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frostbitebakery · 2 months

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Loud.

part one two three

“You’re impossible!”

Obi-Wan harrumphs back at Cody with feeling. The way they’re running it’s equally impossible to sign or code tap. He engages the lights on his gloves, squeezes his fingers in a rhythm and the code appears in short and long lines on the back of his hand. Which he gladly shows to Cody. “You’re one to talk.”

“Dogpiling Grievous was a calculated move,” Cody huffs back, skids to a halt at a maintenance door that Obi-Wan almost missed. While Cody types in the emergency sequence, he carefully gets his message ready.

“You’re bad at math,” Cody reads blandly when he turns around. “Very funny.”

“Careful,” he signs, fingers stiff and unwieldy as the nervousness crawls through him. Setting in his knees, making them weak. A clump in his stomach. Stiff, clumsy hands.

“You know you can change your mind any moment,” Cody says, catches his eyes and Obi-Wan sinks into the warmth. “We can stop whenever you need.”

“No.”

Cody waits for him to continue but he can’t even nod or move. The gap between their fingers feels insurmountable.

But he wants this. Needs this, on a level deeper than the trust he has in Cody.

“Shadows don’t trust easily,” he wants to say. “I do even less.” His trust is forged in pain and loss and bittersweet victories. And faith.

“I like hugging,” his fingers confess and he feels stupid for the brief moment until Cody’s face lights up.

The mask digs into his face where it’s smashed against Cody’s shoulder. Cody’s arms feel safe and unhesitating and so sure it unlocks Obi-Wan’s knees and stomach and fingers and he’s hugging back with eyes closed.

For the first time in a long, long while he wants his voice back. He doesn’t know what he’d say. And perhaps it doesn’t matter. Just the urge to pull off the mask and move his mouth—

soft lips press against his temple just over the edge of the mask, gentle fingers tap on his hand in code, “I hear you.”

You really do, don’t you, Obi-Wan thinks, watches his own hand tap in the same rushed rhythm. One short, one long, two short.

“I hear you,” Cody signs back, forehead against Obi-Wan’s brow.

Three long.

Obi-Wan never lost his voice.

Three short, one long.

Not with the people that matter.

One short.

“Me too,” Cody whispers. “Ready?”

The catches on the mask hiss as they open.

“You’re impossible!”

“You’re bad at math,” Cody reads blandly when he turns around. “Very funny.”

Obi-Wan squeezes out another message.

“It was also very hot,” Cody reads. And pauses.

Obi-Wan imagines the blush hidden by the helmet vividly and smiles.

He’s ushered with no further comment into the maintenance closet which bears entrance to some shortcuts across the Malvolence. He looks at Cody in question who shrugs.

“I briefly saw the holoprints in one of the war rooms.”

Yes. One of the many reasons this infatuation is turning into something warm and bright and unbearably sweet. Cody is making himself a place in Obi-Wan’s heart like he’s coming back home.

“We’re almost there, Sir,” Cody says suddenly, relief palpable in his voice. Master Windu must have finally reached him on comms. “Understood, Sir. No more shenanigans, Sir.”

Obi-Wan’s shoulders shake with laughter.

“The mask helps me breathe,” Obi-Wan explains, head held high under Cody’s gaze. Getting out of breath could possibly suffocate him. Too dry or humid air is painful. With the exact parameters of what his body is able to handle, the healers had settled on a mask to protect him when he runs too fast. “Or other strenuous activities,” he adds with a slight smirk.

Cody shakes his head at him with a fond smile that tingles in Obi-Wan’s chest pleasantly. His thumb caresses the web of scars going from Obi-Wan’s bottom lip. “Can you feel that?”

“A little bit.” Not much at all, when it comes down to it. Kissing has become unimportant to him out of necessity. Few people had wanted to kiss him in the first place when the scars had still looked fresh. He’s lucky his jaw hadn’t needed to be replaced, so he’s not complaining.

It had been difficult nonetheless. To work around the muteness, the way his body had been changed. He’s learned to put more importance into other gestures than kissing on the mouth.

Cody’s forehead rests against his once more, catching his hand and slowly stroking the palm, up to the fingertips. “Thank you for trusting me.”

Gestures like Cody’s.

“I didn’t expect to see you there,” Cody says as they settle into the rescue shuttle. “General Windu said we had reliable intel to do a hit and run on the Malvolence.”

Obi-Wan waves his hand, palm empty before a flick of his fingers reveals the data stick.

“Information retrieval,” Cody asks, voice changing from vocoder to his usual timbre as he lifts his helmet. “I imagine there was a lot of useful data to harvest.” The shuttle is rocked as the warship explodes. “I should’ve saved my sweets ration,” Cody murmurs, eyes reflecting fire and bone-deep satisfaction.

“You’re dying for a fabricated war,” Obi-Wan doesn’t sign. The intel he managed to get his hands on is enough to connect the missing senate funds with Serenno’s newly acquired wealth from another angle and make it waterproof.

Destabilizing a whole galaxy for— for shits and giggles. Obi-Wan sits on his hands, shuts himself up so he can think.

“The Dark Side has clouded their vision. Hundreds of senators are now under the influence of a Sith lord called Darth Sidious,” Dooku’s voice grates through his memory. Obi-Wan hadn’t been able to tell him just where he could store his lightsaber for safekeeping so his erstwhile grandmaster had taunted him with the truth, in hindsight.

Anakin.

The signs rush out of his hands, too fast for Cody at first. He repeats himself, trusts that Cody, brilliant, brilliantly fast Cody, will get it.

The helmet is back on Cody’s head, lights flickering on, antennas adjusting their angle.

“General Windu, this is Commander Cody using emergency frequency 2-Esk-5-0. Immediate contact with General Bilaba required. Immediate removal from battle of General Skywalker required. Use of force strongly encouraged should he resist.”

Obi-Wan crosses the small distance, waving his hands before using the quick battle sign for “deliver message”.

“General, Master Shadow Kenobi has a message,” Cody says, doesn’t pause as he translates to voice even though his back goes ramrod straight. “Chancellor is the Sith. I have proof. Ani must be kept away from him.”

“Some call them traitors,” Cody whispers, “but I’d rather turn a blind eye and let them run than watch them step into blaster fire because they don’t want to fight with every fiber of their being.”

“You’re a good man,” Obi-Wan signs, hands held up a bit so Cody can see. He hadn’t wanted to meet Obi-Wan’s eyes for the confession, had chosen to press him close under his chin instead. “You’re a good man,” Obi-Wan taps out on Cody’s chest so he can feel his words, too.

#loud au #codywan #obi wan kenobi #jedi shadow!obi wan #mute!obi wan #commander cody #star wars #sw tcw #my art #frostbitebakery art

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jaycutty · 2 years

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I’m feeling particularly masochistic tonight so I’m watching Pat Foley’s last broadcast to feel as much pain as possible.

#I actually forgot I never watched it since I was there live #So it's bittersweet I guess #The way watching this team is going to be nearly unbearable #Jeez

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pandoraslxna · 1 year

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Bittersweet revenge

adult Lo‘ak x Quaritch‘s daughter reader

Words: 3.7k

Summary: Ever since the day Lo‘ak had found out that you’ve chosen to rescue your father, the man that basically murdered Neteyam and made his whole life hell, he was out for revenge.

Warnings: explicit smut, minors dni, dark!Lo‘ak, human reader, aged up characters, degradation kink, non-con / dub-con, p in v, handcuffs, vaginal fingering, forced orgasm, size difference, belly bulge, angst

Fifteen years have passed since the battle at the three brothers rock. Fifteen years, since you’ve chosen your fathers side over those of your, more or less, adoptive Na’vi family. It’s been so many years since you’ve last seen any of them, the people you’ve basically spent your whole childhood with, like a second family. No, like your only family, since you didn’t even know your father was (somehow) still alive.

It wasn’t really him, you knew that. He was a clone. A recombinant soldier. The only thing he and your father had in common were his memories, but that didn’t really matter to you. What mattered was the way he treated you. To him, you were his daughter. No if’s and but's. Quaritch was the only thing that came closest to a real father to you in this world and even though you loved the Sully‘s, it was the only right thing to do. You belonged to him and his people more than you belonged to the Na‘vi.

It’s been so many years, yet you don’t even need to look twice to recognize the familiar Na‘vi that was standing right in front of you.

Originally, you’ve only planned to take a walk. Get some samples for Dr. Garvin‘s study about Panopyras while you’re at it. You didn’t even realize how far away from bridgehead city you’ve wandered off to, until it was too late. You’ve mindlessly walked past the kill zone and into the forest, further than you were allowed. Thankfully, after growing up around here, you knew these forests enough to protect yourself from most danger. What you didn’t expect though, was that any Na‘vi would dare to come this close to the border of forest that lead straight to bridgehead‘s kill zone.

But of course, this one did. So typical of him.

You instantly knew that it was him. Lo‘ak. You hadn’t seen him in over a decade, but you knew that it was him without a doubt. And you could tell that he knew it’s you, too. You could see it in his eyes.

"You’ve grown", he simply says, his features not giving away anything. You finally exhale the breathe that you didn’t even realize you were holding, relieved that he was the first to break this unbearable silence, after staring at each other for several minutes. What do you even say to someone, years after you’ve left them so abruptly? And when you had parted ways, it wasn’t in a good way. You had left as a traitor.

But he was one to talk about growing up. You remember the times when he was just barely an inch taller than you, when you teased him about how you would overtake him one day and how he was so small and thin. Oh were you wrong about that. How tall was he now, you wondered. Nine, maybe even ten feet? He was probably taller than the recombinant clone of your father, which was insane to even think about. His body was lean, wide shoulders and a small waist and he looked so much like Jake now. But he still wears his hair the same, two braids loosely dangling in front of his face, the sides of his head shaved clean.

Though his braids are longer now, at least by eight inches. He must’ve spent a whole while longer with the metkayina after you had left– the clans infamous tattoos decorating his chest and parts of his stomach were a clear inidcation of it.

The way he carried himself had changed too. He seems so confident and reserved as he stands there, his features stern and serious and you can’t help but wonder where that happy, curious and playful teenager you‘ve known for all your childhood had went. The one you had always loved from the bottom of your heart, for being exactly that. Did he hide his true self because he was cautious of you? You definitely wouldn’t blame him.

"It’s nice to see you, Lo‘ak", you greet him with a smile, genuinely happy, because you thought you would never see him again. At the same time, it made you wonder what he was even doing out here. Did the Sully‘s finally decide to come back to their home, return to the Omatikaya clan? Or was he just here for a visit? Nevertheless, what was he doing out here? The Na‘vi usually never came this close to the kill zone. You knew that it was strictly forbidden, when you had still lived among the omatikaya clan.

Lo‘aks eyes carefully scanned over your much smaller frame, eyes barely moving as he did. He was taking in every inch of change on your appearance, just like you did. But he was much more subtle about it. If you didn’t know him so well, you probably wouldn’t even have noticed. You couldn’t help but wonder what he was thinking about right now. Was he angry? Was he happy to see you again? Did he even care? Your questions were surprisingly answered just shortly after, when he finally moved from his spot and approached you slowly.

"I’ve been thinking about you ever since", Lo‘ak confesses, with his eyes still fixed on yours. You can’t help the way your eyebrows rise at his statement.

"About… me?", you question him as if you weren’t sure you heard him right. Lo‘ak shakes his head and chuckles, a low, throaty sound that almost sounds a little sinister to you. "Oh you have no idea…"

You swallow thickly, meanwhile he steps even closer to you. The eye contact that he was holding with you, was almost too intense to bear, yet you couldn’t bring yourself to shy away. You felt uneasy. Like some prey that’s face to face with its predator and if you would dare to look away, he would eat you alive.

"I’ve been thinking about you. You and Quaritch, to be more specific", Lo‘ak says and instantly, you feel your blood run cold, "Been thinking about how I can make daddy’s life hell, just like he did with mine. I’ve been thinking about the things that mean most to him. And you know what I’ve realized?"

You blink at him, like a deer caught in headlights, "W-What?"

"There’s nothing", he chuckles, "Nothing matters to him, nothing really means anything to him."

You could almost hear your own heartbeat pound in your ears when his hand unexpectedly, but slowly, reaches out for you. Your eyes widen, scared of whatever his intentions might be, but then he simply tugs a strand of hair behind your ear. With a half hearted smile on his face, he continues, "Nothing, but you. You’re the one thing he cares about."

"Lo‘ak what d—", but before you could finish asking him what he was even talking about, you find yourself flat on the ground. Lo‘ak crouches over you, pins you down, with your front pressed flat against the ground. You give a yelp of surprise, instinctively struggling against his hold but it’s pointless. He’s always been superior to your strength.

You could feel him shift behind you and then he binds something around your wrists, tying them together so tight that it almost hurt. Almost.

"Lo‘ak please d-don’t hurt me! I swear I’ll tell you anything, everything that I know, but please don’t hurt me!"

"Shh, it’s okay", he coos, "I could never hurt you, sweet thing." His words were meant to soothe you, yet they send your heart racing. Your anxiety grows worse underneath your skin, once you feel the dull side of what you could only assume was a knife and then the sharp sound of fabric ripping, as he cut through the seams of your pants. Next was your slip and then your shirt. He cut everything off that you wore, leaving you bare and exposed before him. You felt humiliated. A cold breeze of air made you shiver as you laid there, not even daring to breathe.

With his hands on your hip, Lo‘ak guides you, makes you curve your spine and wedges your thighs apart with his knee. His hands are warm on your skin, rough palms gliding over the underside of your thighs and then knead the plump of your ass. Blame it on the adrenaline rushing through your veins like some drug, but it felt strangely good. Still, you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of letting him know that. You trembled at the feeling of his fingers digging into your flesh. A low hum, coming from deep inside his chest reached your ears when his hands wandered further down the roundness of your bottom. With his hands on either side of your thighs, he spread your soft folds apart using his thumbs. Instantly, you tug against your restraints. The cold forest air brushing against your most private parts suddenly made you very aware of the situation you were in.

"Lo‘ak wait–"

But the Na‘vi only chuckled. Glancing at him over your shoulder, you’re met with the same pair of eyes that always looked at you so adoringly, so full of love. But now he was just looking at you like you were prey. Like a cat watching a mouse that was caught in a trap. Like he wanted to consume you.

Lo’ak brings his hands down between your thighs, cupping your sex to get a feel of how wet you are and you inhale sharply. His long, slender digits glide through your folds easily and he hums, "So wet for me already, hm? Did I get you all excited like this? Or did you just miss me so much?"

You hiss when not only one, but two of his fingers then slide into you with little to no effort. "What would your daddy think, if he could see you like this? You’ve grown into such a filthy girl", Lo‘ak says lowly, his words mocking you and you squeeze your eyes shut as if you couldn’t hear him like this. But they fly right open again when he starts to pump his digits in and out of you. His pace is fast, merciless even, and you squirm underneath him. He curls them as if he was beckoning to you, rapidly hitting that spongey spot that made your eyes roll to the back of your head.

It was embarrassing how fast Lo‘ak could turn you into a trembling, whimpering mess. The squelching sounds he expertly worked out of your pussy only added further to your humiliation. At this pace, it was impossible not to come. And Lo‘ak knew it. It was like he needed to draw that orgasm out of you, like his life depended on it.

You could feel that familiar, addicting, tension building up in your core, stealing the very air from your lungs as you moaned and gasped with your cheek shoved against the mossy ground. Lo’ak wasn’t gentle as he helped you to your release. He straight up pushed you over the edge with a pinch to your sensitive clit, rolling it with his thumb until your legs were shaking. But he didn’t let you ride it out, didn’t let you relish in the feeling of your orgasm because he draws away when you’re still at your high.

You can’t help but whine when he leaves you empty, with your walls clenching around nothing, missing the feeling of his rough fingers scissoring you open.

Looking over your shoulder, you watch him flip his loincloth to the side to reveal his hard cock. He was big– like, really big. Definitely matching the rest of him, in size and color. You didn’t know what scared you most, the thought of taking his entire length or having his girth split you open. You could literally see it throb in his hands as he stroked himself a few times. Meanwhile, his eyes were still fixed on yours, like he was in some sort of staring contest that he was about to win. He seemingly took great pleasure in watching you swallow thickly by the sight of him.

"You know", he begins as he then lines his cock up with your slick hole, "I used to have a huge crush on you when we were kids."

You feel the head of it, thick and warm, nudge between your soft lips and then prod at your entrance. You close your eyes shut and try your best to mentally prepare yourself, but it’s all for nothing when he finally pushes the tip in, letting his cock sink into the tight heat of your cunt. He’s rewarded with a high pitched whine falling from your plumb lips as you tense underneath him.

"I’d come home and rub one out whenever we hung out. Always hugged you a little tighter when you said goodbye so I could imagine you pressed against me, all hot and desperate. Ha. Just like right now, isn’t that funny?" He was saying this so nonchalantly, like he wasn’t just burying himself balls deep inside your pussy.

When his pelvis finally makes contact with the soft swell of your ass, he groans and let’s his head fall back against his neck. For a moment he stays like this, just relishing in the feeling of your soft walls fluttering around his cock.

"Fuck", Lo‘ak breathes out before he looks down at you again, "Just as tight as I imagined. Always knew you’d feel so fucking good."

He let out a grunt as he pulled back slightly, before burying himself deep again, his dick knocking on your cervix like an iron hammer. You choke on a whimper and then he sets his pace, fast and deep strokes, like he was aiming to fuck the very soul out of you. You were so tiny compared to him, it was a miracle that you were even physically able to take all of him and with the way he plunged his cock into you, it felt like he was already in your stomach. The sounds he knocked out of your throat, every time his pelvis made contact with your ass, were straight up pornographic. With his hands secured on your hips, he pulled you back to meet his thrusts and it made the whole thing so much worse. Or better? At this point, you didn’t even know anymore.

Everything was too much –too good, too deep, too fast, too rough. All you could do was take it. Just lay there, with your face shoved uncomfortably against the ground and your back painfully arched and take whatever he was giving to you. It was like he used fifteen years full of pent up hate and anger and the unresolved need for revenge and took it all out on you. Because anger was everything he had left. Because anger was better than tears, better than grief and better than guilt. It was so much easier to handle.

Meanwhile, you felt that tension building again. You feel it crawl under your skin, a warmth spreading through your core and you can’t help but push yourself back against Lo‘ak. You wanted– no, you needed to cum. You find yourself having no control over this, just letting yourself go because it feels too damn good.

"Shit, are you coming again? Feels good, right?", you hear Lo‘ak chuckle behind you, squeezing the flesh of your hips a little harder when you clench around his cock, "Yeah, so fucking good, we should’ve done this sooner."

It's a buildup of tension that arches your back and curls your toes and just when you think you can't take it anymore, something snaps. When you come, it’s like a release. It pulses throughout your body and you moan, loud and lewd and you should probably feel a little embarrassed too, but you couldn’t care less. Not when Lo’ak was fucking you through it so good, until it was on the verge of overstimulation.

"There you go, fuuck yes", he groans, slumped over your trembling frame so his mouth was close enough to your ear that you could hear him breathe and pant, "You sound so fucking cute when you come, you know that? All these noises just for me. I‘m flattered."

You hum in response, whether you agreed to his words or not, you didn’t even know. You feel like a warm puddle of goo when he suddenly pulls out of you. You’re slick between your legs, wincing when he flips you over and onto your back so you were facing him. Laying on your own arms, that were still bound behind your back, like this was uncomfortable, but you didn’t had nearly enough brain capacity to care about that right now.

You probably looked a little worn out, your eyes half lidded and barely focused until Lo‘ak pinched the soft of you thighs and you let out a small hiss.

"Hey", he chuckled above you when you finally looked up at him, "don’t pass out on me now."

Almost effortlessly, he pushes his thick cock back inside you. You felt full. So incredibly full, as he slid himself past your sensitive entrance. The last few inches of his length were introduced with a harsh thrust that punched the air from your lungs with a grunt.

"You feel that?", one of his hands comes to caress the swell of your lower abdomen, where his cock was nestled deep in your core and created this very visible bulge, "I’m all the way up here, see?"

Your eyes widen when he uses his thumb to press down on it, before he started moving his hips again. It seemingly bought him pleasure, feeling his cock move underneath your flesh. He was transfixed by the sight too.

Putting just a little more force behind his thrusts, he enjoyed how your pussy tightened around him, your body struggling to take all of him in this new position. Thankfully, you were so, so incredibly wet. So much so, that your slick begins to leak out and dribble down the curve of your bottom. His heavy balls smack against the slickness flowing out of you, creating more of these obscene sounds that filled both of your ears.

"Hmh, that’s it. Want you to feel me— fuck, so deep inside that little pussy you'll still feel me there for days."

"Lo‘ak", you draw his name out into a mewl, almost as if you were begging. But begging for what? You had no idea what you were even begging for. Maybe you just wanted to say his name, taste it on your tongue. "Lo‘ak", you moan it again. It’s been so long since you’ve said it out loud, so many years. "Lo‘ak, Lo‘ak", you chant it with every thrust of his hips, mix it between loud moans and whimpers.

"Again", he pants, his breathing becoming more rapid and heavier than before, "Say it again."

"Lo’ak! Lo’ak! F-Fuck, Lo’ak!", you moan his name like a prayer, again and again. Once for every year that you had spent without him. Once for every time you cried yourself to sleep because you missed him so much. Once for every time you found yourself laying in your bed, hands pushed past the waistband of your pyjama pants as you played with yourself, with him on your mind. "Lo‘ak! Lo‘ak!"

His rhythm seemingly begins to falter, like your words affected him enough to draw him closer to the edge of his orgasm. But he wasn’t the only one who was close yet again, with the way your walls were clamping down on his cock. You feel his pace change, not necessarily slower but his thrusts become shorter, deeper.

"I’m gonna cum. Gonna cum and fill you up and you will walk all the way back home with my cum dripping down your thighs and shit— I hope your daddy sees. Let him know it was me, that I did it. I fucked his precious daughter, ruined her for every other men", Lo‘ak groaned the words before he slumped over. His face was hovering over yours, just inches apart and for a moment you think, you hope, that he would kiss you. He’s was so close. So incredibly close, you wouldn’t even need to lift your head, just a little tilt would be enough—

But that kiss never comes.

What finally brings you to fall apart, was the sudden feeling of his warm cum flooding your insides. You whimper his name, one last time before he stills his movements. Your walls spasm around him and he watches your eyes roll to the back of your head. He’s silent, just watching you, until you’ve come down from your high.

When you finally open your eyes again, you’re struggling to catch your breathe, while he seemed completely unfazed.

You blink a few times before you realize that his mimic had returned to this cold, untouchable and emotionless face. The one you would’ve never thought you’d ever see on him. On him, that boy that you would’ve described as the most joyful person in your life not long ago.

But the words, that then leave your lips, are the complete opposite of that. You cringe at little once they had slipped out, yet it was impossible to hold them back any longer. Where he had all this hate, pent up over the last fifteen years, you had nothing but love. For him.

It filled your heart, painfully even. It was like your feelings, the ones you had suppressed for so long, had suddenly erupted like lava from a volcano. And they hurt quiet the same way. Burned your throat and then your tongue, once they had spilled.

"Lo‘ak I… you know I love you. I always have."

He looks at you. A second passes and then another. You wince when he pulls himself out of you, leaving you completely exposed before him. The sensation of his still warm cum seeping out of your overused hole was uncomfortable and you couldn’t help but close your thighs and press them together tightly in an attempt to keep it from flowing out. Meanwhile, Lo’ak raises to his full height, straightening his loincloth to cover his privat parts again.

You look at him with big, round eyes, a faint blush still lingering on your face as you wait for him to finally respond. Or at least untie your arms as they were starting to ache horribly.

"L-Lo‘ak?", you call out for him softly.

Warmth spreads in your chest when he crouches down next to you, one of his hands coming to caress your soft cheek. You lean into it almost instinctively and right when you thought he would either respond or untie you, help you up and redress… he draws away completely.

"No. You don’t."

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johnwickb1tsch · 4 months

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bittersweet ~ a yandere!John Wick x fem!reader sunshine/grump coffee shop AU... Part 1

-Imagine that after John Wick wins his freedom from the High Table, he [re]retires to your sleepy little mountain town, where you work in a coffee shop...

-Your quaint little town tucked in the mountains is the kind of place people go to get away from it all, and you can’t help but wonder what Mr. Wick is running from. He is an unfairly handsome man. You nearly make a huge fucking fool of yourself, the first time he approaches your counter, so taken that you could hardly speak. For all his good looks there is something compellingly melancholy about him. You see it in his soulful dark eyes, and the set of his shoulders. You can see this man carries a weight beyond what anyone of his years should bear.

-He becomes a regular at your little coffee shop, and you get over your shyness with him. He’s soft spoken, sometimes a little grumpy, but usually impeccably courteous compared to some of your unbearably entitled clientele visiting from the Big City for the ski resort or the hiking. He never orders anything fancy, just black coffee, and he likes to stay for an hour or so in the cozy cabin atmosphere of your shop. He favors a corner table tucked in the back by the river-stone fireplace, usually reading an old book, though sometimes you think he just sits, his attention fixed beyond the page he’s on, eyes not really seeing the room.

-You manage not to stare too hard, when you see him without gloves for the first time, and realize he is missing his left ring finger. You are not repulsed. You just wonder what happened to him.

-In time you notice he barely touches his unadorned coffee, and you wonder if he even likes it. You don't know where you get the cheek to tease this so-serious man. “Do you just order it like that to match your clothes?” You’ve never seen him in anything but head to toe black.

At first he looks at you as though you have grown a second head. Then he answers, completely dead pan, “Maybe it matches my soul.”

You snort with laugher, not believing him.

Maybe you should have, looking back.

“Sure, Mr. Wick.”

The next day you surprise him with a cup of something you concocted with him in mind. It's nothing too scathingly original. Just a dark chocolate mocha, with a splash of hazelnut, and just a bit of steamed cream. “Try this,” you say, setting it on his table totally unsolicited. You feel validated, for he's barely touched his black coffee again.

“What is it?” he asks, peering at it suspiciously.

“I just think you might need something a little sweet.”

He looks up at you through his long hair, and you don't know why, but a little chill runs down your spine. It's not fear, exactly. It's like walking in the woods, and stumbling on a powerful animal on the trail. Something that maybe could eat you, if it chose, but instead just disappears back into the dark trees.

You do not pester him anymore that day, even if it is the highlight of your shift sometimes. But when you go to clean up his dishes you do notice the cup you gave him is empty.

He doesn’t come in for almost a week after that, and you fear that maybe you were too pushy and pissed him off with your boldness.

Maybe it's a little pathetic, the way your heart leaps when he walks through the door again.

“I’ll have…whatever that thing was you made the other day.”

You try not to gloat, but your lips twist in a smile.

-It becomes your little mission in life to make this man smile, and if just the corner of his mouth ticks up at some point during his visit you feel as though you’ve accomplished a good thing.

Maybe it’s totally a cliché, but you’re an artist, and when you’re not making coffee, or cleaning up coffee, you draw bright designs on the chalkboard around the menu with your pastels. You make elaborate landscapes and art nouveau maidens inspired by Mucha. People in town seem to enjoy your weekly designs, which is nice, even if it’s not entirely the recognition you crave. Four years of art school just to doodle on the chalkboard, you can hear your father say. He’s not wrong, but it still stings.

One day, you sketch Mr. Wick reading in the corner on the back of a discarded receipt. He is…such a lovely man. When you walk past you slip it on the table for him. You don’t let yourself watch his reaction. If you had, you would have seen his expression soften, the stony façade cracking even if just for a moment.

Is this how you see him? Not some broken down old man, the way he absolutely feels after his war with the High Table, but something…not unpleasant to look at.

You don’t know it at the time, but this is the action that sets off an avalanche. You wake a sleeping beast in him, and a dark obsession begins to kindle.

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