kevin atwater x black!reader #kevin atwater fanfic #chicago pd #chicago pd fanfiction #frizzlefic #frizzlesfic

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hawklanthebard · 3 years

Text

Trespassing (Fantasy AU)

"Hey, Boss, look what we caught on the perimeter."

A pair of rough hands released Taka as he was flung onto the rugged soil with a muffled grunt. A feeble effort at getting off the ground resulted in a few crude chuckles above him. The nerve. The absolute nerve. If he was to be their captive, the least they could do was grant him the dignity of letting him walk to their camp with unbound limbs and an unclothed mouth. On top of that, his vinyl white uniform was most likely peppered with splotches now, and after it was perfectly pressed this morning, yet he seemed to be the only one even the least bit concerned. No doubt, these people were indeed ruffians.

When Taka was able to finally rise to his knees, a pair of unpolished forehooves met his gaze as another gruff voice hovered over him.

"A royal guard, huh?"

Now, in this situation, any human worth their salt would've obeyed their first impulse and kept their head down and pray to whatever god would show them mercy. Taka, as many knew, was a very special case. Never one to take a snub lying down. Never one to refuse a challenge. And certainly, never one to submit. Especially not with barbarians who care not for other's laundry. With unfazed furrowed brows and burning ruby eyes, Taka gazed up at the infamous centaur gang leader himself; Mondo Owada.

"Well, this is quite a catch," Mondo smirked, earning a few collected chuckles from his fellow thugs. As quickly as it came, his mock interested tone shifted into looming intimidation. Unlatching his diamond-spiked club from his back, he planted the peak of it into the earth just a mere foot away from Taka as if to remind him of his alpha status. Although, it wasn't like Taka was in any position or capacity to oppose him.

"So, tell me. What's a boot-licking dog like you doing in our territory?" A brief silence, followed by a muffled huff. "Oh right, the gag." With the snap of the leader's fingers, a nearby ruffian removed the cloth from Taka's mouth as the royal guard spat out whatever filth would stain his tongue for the next week or so.

"I'm not on your territory," Taka huffed, taking in the fresh air as he spoke, "You ruffians are trespassing on our land. And it is my duty as Captain of the Royal Guard to protect the House I serve from any threat."

Mondo rolled his eyes, meeting the same glance from a few members. "Right. And exactly what House do you serve? I think we all should know who we're dealing with if they hired such a...dignified representative."

As if not reading the obvious insult, Taka puffed his chest and proudly replied, "I serve the benevolent House of Togami."

A sea of thunderous laughter domed over the camp as the guard's noble smirk vanished. Although his posture remained firm. After what felt like an irritatingly long time, the laughter died down a bit and the leader was able to speak.

"Wow!" Mondo chortled as wiped away a tear before it could even form. "The Togamis?! You come here all high and mighty, ready to take on the most vicious gang in the world, and you serve the fuckin' Togamis?! Geez, with the way you talk all big 'n shit, I woulda thought you served under someone serious like the Kuzuryuu Clan. I mean, dragons need toothpicks, right? Hah, Togamis. Those pissheaded moneybags think they got what it takes to rule the world, and they hire a fuckin' Boy Scout as their flying monkey..!"

The longer and louder the gang laughed with Mondo's remarks, the more red Taka's face bloomed. Not with shame, but with something more intense. No way in heck was he going to sit there and let these four-legged ruffians rake his House's name through the dirt. "Oh yeah? Well, I'd rather be a Boy Scout than a weak little filly like you!"

Stunned silence swept through the camp as if death itself had suddenly made its horrid appearance. Taka glanced in slight curiosity as the previously-stoic members collectively lowered their heads, ears flattened against their heads as they all took a good few steps back with silent clops. Their fearful eyes were either locked on the ground, or on Mondo, although Taka noticed a few quick glances reflecting a look that was given to him many times in his youth when he insulted the school bully; Pity.

The spiked club crashed down, crushing a few decent-sized rocks underneath the soil. The Diamond leader raked his weapon through the mud as he approached the guard with a wet stomp, towering over him as if his head could reach over the trees, the peeking light of midday behind him creating a silhouette over his face, only (literally) flaming red eyes pierced through the shadow.

"You wanna run that by me again, Boy Scout..?" he spoke in a much lower tone than before, insinuating that Taka should pick his next words like grapes for wine.

Such as the noble guard, Taka's firm expression hadn't been swayed by the beast's daunting appearance. He stood his ground...or rather, knelt his ground.

"You heard me. A weak filly like you doesn't deserve to trot on our land. You'd be more fitting in the stables."

Faster than Taka could blink, Mondo snatched him up in the air by the collar, their noses pressed against each other. "You little--! You got a fuckin' death wish or somethin'?!"

"I'm not afraid of a barbarian who has to intimidate others to gain status. The kingdom I serve is blessed with folk who gained their wealth through hard work and punctuality. That's why beasts like you always fall on the bottom."

As if to fulfill a crude punchline, Taka was dropped back onto the muddy clearing with a wet thud. Mondo's pale violet eyes shifted over Taka and gave a subtle nod to whoever was behind him. Taka mentally prepared himself for whatever torture he'd face for his words, and he'd proudly face it with no regrets. However, his face twitched in confusion as his arms and legs had suddenly been freed from restraint.

"You wanna show what a fuckin' top dog you are? Then let's go right now." Mondo spoke with vigorous determination and contained anger, like a raging corrida bull before it's released into the arena.

Rubbing his slightly sore wrists, Taka rose to his feet, dusting off any loose dirt. "A trial by combat to determine our worth to our lands? For my House and homeland, I accept your challenge."

Mondo quickly scanned the guard's body once more. He'd noticed it before, but it hadn't been an issue to bring up. "Where's your weapon?" he asked bluntly.

Taka's hand glided over to his belt and, sure enough, was met with an empty sheath drooped at his hip. "I suppose it must've fallen when I was...captured." He said the last word with masked shame. He didn't want to say it, but there simply was no other word for it. This was truly unbecoming of a royal guard, let alone the Captain. Patrolled the outskirts of the kingdom without backup, captured by the most notorious gang in all the land, and managed to drop his only weapon on the way.

Mondo saw right through the mask as if it were made of glass. He tapped his finger against the shaft of his club and pondered a bit. He could simply offer Taka to use one of their weapons. But it'd probably be seen as taking pity on him, and there's nothing more shameful than that. Besides, it's better a man uses his own weapon or his own fists in a fight. Another streetwise lesson from his big bro. A fistfight would be more probable. Although, his forehooves still would leave the guard with a disadvantage. Why was doing things the honorable way so gods-dammed annoying?

"So..." Mondo sighed away whatever of his pride he had left. "How would you go about we do this?"

Taka lifted his head towards the centaur. "You're asking me? But aren't I...your prisoner?"

"All the more fuckin' reason for you to be the one to decide," Mondo grunted in annoyance. "Weapons are a no-go, my hooves outnumber your fists, so it seems we're at a fuckin' impasse unless you decide."

Taka blinked. This centaur was really letting him decide a fair game. A ruffian with a sense of honor? He felt like he'd discovered another magic-caster outside of House Towa. A husky voice snapped him out of his daze.

"Well, hurry up! We're losing daylight!" The stomp of the forehoof made it clear that Mondo was starting to regret letting Taka decide. "Tell me I didn't just give a decision-making task to some flip-flop fuck."

Taka thought and thought and thought some more, occasionally opening and closing his mouth with no words attached, much to Mondo's ever-growing annoyance. What could they do? There really wasn't much around. Just forest, and plain, and certainly nothing in the kingdom that wouldn't get them noticed. Wouldn't that be a fun thing to explain to his king? The shame and humiliation wouldn't be like anything he could endure. Wait.

"A test of endurance."

Mondo's brow perked in interest. "Oh? And how do you suppose we do that?"

Taka remembered. He'd pass it several times while on patrol but never gave it any real attention until this very moment. "Just outside the border, there's a bathhouse," Taka gave a strong-minded grin. "And a sauna."

Mondo smirked as if sharing the same singular brain cell as the royal guard. "You're on."

#danganronpa #fantasy au #kiyotaka ishimaru #mondo oowada #mondo owada #ishimondo #fanfic

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the-lady-writes-what · 4 years

Text

Gilded Cage, Part One

Summary:

Keigo Takami, AKA Hawks, has turned villain and you don't know why. After a run-in with the League of Villains, you give chase after the former hero. When you end up taking a bullet to the knee, you're surprised that Keigo not only left you alive, but has taken you to his secret lair. He's built a special cage for you. He says it's to keep the League from coming after you, but you can't help but wonder if it's true or if he just wants you for himself.

Content: Kidnapping Sorry. No smut this time, but it'll be in the next one. Stay tuned

Villain!Hawks x Hero!Reader

(You're a pro-hero whose quirk is basically bending metal. Think Toph Beifong from Avatar: The Last Airbender)

PART 1 / PART 2 / PART 3

This part does not contain smut (See above mentioned note). For smut, please follow the links for Parts 2 and 3

---080---

It was hard to walk down the halls of Endeavor’s agency these days. The news of Keigo Takami’s, also known as Hawks, betrayal hit Japan’s hero world like a tsunami. It turned into a question of who the next hero will be to go against their moral code and become a villain. Your workload had increased in the drama and paranoia that followed after Keigo’s sudden villainous change. Endeavor worked you down to the bone, but that was because he must have seen you as useful. Your hero name? Iron Maiden on account of your ability to bend metal, such as iron, steel, and copper. Netting bad guys was a whole lot easier when you could wrap them in a fence or trap them with a lamppost.

You finished the afternoon’s paperwork before heading to the breakroom for some lukewarm coffee. You half-expected Keigo to be sitting on the counter where you used to find him. He used to be a fan of Endeavor’s, so he frequented the agency whenever he felt like it. Of all the time you got to see him, it became evident that he wasn’t there to goof around Endeavor’s office. You should have known better than to encourage his casual flirting, but you couldn’t help yourself. Keigo was the first guy who turned your way after a dry spell in the romance department. It had been months since you last had a date, and even if Keigo was joking, it was nice to have a conversation with someone that didn’t involve hero work.

If only you knew back then that his over-confident smile belied an insidious plan to turn to the other side.

Keigo didn’t hurt people. Much. It wasn’t a great comfort to know that he at least didn’t go around murdering people as soon as he became a villain. That didn’t change the fact that he had become one of them. He robbed banks, caused collateral damage to the cityscape, and set the hero society into panic mode. Nobody knew who would switch sides. Heroes and civilians were starting to look at each other with suspicious eyes ever since.

You fixed yourself a cup of coffee when the cellphone on your hip went off. You immediately stopped what you were doing to pick it up. Shocked, you found your boss’s name and number on the screen. You didn’t hesitate to hit ‘receive.’

Endeavor’s voice came loud and clear, even over the sounds of fighting.

“We need you over by Central Park. Takami’s new crew showed up, and we need your quirk to help round them up!”

“On my way, sir.”

Central Park was at least ten miles from your location. Even if you speed, you won’t make it there on time by car. Not this close to rush hour. Of course, you had other methods of getting to where you needed to go. You pried open the nearest window and lept threw it. Part of your hero costume involved strips of steel wire you could sling around with like that American comic book character. Sailing over the city and swinging in between buildings was much faster than any car. You arrived at the scene with the villains terrorizing civilians trying to enjoy their day at the park. You spotted three of them charging at you as soon as you hit the ground. They were nothing but mooks. Clustered together, it was quick work wrapping them in a bundle of wire. You spotted others and repeated the process. Keigo was nowhere in sight. You heard the sound of flames engulfing the trees. Pillars of red and blue flames shot up in the distance. You found heroes to take care of the villains you’d already captured before heading towards what should have been the epicenter of the fighting. Endeavor was busy with Dabi, and there seemed to be no other villains in sight. Still no sign of Keigo anywhere.

“Endeavor!”

You dodged a blue fireball just in time. You hoped that Endeavor would order you to go elsewhere. Five more minutes, and you’d be cooking in your costume.

“Takami headed west. I leave it to you to apprehend him!” Endeavor was so focused on his opponent that he didn’t turn towards you when he gave the order.

You had to dodge more flames, both Dabi’s and Endeavor’s, to head towards Keigo’s last known whereabouts. Away from the smoke and flames, you found a trail of red feathers. There was a moment where you stopped to wonder if Keigo had been injured and left behind some feathers by mistake or if he was deliberately mocking you. However, you didn’t have a moment to linger on that. You followed the trail of feathers regardless if it was a plot.

Keigo made it easy for you to follow. That should have been your first red flag. You were so focused on getting him in handcuffs that the apparent beeline to him was so fucking clear as day. You picked up the feathers as you went. You had a fistful in each hand by the time you reached the end of the park. Your trail went ice cold.

That is until you spotted the shadow of bird wings graze above you. Your head whipped to the sky. Hawks swooped down, nearly knocking you down to the ground. His wings grazed you. He perched himself on a branch far above you.

His appearance was vastly different from the last time you saw him. He wore an all-black suit with a red and gold tie. Pewter rings were on his fingers. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days, but his smile was the most unnerving thing about him. You lashed outwards with your arms, the metal from your gauntlets catching him by the ankles.

“Keigo Takami, you’re under arrest. You have the right to—”

Keigo didn’t let the mild impairment weigh him down. His wings couldn’t be easily held down by you. He flew straight towards you. His height never hid the fact that he was powerful. He plowed you into the ground. The wires unwhirled around his feet and let him soar above you.

“Get back down here, bird brain!” You lashed out your wires again in hopes of pulling him back down to earth.

Each time Keigo moves just a little bit out of reach. You already spent so much on capturing those D-level cronies that you didn’t stop to think of conserving your limited amount of iron wire. Keigo’s wings took him high above to where your weapon couldn’t reach him. He smirked down at you before taking off.

You ran after him, going so far as to hopping over the chain-link fence and following on foot. Your wires came in handy twice today as you soared from lamppost to lamppost, tracking Keigo’s aerial movements. Citizens yelled words of encouragement as you chased after Japan’s new most wanted criminal. The air stung your cheeks, and you could feel your eyes watering as you sped faster between rooftops.

Keigo made the mistake of flying to close to the building whose roof you just scaled. There was a split-second decision. You could stop and let him get away, or you could take the chance. You lunged for him, limbs scrambling through the air to find purchase. Your hands grabbed his suit jacket. Hauling yourself upon his back, you managed to secure your legs around him and put his neck in a headlock.

“As I said before, you’re under arrest!” You screamed as the wind busted your eardrums.

Keigo merely looked over his shoulder at you. His smile was cheeky as ever.

“Really, Princess? The way I see it…you’re the one at my mercy. Unless you got a plan to get us both safely on the ground without bashing our brains on the concrete.”

You growled as Keigo caught you. You didn’t think this far ahead.

You screamed as Keigo flew up towards the sun at lightning speed. Light burning your eyes, you had no choice but to shield them. Keigo used your distraction as the opportunity to shift your weight off his back. All too late, you felt your legs and arms loosen around him. Soon you were plummeting back to the ground. With any luck, your wires would find purchase on something and save you from falling to your death at the last minute. At the rate you were falling, good luck.

You were ten feet from meeting a concrete rooftop when Keigo reappeared. He wrapped you in his arms almost in a possessive manner.

“You’re way too pretty to let splatter. Come on. I’ve got a much better place to finish this!”

His clever hands worked your phone from your belt. Keigo dropped it on the ground, where it shattered several feet below you. Your only chance of survival was to let him take you where he wanted and not get your brains to plaster the sidewalk. His wings soared over the city. You once imagined being in his arms like this. It only made your stomach churn with the thought of what he was going to do to you once you were where he wanted you.

Keigo dropped down in the industrial district. Factories surrounded you. The smell of iron and diesel filled your lungs. But of all the places he picked, why did Keigo go where you had the most advantage? Didn’t he realize that with all of this metal, you were the one with the home-field edge? You didn’t have the time to ask or react when he pulled out the gun from his jacket.

In a flash, your life flashed in your mind. You didn’t stand there waiting to die. At least, you were going to make sure they say you died fighting to your last breath. You charged for Keigo, metal whips whirring to life.

BANG!

It was over. Except instead of sweet oblivion that came with death, you found yourself bleeding on the ground. Your blood pooled around your knee, where he shot you. The pain was exquisite as the bullet lodged itself in your knee cap. You weren’t going to be standing on that leg for a very long time; you could forget about fighting. Keigo’s black shoes came into your line of vision. From shock, you got onto your elbows to look at the bastard.

“What…the hell?” You ground your teeth. “I didn’t picture…you to be the sadist. Going to kill…me…slowly? Is that how you roll now?”

Keigo put his gun away. Then, he reached into the other side of his jacket. When his hand came away this time, he held a syringe.

“That was just to keep you from fighting me. I’m going to get you patched up real quick. Just as soon as I give you your medicine.”

Keigo was faster than you. Your hand shot up to grab him, but the needle was already in your neck. He squeezed the trigger and pumped you full of the drug. It took a few minutes for it to kick in. By the time he had you in his arms again, your head was spinning. A moment later, you finally found that oblivion you were looking for earlier. This time, you were reasonably sure you’d wake up this time, and you weren’t going to know where he was taking you. And that was the scariest thought you had before passing out in the former hero’s arms.

When you woke up, you noticed the stiffness in your leg. Your favorite color draped the bed you laid in. Your hero’s costume was gone and replaced with a negligee you wouldn’t own even if you had a boyfriend. It, too, was in your favorite color. The lace hem barely touched your upper thigh.

Further down, your right leg was held in a cast. Your foot rested on a pillow. As your vision cleared, you got a better picture of where you were.

It could have been described as a room if only it had more than one wall. Where plaster walls should have been, stood solid gold bars. The floors were marble tiles. There was a dresser, a desk, a lavish set up on a vanity, and a familiar coffee table on which sat a widescreen T.V. Every item in your cell was made of either wood, fiber, plastic, or metal you couldn’t bend, including the bars. Squeezed between the actual wall and the cell bars stood a small room. With its door closed, so you couldn’t discern its purpose yet. Footsteps came down the hallway. They rounded the corner. Keigo smiled at you like you were a pretty bird in his cage.

“You’ve been asleep for a while now. Doc had to give you an extra shot so you wouldn’t wake up in the middle of your surgery. Sorry I had to bust your knee cap. You can be so stubborn sometimes.”

“Why am I in a cage? Why am I dressed like this? Just what the hell are you on?” You started to get up from the bed, but it was difficult to swing your leg over the bed when it was in a cast.

“In reverse order,” said Keigo, “I’m not on any drugs. I thought you would look cute in that negligee, and it’s in your favorite color. I put you here for your protection, and honestly, you look damn good in it.”

“Why? Why the hell did you do any of this?” You still struggled to move your damn leg.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you. I’d hate to come in there and show you why.”

His eyes held a glimmer of that charm you once fell for, but there was a predatory light that eclipsed it. Keigo leaned against the bars, stroking the beams.

“Solid gold. It took me a long time to find enough money and resources to build this thing. A pretty little cage for my pretty little bird.”

“Just how long have you been saving?” You wanted to know how long he had wanted to put you in here, yet you still dreaded his answer.

“A couple of years. My original idea was to take us on a cruise. It probably would have been much more romantic, but things come up. You change your plans. Ideals become tainted, and you have to find new ones.”

“What happened to you? You were the number two hero! Some so many people looked up to you. There are still people who believe that this is just a rouse to capture the League of Villains. How could you do that? How could you betray everyone’s trust?”

Keigo didn’t say anything. He held his head down as if lost in the thought. He braced his forearm against the bars as he leaned his head against his arm. Inhaling a long breath,

Keigo let out an aggravated sigh. When he looked up at you, you saw a different man. “Let me ask you this, Princess. How could somebody’s parents sell their kid to the government? How could anyone take a small kid and turn them into a child soldier? For what? So they can pat themselves on the back and say that they’re morally superior to the villains. They take kids from their parents and steal their childhood. And when those kids grow into adults and realize what a shitty system they were raised in, they stare up at you surprised that you had enough of their bullshit.”

“T-Takami…”

“I realized too late that everything that was supposed to be mine was taken from me. My family. My name. My childhood. For what? So I can be number two behind a man like Endeavor. Have you spent time with the bastard? I never noticed it before, but all of a sudden, it becomes clear that society cares less about a hero’s moral code and more about their ability to beat down the nail that sticks out. Ever wonder how his youngest got that scar?”

You nodded. You vaguely remember hearing Endeavor talk about his youngest son.

“It turns out Endeavor pushed his wife around so much that she went mental. She burned the side of Shoto’s face because it reminded her of the man who knocked her around and forced to have his four kids. Does that sound like hero material to you?”

Blood drained from your face. It made sense…in a way. You never met Endeavor’s youngest, so you couldn’t verify the truth or not. For all you knew, Keigo was pulling it out of his ass to make you sympathize with him.

“Why didn’t you go to the authorities? There must have been someone who would have investigated it.”

“By the time I found out, nobody would have believed me at any rate. Endeavor might be a bastard, but he’s still the number one hero. I’m just the rejected garbage the Safety Commission doesn’t want to clean up.” Keigo unlocked the door to your cage.

“Why are you telling me this then?”

Keigo crossed the “room” and picked you up from the bed. You couldn’t move your leg without feeling a jolt of pain go up to your thigh. There was no way for you to struggle. “Because I made a deal with the League. As long as I keep you by my side and you don’t go anywhere, they won’t touch you or your family. I’m afraid you won’t be seeing much of the outside world for a while. At least until Shigaraki accomplishes his goals.”

“You know he’s crazy, right?” You sneered.

“Yeah. Little bit. He’s also the first person who made any damn sense when I realized how badly they screwed me over,” said Keigo as he carried you down the hall.

There were a few rooms that he walked past, but he stopped at the end of the hall. He kicked it open. Your heart fluttered like you were his bride; he carried over the threshold. Your stomach churned with guilt rotting inside it. You shouldn’t be having those kinds of thoughts for the man who turned into a villain and kidnapped you. He confessed to planning to keep you as a prisoner for however long it took for that maniac Shigaraki to complete his mission.

Keigo brought you to an actual bedroom. It was a little more sparse than the cage he planned to keep you in. He must have spent more on you than himself. Looking around, the bedroom contained a giant bed and little else. He had you sit on the bed for a moment. Keigo pulled back the covers and fluffed the pillows before gently grabbing you and laying you out. There was a contraption hanging from the ceiling that he pulled down using a thick cord. He slipped your leg into a sling and adjusted it to your comfort before Keigo left you to pull clothes from the dresser. He disappeared into the adjacent bathroom didn’t return until he was half-dressed in a pair of black sweatpants.

Small scars littered his chest and shoulders. From what, you dared not ask. You remembered his words about a stolen childhood to be raised as a soldier. You wondered if they were true. Your mind was plunged headfirst back into the present when Keigo crawled under the sheets with you. Your face went red.

“Relax, Princess. I’m not going to do anything,” he mumbled. He turned off the lights.

“Then why am I dressed like this?” You asked in the dark.

You felt Keigo’s weight make the bed dip. He settled on his side so he could snake his arm around your waist. He snuggled uncomfortably close, but he kept his hands mostly to himself or above the blanket.

“Because you look damn cute in (fave color). I like looking at you.”

His breath against your skin created goosebumps in its wake. Your eyes eventually closed to sleep. As you drifted off, you asked yourself: How long could you live like this?

---080---

#mha #my hero academia #my hero academia fanfiction #mha fanfiction #mha smut #bnha #boku no hero academia #bnha fanfiction #hawks #Keigo takami #reader fic #hawks x reader #au #villains!Hawks #Hawks smut #minors do not interact #minors begone

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yandere-daydreams · 4 years

Note

may i request deku kidnapping bakugou & deku’s darling being introduced to him for the first time/trying to help him adjust

I feel like Katsuki always ends up getting the short-end of the stick, when someone decides they’d like another pair of hands around the house. I’m not opposed, though. Everything about him just *screams* ‘rebellious darling’.

TW: Graphic Violence, Kidnapping, Learned Helplessness and Emotional Manipulation.

“You know I love you, right?”

Izuku’s voice was soft, his tone light and his eyes half-closed, exhaustion heavy in his voice. It was too late to mean anything good, only a handful of hours left before the sun was set to rise, but that hadn’t stopped Izuku from dragging you out of bed, giving no explanation as he held you against his chest and started towards the ground floor of his over-sized, underpopulated estate. Something fitting of a Hero as popular as him, even if most rooms hadn’t been touched since he moved in. Or, since the day your ‘relationship’ started, at least.

You stared up at him blearily, too tired to indulge your discontent. You were too tired for a lot of things, these days. “I know,” You mumbled, as he began to undo the deadbolts scattered across the door he’d come to. The basement’s, you thought, but you weren’t sure. “What’s this about, Midoriya? Why’d you wake me up?”

“It’s too early, isn’t it, angel? I’m sorry.” He paused, kissing the top of your head before lowering you down, letting you stand on your own. You clung to him, knowing better than to leave his side, but Izuku seemed distracted, preoccupied. He mumbled to himself as he undid the last lock, but he didn’t open the door, just staring at it, his gaze unfaltering and his silence unnerving. You tugged at his jumpsuit, his Hero get-up still covered in dirt and sweat from his last fight. When had he gotten home? It couldn't have been too long ago, Izuku never stayed in his uniform for longer than he had to. “I really don’t like having to bother you, but there’s someone… there’s someone I’d like you to meet.” He smiled, turning slightly to face you, but his movements were jerky, mangled by adrenaline and reflex. You just averted your eyes, focusing instead on the floor. “It’ll only take a few minutes, I promise. Then you can go back to sleep.”

You nodded, not arguing as he took you by the wrist. The wooden staircase was recognizable, but distant, your memories from your time in the cellar long repressed. It was where you stayed before Izuku trusted you with acess the main floors. Where you were trained, even if he claimed his punishments and rewards were anything but. Your fatigue became an acute, engrained dread as your bare feet came in contact with the cold floor, and for a moment, you wondered if you weren’t good enough. You’d tried the front door, yesterday, just to see if it was really locked - had he seen you? He’d offered to cook last week and you hadn’t stopped him, were you not being as attentive as he wanted you to be? You considered running as he let go of your wrist, fleeing and finding someplace to hide until you starved. That might’ve been better, that had to be better. Anything would’ve been better than being thrown over his knee for another--

“Fuck you.”

You were drawn out of your panic by the unfamiliar voice, snapping towards its source. Izuku had switched on the basement’s light, allowing you to see the man crouching across the room, a mess of blonde hair covering his eyes as he thrashed against the belts binding his arms together. A metallic collar had been wrapped around his neck, the chain taut, keeping him bound to the closest wall. He might’ve been on the cot, at first, but he’d thrown himself off of it at some point, small drops of something dark and thick staining his clothes and forming a puddle below him. Izuku grimaced at the sight, opening his mouth, but the man spoke over him, his voice strong despite his injuries.

“Fuck you, and fuck whatever bitch you dragged down here. Let me go, or…” He trailed off, his words turning to a deep, throaty growl. As if he wasn’t sure what to say, but he wanted Izuku to know it would hurt. “Or I’ll burn you alive. I ain’t going along with whatever sex-dungeon fantasy you’re playin’ at.”

Izuku sighed, heavily, resting a hand on your shoulder. “(Y/n), this is Katsuki. He’s a little moody, right now, but he’ll come around. He just has to blow off some steam.” Despite the turmoil in his voice, Izuku was grinning, the expression subtle, just beginning pulling at the corners of his lips. “He’s going to be our Kacchan, from now on. I’ve known him for so long, and I’ve wanted to bring him home for months... When we got separated from the others, I knew it was the perfect time.” Abruptly, his arms wrapped around you, pulling you into his chest as his excitement boiled over, his face soon buried in your shoulder. You were dropped just as quickly, kept at arm’s length as he ran a hand through his hair and laughed, making no attempt to hide the sound. “You’ll have some company, and I’ll get to see the two people I love every day! It’ll be great!”

“I don’t get it,” You responded, weakly, scowling as his enthusiasm only grew more tangible. “You can’t just… I know why I’m here, but you can’t just kidnap people. It’s wrong, he doesn’t want to be here. You need to let him go.”

“He’ll get used to it.” Izuku punctuated the comment with another peck to your forehead, his lips lingering a second too long. For the first time in weeks, you were tempted to push him away. “You used to be stubborn, too, but you’re so good, now. If I just spend some time with Kacchan--”

“If you come anywhere near me, I’ll tear your fucking head off.” Katsuki was pulling at his chain, the uneven rattle echoing off the empty walls. You flinched at the noise, and Izuku’s smile dropped, a light scowl instantly taking its place. “You and the little whore who’s helping out--”

Katsuki didn’t get the chance to finish. Before he could so much as close his mouth, green sparks were lighting the room, dancing over Izuku’s skin as he started towards Katsuki, only pausing slightly as Katsuki attempted to scramble to his feet. He caught Katsuki’s chain without hesitation, jerking his back to the floor and catching the man under his foot, Katsuki’s thigh caught under the sole of Izuku’s shoe. He hardly had to press down before Katsuki was screaming, something in his leg cracking, giving way and fracturing under the pressure Izuku put on it. He let up as Katsuki’s wordless screeching faded into steady, muffled crying, but barely, not daring to give Katsuki a chance to escape. Not that he could’ve gotten far, anymore. “Don’t talk about my angel like that. Don’t talk about someone you’re going to love like that.” Izuku paused, taking a deep breath. Like he was the one who needed a moment of reprieve. “Be nice, or you won’t be anything at all.”

Izuku raised a fist, but that was all you saw before shutting your eyes, covering your ears and biting your tongue hard enough to bleed. If you could’ve run, you might��ve, but your legs wouldn’t move, your mind wouldn't think. You knew you should help, diffuse the situation, stop Izuku, but… but you didn’t. You couldn’t.

If you tried to stop him you’d be the one he took his anger out on. You’d be the one beaten and bruised and left to sob the pain away, all while Izuku chastised you for intervening and made you promise not to do something so selfish again. You’d be the one he hurt.

All you could do was be glad you weren’t the one on the basement floor, this time.

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detectivejay-chuckles-halstead · 4 years

Text

30 Days // Jay Halstead x Reader // Pt 1:6

Description: 30 Drabbles of Jay and Reader’s life together

Words: 2122

Warnings: FLUFF (and a lot of it), NSFW Smut, Swearing

Pairings: Jay x Reader

A/N: Again, much needed fluff (for 6 parts)! Then back to our regularly scheduled angst. Picture by @infinityxpremades

1. Holding Hands

Being with Jay was a mixture of sexy and sweet, the man not often having a middle ground. Not that you were complaining, no. Just, some days you got what you weren’t expecting. This was one of them. Jay -- for once -- had a day off. And for once, Voight had given you the same day off. It was a miracle in itself. He hadn’t wanted to stay home, wanted to go out and do something.

“Experience life!” he’d exclaimed when trying to get you to agree.

As much as you wanted to just stay home with your boyfriend, his adorable smile got you to go with him. Lunch at the pier, walking along Millennium Park. It was the middle of April. Cold enough for a jacket, but not cold enough to be miserable. The two of you walked side by side, your hand in his. It was the small things that made you smile, not needing grand gestures. As long as you had Jay, you were the richest person in the world.

2. Cuddling Somewhere

Adam had invited the team over for dinner after a tough case, Jay insisting you come along with him. You’d really just wanted to go home, but figured it wouldn’t hurt to relax a bit. At first, it seemed like it took Intelligence a while to warm up to you despite Jay’s insistence that they all liked you. Until one day, Kim pulled you aside.

“It’s obvious Jay cares about you,” the woman had told you in a hushed tone. “Just...He’s had enough heartbreak for a lifetime. If you’re not in it for the long run, it’s best to just get out now.”

It was at that moment you understood it wasn’t that the team didn’t like you, it was that the team didn’t want to see Jay get hurt again. You’d learned all about Erin, Hailey. You understood, assuring them that you saw a future with Jay.

Adam’s place wasn’t the biggest, but it fit the six of you pretty well. Though, you and Jay had been booted to the floor. You weren’t complaining, sitting between his legs, back against his chest as his arms wrapped around you.

“Why are you two just so...sickeningly cute?” Adam asked, getting a laugh out of you. You’d felt bad that it hadn’t worked out between him and Kim, coming in right after they’d ended things for good. From what Jay had told you, they’d been good together. Until they weren’t.

“You’ll find someone, someday, Ruze, that will make you just as sweet,” Jay answered as you took a drink from the wine-glass you were holding. Vanessa smiled at you. It was nice to get to relax, even for just a few hours.

3. Watching a Movie

“What movie do you want to watch?” Jay asked from the living room as you poured the popcorn into a bowl. Beers were already on the coffee table, sprinkling just a little salt on the snack in your hands.

“I don’t know. You pick,” you insisted, hearing an exasperated huff. When you walked in, he was bent over your DVD collection, staring at the titles. Quietly, you set the popcorn down before walking over and smacking his ass, making him jump.

“Not fair,” he reminded you, glaring at you with a smirk before grabbing a DVD and popping it in the DVD player. The two of you got situated on the couch, feet propped up on the coffee table as you leaned into him. Jay fiddled with the DVD remote before the movie began playing.

“Really?” you asked, curling further into him as the logo for Saw came across the screen. “Don’t we see enough of this at work?”

“You told me to pick,” he reminded you, keeping his arm around your shoulders as you hid your face in his chest. He knew you didn’t like horror movies. With that knowledge, he probably chose it so that way he could keep you close.

4. On A Date

“You really didn’t have to do this,” you said again for the thousandth time as he drove into downtown Chicago. He’d told you he was taking you out on a date night, reminding you it had been nearly two months since the last time you’d both been available for one. It was hard since you were both on the same team, and recently it seemed like you were always working a case without a day off. You’d closed a case earlier in the day, nothing coming in before you left for the day.

“I know, but it’ll be fun. I promise.” He pulled up in front of Roka Akor, letting the valet take the car from there. You hooked your arm through his, leaning into him slightly as the two of you walked in. It wasn’t every day you were able to go to your favorite Japanese restaurant -- especially since it was usually saved for special occasions due to the price.

“You really didn’t have to do this,” you whispered to him as the host led you to a private table. The two of you sat down, Jay not saying anything. When you looked at him, he had a smile on his face, reaching across the table to hold your hand. You couldn’t ignore his foot brushing against your leg softly either.

“I know I didn’t, Y/N. But I am allowed to spoil my girlfriend occasionally,” he reminded you. You weren’t the type who expected to be spoiled, but you had to admit it was nice. You hadn’t had time to even look at the menu when both of your phones went off. “One night,” he sighed. “Can we just have one night?”

You pulled out your phone, seeing that Intelligence had managed to get a case. “How about we schedule a weekend off, Jay,” you suggested, seeing his face drop when he looked at his phone.

“Yeah,” he agreed, the two of you leaving. As you waited for the valet, he pulled you to him, lips against yours. You practically melted into him at the contact. “When we get home,” he said in a harsh whisper, kissing along your jaw. “I plan on making up for this.”

“I’ll hold you to it, Halstead,” you agreed, the valet clearing his throat to get your attention. You couldn’t look at the man as a blush formed across your cheeks at getting caught.

5. Making Out (NSFW)

Molly’s was packed -- more so than usual. Not that you minded. It gave you more of a reason to sit on the same side of the booth as Jay, leaving the other side open for whoever wanted it. Nobody was going to take it, though. You’d both had a few more drinks than usual by that point, having three rounds of shots in as well. Despite all the other people in the bar, it felt like you and Jay were the only ones there.

He’d hooked his arm around your waist, pulling you close as your hand held onto the back of his neck. Your lips were in a battle for dominance, your free hand resting high on his thigh. He made you feel like a teenager again, making out in the booth on a date. It was fun, exciting, not what you’d usually do.

“Do you guys want me to book you a motel room across the street?” Hermann asked. Jay pulled away from your lips, though that wasn’t going to stop you as you tasted the exposed skin of his neck.

“You got a backroom with no cameras?” Jay countered, Hermann looking disgusted as he grabbed the empty glasses off the table.

“If that means the patrons of my bar don’t have to watch you two act like a couple horny teenagers, then yeah. I do. Through the double doors. Knock yourselves out.” You giggled, getting out of the booth with Jay close behind.

The doors had barely swung shut when he pressed you against the wall, your leg hooking around his waist as your lips met again. You silently thanked God for the fact he’d worn a button-up, fingers working quickly to get his shirt open. As soon as his skin was exposed, you let your hands roam, earning a groan from him.

“I’m half tempted to just take you right here,” he half-growled when your eyes met. There was no denying the lust on his face, tongue darting out to lick his swollen lips as his eyes scanned your body. His pupils were blown, hiding the natural green of his eyes.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” you teased, wanting...no, needing him. “Hermann did say there were no cameras.” His lips were on yours again, walking you to the counter, helping you up as he stood between your legs.

“Think Voight could get us out of an indecent exposure charge?” he asked as his lips found your neck, laughing at his question.

“I doubt.” You moaned as he sucked along your collarbone, eyes fluttering shut as you threw your head back to allow him better access. “That Hermann would press charges.”

He pulled back as your hands fumbled with his belt. Maybe you were just a bit more drunk than you’d originally thought, but that didn’t matter. The only thing you could possibly focus on in that moment was Jay, his hands dipping up under your shirt as he explored your skin. You managed to get his belt undone, popping the button on his jeans before his hands were reaching up under your dress. It was at this time, you knew you’d made the best decision when you’d decided to wear a dress.

He grabbed the waistband of your panties as you lifted your hips slightly, enabling him to slide them down your legs. They fell to your ankles as he ran his hand up the skin of your leg, your dress bunching up around his wrist as his lips found yours again. You pulled him closer, pushing down his jeans and boxers just enough to free him. He took no time to pull you to the edge of the counter, sheathing himself inside you quickly.

It sent a jolt of pleasure through you as you moaned into his mouth, nails digging into his shoulders. There was no hesitation as he set a fast pace, both of you knowing this wasn’t going to last very long. If you were being honest, you couldn’t remember the last time you and Jay had been intimate. Recently with work, it seemed like all you two were doing was just that...work.

“Oh, fuck, Y/N,” he groaned as he held onto your hip with bruising strength. You didn’t care, focused on the pleasure. The two of you knew you couldn’t be loud, not wanting to bring suspicion to the back room. As your orgasm swept over you, Jay capturing your lips again, one hand held onto him, the other trying to find purchase on the counter. This action sent a glass jar to the floor, shattering upon impact. It didn’t take long for Kidd to come looking for the source.

“Oh god!” she exclaimed, Jay barely noticing as you made eye contact. The other woman quickly covered her eyes. “I know Hermann said there were no cameras, but really?” she asked as she hurried out of the room.

You felt Jay smile, hips faltering in their pace as he reached his peak. You locked your legs around him, keeping him close as the two of you came down from your respective highs.

“We should probably go back out there,” you told him, hand stroking through his hair, nails gently scratching along his scalp as he let his head rest on your shoulder. “Have another drink, and head home?”

“Sounds like a good plan,” he agreed, trailing kisses along your shoulder for a few seconds longer before pulling back, getting his pants back up on his hips. You hopped off the counter, leaning down to grab your underwear. With a smirk, you shoved them in Jay’s pocket before sauntering out of the room, Jay on your heels.

Stella gave you a knowing look, returning her look with a coy smile. The two of you approached the bar, settling in the middle where you’d managed to find a seat. Jay remained standing right beside you, hand on your thigh.

“Another round of tequila shots,” you announced with a smile.

“Next time, I’m just getting you two a room across the street,” Hermann replied as he poured the shots. Seemed like either A) he knew what you two were up to or B) Stella told him what she saw. It didn’t matter either way, too high on Jay to really care.

#jay halstead #jay halstead imagine #jay halstead x reader #jay halstead smut #fanfiction

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brandyllyn · 3 years

Text

In our own image... (03)

Chapter 3

(Poe Dameron x OFC)

Other chapters... My Masterlist

Word count: 1700. Read it on AO3.

Rating: Teen & Up (PG) language?

Poe ran a hand through his hair, looking at himself in the small shaving mirror. He tilted his head back and forth, finally letting out a short curse. He’d messed up his sideburns this morning. One of them was noticeably higher than the other. It would grow back within a couple of days but today was the day he was supposed to retrieve BB-8 from the Droidsmith. He had kind of hoped that he would look good for it.

He leaned back, trying to see as much of himself as he could. He undid one of the buttons on his shirt and then quickly shook his head and did it back up. There was no reason the woman needed to see his nipples just yet. Anxiously, he pulled the sleeves of his shirt down, buttoning the cuffs in brisk movements. Then he hooked his thumbs into his belt, settling his weight back on one foot.

"Hey," he told his reflection, raising one eyebrow. The man in the mirror did the same and Poe groaned. He looked like an idiot. Scrubbing a hand across his face he grabbed his blaster belt and buckled it on, leaving before he spent the next hour trying to figure out how he could make a curl fall across his forehead just right. His hair was always doing that. Always almost in his eyes. But not today. Of course not. Today it was sticking up in seven different directions and no amount of cursing or trying to flatten it down with water had helped.

Pushing aside the cloth he used for a door, Poe nearly ran head first into Snap. The older man stepped back and Poe caught himself before falling on his face.

"Whoa there," Snap muttered, "what’s got you in knots this morning?"

"Nothing," Poe said quickly. Too quickly.

Snap raised an eyebrow, "Nothing eh? Does this nothing have something to do with finally getting your little droid back today?"

Poe released a breath. Oh, Snap thought he was anxious because he missed BB-8. He was, and he did. It was valid. "Yeah," he smiles at the older man, "that’s it."

"Come have breakfast first," Snap told him, falling into step beside Poe. They had to duck under the nose of Black One. Like every pilot on base, Poe slept within twenty feet of his ship. "If you don’t you’re going to be so caught up petting that little guy that you’ll forget to eat and then I’ll have to deal with hungry Dameron the rest of the morning."

Snap gave a dramatic shudder and Poe punched him lightly on the arm. "I’m not that bad."

"Who’s not that bad?" Pava asked, intercepting them as they passed Black Three.

"Dameron when he’s hungry," Snap informed her before Poe could say anything.

"Oh Gods no," Pava took a step to the side. "Is he hungry now? Are we going to get food? We can fix this Commander, hold on."

Poe gritted his teeth, glaring between the two of them. "I’m not that bad," he repeated.

Pava gave him a sympathetic look. "No caf and no food? Dameron, we’re all that bad."

Grunting, Poe undid his cuffs, rolling his sleeves up past his elbows as he shouldered past them. "Insubordination," he muttered but neither of them seemed to pay any mind. They had gotten into a discussion about what food they missed most and Poe felt his own stomach grumble. Maybe stopping for breakfast first wasn’t the worst idea. Fainting from hunger in front of the Droidsmith probably wasn’t going to make a great second impression - and considering how… mediocre the first one had gone he was really hoping to be charming this time around.

By the time he was done eating and had gone through his morning briefing with the Squadron Poe was sweating. The humidity on this part of Ajan Kloss was never something to be sneered at, and today the air was still and hot to go with it. There was a storm coming, if not today then certainly tomorrow. He made a mental note to remind everyone to be sure their lightning rods were up. The last thing they needed was to lose a ship to electrical repairs.

Maybe he should go do that right now in fact. BB-8 could wait a bit, there was no need to… Poe shook his head, squaring his shoulders. The fact that there was finally someone on base who he was both interested in and could in good conscience pursue was secondary to the fact that he needed to get his astromech back. Flying yesterday with R2-D2 had been fine, but it wasn’t the same as having his little buddy onboard.

That settled, Poe strode confidently between the trees towards the Mu shuttle. The Droidsmith was in the front portion of her workshop today, her back to him, sitting at one of the tables and working on the R4 unit.

He coughed, not wanting to scare her. After a moment, he coughed again, louder.

Still no response.

He was getting ready to cough a third time when the little translator droid rolled out from under her stool. "Hi hi," it said, tilting up to look at him.

"Hi K-0," he greeted it. "Can you tell…" Shit. He’d forgotten to get her name. He could feel his eyes bugging out as he struggled to finish the sentence. "Her that I’m here for BB-8?"

K-0 flashed a red light at him. "No. Go. No. Not here."

Poe dropped to one knee, propping an arm on it as he tried to meet K-0 at its level. "What do you mean not here?"

"Bad droid," K-0 said fiercely. "Go. No come back. Bad."

"K-0-" Poe started but the droid raced off, running a circle around the Droidsmith’s stool and looking at him from behind her feet.

"No. Go. No."

The Droidsmith finally seemed to notice something was going on, pushing herself away from the table so the stool was leaning back on two legs. She looked down at the droid and then turned, raising an eyebrow at him.

Shit, he was still kneeling. He rose quickly, dusting the knees of his pants off and smiling at her as she settled the stool back onto all four legs. She was prettier than he remembered, if that was even possible.

"Hi," he said and K-0 beeped, echoing him.

She gave a dubious whistle and K-0 translated, "Hello." Then another whistle and a tsking sound with her tongue. "What you do K-0?"

Poe blinked, then looked down at the droid. "I didn’t do anything to K-0 - I was just looking for BB-8."

K-0 translated for him and Poe saw her eyebrows draw together and then she relaxed, rolling her eyes and looking down at the little droid. A series of whistles happened, interspersed with clicks of her tongue. He couldn’t understand her, but could pick up K-0’s side of the conversation in Binary.

"BB-8 is bad droid. Want replace K-0."

A low whistle from the Droidsmith and a fond smile.

"Bad droid. Bad man."

She snorted and looked over at him and he held his hands up in his most non-threatening pose. More whistling.

"Bad man keep bad droid."

Poe didn’t want to interrupt but did feel the need to defend his own honor. "Look, BB-8 might be my droid but he’s got a mind of his own. Whatever he did, don’t blame me. I’m just here to keep him from setting himself on fire."

K-0 translated his words into Binary as he talked and the Droidsmith winked at him. Maker, she winked at him and he felt heat flash along his body that had absolutely nothing to do with the burning Ajan Kloss sun. She whistled and K-0 turned to him with what Poe could only call smugness.

"Bad droid not here."

Poe blinked, "Yeah, you said that before. What do you mean he’s not here?"

The Droidsmith furrowed her brow before replying. "Rey take bad droid."

"Rey," Poe muttered, looking down at K-0 as it translated. "Rey took BB-8? Where?"

More whistling. "Rey say take you."

Poe grunted. "When?"

"Morning," K-0 replied, not needing to wait for the Droidsmith.

So Rey had been by this morning and left with BB-8. The Jedi often took BB-8 out with her when she was training. It just meant… Poe had spent the night before thinking of several topics for conversation that he could have with the Droidsmith today. But they all had kind of relied on having BB-8 there as he was the focus of most of them.

"Oh, okay," he fumbled, trying to think of something else to say. This was harder than he’d thought it would be. The language barrier, coupled with only getting garbled sentences back from K-0 made conversing difficult.

"Need more bad man?" K-0 asked after a gentle prompt from the Droidsmith. Those deep brown eyes were on him and he swallowed, gaze dropping to her pursed lips before snapping back to more appropriate locations. Poe looked at her workbench, at the pieces of droid strewn across it. She obviously had work to get back to.

"No, no," he backed away, tripping slightly when the workshop ground covering gave way to dirt. "I’ll just…"

He wouldn’t say he ran away. But he did walk quickly. If someone wanted to be very particular perhaps he jogged. But he definitely didn’t run - Poe Dameron didn’t run from things.

After a minute of walking quickly he slowed, then stopped. Raising a hand he rubbed his temples with his thumb and forefinger. That had… that had not gone well. Maker had it really been that long since he had flirted with purpose and not just for the sake of flirting? Long enough that he was a bumbling mess about it?

It was the translation problem. That was it. Nothing to do with him. If she understood Basic or he understood… whatever it was that she was speaking… this would all be going a lot smoother. Maybe he could bring Threepio next time. While the protocol droid could be annoying, he’d at least translate full sentences without color commentary - something K-0 did not seem to be capable of.

Yeah, that was it. He’d bring Threepio by next time. Then they could have a nice conversation. Just him, Threepio and….

Well shit. He still hadn’t gotten her name.

Chpt 4

#in our own image #poe dameron #poe dameron x ofc #star wars #star wars sequels #star wars fanfiction #writing

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coffee-n-bagels-comic-universe · 3 years

Text

Bloody, Beaten, Bruised or Maximum Effort

Quick Tag List: @kuruumiya @spacelizardtrashboys @enigmaticandunstable @nattinngrst @amyofaquitaine

This passage contains potentially: scenes of one (or more) characters swearing, blood, self-harm (unintentional) and scenes of a violent nature. whump content and potential tear-jerking moments.

Summary: In this 'chapter' Kirby has her first fight in New Jersey, and stay in New Jersey for a week, leading to some heavy whump content by a certain someone.

Kirby's POV:

Standard match, one on one with a ten minute time limit. Not much for a debut but it's made into a big deal upon learning the opponents were male and female and not the standard male on male.

Jobber VS Newcomer.

Andrew Strong VS Kirby 'Gluttony' Lucifarian.

The bell rings and the fight starts.

"Strong throws the first punch and misses."

"The Ogress capitalises and hits him with a Feeding Frenzy."

"Strong is backed into the turnbuckle but the Ogress continues her attack."

"The referee is forced to separate them and Strong gets The Ogress in a lock-up."

"A swift knee to the stomach and Strong is staggered."

"The Ogress hits Strong with the Organ Grinder and it looks like it's all over."

"She covers Strong and … one … two … three. She's done it! The Ogress has won!"

Walking back to the locker room, I caught a glimpse of Moolah as she sneers at me and I shrug her off, focusing on getting into some clean clothes and going back to the hotel. I change and walk out of the dressing room with my bag slung over my shoulder.

"Good work out there, Kirby."

I recognise the voice and turn to see André, "Thank you, Drey."

"Moolah, doesn't seem to like you girls."

"We're stealing the hag's time in the sun. She always hates people who do that, even if she brings them in. I'll see you soon Drey."

"See you soon, Kirby."

I start walking back to the hotel when I start hearing a voice behind me, gradually getting closer.

"Hey, Miss, I think you dropped this." A distinctly masculine voice called out.

I turned around to see what the person wanted. To my surprise they had picked up my wallet, "Huh, I didn't feel it fall out of my pocket, thank you."

The man handed it to me before introducing himself, "Paul Orndorff. I saw your match earlier, you're fast for a giant, tough too."

"Thank you, Mr Orndorff."

He looked over his shoulder, "Oh, well, I have to go, Piper's waiting for me."

"Uh well, bye Mr Orndorff."

He left without another word and I unzipped my bag slightly to place my wallet inside, zipping it back up and continuing back to the hotel. I spent the night in a cramped hotel room and went to the gym the next morning.

Setting myself up at a heavy bag and practicing as per usual, no interruptions, no one else near by to talk to.

It was as if my mind just drifted away and I went into this mental fog, no gloves on but punching as if I did, breaking through the skin on my knuckles and only stopping after I noticed smears of blood on the heavy bag.

I wiped it down and bandaged my knuckles before moving on to doing push ups, lunges, squats and other exercises that wouldn't leave me covered in blood.

I was alone for the rest of the day, so I ordered some pizza (simple, pepperoni) and relaxed in the hotel, I pulled out a sketch book from my suitcase and began sketching.

I didn't plan on sketching anything too important so I just went with what was on my mind, which happened to be Roddy, Jeez it's like I'm becoming emotionally attached to this idiot.

When I see him next I'll give him the drawing if I have it with me. I close the sketchbook and go back to the gym for around an hour, before coming back to the hotel and getting some rest.

I woke up the next morning (January 9th) and had a day much the same as the last, got up, did my morning routine, went to the gym, came back, ordered Chinese food and started drawing. It was just a shitty little thing, but once again, the Rowdy one came to mind.

What is it with Scottish men and me, is it because I'm a quarter Scottish, is it maybe because I believe in the folk tales and stories of old, of knights on white steeds, saving fair maidens and living happily ever after, while the monsters they kill or maim lie in a pool of their own blood and wish they could've had a different life?

I have no idea, and the idea of my own mind comparing me with those monsters makes me regret ever reading those stories while growing up, rather I should have stuck my head into scientific textbooks instead of tales of heroism and fantastical ghouls, then I would have never become and wrestler or met the amazing people in my life.

I look back down at the paper and decide to let Roddy have two final full page drawings on the other side of the sketches I've already drawn of him, I add in a small note on the page under a picture of Roddy that Sam had found.

The more I looked at the drawings and that lone picture, the more I realised the small details of Roddy's features, the strong jaw with a cleft chin, his hazel eyes? or are they dark blue? either way they intrigue me. And that musculature, Roddy's not slim but not a big man either, he's at that almost perfect weight to body fat ratio. Good lord, listen to me calling … Piper, Roddy, Him, perfect. I think I want to be sick, just to be rid of those thoughts.

Right as I run into the small bathroom I hear a commotion in the hallway and someone being thrown or more accurately, hurled into the other side of the bathroom wall. I take a deep breath, re-fix my mask into it's usual position and dart out into the corridor, right as the commotion ends.

The obvious victim of the bout was on the floor face down with a long, not to deep cut down the back of their left leg and was breathing heavily when I reached them.

"Woah, hey, hey buddy." I whispered to them in an effort to calm them.

"Kirby?"

FUCK

…

That Glaswegian accent, fuck, He's not even supposed to be in town, or is he?

"Piper?!" I whisper-yelled, more to myself than to him.

"Hey…" his voice trailed off, I heaved him over my shoulder and went back into my hotel room, tossing him down on the only bed and grabbing his left foot, reaching over to my suitcase and getting my personal first aid kit, nothing too fancy, some bandages, plasters, the bare essentials. I cleaned the cut and bandaged it, taping the bandage in place.

I glanced up from Roddy's leg and saw that he had passed out, "Shit." I muttered to myself, louder than I thought and his eyes flickered open.

"Kirby? Is that you?" His voice weak but still understandable.

I stood there, frozen to the spot, unable to move, I wanted to cry as I realised how badly he had been beaten up, his eyebrow cut, coming close to his eye, his hairline a mix of matted brown hair and blood that was starting to coagulate and then I started to notice more things wrong with Roddy's visage.

His shirt (a Piper classic, yellow with a wild cat graphic) was torn in several places, showing bruises and nicks in his flesh. His kilt, however, was fully intact, including his belt and sporran, though all of it was scuffed with little scratches, but no cuts.

"Kirby? Kirby talk to me, please?" He spoke so carefully and it broke me.

I dropped to my knees, weeping, and Roddy shot to his feet, before dropping down on his left side and leaning on the bed, getting only a couple of steps closer to me.

"Kirby, are you okay?"

"Roddy, look at ya," I took a deep breath in, "How can you be so beat up and worried about me? How is that possible?"

"Kirby? look at ya, you're crying over me? I thought you didn't care about me that much?"

I wiped the tears from my face and got Roddy back on the bed.

"Stay there, Piper."

"Oh, feisty."

"Roddy! Stay on the bed and don't move."

"Yes Ma'am."

I trudged into the bathroom and ran a long cold shower, and I heard him move off the bed before swearing and sitting back on the bed.

"I thought I said, DON'T MOVE Roddy!"

"Alright, alright. … feisty"

After the shower, I dressed in the bathroom after drying myself off and exited the room. I instantly noticed a sleeping Piper.

"I guess I'll sleep on the floor then."

"C'mere." He lazily waved his arm to try and beckon me over.

"No, Roddy, get some rest."

"Come here and get in the bed." He rolled over and picked up the duvet, lackadaisically blowing a joking kiss in my direction.

"Jesus, Roddy, fine."

I climbed into the bed and felt Roddy's arms curl around my waist and his face between my shoulder blades.

"Rod, get off."

"Wha'?"

"Get off of me."

"Why?"

"Aren't you married, get off."

"if I was married, there would be a ring on my finger," He waved his left hand in front of my face, "No ring, no wife."

"Oh. Still, get off."

"Now, would that be 'get off' in the, leave me alone, way or the 'get off' in the, I love you take me now, way." The latter a clear joke but it annoyed me even more.

"Leave me alone, Roddy."

He slid his arms off and rolled to face the other way.

"Small bed, Kirby."

"I wasn't expecting company, Piper."

"Your tattoos are nice."

"Sleep, Piper."

"I'm just saying."

"Roddy, you are injured, sleep."

"I looked through your sketchbook earlier, y'know, when you were in the shower, just flicked through it, and wow, you're a great artist."

"For the love of God, Roddy! would you please just get some sleep."

"Alright!, alright. No need to yell."

"One more word and I'm chucking you out the nearest window."

We both fell silent and managed to get some sleep, it wasn't until sunrise that either one of us awoke. As I stirred from my slumber I was face to face with the Scottish idiot. I yelped and, without realising his legs were intertwined with mine, fell off the bed with him falling on top of me, waking Roddy up in the process.

"Oh, well, morning sweetheart, did I wake ya."

"Rod, get ya damn 'Loch Ness Monster' away from me."

Rod's cheeks turned pink and he quickly looked down between our bodies before sheepishly standing up and hurrying to the bathroom, I took the chance to change into a graphic tee and some black jeans, not noticing that Piper had left the bathroom door wide open, until I heard his voice.

"Woah, so uh, all of you is bigger than normal?"

I yelped and threw one of my shirts at his face, before realising that I had thrown the shirt I was planning on wearing at him, "Wait, Roddy, I need that shirt."

He laughed before handing me back my shirt, "Uh, thank you … for …saving me last night."

"Were you even supposed to be in town?"

"Well no, but I …" He trailed off

"I can't hear you, Roddy?"

"It's nothing, really."

I continued on with my normal routine, mindful that Roddy was in the same room as me and injured. It wasn't until the phone rang that I had a problem, before I could reach the phone Roddy had already answered it.

"Who is this?"

I could hear a loud, angry voice on the phone and Piper got defensive.

"You think you're a hard man do ya?!"

Damien. That's got to be Damien, which means I am in some real trouble now. Thanks Piper, ya dafty.

"I'll get her to call ya back once you've calmed down."

He slammed the phone back into it's place and breathed out a hefty sigh.

"Kirby, is Damien your boyfriend?" He seemed instantaneously calm

I almost choked on air for a moment, "No! He's my manager, and he's like double my age. He's Vic," I paused for a moment, "He's my dad, as well as the other members of the D.O.D. We're not all his biological daughters though, just Vickie."

"So, he adopted you?"

"I guess you could say that." I avoided looking him in the eyes.

"Tell me the truth. Now!"

"Promise you won't tell anyone first."

"I won't tell a soul, now, why are you so, uptight, about who he is to you."

"First things first, my name isn't Kirby Lucifarian, it's actually Kirby Trevor."

"Oh, so Damien's not you're adoptive father, either?"

"No, my real parents are Heaven and Eric Trevor. Damien's Vickie's dad and only Vickie's dad."

"Are either one of your parents giants? or is it just you?"

"Just me, the closest person to me in height, family-wise was my uncle Rory. He's the reason I have the tattoo on my wrist."

I walked up to Piper and showed him the 'R' tattooed on my right wrist.

"So, he passed away?"

"Yeah. He died, eleven, no no, twelve years ago now, when I was Seventeen, My uncle Vaughn died a couple months later, he's why I have the lighter on my left arm, my uncle Vaughn was best known for being, in the nicest terms, a layabout smoker, and the smoke took him in the end."

"So, you have a lighter to remember a man who died by smoking?"

"Dark, I know, but uncle Vaughn would've laughed at it. Erik laughed at it when I explained it to him."

"Eric, your dad?"

"No, no, Erik, with a 'K', my old tag partner before I joined the D.O.D. I think you would've liked him."

"Really, now why would I like a guy I know nothing about?"

"Well, Erik's Scottish, He's from Edinburgh. He's tall-ish, then again I am a giant, so who am I to say what's tall, he's six-foot-five. He played the bagpipes when he was younger, he quit playing when he was twenty-three, same year we lost the tag titles."

"Rough," He interrupted "Continue, please."

"Uh, well. Erik's strong, very strong, he would compete in the Highland games and well, … I guess back then I thought I'd never leave him, until Damien gave me an offer I couldn't refuse and I left him. I had a whole life with him planned inside my head and I left it all behind, for what, cramped hotel rooms and breakfasts with André."

"You had breakfast with André the giant and you didn't tell me … You, You had a good Scottish man, and you left him, for," He gestured to the room, "all this?"

"Well I jus-"

"No," He held my jaw and looked me straight in the eyes, "You had a life, a man who obviously a close relationship with you, and you gave it up for breakfasts with André and shitty hotel rooms."

"I know I'm stupid."

"But you're not stupid, you saved me, I could have died in that hallway and you brought me in here, you stopped that bastard from killing me. I could kiss you."

"Please don't."

Sorry for cliff-hanger ending, but … END OF BLOODY, BEATEN, BRUISED or MAXIMUM EFFORT.

#Lucifarians #wrestling fic

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nitewrighter · 3 years

Note

Omg I loved the ASOIAF Gency post you wrote recently! Can you write more?

God this has been languishing in my drafts since... September?? Jesus...

Anyway, a continuation of these ficlets!: 1, 2, 3

-----

“I mislike this,” said Orisa as Efi carried her helmet over to her, “I am your sworn shield, I will not have my oaths or her family’s... undermined like this!”

“And I’m quite capable of traveling on my own!” said Angela but both Efi and Orisa gave her skeptical looks and her lips thinned and she glanced off. No woman in her right mind would travel the Stormlands alone, but then again, no woman in her right mind would flee her betrothal with the intent of lying her way into the Citadel at Oldtown, either.

“This isn’t just about her, Orisa,” said Efi, “I want to go to Oldtown when I’m old enough, too. And I don’t want to be married off, either.”

“Your dowry could be in the form of books?” Orisa said a little helplessly, “Perhaps even Valyrian manuscripts!”

Efi gave her a half-lidded look with one corner of her mouth tugged up.

“...the marriage is the problem,” said Orisa, glancing off.

“The marriage is the problem,” said Mercy in agreement.

“It would only be to get her to the Citadel!” Efi insisted, “Then you could come right back to Aurochs-ford!”

“Taking the marriage out of the equation might force the Storm lords to re-evaluate their little feud as well,” said Mercy, “Disrupt things enough so they cool their heads. Maybe buy enough time for the Iron Throne to step in.”

“See?” said Efi, “You could be saving the Storm Lands in the long run! This definitely falls under ‘Sworn Shield’ duties.” Efi gave a glance to Angela, “If we can give her a chance...then maybe when I’m old enough...”

“You can forge your own Maester’s chain?” said Orisa with a tilt of her head.

“Not a full chain,” said Efi, “…Gold, iron, and black iron links for sure, though...” she said, trailing off thoughtfully.

“I only need the one,” said Angela, “Silver.... though... lead might be useful as well...”

“If you’re still at the Citadel when I get there, we’ll get a Valyrian steel link together!” said Efi, her hands balling into fists with excitement.

Angela chuckled a little, “I think we’re getting ahead of ourselves.”

“Indeed. Neither of you are at Oldtown yet,” said Orisa, flatly. She looked back at Efi, “I will see her safely to Oldtown at your request, my lady,” she said with a bow of her head.

Efi touched a small hand to the side of Orisa’s face, her brown eyes bright.

“And then I am coming right back to Aurochs-Ford,” said Orisa, furrowing her brow.

Efi giggled and brought her skinny arms about Orisa’s neck. Orisa pulled herself up to her full height to embrace her, bringing Efi up off the floor.

Right back to Aurochs-Ford.

Orisa’s eyes opened in a gray morning light and she quickly sat up in bed and gauged her surroundings. She was in a bare, wooden room, the foliage of a tree outside suggesting she was on the second floor of a building. Her own well-rested state quickly set her on high alert. She sat up in bed--Bed--right, they were in an inn. The mattress was stuffed with hay but it was still the finest sleeping conditions Orisa had since leaving Aurochs-Ford. She wondered if Lady Efi was doing all right. Probably still puzzling over those dusty old books of Valyrian alchemy and inventions, maybe even bogarting the castle blacksmith to forge her another obscure and specific little gear for her devices.

Orisa flinched in bed to see the door opening, her hand quickly going for the sword hanging on her bedpost, only to see Mercy in the doorframe, the very image of a pleasant septa with a tray of honeyed oatcakes, boiled eggs, and mugs of weak ale and goat’s milk.

“I overslept?” Orisa said looking out the window.

“No, I just woke up early to check on our lordling,” said Mercy, setting the tray on a table. She smiled a little. “He’s still alive---in remarkably better shape than last night, as well.” The relief in her voice gave Orisa pause.

“Do you still wish to go through with this?” said Orisa.

“What, I could bring books as a dowry?” said Mercy with a huff as she flaked shell off of her egg with her thumb, “I’m sure they’ll be perfectly wonderful reading when Lord Akande puts our houses to the torch.”

“You seemed to get on well with him,” said Orisa, frankly looking for any excuse to end this folly of a quest and get back to her young charge.

“Even if I did tell him--what would happen then? ‘Oh, by the way my lord, I’ve been lying to your face for the past three days because I’ve been desperately fleeing our marriage!’ That’s a wonderful start to things!” She huffed, “No,” she said, taking a bite out of her egg, “I said I would go to Oldtown, and I’m going to Oldtown, but if you wish to go back--”

“No one in their right mind would travel these lands alone,” said Orisa, flatly.

Mercy gave her a steady look, her mouth slightly tight at the corners in a not-quite smile. They were both highborn, but Orisa’s family had let her pursue knighthood while Mercy had seen more instruction in courtesy, embroidery, and the arts expected of ladyhood. There was admiration in Mercy’s eyes, maybe even a little envy. An idealist who longed to be practical, she gave off the air of someone who never quite fit the role set for her, and she had Orisa’s sympathy for that. Believing in the ideals of knighthood, that was a solid thing to believe in--but it definitely got more complicated being a woman.

“...I’m going to Oldtown because I--I don’t want to be a burden,” said Mercy, taking a bite out of her egg, “But I feel like a burden on you.”

Orisa glanced down, “I am doing this for Lady Efi,” she said, snapping an oatcake in half, “I want to believe in the world she believes in... but she is young and idealistic, and I know, being older, you have a greater understanding of just how much stands in your way.” She took a bite of her oatcake and chewed.

“I won’t let her down,” Mercy said, her eyes fierce, gulping down her own mug of goat’s milk.

“Intention and execution can be two very different things,” said Orisa.

“...well,” said Mercy, standing up, “We’ll set deeds to words, then. We’ll get out before our lordling wakes up. You finish breakfast and get your armor on, and I’ll saddle Dynast.” Her hands balled into fists with determination. “I’m already packed.”

Orisa gave a short huff through her nostrils. “That may be your most practical suggestion since this whole quest started.”

Mercy beamed before slipping out the door.

Mercy grabbed her satchel from her room and made her way to the stair leading down to the inn’s ground floor, humming. She froze at the sight of a dark haired figure on the stairs, his hand braced against the wall and his body tensed. Unthinkingly, her foot made contact with the first step and it creaked beneath her weight, and the figure on the stairs flinched at the sound and looked sharply over his shoulder at her.

Genji. He was awake. How was he awake already?! There was still a weary shine to his eyes, he still wasn’t back to full strength from his injuries, but there was an alertness in his stance that filled her with dread.

“My--?” she nearly started saying, ‘My Lord?’ but he put a finger to his lips and she quieted herself as she craned her neck to try and see what he was seeing.

“I’m only asking if you saw someone bearing a standard with two dragons on it,” A woman dressed in black and white with white hair--Lysene, perhaps--was addressing the innkeeper. Behind her were three men, of equal height, too lean to be highborn, the lower halves of their faces obscured by yellow cloth. Mercy would have tried to identify the sigils on their tunics but her own fear at being seen forced her to draw back behind Genji.

“I’m not at liberty to discuss who’s currently staying here,” said the innkeep.

There was the hard metallic ting of a dagger piercing wood and a long period of silence.

“...as innkeep it is my duty to assure my patrons safety so long as they are under my roof,” said the innkeeper, “You want to wait for them on the road, you can wait for them on the road. But there’ll be no bloodshed here.”

“A woman of business,” said the Lysene woman. There was the clink of coins in a sack hitting the wood next, and both Mercy and Genji tensed.

“...They’ve paid, too. And my service they’ll have,” said the innkeeper.

There was the sound of steel being drawn and Mercy’s breath caught in her throat.

“...leave her,” said the Lysene woman, “We’ll get what we need, with or without her.”

Silently, a bead of sweat quivering down his temple, Genji slowly backed up the stairs. Mercy tried to follow suit as silently as she could, but then one stair creaked loudly beneath her foot and the Lysene woman’s head swiveled sharply to the stairs.

“Go—Go!” Genji hissed under his breath as they both rushed back up the stairs.

“Septa—?” Orisa was stepping out of her room, holding her sword in its scabbard, not yet belted to her hip, when alarm filled her face at the sight of Genji next to Mercy. “You’re—?” Orisa started but then cut herself off as the Lysene woman and her three compatriots rushed up behind them. Orisa read the situation in an instant and sidestepped in front of them.

“Find another exit,” said Orisa.

“What other exit?!” blurted out Mercy, but Genji hurried down the hall to an unglazed, shuttered window and threw it open, “Genji—I mean—My lord!” Mercy’s head jerked back to Orisa at the clash of steel on steel behind her. There were a few panicked seconds where Mercy was transfixed, watching as Orisa blocked the short sword of the Lysene woman before clocking one of the cloth-faced sellswords behind her with her buckler-bearing arm, dazing him before a hard kick in the stomach sent him tumbling backward and she once again clashed blades with the Lysene.

“Septa!” Genji’s voice sounded behind her. He had one leg out of the open shutters of the window, one arm braced on the frame, the other out toward her. She hiked up her skirts and rushed after him, hearing Orisa’s sword sing and gauntleted fists make contact with grunting flesh.

“It’s one knight!” The Lysene woman was barking behind them, “You fools can’t take out one knight?!” before there was another loud clang of steel.

Mercy felt Genji grab her forearm and she stumbled out the window after him onto wooden shingles that creaked with rot. Genji was already nervously sidestepping across the short row of shingles that formed an awning around the ground floor of the inn’s exterior, before Mercy saw he was moving towards the stables.

“We can’t just leave her!” said Mercy.

“She’s in full plate armor, she has a better chance if we get the horses and she’s not worried about us being in the crossfire,” said Genji, still edging forward.

“It’s four on one!” said Mercy, one hand against the side of the inn and the other bunching her skirts up for easier movements as she sidestepped after him. There was a sudden clatter behind her and her head swung around to see one of the brigands tumble out of another shuttered window, and roll backwards off the awning before landing with a grunt in the mud below.

“...three on one,” said Mercy, blinking incredulously.

“The skill of the Warrior and the strength of the Smith,” Genji said, impressed, “I guess the Seven really are with you two!”

“Genji, the stables!” Mercy said furiously, still sidestepping forward.

Genji gave her an odd look.

“My lord, the stables,” huffed Mercy, another prickle of stress burning on the back of her neck, wondering if her panic in the situation had given her away in other ways.

“...you can call me Genji,” he said, still sidestepping forward, “I rather like the way you say it, Septa.”

“That is not appropriate,” Mercy said, glancing down and blushing furiously.

“Well you’ve already seen me naked, I’d say we’re well past--” He reached the edge of the awning closest to the stables and sucked in a breath, “Oh this isn’t going to be pleasant.”

Mercy closed the distance behind him. “Do you need--?”

“You can barely move in those sept skirts as is--I’ve got this,” said Genji, dropping to a squat and positioning himself with his back to the edge, He braced his hands on the shingles and then pushed his legs out over the edge, grunting in pain as he dropped to a hanging position before grunting in pain again as he dropped to the ground, the length of his own body significantly reducing his fall. “Ah---” his hand went to his side as his feet hit the ground, but he shook his head, “Okay, your turn.”

“Right--okay--” Mercy started haltingly as she reached the edge and turned around but then she heard another groan and craned her neck over to look at the sound’s source. The sellsword Orisa had knocked out of the window was stumbling to his feet, muddy, shaking his head out of a daze, and he saw Genji. He drew a short dirk from his side and broke off in a stumbling run toward genji. Genji followed her line of sight but his injury slowed his reaction. Mercy wasn’t fully sure what compelled her to suddenly leap off the corner of the awning, but there was a half-beat where she felt the cold morning air rushing up her skirts and her arms flailing with nothing to grab before she dropped like a stone... right onto the sellsword with a grunt and a splatter of mud, her elbow slamming his face into the muck. She rolled off him and stumbled to her feet, panting. Genji looked from the unconscious sellsword in the mud, up to her.

“...don’t know which of the seven to thank for that,” he said, his eyes wide.

“Come on!” said Mercy seizing his arm and rushing to the stables.

“Ow--injured--ow!” said Genji as the muddy Septa pulled him into a run.

-----

The Lysene woman fought with both a short sword and a dirk, and her attacks were relentless. But her remaining fellow sellswords seemed to be more of a liability than a threat if they didn’t have the element of surprise. Orisa’s biggest disadvantage was the narrowness of the hallway they were in... if she could just find a way to get her opponents down stairs to the Inn’s dining area, maybe she could more properly maneuver... or maybe that would give them more space to flank her. Orisa had at least successfully backed them up to the point in the hallway so they couldn’t access another window to go after Genji and Mercy, but her brow furrowed as the Lysene woman and her two remaining compatriots kept their blades pointed at her.

“You were sent by Lord Akande, I take it?” said Orisa.

“I’m afraid the answer to that’s going to cost you,” said the Lysene woman.

“I’ll take that as a yes, then,” said Orisa.

“The Shimada lordling slipped from our grasp before... but we had expected him to die, I suppose we underestimated his house’s banner lords...” said the woman.

“I am under no banner but the Seven’s,” said Orisa, and she felt a surprising strength in what had previously been merely a cover story. To have a sword sworn to the Seven, to defend this grievously injured Lordling purely because he was attacked out of treachery rather than on the field of battle, it was thrilling, it was knightly.

The woman gave a derisive snort. “So I can’t expect you to counter Lord Akande’s offer with one of your own. No amount of piety will make a hedge knight anything more than a hedge knight.”

“...and I can’t expect you to hold to any word,” said Orisa, her eyes narrowing.

The woman grinned wolfishly before lunging forward, Orisa stood her ground, meeting the woman’s long blade with her own before glancing off the woman’s dirk with her buckler. Orisa’s shield and helmet were still back in her room, so she could count on the Lysene to go for the face. The woman kept up her assault and Orisa gave a bit of ground. Her attacks were aggressive, clearly she was trying to use the advantage of lighter armor lending greater stamina to keep up a relentless barrage of attacks, but Orisa remained calm. This was waves breaking on stone. One of her compatriots flanked Orisa only to get a hard buckler to the face, Orisa using the movement to pivot and yield space to back into her room where her helmet and broadshield were. The Lysene woman lunged forward with her short sword and Orisa tilted her torso in its movement to grab her shield. Orisa knew she wasn’t a small target, but the right movements could send virtually any blade scratching uselessly across the plate of her armor--and just in time, too. In seizing her shield, she yanked it up, her arm only looped in one strap, and used the weight of it to slam it hard into the shoulder and side of the Lysene woman sending her staggering to the side trying to regain her footing. Orisa kicked the other closest sellsword in the stomach, knocking him onto his back, only to see the third man in the doorway, pointing a crossbow at her. Orisa froze.

But then, there was a shattering sound and the crossbow-bearing sellsword’s eyes rolled back in his head, goat’s milk dripping down his piecemeal armor and he swayed and collapsed onto the floor. Mercy was standing behind him, the lower half of her skirts caked in mud, the broken top half of the jug from their breakfast in her hands. Orisa blinked in surprise, and even Mercy seemed a bit stunned at the collapsed sellsword drenched in goat’s milk at her feet before she seemed to snap out of it and shake her head.

“You--!” the Lysene woman scrambled to attack Orisa from the side, her attack panicked and messy, only to get cuffed hard in the face by Orisa’s buckler and get splayed out on the floor. The other sellsword, seeing the only two backing him up now unconscious, scrambled to the side of the Lysene woman, shaking her shoulder. “Lady Ashe?! Lady Ashe, get up!” but Orisa was already rushing to the door, properly strapping up her shield and grabbing her helmet as she and Mercy hurried down the hall and down the inn stairs.

“Genji’s gotten the horses,” said Mercy, as they darted across the tavern floor, tables groaning against the wood as Orisa’s armored frame shoved them aside, “Come on!”

They rushed out into bright, damp morning air to see Genji astride Dynast, holding the reins of a large honey-colored mare.

“You made it!” said Genji, as Mercy scrambled up onto the saddle behind him and Orisa swept up onto the mare and they all took off into gallops down the road from the inn.

“Who’s horse is this?” said Orisa.

“Didn’t have time to ask! I imagine it’s one of the sellswords’!” said Genji, they were all half-yelling over the thundering hooves.

“We’re stealing a horse?!” Orisa blurted out.

"Borrowing!” said Genji.

“IT IS NOT KNIGHTLY TO STEAL A HORSE!” said Orisa, her pauldroned shoulders bunching up.

“They attacked me,” said Genji, “Hardly good folk. You, on the other hand, have valiantly defended a grievously wounded storm lord and commandeered a mighty steed.”

Orisa blinked a few times. ‘Oh...I... I suppose I did.”

“It was like something out of a song!” said Mercy, her eyes bright.

“A song...?” Orisa started hesitantly. She tucked a stray braid of hair back, “...I suppose it will be a good story to tell Lady Efi when I return.”

“...Lady Efi?” said Genji, “I thought you said you were sworn to the Sev--”

“To Oldtown!” said Mercy, spurring their horse forward.

“To Oldtown!--Ow--ow..” Genji had punched a fist into the air with excitement, quite forgetting he was still injured. The dew seemed to make everything sparkle. Orisa wasn’t sure if it was the rush of adrenaline confusing the senses, making the light seem brighter, the sky bluer, the air cleaner, or perhaps it was the days of rain before. Orisa rolled the grip of her gauntlets on the reins of her own mare, a bright flare of thrill thumping with her heart in her chest. She looked over at Mercy, her arms gingerly wrapped around Genji’s waist, avoiding his injury as they rode, then Orisa scoffed a little, her own expression partially hidden by her own horned helmet, and her sound silenced by the thunder of galloping hooves, feeling the Inn shrink into the distance behind them. This was a terribly foolish thing they were doing, but at the same time, would anything but something terribly foolish give her the excitement she was feeling now? Were valor and stupidity two sides of the same coin? Perhaps theirs was a tale like Florian the Fool.

Like a song, indeed, Orisa thought with some amusement.

#Gency #asoiaf au

22 notes · View notes

yeehawetc · 3 years

Text

Title: Bachelor’s Grove

Pairing: none

Summary: It’s Christmas 1885. Dutch is talking to anarchists, Hosea’s trying to scam an old man out of his house, and Arthur’s trying to figure out the very weird kid they just picked up. Nobody knows if they’re going to keep him, and John doesn’t want to go back.

Warnings: some gory imagery; almost-kind-of-you-decide-whether-it’s-magical-realism?

On AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28368408

@wolfmeat, I was your secret santa! (I bet you never guessed. Love you)

The sun glancing off the frosted windows of the station house blinds Arthur temporarily as he slips off Boadicea. He tugs off his heavy mittens to tie her to the hitching post, then stuffs his chapped hands quickly back into his coat pockets. There was an inch of ice on the water bucket this morning in camp. Arthur wishes Dutch had chosen a warmer morning to get caught with a known anarchist distributing anti-government literature.

He steps inside, and again can’t fucking see for a minute. The station’s dark even in daylight, old wood lit by dusty kerosene lamps that stink louder than the general musk of a constant cycle of drunks’ piss and tobacco spit. Arthur stops for a minute inside the door to let his eyes adjust, and the officer at the desk barks at him.

“What you want, son?”

“Payin’ a social call,” Arthur says, and takes the wad of bills Hosea counted out for him and tosses it onto the desk. The fella’s eyebrows hop nearly off his face, and Arthur scans the cells while he counts the money. It doesn’t take him long to pick him out. There’s not many people in the 18th district jailhouse wearing black silk and sitting on the cot like it’s a goddamn throne.

Dutch stands to meet him when Arthur approaches the cell, straightening his vest and checking the time on his pocket watch. As if Arthur were here picking him up from a social function, as if he didn’t have a huge purple bruise over one cheekbone.

“Good morning, Arthur,” he says, spreading his arms wide.

“Hosea’s gonna have your hide,” Arthur tells him. Dutch waves that away blithely, picking up his coat. He limps elegantly to the door of the cell and extends a broad hand to the jailkeeper, who doesn’t take it.

“A merry Christmas to you and your family,” Dutch says, beaming. Arthur can tell he’d like to knock the man’s teeth out. “Very sorry to insult your hospitality this way, but I’m afraid I ain’t inclined to spend another night in the company of the state.”

The guard isn’t impressed. “Go on,” he says, “before I change my mind.”

Dutch, Arthur notes with some dismay, is clearly in a good mood. For the first fifteen minutes of the ride back to camp, Dutch expounds on the uselessness of the state and the pathetic bankruptcy of soul that must lead a man like that wretch back at the jailhouse to feed his family off the profits of a government that’s nothing more than a tradition, and a cruel and foolish one at that, and Arthur picks at the loose wool on his mittens and watches his breath steam in the air.

“The true place for a just man, Arthur, is a prison,” Dutch shouts to him through the blistering chill as they wind south towards Bachelor’s Grove.

“True place for a man who can’t run on a sprained ankle, more like,” Arthur says, and Dutch throws his head back and laughs so loud a crow gets startled off the fence they’re passing by, and Arthur can’t help himself, he’s grinning.

“We’re onto something good here, Arthur,” Dutch says as they pass into the woods. “Silas tells me that Leslie Ashville—that haggard old maggot who owns the steel works where Silas’s poor cousin lost his hand last month—is losing his mind.”

“This the same Silas who got you arrested last night?” Arthur asks.

Dutch ignores him. “Old Ashville’s cracking, Arthur. Talking to folks as ain’t there and forgetting his own name. They say he ain’t gonna see the year of our Lord 1886, and it don’t seem right to me to let that fine gentleman die alone, with no one but his vampire of a nephew to carry on his legacy.”

“So,” Arthur says, starting to see where this is going, “you’re goin’ to apologize to Hosea for getting yourself arrested by inviting him to con a dyin’ man out of his money?”

“A dyin’ industrialist,” Dutch confirms brightly.

The camp’s a cluster of tents and wagons in a stand of oaks just south of the quarry pond, a respectful distance from the scattered headstones of Bachelor’s Grove cemetery. As they ride in, Arthur can see Hosea and Miss Grimshaw hurrying between the tents, ducking to look under the wagons and talking hotly. He catches Miss Grimshaw’s last sentence on the wind as he and Dutch ride closer: “...can’t have gone far in this cold.”

“What’s happening?” Dutch inquires as he slips down from the Count, favoring his hurt ankle just a little.

“The boy’s disappeared,” Hosea says, and Arthur doesn’t miss the relief that settles over Dutch’s features when he realizes this latest catastrophe is going to postpone a conversation with Hosea about his own sins.

“Go on, Arthur,” he says, “you look up thataways, and pray he ain’t fallen down that quarry. I’ll look off to the west, and Hosea, you and Miss Grimshaw stay here in case he comes back on his own.”

Arthur sets out grudgingly on foot. This ain’t the first time the kid’s given them trouble. In fact, Arthur reflects, he’s been more trouble than anything else since the moment Dutch caught sight of that rabble of homesteaders tying a noose to a walnut tree and decided to investigate. When they got closer and it turned out the fearful criminal due for a lynching that day was a twelve-year-old kid with an armful of onions and a crazy look in his eye, Arthur was the one who picked the kid up and carried him to safety while Dutch and Hosea argued with the would-be executioners. And then, Arthur was the one who got onion juice spit in his eye for his troubles and a nice set of bite marks on his neck.

The kid’s calmed down in the weeks since, or at least been effectively convinced Arthur isn’t trying to kidnap him, but he still bites. And apparently that ain’t all. Once they got him back to camp and a bowl of stew in front of him, he told Dutch his name’s John, his folks are dead, and he knows how to kill a man. Those facts, in that order, and if they didn’t light Dutch’s face up. Dutch likes the odd ones. Arthur tries not to think too deeply about how that reflects on him.

John’s odd, all right. He talks to himself all day; talks to animals too, and rocks and trees. And, strange enough, he’s a hell of a shot—hit every one of the cans Dutch lined up for him a week after he joined the camp, “just to see what he can do.” But he’s young, younger even than Arthur was when Dutch found him, and that’s a problem. Dutch said he’s safer here than on his own, Miss Grimshaw said a child his age got no business running with outlaws, Hosea said he ought to go to an orphanage, and John started hollering so loud nobody could finish the argument, and in the month since the question of what’s to be done with John has stood open. For now, it seems, he’s with them, but one of these days somebody’s gonna have to make a decision.

But maybe John’s made a decision of his own, now. This isn’t the first time he’s run off—he seems to have a special talent for that—but the longer Arthur trudges through the snow, the more it seems John might have made a real shot at it this time.

Arthur skirts the mouth of the quarry pond, looking reluctantly for any sign of a little body floating in the glassy dark water ringed all around with ice, and ascertains to his satisfaction and relief that John hasn’t drowned. He’d be sure to, if he had fallen, based on the almighty fuss he put up the first time Miss Grimshaw tried to get him to wash himself, shrieking that she was trying to drown him. Dutch finally intervened, grabbing John by his collar and belt and tossing him bodily into the creek, where it immediately became clear John’s never been in water deeper than his big toe. Arthur grins to himself as he picks around the clumps of buckthorn skirting the edge of the pond, remembering the look of dumb outrage on the kid’s spluttering face when he resurfaced and realized he was only knee-deep.

Arthur turns away from the quarry and up the snowy path towards the cemetery gates, squinting at the beaten stones that line the ground on either side. He can’t make out the names, but Hosea told him it’s mainly railway workers and homesteaders buried here, Russians and Germans and Irish. Folks who came from worlds away to get run over by wagons, or catch the grippe, or just to blow their own brains out when the crops failed and the government turned a blind eye. Ma’s buried in a place that looks like this. Pa too, maybe, only Arthur didn’t stay to see.

He watches a red-bellied woodpecker hammer busily at someone’s gravestone, and wonders if he should start to worry.

Then he turns onto the path leading up to the cemetery gate, a rickety wrought-iron arch planted between two spreading white cedars, and sees the kid. He’s sitting in the snow next to a tall granite monument, arms clasped around his legs and his head ducked down onto his knees, drowning in Hosea’s spare coat and Miss Grimshaw’s old scarf. His hair, as usual, hangs down over his pinched face like he’s trying to hide it.

“Hey,” Arthur calls out, and watches as John’s head snaps up like a spooked deer. But he stays where he is, body held tense and unmoving, as Arthur jogs forward through the icy cover of snow.

Up close, Arthur can see the kid’s been crying: his eyes are red, his cheeks are wet and chapped, and there’s a goddamn river of snot traveling down his chin. Still, when Arthur asks if he’s all right, he snaps, “A-course” and glares as if Arthur accused him of some grave offense.

“You scared folks, runnin’ off like that,” Arthur tells him, nudging John’s leg with the toe of his boot.

John shakes his head. “I ain’t scary.”

“Never said you was.” Arthur holds out a hand to pull the kid up. John doesn’t take it. “Come on now.”

John shakes his head, straggly hair flying side to side with the vehemence of his refusal. Stubborn as a horse’s ass is one thing they’ve already learned about John, and it ain’t Arthur’s favorite quality.

“What happened this time?” he sighs, settling himself against a gravestone opposite John. “Hosea said you just up and disappeared.”

John shrugs. “I ain’t talkin’ to you.” He’s picking at a loose thread on the sleeve of the coat, frowning furiously at it.

“What, did Grimshaw try to make you wash again? Because you know you stink.”

“Don’t neither.”

“You do,” Arthur assures him.

John sniffs, pulling his sleeve over his face and smearing snot even further across his cheek. “I ain’t goin’ back,” he says.

“Suit yourself,” Arthur says, shrugging broadly. “You wanna run off on your own, get yourself strung up by another pack of tetchy farmers, I guess that ain’t no business of mine.”

“No it ain’t,” John snaps, nodding in satisfaction.

“Awfully cold, though,” Arthur remarks, pulling his coat a little closer and squinting up at the sky. “I do believe that’s a storm comin’ in off to the east there.” John pokes his head up from the depths of Hosea’s coat to swivel his skinny neck around. “Still,” Arthur goes on, “you’ve obviously made up your mind, so I ain’t gonna try to talk you out of it.” He stands up, brushing snow off his coat. “Shame about them pies, though.”

John squints at him. “What pies?”

“Pies?” Arthur says. “Oh, the pies—oh, that ain’t nothin’. Only, I know Miss Grimshaw was plannin’ a heap of pie for Christmas. Mince pie, she said. Maybe apple. And Hosea, he’s made friends with a fella down at the slaughterhouse, figures he’ll get us a pig to roast.”

John stares. “I never seen a pig roast.”

“Well,” Arthur says, “I guess you ain’t gonna see one this year. Seein’ as you’re goin’ it alone now.” John squirms irritably in his snowy seat, frowning at Arthur. Arthur waits, listening to crows scream in the cedars.

“They was fixin’ to take me back to the nuns,” John says finally, in an unusually soft little voice. Not looking at Arthur.

“What,” Arthur says, startled, “Hosea and Grimshaw?”

John nods. “I heard ‘em. I was diggin’ in the dirt by that big ol’ stump an’ I was eatin’ some cheese an’ then I heard the lady say ‘this ain’t no place for a child, I heard him cough’ only I wasn’t coughin’, I just had some crumbs in my throat, an’ then Hosea said ‘he ain’t settlin’ in so good an’ I think we oughta see if them nuns’ll take him,’ an’ Dutch weren’t there and now he’s gone they’re gonna take me back there an’ so I got my coat an’ I snuck off ‘fore they could catch me an’ I ain’t goin’ back, if you take me back they’re just gonna make me go back to the nuns an’ they’ll cook me an’ eat me an’ then I ran an’ I ran an’ I heard someone comin’ so I hid behind the graves only then I thought maybe it was dead folks so I waited an’ then I heard someone else comin’ but it was you an’ I ain’t goin’ back, I ain’t gonna let ‘em do it.” He breaks off, breathing hard. His cheeks are red.

Arthur, a little dizzy trying to parse out that garbled spew of words, thinks he can see tears gathering in the corners of the kid’s eyes. Passing over, for the moment, the idea of cannibal nuns, he sighs and says, “Look, kid, ain’t nobody gonna send you anywhere without Dutch’s say-so, and Dutch ain’t decided yet.”

John frowns. “But he went to jail.”

“Yeah, dumbass, and I went and got him out,” Arthur says. “He’s out lookin’ for you right now.”

The kid’s eyes get wide at that. Arthur sees him take a shaky little breath and whisper something to himself that Arthur can’t catch.

“Come on,” he says, “I’m freezin’ my nuts off, and you ain’t gettin’ cooked alive by nobody this Christmas. Come on back, and I’ll tell Grimshaw an’ Hosea to lay off talkin’ about nuns.” He holds out his hand again.

This time, after a little consideration, John takes it, tugging hard as he struggles up to his feet. Arthur’s astonished at how light he is; the kid weighs nearly nothing. He sets himself on his feet, pulls Grimshaw’s scarf over his grimy face, and looks up to Arthur.

“An’ we’ll have pie?” he asks, hopefully.

“Sure,” Arthur nods. “Pie and pig.”

“I ain’t never had a Christmas dinner,” John tells him as they head back towards camp.

“What, never?”

John shrugs. He’s playing with the loose ends of his scarf, tossing them back and forth on his palms. “I heard about it, but I never had one. Me an’ pa, one time we stole a whole duck an’ he said that’s Christmas dinner, but it gave me the trots an’ I shit till I yelled.”

“Thank you for that,” Arthur says.

John nods, clambers over a wooden fence, and drops down the other side in a little flurry of snow. “What’s it like?” he asks, and the question’s so dumb and so oddly sweet that Arthur feels a little twinge in his chest.

“I dunno,” he says. “Like a party, I guess. Folks make good food and talk and sing, and go to church I suppose, only I ain’t been since I was a little, little kid, littler than you.”

“I ain’t little,” John interjects, scrambling over a rock.

“Well, I was,” Arthur says. “But my ma used to make supper, and we’d have turkey and fish and ham and potatoes and beans, and after she’d play on her organ.”

“What’s a organ,” John asks.

“A kinda musical instrument,” Arthur tells him. He hasn’t thought about this in years, can only vaguely picture the boxy little organ in the corner, Mama’s pale hands on the keys. The melody’s long gone. “Sorta like a piano, I figure, only it’s got pipes and pedals. My ma had one from a catalogue, and she said it kept her company out there in the country.” He remembers that: the way she’d sit at the organ in the evenings, not even playing some nights, just sitting. The way she cried when they came back from town and the organ was gone, sold to a man Pa found looking to pay good money for a secondhand Beckwith for his wife. Arthur remembers that, all right.

“So,” John says, “ya play music and ya eat?”

“More or less,” Arthur says. “S’posed to be some kinda holy day, but mostly folks just like to eat.”

They’re nearing camp, now, and Arthur can see the defensive curl in John’s shoulders. When he sees Dutch sitting at the camp table, though, he breaks away from Arthur’s side and dashes over, planting himself next to Dutch, arms crossed stubbornly over his chest.

“So you found him, Arthur,” Dutch greets him as Arthur approaches the table.

“Out hidin’ in the graveyard,” Arthur says. “I guess he prefers the company of dead folks to ours.” Dutch laughs, and John scowls.

“I weren’t hidin’,” he says. “And I didn’t see no dead folks.”

Arthur leaves him with Dutch, leaning intently over Evelyn Miller’s America and shooting Dutch shy reverential looks, and goes to find Hosea. He’s by the fire, poking at the dull coals, and he raises a hand as Arthur approaches.

“Found him all right?”

Arthur hums his yes, settling himself on the log Dutch dragged out of the woods as a seat. “Told ‘im we’d have pie for Christmas,” he tells Hosea. “He liked that.”

Hosea laughs. “Our little associate seems mightily driven by food,” he remarks drily.

“Like a damn pig,” Arthur agrees. Hosea chuckles, stretching his legs out and lighting a cigarette.

“I take it Dutch filled you in on his latest scheme,” he remarks, and Arthur can tell from the crinkle at the corner of his eye that excitement’s overtaken his annoyance at Dutch.

“The Ashville thing? He mentioned it,” Arthur says. “Somethin’ about stealin’ the fella’s legacy, or something.”

“Legacy, Arthur, is another word for a fat bank account,” Hosea says. “Besides, if we can play this thing right, there’s a roof over our heads in January. That boy’s already got a cough, and I for one would prefer not to spend the winter thawing out my backside every time I need to shit. I’ll need your help with the paperwork for this one, though.”

Arthur nods, rubbing his hands together in the growing warmth from the fire, and feels odd. Doesn’t know why he feels, suddenly, choked. He feels the way he did when Hosea and Dutch first picked him up, as though any wrong word would have him out on his ear or worse. Like all his words were caught in his throat, because he couldn’t pick the ones that were right.

Hosea, naturally, doesn’t miss a thing. “What’s on your mind?”

Arthur hesitates, chewing his lip, thinking about John’s blank, tearful face; about Mama crying the night the Beckwith disappeared; about old Leslie Ashville alone in his house on Cherry Street, talking to people who aren’t there. About the look on John’s face, hope and wonderment, when Arthur said Dutch was looking. For him.

“He’s scared of us,” he says finally. “Scared of you. And Grimshaw, but that’s—I mean, she scares everyone.”

Hosea snorts gently, but all he says is, “Give him time.”

“How much time?” Arthur says. “Dutch ain’t said if he’s staying with us.”

“Dutch’ll decide when the time’s right,” Hosea says, as if that settles it. As if Arthur hasn’t heard John whimpering in his sleep every damn night since they picked him up. Arthur turns to look at him and Dutch—two dark heads matched at the table—and hopes the right time’s soon.

ii.

The house on Cherry Street is three dusty stories of Italianate brick, lit from within by a dozen candles. From the street, it looks warm, even festive—someone’s hung a grand ring of pine and holly on the heavy oak door—but as soon as Hosea steps inside, he feels the chill. It’s different from the brisk winter evening outside: a dry, sickly cold that seeps through Hosea’s coat and settles along the joints of his bones.

Someone’s dying in this house. Hosea’s felt that cold before.

He follows the maid down the hallway to the parlor, past the cavernous recesses of unlit rooms. Behind the false front of lamps, this house is dark and silent, save the single corridor of light that traces a line down its center. Hosea watches a chandelier of thick, ugly crystals sway mutely above his head as he passes beneath, and fixes his mind on his story.

It’s his second visit to the Ashville mansion. On the first, he introduced himself as William Ashville, the long-lost offspring of the affair a group of Ashville Steel workers told Hosea about over bad whiskey at the Red Hen. It seems the story’s well known among Ashville’s discontented employees: the lady’s name was Eleanor, and Ashville promised her marriage, then left her at the altar and came west instead to make his fortune off the work of honest men. Nobody’s been able to give Hosea an exact date, but one fellow, with a rough white beard and teeth so sparse and loose Hosea suspects he lost one in his beer over the course of the conversation, remembered the year Ashville turned up in Chicago as 1856, so Hosea’s dated the affair to about thirty years ago. He considered, briefly, having Dutch step in as the prodigal bastard, but this part requires a delicacy that Dutch, for all his charms, lacks. Besides, Hosea flatters himself that he can still play thirty. He borrowed a bit of Dutch’s pomade for the occasion, and a little of Susan’s face powder—and besides, old Ashville’s eyesight isn’t that good.

All in all, Ashville took the news of his unwitting fatherhood surprisingly well. Hosea, who after thirty-odd years of disregard for the fairer sex unexpectedly became surrogate parent to an unwashed teenage criminal, can attest to the shock that comes with that sort of arrival. True, there was a moment of initial skepticism from Ashville, but the family bible Hosea produced (purchased from a bookseller in the Levee, embellished by Arthur with the names of a whole fictitious lineage for poor forgotten William Ashville) seemed to turn the tide of his disbelief, and the love letter Hosea wrote after making a study of Ashville’s handwriting clinched the story. Today, Hosea’s back, in character as young William, with two missions: to lend cheer to his aging father’s lonely indisposition, and to lift a copy of the old man’s will.

He hears Ashville’s voice before they reach the parlor: halting, guttural, like water through a clogged pipe. He’s murmuring about the newspaper, about catching a train. The maid leads Hosea into the room, where an unfed fire lights a frail circle around Ashville’s chair and casts long shadows across the rich Turkish carpet, and Hosea can see that it’s empty; that Ashville’s talking to no one.

“Sir?” the maid says, leaning down to the high upholstered chair by the hearth. “Young Mr. William here to see you.”

Mr. Leslie Ashville, sole owner and proprietor of the Ashville Steel Works, looks molded of lean clay. He’s wrapped in a brocade robe that looks like it hasn’t been washed since the early ‘70s, his head bare save the airy thatch of white hair shrouding the glare of his scalp. Hosea finds him fascinatingly grotesque.

“Good evening, father,” he says, settling in the chair across from Ashville, who acknowledges his presence with a faint hum that turns into a cough.

“Is that you, William?” he croaks, finally, and Hosea leans closer to take his hand.

“I’m here.”

“Thought I saw your mother last night,” Ashville rasps. “Thought I heard her, in the walls.”

“Perhaps it was her spirit,” Hosea offers. “I do believe she’s glad to see us reunited.” There’s a bulk of shadow off behind Ashville’s right shoulder in the general shape of a writing desk. Hosea makes a note, and refocuses his attention on Ashville.

“She was beautiful, your mother,” the old man says, and then he’s off chasing the thread of that long-forgotten memory, a thread that seems to unravel every time he reaches another knot. Hosea plays the dream-weaver, dropping a hint or a suggestion every time he hears the man’s voice falter. It’s fragments he offers the old man, things that could have belonged in any lifetime, things easily forgotten and more easily misremembered: the color of a dress, the fate of an old school friend, the name of a parson or a shopkeeper; always just enough to get Ashville’s feet back under him and send him off along another strand of reminiscence. Together, between Ashville’s dying memory and Hosea’s healthy imagination, the two of them write Leslie and Eleanor’s love story by the light of the fading fire as the evening deepens into night.

The bells of St. Clement’s are chiming ten when it finally happens: Ashville stammers, trails off, and doesn’t look to Hosea for the next line of his memory-fantasy. Instead, his ancient head droops and lolls magnificently, and after a moment’s pause Hosea hears a loud, guttering snore. Ashville’s asleep.

Finally.

Easing himself off the slick horsehair of his seat, Hosea crosses to the shadowy desk he noticed earlier in the evening. It’s a heavy thing, made of rich cherrywood and full of drawers and cracks and pigeonholes. Hosea returns to the center of the parlor for a candle, and sets to work searching the desk, an ear out for the maid’s footstep or a shift in Ashville’s steady, ugly breath.

An hour later, he’s slipping out the front door into the midnight chill, bidding the maid a happy Christmas, with the thin pages of Leslie Ashville’s will flat against his side under his heavy coat. He found the lockbox easily enough, stowed in a deep drawer under a sheaf of old bills and past due correspondence, and five minutes was all it took to break the lock while Ashville snored in his seat ten paces away. The will itself is simple: all Ashville’s wealth and property deeded to his nephew Fred Ashville, the current junior proprietor of Ashville Steel and the devil himself as far as most of the working population of the west side’s concerned. Hosea thinks, as he makes his way down Cherry Street under a soft flurry of snow, that they’ll be doing mankind two services this December: keeping Leslie Ashville company on his trip towards the undiscovered country, and seeing to it that Fred Ashville never prospers again.

The campfire’s burning unusually bright when Hosea makes his way through the last bent hickories of Bachelor’s Grove. At first, Hosea thinks it must be Dutch who’s up, caught in one of those odd brain fevers where he can’t sleep till he’s filled fifty pages with words about God and death and man’s perverse indifference to nature—but when he gets closer he sees that it isn’t Dutch at all. It’s John, hunched gracelessly on one of the logs like a disgruntled little bullfrog, tossing little twigs and dead leaves into the flames to watch them sizzle and smoke. His lips are moving, but from his distance Hosea can’t tell what he’s saying. It occurs to Hosea that he’s spent quite a lot of his time lately in the company of people who talk to the air around them.

That’s the thing that worries Hosea. It’s not the taking him in—they’ve done as much before, and not only with Arthur. Hosea knows what it’s like to be ten and cold and empty as a tomb on Judgment Day, and he’s not about to turn away hungry mouths when there’s room at the fire and enough in the pot to go round. Besides, he’s never regretted letting Arthur stay. But Arthur was fourteen, not twelve, and Arthur didn’t talk to people who aren’t there. Arthur was just a kid whose father hit him too much, and a damn good thief. John’s something else, and after weeks Hosea still isn’t sure exactly what.

Hosea approaches the fire, and John starts, shoving his hands under his armpits as though Hosea just caught him doing something bad.

“It’s late,” Hosea observes.

John shrugs. “I’m not tired.” His eyes are huge in the firelight, and Hosea has the feeling he often gets when John looks at him—that the kid is sizing him up, calculating where to strike if trouble starts.

“I can see that,” Hosea says.

“Is he dead?” John asks. Arthur’s been telling him about the scheme, then. Hosea makes no pretense of sensitivity when it comes to death, but having spent a full evening playing the loving son to Ashville, Sr., he feels a mite put off by the ghoulishness of the question.

“Old Ashville? Not yet,” he says. “Go to bed.”

John doesn’t go to bed. He leans back, firelight catching the ragged ends of his hair, and says, “I seen a fella die once.”

“So have I,” Hosea tells him.

“He was coughin’,” John goes on, undeterred. “Blood was comin’ out of his mouth, an’ out of his nose, an’ all down his shirt an’ then—” he pauses dramatically, gathering a handful of rotting leaves into his grubby hand, “—then he shit in his pants, an’ a whole lot of blood came out his mouth, an’ the lady said he’s really dead now.” He tosses the bundle of leaves into the fire, which sends up a small gasp of muddy smoke. Hosea wonders who the lady was. Wonders where this child’s been, to tell that kind of story.

He doesn’t ask. “You’ve been dreaming,” he says, and it’s less a guess than most of what he spun for Ashville earlier tonight. He’s seen that spooked look before—seen it in Arthur’s eyes when he was barely older than John and still fighting his father off in his sleep; seen it in his cousin’s eyes when he came back from Sharpsburg a leg light and ten times heavier for it; seen it in Dutch, sometimes, too. Hosea knows too well what nightmares look like.

John scrubs at the snot trailing from his nose and shrugs. “I seen it,” is all he says. But he shudders, and his skinny shoulders hunch smaller against the night.

He’s clearly not going to go back to bed, and in a way, Hosea can’t see why he should have to. It’s well past midnight now, but Hosea isn’t tired either. The moon’s high, the air’s quiet, and he’s got a job to do. He might as well have some company while he does it.

“Come on,” he says, waving towards the table. John follows him over, and Hosea draws Leslie Ashville’s will from under his coat and spreads the pages across the pocked wood. John, who can’t read and tried to bite Dutch when he offered a lesson, peers at the frail sheets with the curiosity of a spider inspecting a particularly fearsome fly.

“Now,” Hosea begins, “what we’ve got to do is this.”

iii.

On Christmas Eve, something happens.

John isn’t sure at first what’s happened, only that folks are talking real loud and nobody’s telling him anything, but that’s not new. He goes into the trees and finds a big old stick and hits a stump till it falls into soft, stinking rubble, and stamps in the snow till there’s a flat circle all around. There’s a fat squirrel running around the base of a tree a ways off, and it stops for a minute and sniffs in John’s direction.

“I ain’t smelly,” he tells the squirrel. “An’ I ain’t stupid.”

The squirrel twitches and scoots away, tiny claws on the snow.

“John!” Arthur calls, and John kicks bits of rotten wood across the ground until Arthur comes through the trees. “Get your coat on,” he says, nodding back towards camp; “we’re goin’ into town.”

“Why,” John asks. He thinks about a wagon full of kids, rolling through the iron gates of the orphanage. He thinks he could kill Arthur, if he tried to put him in there. Kick his nuts, put his thumbs in his eyes and squeeze the jelly out, like that fella did to Pa in the bar, get his gun off him and point it to his heart.

If he had to do it, he thinks he could. He’d be sad about it after, though. He likes Arthur.

“Ashville’s dead,” Arthur’s saying. His face is split with a grin; John’s never seen him smile much. “We’re gonna be rich. We’re gettin’ the house.”

“Oh,” John says. He can see the old man in his head, wrinkled and tiny in a house like a tomb, the way Hosea told him the night he came back with that secret pack of papers. Worms in his nose. Gobs of blood pouring, pouring out of his slack, black mouth. “Really?”

“Really.”

It’s a cold ride into town, perched on the back of Arthur’s horse with his arms tight around Arthur’s middle. John can hear Dutch talking up ahead, but the wind’s too quick to hear the words. John probably wouldn’t understand it anyway. He can’t understand half what Dutch says. He’s never met anyone as smart as that. He wonders when Dutch is going to find out that John’s dumb as a rock. Dumb as a rock and the devil in him, that’s what people say. Dutch don’t seem to mind the devil so much, though. John doesn’t know what to think about that.

How exactly they got this house, John still doesn’t understand. Hosea took that dead man’s sheaf of papers, and said we’ll write these out again, and he and Arthur sat at the table for hours inking and scratching till Hosea said it was all perfect, and then there was some meetings with lawyers and magistrates and aldermen, and then it was all done, only the old man weren’t dead. John asked if Dutch was going to kill him, but Dutch just laughed and said I ain’t a murderer, I’m a philanthropist, and Hosea said that’s my old dad you’re talking about, and now John isn’t sure. But Arthur said it’s like a game, don’t you worry, and when the old man dies we’ll take his house, and now he’s dead. John squeezes a little tighter around Arthur’s middle, and tugs himself closer in the saddle.

They’re riding through the grand part of town now, the part where every house has three floors and curly carvings on the windowsills and a pretty little tree out front all its own. John remembers sleeping here one night last summer, after Pa died, in a little stand of apple trees behind one of the mansions. He ate the hard little apples off the ground till his stomach hurt, and fell asleep in a shed, and in the morning an old African man came along and told him to run or he’d be in a pile of trouble, so John ran. He’s scanning the houses as they pass, trying to remember which one it was with the apples and the old man who said to run.

The house where Ashville died is cold, and it smells like dust. John watches Arthur and Dutch and Hosea and Miss Grimshaw striding through the halls, crowing and laughing and saying Shakespeare, and looks to see if he can spot the place where the old man died. But there’s no blood on the floors or the furniture, just warm leather and shiny velvet and wood that gleams like gold when Dutch pulls back the heavy curtains and lets the winter sun spill over the room.

“Merry Christmas,” Dutch booms, and Hosea says “hear, hear,” and John wonders if the ghosts can hear them too.

Arthur takes him upstairs. Upstairs is a row of rooms, each the size of a house, each full of cobwebs and dead beetles and beds with heavy ceilings. Arthur tugs the curtains aside in each room while John sneezes in the bright dust and pokes at the silky wallpaper.

Then Miss Grimshaw comes up the winding staircase and sets them to work, hauling carpetbags up the stairs and beating dust out of the duvets with an old broom from the kitchen. She snaps orders like a policeman and drags John by her iron knuckles to a room at the end of the musty hall and tells him it’s his. John suspects a trap, but Arthur laughs and says I ain’t bunkin’ with you no more, and John understands. After supper that night, when Dutch and Hosea pop open a bottle of wine they found in the cellar and Arthur starts singing and Hosea says John can’t have any wine and Dutch says it’s all right and Grimshaw says it ain’t, John sneaks upstairs to the Room That’s His, and wonders when they’ll drop him at the orphanage.

He’s lying in the dust, watching moonlight crawl over the tall windows, when he hears the voice. It doesn’t sound like Dutch or Hosea or Arthur, but it’s a man, and it’s saying his name.

John.

John stands up. The door to the hallway opens, opens without him touching it, and on the other side’s a man who looks familiar. He’s not tall and he’s not short, with a little mustache and a fancy suit, and his hat reaches towards the ceiling and his eyes are fixed on John’s heart and not his face.

“John,” he says, “I’ve missed you.”

Then his face swells and melts. His eyes are hot black hollows, crawling with white worms, blood pouring out his mouth. John watches the river of black gore, swimming down his front, running over the rich, dusty carpet, the smell of shit rising thick and hot around him, and the man twitches and moans and heaves. Blood pouring out his mouth. John tries to scream and he can’t scream, he can’t breathe, and the smell of blood and shit makes him gag and retch, and the blood keeps coming, a black waterfall streaming from the strange man’s face as he sways and leers and shimmers in the dark.

“John!”

Someone’s holding his shoulders, shaking him. There’s carpet under his feet, warm and soft, and he gags, and hears Arthur say shit.

He opens his eyes. He’s in the dark, in the hallway, and Arthur’s here in a big white shirt with his hair mussed up from sleep. He’s got John by the shoulders, and he’s got an odd look on his face, like something bad is happening, and John wonders if it’s happening to him.

He looks worried, John realizes with a muffled shock.

“You okay?” he’s asking, and John shakes his head before he can think about it. His heart’s beating like an army drum. He thinks he can feel it shaking his whole body. He steps from foot to foot on the swampy carpet, and realizes his pants are wet. “What happened,” Arthur asks.

John’s stomach jerks and twists inside of him. If he tells Arthur the truth, he’ll be gone by morning.

Arthur’s hand’s at the back of his head, in his hair, steady and warm.

“Come on, kid.”

John sucks in air.

“It was him,” he whispers. “It was the devil.”

Blood pouring out his mouth.

Arthur sighs, a little sound that’s almost a laugh, and says, “There ain’t no devil here. You had a dream.” He leans in, smelling like wine and horse, and pats John on the back, one arm around him pressing close, his scratchy chin brushing against John’s forehead. John thinks it’s a hug. He doesn’t know what that means.

“I ain’t good,” John starts to tell him—heart in his stomach, stomach in his throat. “I’m crazy an’ I’m bad an’ I got the devil in me an’ he follows me an’ last year he made me shoot a man till his brains came out through his nose an’ the nuns’ll give me back to him,” but Arthur stops him, hand on his cheek, shaking his head and saying no, no, forget all that, you’re dreamin’, there ain’t no devil and there ain’t no nuns here. You’re home now, John. Forget that.

In the end, Arthur picks John up like he’s a kid, and John’s too tired to complain. He wraps his arms around Arthur’s neck and lets him carry him down the hall, away from the room with the devil’s blood soaking into the floor and into Arthur’s room, where there’s a heap of orange coals in the hearth and a wooly blanket that Arthur wraps him in once his sodden pants are gone. They sit by the fire, John a mute cocoon and Arthur more than half asleep, and Arthur pulls out his notebook and shows John a funny drawing of a man with an apple for a head.

John thinks about home.

“You’re a good kid,” Arthur says, his voice soft and silly. He’s drunk. “Dutch ain’t gonna send you back, y’know.”

John’s throat aches like there’s someone punching it. His cheeks are hot, lit up by the fire and the tears spilling up and over his eyelids. He can’t answer back. He thinks about a flat plain, gray grass wrinkled by the wind, and a heap of rocks at the edge of a hill. He can’t get the picture out of his head. Can’t get the devil’s voice out of his throat.

“You’re home,” Arthur says, and the warmth of the fire swallows him up, and he sobs into Arthur’s side for a long time.

Down the hallway, in the darkness, the door swings silently open and shut.

#rdr secret santa 2020 #rdr2 #john marston #arthur morgan #rdr2 fic #we got some christmas here and we got some wild handwaving towards the background plot i had in mind but didnt have the energy to write #this really might not make sense but it is gifted with love to my perfect wife

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