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ficsilike-reblogged · 10 months

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Invisible Smoke - Four

Summary: There is something going on with Jake’s favorite mechanic. And he doesn’t run.

Pairing: Jake “Hangman” Seresin/F!Reader (No Y/N)

Word Count: 10.9k

ABSOLUTELY NO MINORS ALLOWED

A/N: I do not keep a tag list!! Life is still weird but thank you all for sticking with this little story of mine. I really appreciate all the kind words you sent on the last chapter. Only one more chapter to go!

Warnings: Naval inaccuracies, stalking, bodily injury, domestic abuse, and unhealthy coping mechanisms. Also, Jake is a (stubborn) simp.

Someone had slashed your tires.

Well, you shouldn’t say someone. You knew who had done it. It didn’t exactly take a doctorate to read the context clues—but you were pretty sure your insurance would drop you if you put in another claim, so you begrudgingly prepared to pay the hefty towing fee to the nearest tire shop and fork over even more cash for four new tires. This was one of the few times you wished your little bungalow actually had a garage. And god, you were so tired of this. So tired of the mind games he thought he was playing with you. He thought he was clever. But it was all just so repetitive. You had half a mind to just wait, out in the open, to let him do what he wanted just so it would be over.

It had only been two days since the dog fight football game and the following get together at the Hard Deck. Two days since you caught Jake’s eye at the water’s edge and felt your entire chest twist. He knew now. He knew what you were hiding.

You hadn’t been able to read the look in his eyes but Bradley had taken you aside before you slipped away for the night and basically told you that Jake, for better or for worse, was wanting and willing to help. “Give him a chance, Punch. Don’t you think he deserves that, at least? And you deserve to be happy.”

“When did you become a fortune cookie, Bradley?”

But you wanted to believe him. You did.

But Luke had made you glaringly aware that you weren’t really capable of having a relationship aside from a handful of hours with someone who’d forget your name by morning. You had expected to feel some sort of relief in knowing that Jake hadn’t wanted to wash his hands of you after learning about Luke, but all it did was make you feel like you were painting an even larger target on Jake’s back. He really did want to play hero, didn’t he?

You pushed the thought away as you texted Natasha, telling her you’d be late for brunch and she was quick to tell you not to worry about the tow, she’d send one of the boys to get you to the tire shop. You were expecting Bob and his reliable GMC; he’d been invited to brunch as well anyway.

But a familiar Ford F-250 pulled up instead and Jake stepped out of the cab, looking like a GQ model in a tight Henley and jeans that hugged his thighs a little too well to be fair. He looked at your car and your destroyed tires for just a moment before turning his gaze to you. Your heart gave an answering leap but you tried to not let it show and rolled your shoulders back as he took wide strides toward you.

“Did he do anything else? Did you check your windows-”

“You shouldn’t be here.” The words tumbled out of your mouth before you could even pretend to think of a more polite greeting.

Jake arched an eyebrow before setting his hands on his hips. “Well, that’s just too damn bad, Punch. I am here and I’m not leaving until you tell me what's going on. Now, did anything else happen?”

You wanted to send him away. Wanted to keep him safe. But he was here. He was here and looking at you with those stupidly beautiful green eyes. “It’s just the tires,” you muttered, giving in. At least in this regard. You could handle everything else later.

Jake’s mouth set in a thin line before he moved to look at your tires again. He dug at one of the tears, the edge of his finger easily passing through the ruined rubber. “Jesus.”

Perhaps you should have been surprised when he turned back to the bed of his truck and pulled out a tire and then another and another until four new tires were stacked neatly beside your car. But you had a feeling Jake would always be three steps ahead of you. Infuriating.

“Please tell me you didn’t buy me new tires.”

“All right. I won’t tell you that.”

“Seresin, you can’t be serious. Tell me how much I owe you.”

Jake leaned forward just enough to steal the keys from your hands and popped open your trunk before handing them back. “I don’t want your money.”

“Well, that’s too fucking bad,” you retorted as you followed him to the back of your car. “Tires are expensive! I can afford it. Just let me pay you! You’re already saving me money by not making me take a tow truck. And I might actually make it to brunch on time because of you, too. If you don’t give me an amount, I’ll have to guess.”

Jake moved the mat in your trunk and found your jack and tire iron and then gently grasped your hand that you’d set on the lip of your trunk and moved it before closing it. He then tugged you closer with that damn dimpled smirk and stared down at you with his stupid green eyes. “I’m not taking your money.”

“I will shove money into your pockets at the most inopportune moments and ruin every conquest you set your eyes on.”

But the threat fell flat as Jake’s smirk widened. “So, you’re planning on sticking your hands down my pants…repeatedly?”

Heat washed over you in an angry wave and you pulled your hands out from under his with a grimace instead of a snarl. “Only you would say something like that.”

His smirk continued as he stepped back and set the jack beneath your car and started to twist. “I’m not taking your money.”

“I’m paying for your drinks at the Hard Deck forever.”

“No.”

As he twisted the jack, your eyes were drawn (inevitably) to how his sleeves strained with his moving muscles. That shirt was fighting for its life and you were ogling him like a piece of meat (again). This whole situation was ridiculous! The man who’d tried to kill you twice had slashed your tires and you were flirting (possibly, maybe) with Jake like you didn’t have a care in the world. All of this was wrong. And incredibly stupid.

“Whatever. I’ll do what I want,” you lamely replied, hoping it sounded stronger than it felt.

“I’m sure you will, Punch.” Each word was dripping with something you couldn’t and wouldn’t name and you hated that Jake was able to easily have you smiling when he was there to fix a problem you created.

The tires were changed out within an hour and you invited Jake inside for a glass of water and asked if he wanted to tag along to brunch, it was the last you could do, right?

“I wouldn’t want to intrude-”

“You’re not intruding. Bob’ll be there, too.” The brunch had been an impromptu plan anyway, cobbled together while you’d worked on Natasha and Bob’s jet and listened to Maverick and Cyclone berate the Top Gun students who had started another fight on the tarmac (apparently having learned nothing from the dog fight football games). You’d just been happy your pilots hadn’t been caught in the crossfire this time.

Jake looked at you over his half-finished glass of water and you had to keep yourself from shrinking away from his gaze. His glass clinked against the linoleum as he finished and you tried not to notice how he licked his lips free of the last few droplets of water. “So?” You pushed out, trying to keep your voice level. “Wanna come along?”

Jake’s silence turned at something in your stomach and Bradley’s not-at-all true observation was echoing at the back of your mind before Jake’s smirk returned. “You’re going to try to pay for brunch, aren’t you?”

You hadn’t even thought about it but… “Well, I invited you, so-”

“No.”

You groaned, snatching the glass from him and setting it in your dishwasher as Jake chuckled behind you. “You’re being a child.”

Jake rounded the corner, pushing further into the kitchen behind you, and crossed his arms over his chest (and no you weren’t looking at his arms again). “Why won’t you let me do anything nice for you?”

You frowned and matched his stance and crossed your arms, too. “I let you do nice things. You came with me to Junior’s party with me.”

“After you drove me there and tried to have me take credit for your gift and you introduced me to that group of brass to help me with my career.”

“That was a coincidence.”

“But you still did it.” He stepped closer and you hated that it was instinctual to take a step back, too. “Want to tell me why everything I do for you has to be reciprocal?”

That wasn’t the question you were expecting and your fingernails dug into the meat of your arm as you tried to keep your face neutral. “There’s give and take to everything. And I… You should just let me pay you.”

“I’m not gonna let you pay me, Punch. And you’re going to learn that not everything is a give and take. Who taught you that, anyway?”

God. You hated this. You hated these questions and the soft look in his eyes. “Does it matter?”

“Of course it matters,” Jake scoffed.

“Why?”

You could see Jake’s jaw clench, tendons working and tightening. But as quickly as it started, it stopped. He just shook his head and the tense silence in the kitchen continued to stretch until it was finally broken by Jake’s next question. “Are we ever going to talk about it?”

And you knew what he was asking. And you wanted to hate that he was connecting dots that you had tried to erase. “What is there to say? You know everything now.”

“I heard it from Rooster, not you. It is your story, Punch.”

“Rooster knows it just as well as I do, I think,” you muttered with a shrug, trying not to shrink away from him. “What else is there for you to know?”

Jake stepped forward, enveloping you in the scent of his expensive cologne and tinge of jet fuel that seemed to cling to him as he closed the distance to stand at your side and brush his arm against yours. “I want to know everything. Haven’t I told you that?”

You gnawed at your lip for a moment before stepping away from the counter. “I don’t know what you want me to say. Luke was an asshole then and he’s an asshole now. I should’ve seen the signs, I get that. I do. But he was so good when he wanted to be. And after being an afterthought for most of my life, it was nice to pretend that someone was choosing me.” This was just pathetic. Stop talking. Stop talking. If he hadn’t thought of washing his hands of you before, he was surely doing it now.

“What do you mean you were an afterthought?”

You rolled your shoulders and turned just enough to look at him before glancing at the little clock above your oven. “Doesn’t matter now. But, if we leave in the next five minutes, we’ll probably beat Natasha and Bob to brunch. So, are you coming?”

The ride was mostly quiet on the way to the restaurant Phoenix had picked overlooking the water. But Jake knew you were thinking about telling him something else as you sat in his passenger seat, watching the road pass your window. So, he just told himself to be patient. Again. It was a bright spot to finally know what you looked like in his truck. God knows he’s imagined it more than he’d like to admit, like some lovesick teenager.

You were picking at your cuticles without taking your eyes off the passing scenery. Jake had never seen you nervous, not like this. Even when the Daggers had to ship out for a short deployment and you had to watch them all take off from the carrier, you didn’t act like this. He watched you lean forward just a bit and your eyes narrowed and then it clicked. You weren’t watching the world go by—you were keeping an eye on the cars following the truck in the side view mirror. You were making sure Luke wouldn’t try to run you off the road again.

Jake looked in the rear view mirror and saw sedans, coupes, and a handful of SUVs, and a smaller number of trucks. But not a single black charger. It was clear for now. But you still picked at your cuticles and didn’t peel your eyes from the window.

Jake reached out and set a hand over yours, stilling your picking. You jumped under the touch and Jake curled his fingers over yours a little tighter, trying to anchor you to something else a little less destructive. “We’re okay, Punch, all right?”

You looked at him and Jake hated that he had to look at the road for safety purposes when you searched his face for something. “For now,” you said in return, once again turning to look out at the cars.

Jake squeezed your hand again and didn’t let go even as you muttered the next handful of directions to the restaurant. He awkwardly shifted into park and took the keys out of the ignition after finding a spot in the steadily filling lot. Your shoulders were slumped as you turned back to him, face unreadable except for the pinch between your brows that he wanted to smooth with a brush of his thumb.

(Maybe one day.)

“All right. We’re gonna go in there, eat our weight in overpriced waffles and then I’m going to take you home and double check your windows and locks. Okay?”

Your eyes swept up to look up at him and Jake felt that familiar warmth starting to unfurl in his chest. Your thumb swept over his knuckles but he wasn’t sure if you were aware you were even doing it. “I can’t afford to buy you your weight in waffles.”

Jake barked out a laugh and shook his head. “You’re not going to buy me brunch. Stop trying.” He had to bite back the pleased smile he felt growing when he heard your gasp after he raised your joined hands and pressed a kiss to your fingers.

“You are ridiculous.” Your voice was tight as it wheedled out from between your lips before you (slowly) pulled your hand from his and reached for the door handle. “C’mon. We need to get on the list.”

The air was tinged with the scent of sea salt and syrup as he followed you into the glass and metal building, already teeming with people. You were quick to give your name and group size to the hostess who said it would probably be a fifteen minute wait. Just as you turned to grab one of the oddly shaped bar stools near the door to it for your name to be called, Phoenix was striding in, too. She pushed her sunglasses up her hair before sweeping you into a hug with a loud kiss to your cheek. “I knew you’d beat me here.” Then her dark eyes dragged to Jake as he stood behind you. “Hangman. What’re you doing here?”

“He drove me,” you said. “I figured it would be fine.”

“Of course it is,” Phoenix said, waving it away but Jake knew the gleam in her eyes. She wasn’t quite finished. “You two arrived together?” She asked, eyes bouncing between you and Jake.

“Ken fixed my tires. Figured I could treat him to brunch as a thank you.”

Jake had to groan at that, knocking his hand into your hip and earring a halfhearted swat at his arm in retaliation. “I told you, you’re not paying for me.”

Phoenix hummed and anchored her gaze on Jake and he fought the urge to stand a little straighter. “Yeah. That was awful nice of him. When you told me that the neighbor kid slashed your tires, I thought Hangman would be a gentleman and drive you to the tire shop. Not fix them himself.”

Neighbor kid. You had lied to Phoenix? Granted, her text had just said that your tires had been slashed and that you’d needed help—it wasn’t exactly filled with details. Jake had assumed that she had known. But that didn’t matter now and he plastered his well-used smirk on his face. “Well, I’m a-”

“Don’t stroke your own ego, Bagman.” She then glanced at something over his shoulder and smiled. “Bob just got here. Bob!” She threw up a hand to grab the WSO’s attention and he jogged toward the group when he spotted her. He nearly collided with a waitress and they both apologized—profusely—before going their separate ways. By the time Bob reached their little group, his face was a vibrant and familiar shade of red.

“Nearly swept that pretty girl off her feet, Baby on Board.” Jake braced for the hit he knew was coming and winced when Phoenix’s fist collided with his arm.

The group was seated soon after and Jake had to bite back a grumble when Bob was the one to pull out your chair for you when you reached the table. When Jake went to do the same to Phoenix, she hit him again.

Bob was nearly the shade of a strawberry when he realized the woman he’d nearly bowled over would be your waitress and nearly dropped his silverware roll when he noticed her striding over to the table. Food was ordered—both you and Jake ordered waffles while Phoenix wanted to try the brioche French toast and Bob wanted eggs Benedict with steak—and mimosas (and pineapple juice for Bob) were poured as Phoenix regaled the table with her run-in with a guy at the gym on base. The Ensign hadn’t realized Phoenix a) outranked him and b) wasn’t interested in bulging muscles and whatever the younger man could(n’t) provide. The interaction ended when Phoenix “politely” challenged him to a friendly competition to see who could handle more weight while doing hip thrusters. Phoenix started out with thirty pounds more than him and he called her a dyke so she had him barred from the gym and probably had a meeting with his commanding officers on Monday, too.

You giggled and tipped your mimosa flute into Phoenix’s before you both took a sip. It was good to see you smile like that.

The waitress came by a few minutes later with the food and she was quick to divvy up the plates but Jake watched her make sure Bob’s was the last plate and she stood at his side and carefully set it down, making sure to bend down just enough to brush against his arm. “Careful, the plate is hot,” she practically purred.

(Phoenix quickly had Jake’s laugh turning into a poorly disguised cough when she sent him a look across the table.)

“I’ll be careful. I can handle it.”

Then the waitress actually giggled and stood straight, setting her hand on Bob’s shoulder for just a moment. “I’m sure you can. Let me know if you need anything else, okay?” She then turned and walked away with an exaggerated sway in her hips which Bob completely missed because he was busy unrolling his silverware.

The group watched him as he carefully cut into his meal and shoved a bite between his lips. He went to take another when he noticed the stares. “What?”

“Robert,” you started, voice strained to avoid a giggle. “She was flirting with you.”

His fork froze before it reached his mouth.”No, she wasn’t. She told me the plate was hot.”

Phoenix reached over and patted her back seater’s shoulder. “Oh, Bob.”

The other man’s blush returned and he shoved the bite between his lips. “How is telling me that the plate is hot flirting?”

Jake shook his head and fought a smile of his own. “Listen, do you like her?”

Bob chanced a glance at the waitress at the hostess booth and immediately ducked his head when she caught him and wagged her fingers at him with a wink. “She’s beautiful.”

“But?” Jake prodded, hearing a slight hesitation. He had always been good at reading people (you were an exception), and Jake had played therapist to a handful of the Daggers since he proved he could be someone other than Hangman. He wanted Bob to be happy.

“But I don’t know. She looks like she’d eat me alive.” He fiddled with his fork. “Can we talk about something else?”

Jake was the one who shifted the conversation to the insufferable group of Top Gun pilots that would thankfully be leaving soon enough. A friendly bet was placed on who everyone thought would actually get the trophy and Jake tried not to smile too much when Bob knocked his foot into his as a quiet thank you and you, seemingly unaware of Bob’s quiet gratitude, set your hand over Jake’s arm for a moment in your own show of appreciation. As soon as it happened, it was gone again.

That was okay. Jake was determined to have it happen again.

Brunch continued on and finished after another round of drinks and splitting a funnel cake that the waitress insisted they try. Jake was sure the woman pouted after not receiving Bob’s phone number when he signed his check but he wouldn’t mention it. Jake liked this strange bit of normalcy. With you. He even if both Bob and Phoenix made vague threats against his life if he hurt you. Jake was determined to have more of these moments with you. Even if you grumbled about Jake hustling to get to the truck before you so he could open your door.

The tension in the cab on the way to brunch was absent now and Jake didn’t even care when you teased him about his choice in radio stations—calling him a cliche for listening to early Tim McGraw. But you said it with a laugh and Jake had to laugh, too. He liked that it was you who brought up Bob and his interactions with the waitress.

“I want Bob to be happy. And he’s mentioned once or twice that he’d like to have a family.”

Jake thought for a moment before the perfect person popped into his thoughts. “I know a girl.”

“No, you don’t. I don’t trust your taste in women.”

And Jake had to laugh at that. Had to. You were his taste in women. But the person he had in mind for Bob would be perfect. “She’s a CPA. Wears glasses. And she only drinks ginger ale despite helping Penny with the Hard Deck’s taxes. And she’s the only person outside of Texas that I trust with my tax return.”

Your face scrunched and Jake knew you were thinking it over. “Just because they both wear glasses and have an affinity for Seagram’s doesn’t mean they’d be a good match.”

“Just trust me. It might take a minute to get her to look him in the eye-”

“She’s shy?”

“So shy. It’s adorable. And just what Baby on Board needs.”

You scowled at him but he knew you didn’t really mean it when you knocked your shoulder into his over the center console a moment later. He eventually pulled into your driveway and threw the truck into park before turning to you but you were scrambling out of your seat and up to your front door before he could even get a word in edgewise.

Oh.

Jake wasn’t sure if he’d ever been rejected as soundly as that before. But then he saw you waving him forward from your front stoop and Jake nearly clocked himself in the face with the seatbelt buckle as he hurried to follow you inside. He shut your door behind him, engaging just two out of the five locks as you hurried toward something just down the hall.

“Punch?”

“Just a moment!” You yelled in return.

Jake resisted the urge to settle on the couch again, like he’d done weeks ago. Everything seemed different now. You weren’t trying to push him away and he could hear you shuffling something in the other room and he was suddenly struck with a daydream of coming home to you, waiting for you to notice his presence and smiling when you saw him. “You’re home!” As soon as the vision came, it was gone, and Jake shook himself a little as if that would help him forget what he’d conjured up. What he’d wanted since the moment you first called him Ken, even if he never admitted it out loud.

You walked back into the living room and slapped something down onto the small table you had lining the back of your couch.

“Whatcha got there, Punch?”

Your answering smile was all teeth, like a cat who got the cream and Jake saw that it was a fifty dollar bill as it peeked from between your fingers. “Well, I added up how many miles it is from base, to my house, to the restaurant, then back to my house and then guessed on how many miles you get per gallon. And, you use premium gas, right? Either way, this should be enough for gas, but if you use diesel, this should cover it.” You slapped another fifty atop the first after pulling it from your back pocket.

Jake looked at the stack of cash and then back at you before he sighed, a long put-upon sigh that he knew was obnoxious but it was worth it when he heard you try to stifle a laugh. God. You were relentless.

“First, I don’t know how to break this to you, but you’re awful at math. Like, so bad.”

“Hey!”

“And second, I’m still not taking your money.”

“You’re being stubborn.”

“I’m being a friend, Punch. Friends drive each other around and help them when they need it. And I’m willing to bet-“

“I’ll take that bet.”

Jake continued on, ignoring you, “-that you wouldn’t expect to be paid back if our places were switched.”

You pulled your lips into your mouth for a moment and drummed your fingers against the money. “I lost that bet. Guess you’ll have to take the money.”

Jake groaned but he could feel a laugh starting to bubble in his chest. “You’re impossible.”

It was too soon to call this a victory, but you were sure you were closing in on one. He would take the money and then you could pretend to feel fine about everything he’d done for you. Sure.

“Actually, I have something you could do if you’re so hellbent on paying me back.” Before you could ask what he meant, he was unlocking your door and jogging out to his truck and pulling something out, tucking it behind his back as he returned. “Can you sign this for me?”

Then he dropped a purple book in your hand and your stomach dropped to your feet as you looked at the gold lettering across the cover. “You snooped!” You said, too embarrassed to be angry. You held the book up to your chest as if that would guard you from his knowing look or the embarrassment starting to churn your stomach.

“You knew I would! Why’re you surprised?” His smile was back and he took a step toward you. You took a responding step back until he was crowding you against your bookshelf, hands landing on the shelves on either side of your shoulders. And it could have been a threatening stance, an unnerving cage, but all you felt was safe. Safe as he blotted out the rest of the world and it was just you and him and your books in the quiet of your home.

You should not feel like this, you knew that. It was stupid and dangerous and you couldn’t stop it. What had happened to your resolve that you had just yesterday for keeping him at arm's length?

Your fingers drummed against the paperback and you hurriedly flipped it open when your eyes tracked down to his mouth. Oh. “Should I sign it ‘To Ken?’ Or-”

“Could you actually sign it for my sister Mia? She reads your books in her book club.”

“Oh.” Was all you could say. That was…that was actually really nice to know. You knew people read your books; Danny had framed a newspaper clipping showing your second book reaching a top ten spot one of the Best Sellers lists and had gifted it to you for your last birthday. They were mildly popular, you knew that. But to actually be confronted with the fact that someone you vaguely knew was reading your books was something else. You reached back and grabbed one of the pens you kept in a cup on the shelf. “Mia? She’s your oldest sister, right?” A quick glance up at Jake had your heart twisting. His look was too soft. Too happy.

“Yeah, Punch. That’s her.”

You took the time to write your pseudonym with extra flair and then added a heart next to Mia’s name, too. “Is this for her birthday or anything?”

“She’s…” Jake paused for a moment. “She’s just going through a rough patch right now. Your books make her smile.”

The pen stalled on the page for just a moment before you shoved at his chest to get him to back up just enough to grab at your ARC for your newest book and quickly scrawled, Wishing you expensive champagne and good memories! Happy reading! You then signed your name again and added a half dozen hearts next to Mia’s name at the top of the page. You slapped both books against Jake’s chest with a frown. “That book hasn’t been released yet, so I may get in a bit of trouble with my publisher if she tells anyone.”

Jake’s hands covered yours on the books and the toe of his shoe knocked into your socked feet as he moved closer, dragging your attention back to his stupidly handsome face again. “She won’t tell anyone but I know I’ll probably get an earful about how I got them.” His thumbs brushed against your knuckles and you would swear that you could feel it behind your ribs. “Where’d you get that name anyway?”

You almost snorted at the way he phrased that question, like you found it on the side of a cereal box. “My parents were obsessed with Stephen King—they actually met at a book club specifically for King’s books. My sister, Georgie, was named after the kid who got their arm ripped off at the beginning of It. And my brother, Danny, is named after the kid in The Shining, Danny Torrance.”

“And you? I don’t think I’ve read your name in his books.”

It was a fair enough question. King had dozens of books and Jake didn’t seem like the type to clamor for the newest release. “I was named by my grandparents after they discovered the reasoning behind my sister’s name. If my parents wanted to stay in the will, I had to have a name they picked. Of course, when my brother was born, my parents picked something a little more innocuous so they wouldn’t rock the boat again. But, anyway, to actually answer your question; I took my siblings’ names as a sort of thank you to them. Georgie became Georgia and I took Danny’s literary counterpart’s last name. And Georgia Torrance was born. I wrote most of my books when I had downtime on deployments. I took a chance and sent it off to an agent and I got a nice contract with a moderately respectable publishing house. It isn’t Stephen King money by any means, but I can upgrade my plane ticket to Business Class if I wanted to once or twice a year.”

“Your parents must’ve gotten a kick out of that.”

You tried to fight the sigh you felt growing in your throat but lost. You also lost the wherewithal to keep a single secret from him. “I don’t know. I don’t really talk to them.”

“What?”

“After Danny got sick, all of their attention was on him, which I understand. I do. But I was still just a kid who needed her parents every once in a while. But it was like I ceased to exist to them until they remembered I could help with the hospital bills. Georgie was already out of the house and getting her degree and would call but it wasn’t the same. I kinda gave up on having a relationship with my parents after they forgot about my rowing meet and I waited to be picked up for three hours before eventually just walking home.”

“Punch-”

And once you started, you couldn’t stop, like a can of pop shaken and bursting. “Danny was hooked up to like six different machines and was high off his ass and he apologized for all the…all the bullshit. I told him it was unnecessary. He was sick. I’m just happy he’s healthy again.”

God. You really knew how to ruin every moment, didn’t you?

Jake set the books on the shelf just beside your shoulder but was quick to lean over you again and you hated how Jake really was a certifiable blueprint for a romantic literary hero. You could write a single description of him in your next book and you’d know it would skyrocket to the top of the Best Sellers lists but you had been actively avoiding trying to piece together a story from your life. And, as if he knew you were debating something, the bastard actually propped his other arm up on the bookcase and leaned over you. Oh god. He was doing the lean and was going to ask you something about your fucked up childhood.

Shit.

Alarm bells were ringing in your head, letting you know that this moment could be disastrous. So, you decided to not let it go on any longer. “Jesus. Sorry. I really know how to kill a good time, huh? I think I’ve taken up quite enough of your time for the day. Let me know what Mia thinks of the books, okay?”

You ducked beneath his arm, intent on leading him to the door, but Jake grasped your hand and pulled you to a stop. “No, c’mon, Punch. Don’t do that again. Don’t shut me out. I’m happy you feel like you can tell me stuff like that, that you’re comfortable enough to trust me with that. Don’t pull away again. Not from me.”

You knew that if you looked at him right now, his green eyes would be wide and pleading. So, you just didn’t look. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do right now. I don’t know why you’re doing this, Jake.”

“Doing what?” He asked softly, as softly as his hand on yours.

“Buying me tires? Driving me around? Being…being this fucking nice to me all the time when I’ve only been a dick to you?” You asked as you felt your chin wobble. “Why?”

Jake was quiet for a moment. Just a moment. “You know why.”

“No! No, I don’t because…” You couldn’t finish the sentence because then it was real, it would be real and you didn’t know how to deal with that again. You looked up at him and tried to remember what you were protecting him from. Pulling your hand out of his, you set your hands on your hips. “Because you can’t.”

Jake’s shoulders rolled before his lips set in a thin line. “I do. And I know you feel the same.”

You scoffed and tried to ignore the warmth in your chest that he was right. He felt the same. Wouldn’t that just be the worst? “You really think that highly of yourself? You’re so sure that I-”

Jake leaned closer and the rest of your argument stalled. You could smell the mint on his breath from the stupid toothpick he was chewing on in the truck just beneath the warmth of his cologne. God. He was intoxicating. You almost hated him for a moment because every ounce of fight you had drained out of you. “Ken.”

“Tell me to stop and I will.” He moved closer. Closer. Closer.

His warm hand skirted up your arm until it settled against the gentle arc of muscle between your neck and shoulder and the other settled on your hip. You could feel each of his fingers pressing into your skin like a brand. Every breath he took brushed against your mouth and you licked your lips without a thought as he leaned even closer.

“Last chance.” You could feel his smile against your mouth, growing with each syllable.

And you had to smile. Had to because he was your Ken and this felt inevitable. Jake was inevitable. “Do your worst.”

He kissed you and it was instantly all consuming. Surely, he could feel your smile, too. You actually laughed against his mouth as your hands pressed against his chest. Jake pulled back just enough for you to see his smile before he kissed you again, catching your bottom lip between his and tugging to have you gasping. His stupid, perfect teeth nipped at the skin and he was quick to soothe the sting with a flick of his tongue.

Then you were moving backward, guided by his gentle movements, until your spine went flat against the wall beside your bookshelves. The kiss was all smiling lips and searching tongues as Jake held you tight. Everything was warm and tinged with the mint on his tongue and Jake Jake Jake.

His thumb pressed into the hinge of your jaw and he sighed against your panting mouth. “So fucking good.” His voice was hoarse and you could feel it curling in your stomach.

But your entire body seized when you felt his hand move to wrap around your throat as his mouth continued to work against yours. You couldn’t help it; you flinched. The kiss ended abruptly as you pulled back despite you not wanting it to end. But it couldn’t be helped. Not yet. You watched an array of emotions flash across Jake’s face before it settled on despair.

“Fuck.” The single syllable was wrenched from his throat as he took a step back and his hands fell back to his sides and left you cold. “Fuck, Punch, I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinking, I-”

“W-wait…I just…” How could you even phrase this without sounding unhinged? “I just need a moment.” Your next breath rattled in your lungs but you still reached for his hand and raised it again, moving it just enough for his fingers to encircle your throat once more. The roughened planes and angles of his hand had you shivering but you managed to drag your eyes up to his and tried to not show how nervous you actually felt. “It… you can, if you want. I’d actually prefer to have some good memories of something like this instead of-”

The rest of your rambling was cut off as his lips pressed against yours. The grip on your throat grew a little more insistent, a little heavier, but nothing stronger than just a simple weight, an anchor at your pulse. His other hand smoothed up your arm to curl over your cheek just as he pried your lips apart, delving into your mouth to steal the building whine from your throat.

Your heart hammered behind your ribs as you felt the warmth of Jake’s hand bleed through your shirt as his palm brushed the side of your chest. He moved forward and your legs instinctively parted to accommodate the thigh he was shoving between yours and your next breath caught in your throat when the denim brushed against the crux of your thighs.

“Fuck,” you hissed when Jake’s lips seared a path across your cheek and down your throat to bite at your thrumming pulse. You hadn’t even remembered when your hands had dropped to wrinkle his shirt again but you still pulled him closer as every nerve ending sparked. And then-

“Dancing Queen, young and sweet, only seventeen!”

Immediately, you pulled away from Jake with a grimace as ABBA’s song continued to fill the air. “Oh Jesus, that’s Natasha’s ringtone. She never calls.” You ducked beneath his arm for the second time tonight and pulled your phone off its perch on the kitchen counter and answered it as you heard Jake sigh. Turning to look at him, you saw his head drop to his chest for a moment before standing straight again and following in your footsteps toward the kitchen.

“I asked Rooster out and I think he thinks it is just as a friends thing and I want to bash my head against the wall.” Tasha screeched, words running together in a rush. She continued on, explaining that somehow she and Bradley had been roped into helping Penny restock the Hard Deck before opening today and Natasha had (finally) acted on her (reciprocated) feelings after Rooster had been his usually flirty self the entire time and then dragged Natasha to the piano and made her sing along to Elton John’s Your Song. Jesus.

You looked over at Jake to see him looking at you with another soft look on his face and a bit of pink in his cheeks. “I’m sorry,” you mouthed to him.

He waved it away before stealing a quick kiss, too, that had your heart rate picking up again.

“Punch? You there?”

You pushed out a breath and shook your head as you pressed a hand to Jake’s chin, keeping him from doing it again. You could feel his self satisfied smirk against your fingers. “Yeah. I’m here. And, um, I don’t know. I think you’d be surprised with Bradley. He’s probably picking out his nicest Hawaiian shirt in preparation.”

Tasha groaned but you had to smile because Jake nipped at your fingers. “You think?”

“I do. It is gonna be great. I know it.”

She sighed, crackling the line, but eventually agreed. “He can’t be that oblivious right?” She asked, making you both laugh. “Also, don’t think I’m forgetting about you and Hangman coming to brunch together. We’re gonna talk on Monday.”

“You don’t forget anything, Tasha. I’m well aware.”

You eventually said your goodbyes after promising her you would talk to her on Monday and then dropped your phone on the counter again and your hand from Jake’s mouth.

“I never thought you’d be a tease.” His tone let you know he was joking but you also could have guessed with the smirk pushing at his mouth, too.

Your jaw dropped for a moment before an embarrassed giggle rippled out of you. “I said I was sorry! I was worried!” Biting your lip as you looked at him, you shook your head. “I didn’t mean to ruin the moment.”

“It was quite the moment, huh?” His smirk had fallen to a soft smile despite his self assured words.

“Yeah, it was.” You didn’t even want to tease him now but then a small voice whispered at the back of your mind that it wasn’t a moment to him. After all, who would want-

“Steak or seafood?” He asked, knocking the rest of your thoughts right out of your head.

“What?”

“I have a list of restaurants that I want to take you to, if you’re willing to let me pay and bring you flowers.” The usual bravado that bled through all of his words wavered now. Was he nervous?

“Sounds like you’re asking me out on a date, Ken.”

“I’m trying here, Punch. So? Steak or seafood.”

Hope and happiness were blooming and twisting and growing within the confines of your ribs now. He wanted to take you out on a date. “I’m allergic to shellfish,” was all you could say through your smile.

“Steak it is. I’ll update my list when I get home.” He reached out and swept his thumb across the slope of your cheek and you found yourself leaning into the touch a little more. Jake seemed content to just hold your face in his hand for a moment before he leaned forward to press a kiss to your temple. “I should go. I want to do this right with you.”

“What do you mean?”

“I want to wine and dine you, darlin’. Want to earn those lips of yours again,” he said as his thumb moved to press at the heated skin of your bottom lip. “You deserve it. And I want to be the one to give it to you.”

For just a moment, you worried that Jake would hear how hard your heart was beating. No one had ever said anything like that to you before. “Oh.”

This was different. Jake was different. You just had to give him permission to show you.

“I’d like that.”

He smiled and stepped back, hand dropping back to his side. “You’re a good friend to Phoenix, by the way. Bradshaw, too.”

You smiled again. “They’re good to me. All of you have been.” Slowly, you herded him toward the door, knowing he had a plan.

He stopped at the door, just after you undid the locks. “Does Phoenix know?”

You shook your head, knowing exactly what he was asking. “It’s hard enough to be taken seriously in the Navy as a woman. She had her own battles, Luke was mine. I always thought she was so strong and, for a while, I thought she’d just see me as weak if she knew what I’d put up with. But I know now that is an unfair thought. Tasha is and always has been one of my best friends and staunchest supporters. I should tell her, right? And maybe I will, after all of this is over. I don’t…I don’t want anyone else I care about to be wrapped up in this. I don’t want anyone to get hurt because of me.” And you tried to ignore the sinking feeling that you had once again put Jake in Luke’s crosshairs.

But this time had to be different. It had to be.

Jake shook his head and cupped his hands at the back of your head before touching his forehead to yours. “We’re going to finish this, okay? We will.”

You nodded and smiled despite it all when he pressed another quick kiss to your forehead—it was like he couldn’t stop kissing you. And you weren’t about to complain. “Get home safe, Ken.”

You watched him get into his truck and waved as he pulled out and you knew he was telling you to lock your doors through the windshield. Your phone rang again just as he disappeared down the road and you knew by the way Jerry Lewis blared that it was now Bradley calling.

It had only been two days since Jake kissed you and had promised you a date. Two days and it was like the entirety of Top Gun was trying to keep you apart. You barely saw each other after he got roped into helping Captain Mitchell and Admiral Simpson into looking over the files of the next hopeful batch of aviators who could be called to San Diego. But it was fine. Sure. It wasn’t as if you could walk in holding his hand; you were still in the Navy and there were still protocols and rules you needed to follow. You had a feeling you and Jake would be breaking a lot of them.

You were kept busy with repairing Harvard’s jet after he managed to land safely after a bird strike. Your lunch breaks and evenings were spent talking to either Natasha or Bradley about their upcoming date-not-date while not revealing that you knew what the other was thinking. You did, however, mention to Bradley that Rueben and Mickey had started a betting pool about how long it would take Bradley to admit who he was in love with after Mickey spotted him with a pad of paper during lunch which was apparently filled with a speech about loving someone for years. You then spent the next hour workshopping the speech he was going to say to Natasha. It was beautiful and heartfelt and filled with analogies you tried to trim down (gently). He was still, annoyingly, assuming that their dinner on Wednesday was not a date in Natasha’s eyes but he was still going to try to confess his feelings and hope for the best.

You knew he’d be over the moon with how Natasha would react.

As Wednesday bled into Thursday, you were nearly dead on your feet but you’d been watching Natasha and Bradley all day, trying to decipher how their date had gone by their body language. You drove home that night without many answers but your phone rang just before you pulled down your street and quickly answered when Natsha’s name flashed on the screen.

“Hello?”

“He said he’s in love with me!”

“Hello, Tasha. How are you? I’ve had a great day. How was yours?”

“Oh, shut up!” She laughed. “I’m freaking out! He said he was in love with me—has been for years, apparently—and all I did was kiss him afterward. That’s not fair, right? I also need to have a speech. I can’t let him win this. I want to do a PowerPoint.” You had to mute your phone at that so she wouldn’t hear you snort. Everything was a competition. “Do you have that picture of me and him from Mav’s birthday last year?”

“I do,” you said, knowing exactly which one she was referencing. It was of Bradley and Natasha at the piano. Bradley had just led everyone through a rendition of ‘Happy Birthday’ for Mav and there was still a flush on his cheeks. Natasha was right next to him in a stunning blue dress and smiling at him. It was the picture you promised to yourself that you would show at their wedding. You rushed inside, pinning the phone between your ear and shoulder and hurriedly shut the door behind you before darting toward your bedroom without bothering to turn on any of the lights—you said you’d drop it off at her apartment as soon as you’d found it. You were going to be in and out. You flopped onto your stomach, overturning the small mountain of pillows you had at the headboard, before grabbing at the storage container beneath the bed frame. You hauled it up and onto the bed and flipped the lid. To your chagrin, your “filing” system was essentially nonexistent when it came to photos and you started to sift through them as Natasha continued to talk, telling you about the date she’d planned and laughing about how much Bradley had stumbled over his speech.

God, it was so nice just to hear her laugh. They were going to be happy together. You knew it.

A door opened and closed slowly in the distance—your neighbor must’ve finally sprayed his door with WD-40 because it didn’t creak. Good. It only took him three years. But your heart nearly stopped when you heard your neighbor’s door open a few seconds later and its distinctive creak filled the night air. Something thumped down the hall and your spine went rigidly straight, still holding the phone to your ear as blood roared in your ears. You hadn’t locked the door. You had been inside for less than five minutes and you hadn’t thought it was necessary–you would have been leaving again soon anyway.

But you should have taken the time. A careless, stupid mistake.

The noise came again and sat up on bed, spilling the pictures in your hold onto your blankets. “Punch?” Natasha asked, pulling your focus. “You still there?”

“I…I think there’s someone in my house,” you whispered. Every part of your body was telling you to run. Right now. But where could you? Your house had one door and the person was in your living room.

Natasha was quiet for just a moment before whispering, “I’m gonna call the cops, okay? You hide.”

“N-no,” you hissed. “Don’t hang up. Stay with me.”

“Okay. Okay. I’ll stay on the line with you, but-”

The line went dead with three terrible beeps and you wrenched the phone away from your ear to see ‘Call Lost - Try Again?’ written across the screen. No matter how many times you tried to call or text, nothing went through. The little icon at the top where you usually saw the lines denoting your network was now just a terrible X. The network was either down or whoever had come into your house had turned on a jammer. And you knew which was more plausible—but god, you had never wished for a network outage more.

Slowly, you slid off the bed and into the hall just as you heard the distinctive sound of a boot hitting the corner of your coffee table. Someone was in your house.

Mia had loved the books. Apparently her book club had ooh’d and ahh’d over the signed book but she had, as Jake knew she would, kept the copy of your newest book a secret but had rattled off her opinions to Jake. “And I can’t believe you know her!” She squawked on the other end of the line. It had been so good to hear the smile in his sister’s voice again. It was priceless. Jake had also evaded any questions as to who you were–it wasn’t his secret to tell–but he hoped that you’d be the one to tell Mia sooner rather than later.

It had been a good day. For the most part, anyway. He would have preferred to have had more than just a small smile and wave from you for the last few days, but he could be patient.

When Jake’s phone chirped with a new message, he’d expected something from Javy, keeping him up to date about the conversation he was hoping to have with his girlfriend’s father. The ring Jake had helped Javy pick out was burning a hole in his pocket and Jake hoped that his best friend would be able to plan a cool as fuck bachelor party and then make sure the whole wedding goes smoothly.

And maybe he could ask you to be his date. He could dance with you and make you smile and-

Any happy thought he had evaporated when he looked at his phone.

Someone broke into Punch’s house! I’m calling the cops!

Jake was in his truck before he could even think to type out a response and sped toward your house as the group chat started to explode with a barrage of texts he didn’t read. He knew who had broken in. There was only one possible answer.

Jake just hoped he’d get there in time.

You needed to get out of the house…or at least get to something you could use as a weapon. The baseball bat you kept near the bookshelves could work, right? Slipping further down the hall, you tried to tell yourself that you could get out of this.

Creak.

You clapped a hand over your mouth as you pressed your spine to the wall, trying to quiet your breathing.

Step.

He was in your kitchen. You knew the sound of hard soled shoes on the uneven tiles. Could you make a run for it? Could you trap him in the laundry room? That had to be your only option. You turned the corner into your living room and your stomach fell to your feet.

Luke was standing in your kitchen. Knife in hand. Waiting for you. He looked almost exactly the same as he did the last time you saw him. His brown hair was still cropped short. His brown eyes were still narrowed and cold. His clothes were rumpled designer brands. He hadn’t changed. And that was terrifying.

You dove for the baseball bat, curling your hands around it before you turned and swung blindly. The bat cracked against his arm and Luke yelled, low and guttural as he staggered backward for a moment. But then he was lunging forward and grasping at the bat to wrench it out of your hands. He threw it across the living room and it smacked against the wall, shattering the glass in two frames before knocking them to the floor with a terrible crack. You couldn’t go for it again. There was no way past him now.

You should have aimed for his head.

“It’s been a long time, hasn’t it, baby?”

You cringed at the nickname but didn’t take your eyes off the knife in his hand.

Luke didn’t wait for an answer to his question before barreling on. “And look what you’ve done. Got all those nice pins on your shirt, moving up in the ranks, and…” he paused as a smirk slithered across this mouth, “you got my dad’s money. A nice little nest egg.You’ve done well for yourself, haven’t you? And you didn’t have to work for any of it.”

He took a step forward and you took one back, ankle colliding with your coffee table.

“And what about me? I’m so glad you asked!” He snarled. “I’ve been dishonorably discharged. And you want to know why?”

“I had nothing to do with that, Luke. W-we had an agreement, remember? I keep my mouth shut and you…you were supposed to stay away from me.”

Luke’s tongue clicked against his teeth before he waved the knife. “You had everything to do with it. That LoA in my file was the straw that broke the camel’s back. I could’ve been given another chance if you had just kept your mouth shut when I told you to back in the-“

“I didn’t say anything. You were going to get Bradley killed!” The words bubbled out of you before you could think of the repercussions.

Luke was on you in a flash. The tip of the knife pressed over your sternum and you could feel it with each labored breath you sucked in between clenched teeth.

“He would’ve been fine! I know how to do my job! You ruined everything and then took my dad's money!” The knife pressed closer closer closer. It started to tear through the thin material of your shirt and shallowly cut your skin. The whimper you felt blooming in your throat died when you saw the gleam in Luke’s eyes.

Before you could even stop to think of an alternative, you threw your hands up and caught the knife. The edge sank through the delicate skin between your fingers and into your palm but you didn’t recoil. Couldn’t. You were only able to drag the knife down, the tip cutting against the skin just above your stomach.

Fresh pain bloomed across your face and it took you a moment to realize that Luke had slapped you. And then he did it again, making sure to send your head flying backward to slam into the wall hard enough and have stars dancing in front of your eyes. Your grip almost fell, loosening a fraction, and just for a moment everything was silent.

Just a moment.

You’d never be able to describe the pain that bloomed as Luke moved and drove the knife in, slotting it between your ribs and twisting with a vicious flick of his wrist. Your next breath stalled just behind your tongue as every nerve ending exploded with heat and teeth and a terrible popping sensation bubbled beneath your skin. “L-Luke…”

He pushed the knife deeper as he pressed his cheek to yours in an echo of the hugs he used to give you. “I used to miss you, you know. Did you miss me? I treated you so well. I was good to you. So good. I gave you everything.” The knife rocked back and forth and you felt the ridge of it with each movement. You felt all of it. Your grip faltered against the knife gain but you knew you couldn’t drop your hold.

He would kill you.

“And you had to ruin it. You ruined my life.”

“L-Luke…”

“I need to hear you say it, baby. Tell me you know what you did. You had this coming. All of it.”

“I didn’t,” you wheezed. Your chest was collapsing in on itself like you had a boar sitting on your sternum.

“Say it! You don’t get to play victim this time. You were the one who ruined my life.”

“You were a d-drunk! I did all that work for you until you told me you’d kill me if I made you l-look bad again!” Each word was a crack against your ribs, sharp and biting, but you couldn’t stop. This would be your only chance to say this, you knew it. If you were going to die tonight, you were going to let him know what you really thought of him. “You…” You sucked in a breath that only served to make you ache. “You only got through basic because your daddy bribed someone. You only got into the Navy at all because he made a phone call to someone after you failed the ASVAB. You…you fail at everything you do. You were a shitty AD. And you couldn’t kill me.” Blood dribbled out of your mouth and you felt it slid down your chin. “Twice. So you better make this count.”

Luke’s teeth glinted in the low light and he ripped the knife out only to plunge it back in. You felt the blade scrape against the edge of your hip as you let out a scream that fizzled out to a gurgle as more blood filled your mouth.

“I’ll make it count!” Luke seethed as he drove the knife deeper and pushed you into the wall.

Everything burned. Everything ached. And all you could do was scream as your knees knocked together, strength dribbling out of you with each frantic pulse of your heart.

Luke leaned forward to press his forehead against yours and the knife twisted. “Do you feel it, baby? Do you feel me inside you?” His breath smelled of the expensive cognac you knew he liked to guzzle and rolled your stomach.

“Luke.” You didn’t want to die looking into his eyes. You didn’t want to die at all, but you weren’t going to have your last earthly memory be of Luke and his cold eyes, so you shut your eyes as the tips of your fingers started to tingle.

The screech of a siren broke through the haze of your mind. You had to laugh but that, too, was cut short when Luke pulled the knife out and rushed toward the window to see the night sky filled with red and blue lights. You crumpled. Your hands slapped against the floor for just a moment before you slumped in a heap against the carpet as your arms gave out.

You vaguely heard your front door slam against the wall and knock another picture from its perch. There was an answering sound of glass shattering before warm, rough hands gently grasped at your shoulders. You struggled for just a moment when your scrambled brain thought Luke had come back to make sure you were dead. Unfocused eyes barely registered Jake kneeling above you.

“Punch? Punch, c’mon darlin’. There you are.” His voice was muffled but you felt yourself smiling anyway as everything started to prickle like you’d pinned your limbs beneath your weight for too long. The smile quickly died when Jake’s hands clamped down over your wounds and a surprised yelp punched out from between your teeth. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, but I gotta stop the bleeding.”

“I-it hurts.”

“I know. I know it does. But it’ll only hurt a little longer, all right? You gotta stay awake for me. The cops are almost here.” His grip tightened. “We’ll get you fixed up and-”

“Where’s…Luke?” Was he still in your house? Would he hurt Jake?

“I don’t know, darlin’. He’s gone. We’ll find him, okay? We’ll find him and he’ll never do this to you again. But I need you to stay awake.”

Black dots were pushing their way into your line of sight, blotting out Jake’s worried face. “Ken…Jake…I wanted to get steak with you.”

Jake pressed harder and you could only whimper. “We will go get that steak. It’ll be the best date.” His voice was muffled, like you had shoved your head under water. And you struggled to hear him at all.

“Promise?” You asked, blood on your teeth.

“I promise.”

You smiled, despite it all. And then you were gone.

#Jake seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin x reader #hangman x reader #jake hangman x reader #jake hangman seresin #tgm #female reader

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ewanmitchellcrumbs · 6 months

Text

Dashboard Confessional

Pairing: Billy Washington (Trigger Point) x f!reader Warnings: Mentions of PTSD, mild angst, smut, semi public sex. Word count: ~1.7k

Summary: Billy is forced to deal with past trauma when his girlfriend's car breaks down on the side of the M1, while driving home to Nottingham for Christmas. She finds the perfect way to ease his mind.

Author's note: Day four of the Smuffmas prompts - "reassurance and car sex". No tag list. Follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications.

Her hands tighten on the steering wheel, eyes flitting nervously towards the check engine light that’s just lit up on the dashboard panel. They’re only an hour outside of Nottingham, and if she was by herself she’d simply ignore it, finish the journey, and take her crappy old Skodia Fabia to a garage in the New Year. But Billy sits in the passenger seat next to her, and she knows that that little red light will look like a fiery beacon to him, a reason to panic. The best thing she can do in this situation is pull over onto the hard shoulder and call AA Breakdown Recovery.

Billy used to joke that she’d spent more on keeping her shitty little car roadworthy than she had when she’d actually bought it. He’d insist on driving them everywhere, his Vauxhall Cavalier the more reliable of the two vehicles.

That feels like a lifetime ago now though, before the Explosive Ordnance Disposal team had pulled him from it and it had exploded into a fiery ruin in the middle of Cranstead Gardens. Billy doesn’t joke at all anymore, and he’s not gotten behind the wheel of a car since.

He has spent the last four months attending weekly therapy sessions. It’s only in the last month that he’s been willing to allow her to drive him anywhere, and that’s not before they’ve done rigorous checks of the entire car to make sure it’s safe; the wheel arches, under the bonnet, the boot, beneath the seats and in the glovebox all need to be examined thoroughly before he’ll even consider getting in.

When it had come time to arrange their annual visit to Billy’s parents’ for Christmas, he had suggested they get the train. However, a return ticket would be close to one hundred pounds each for them. She had argued they would spend less than half that on fuel if she drove, and it would save them the effort of lugging gifts all the way there, only to have to take all of the ones they inevitably receive back with them the same way - everything could just be stuffed into the boot if she drove.

He had relented eventually, and she had regretted it almost as soon as they’d gotten in the car. For the last two hours of the journey his leg has bounced anxiously, and she’s been met with snappy one word answers to each of her attempts to make conversation, despite his insistence that the radio stays off.

If she were a weaker person she’d have decided that this was all too much and ended things long ago, however, Billy is her everything, he always has been. He has never thought much of himself, but she loves him enough for the both of them. Where he sees a failure, someone that lives in the shadow of his successful older sister, she sees a man with a thousand watt smile, someone that lights up the room just by entering it. That light has dulled over the last few months, but she is determined to help it shine once more.

It’s with this in mind that she clicks on the left indicator, pulling over onto the hard shoulder, and switches the hazard lights on.

“What you doing?” Billy asks, frowning slightly as he removes his thumb from his mouth, the nail of which he’s been chewing absentmindedly on for the last few miles.

She turns the engine off, turning to him with a slight smile, an attempt to appease and keep him calm. “Check engine light’s come on, I need to ring the AA.”

“Fuck’s sake!” He seethes, unclipping his seatbelt and forcefully pushing open the passenger side door.

She watches him, illuminated in the darkness by the motorway lights, rounding the car, before stepping over the crash barrier and onto the grassy verge. Sighing, she unbuckles and climbs out.

“Billy–”

“I told you we should’ve got the fucking train!” He shouts, though there is no anger in his tone, she hears it in the wobble of his voice, sees it in the barely concealed tears he’s attempting to hold back. He’s close to breaking down.

“I know, babe, and I’m sorry,” she soothes, “I should have listened to you. But I promise you it’s nothing serious. You know how this old shitheap gets when it’s damp, remember last time it rained and the electric windows stopped working?”

It’s an attempt to lightheartedly downplay his fears, but it’s obviously unsuccessful. She watches as he fishes his cigarette packet from the pocket of his jogging bottoms, pulling one out and lighting it with shaky hands.

She takes out her phone and calls the recovery service, straining to hear over the roar of the traffic that speeds past on the M1. It’s going to be a forty five minute wait for anyone to get to them, though she should consider herself lucky, bearing in mind it’s December 23rd and there are cars nationwide breaking down on their way home for Christmas.

When she ends the call and tosses her phone onto the driver’s seat, she turns back to see that Billy is three quarters of the way through his smoke, his gaze downcast as he stands there shivering. The sight makes her heart ache.

“It’s freezing,” she calls out to him, “at least come and get your hoodie.”

She opens the door to the backseat, grabbing his Adidas zip up from it and holding it out to him. His head remains bowed, though his eyes look up at her, before he crushes his cigarette beneath his trainer and slowly walks towards her.

“Thanks,” he says quietly, slipping the hoodie on and perching on the edge of the backseat, facing out of the car, long legs stretched out in front of him.

They remain in silence for a few moments, Billy simply sitting with his hands clasped in his lap, staring at the ground, as she stands before him, looking out towards the steady stream of cars, eyes narrowed at the oncoming headlights that rush by.

“How long until you get fed up?” He finally asks, looking up at her.

“Well, I’m fed up already,” she jokes, “but we’ve gotta sit tight until someone comes to get us.”

He huffs a humourless laugh through his nose, lips quirking upwards slightly as he shakes his head. “You know that’s not what I mean. How much more of me can you hack before you finally decide I’m not worth the effort?”

“Oi,” she chastises playfully, ruffling a hand through his shaggy blonde hair. “To me, you will always be worth the effort. I’m not going anywhere.”

Billy bends his legs at the knees, planting his feet flat on the floor and pulls her between them as his arms wrap around her waist. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Don’t talk like that,” she says gently. “It’s been a rough few months, but we’ll get through it.

“God, I love you,” he tells her, stroking his palm across her cheek.

“Tell me again,” she smiles, leaning down to bump her nose against his.

“Love you,” he whispers, pressing his lips to hers.

She kisses back, expecting it to be quick and chaste, but gasps in surprise as his hand slides from her face into her hair, gripping and anchoring her to him, as his tongue slips into her mouth. He tastes faintly of tobacco, but she responds eagerly as their mouths move together, the sensation sending heat pooling between her legs.

He leans back against the backseat, keeping his feet planted on the ground outside, dragging her with him. She giggles, pulling away breathlessly.

“Billy, we’re on the side of the motorway, anyone could see us!”

“Best give them something good to look at then,” he grins lazily up at her, fingers tugging at the waistband of her leggings.

It’s been so long since he was this uninhibited and spontaneous, that that’s all the encouragement she needs. She scrambles to pull them from one leg, as Billy lifts his hips, pushing his jogging bottoms and boxers down just enough to free his cock.

As she hovers back over him, his fingers move to push her thong to one side, and she can’t help but smile into the crook of his neck. He’s not even fully hard, though his pushes against her entrance are quickly rectifying that.

There’s no time for either of them to prepare each other properly, not for a quickie on the side of the road, so when the head of him does finally breach her opening the intrusion steals her breath away.

She whines, as each slow withdrawal and thrust upwards from him pushes him deeper, her rapidly gathering slick helping to ease his passage, until he’s fully sheathed inside of her.

He pants along with her when she moans helplessly against his shoulder as he pistons up into her, holding her steady by her hips. The tight confines of the car make it so that every drag of his cockhead brushes against the sweet spot inside of her, making her involuntarily tighten around him.

His pace becomes rushed, sloppy, and the feeling of him pulsating inside of her sends her toppling over the edge, white hot sparks of pleasure shooting through her as she spasms around him. His fingers dig into the meat of her hips as he pushes up one final time, emptying himself into her with a groan.

She shifts to move off of him, but he grips tighter, keeping her where she is. “Don’t,” he whispers breathlessly, eyes closed.

“I need to put my leggings back on, babe,” she chuckles, “I don’t think the AA bloke will appreciate the sight of my bare arse.”

“We’ve got time,” he murmurs, pulling her back to him, stroking her hair. “Just stay like this for a minute.”

She squirms, the chill of the air on her naked skin and his spend leaking out of her around his softening length making her uncomfortable, but she stays where she is. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” he says, slowly blinking open his eyes. “It’s just…this is the first time I’ve been in a car where I haven’t thought about something horrible happening.”

Her gaze softens, and she pecks him on the cheek. “That’s good. So, what were you thinking about?”

“You, just you.”

#billy washington x reader #ewan mitchell #billy washington x y/n #billy washington x you #billy washington smut #billy washington angst #billy washington imagine #billy washington trigger point #trigger point billy washington #billy washington fan fiction #billy washington fanfiction #billy washington fanfic #billy washington fan fic #trigger point #trigger point fan fiction #trigger point fanfiction #trigger point fanfic #trigger point fan fic

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deathbecomesthem · 4 months

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Good Neighbors

Artwork by the one, the only, the @dr-aculaaa - There's a sweet treat of another piece of artwork at the end of this fic.

*I'm a shit for neglecting to mention that @jo-harrington commissioned the artwork for me, and encouraged this fic every step of the way.

Super Perv!Eddie x Older!Fem!Reader | 5.4K

A/N: This is a reupload from Chesty based on a random request. Many people were involved in the creation of this beast. I have a love/hate relationship with this scumbag.

*There is no actual sexual contact between this reader and Eddie. He has some elaborate fantasies about her. He crosses lines, and it's uncomfy. I consider this a bit out of character.

Contains: Stalker behavior, crossing of privacy boundaries, a pipe bomb, male masturbation, and cum eating. (and food play)

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Eddie Munson, sweetheart of Forest Hill Trailer Park, is sitting at the picnic table that sits between your trailers. It is 6:30 am. Before you moved into the park, Eddie Munson didn’t wake up before 8:45 am. It’s different now. He’s the kind of guy that gets up with the sun, coffee mug, Camels, and battered paperback in hand, to sit in the crisp spring morning air. To see you.

Eddie is a sweetheart. That has always been true about him, but it’s only been the last few years that it’s an accepted fact within his community. He’s had his fair share of problems, he’s been in and out of legal trouble. He’s made some questionable choices as far as making money goes, but he’s a good man. Always has been. Even Eddie thinks he might be a good man.

Eddie has been walking Mrs. Olson’s terrier every morning and afternoon since she had her shoulder replaced two weeks ago. He does brake jobs for the cost of parts and a six pack for anyone that asks. He even got some lumber and rope to put up a couple of swings around the park for the kids. He has a respectable job down at Danny’s Garage. He’s not just a mechanic, he’s a supervisor now. He’s reliable. He might be a little late in the mornings, but he never misses work, the customers love him, and the guys love that he still has a hookup and can supply cheap herb whenever they ask for it.

This morning Eddie has his book, The Talisman - open to page 243. Eddie’s had this book open to page 243 every morning this week. Eddie’s not progressing in the story. He’s not getting lost in the worlds that King and Straub have described in those pages that are already yellowing from exposure to tobacco smoke. He’s waiting behind the pages. He’s anticipating. He’s holding his prop, his reason for being here. The book is, of course, a ruse - and you are the intended target.

This Monday morning, you’re dressed in your usual jogging outfit for these chilly late spring mornings. OSU sweatshirt and matching gray sweatpants. Eddie silently prays to Mother Nature for the true warmth of summer. He wants the heat of the sun to coax you out of those warm clothes and into a pair of jogging shorts. A tank top that shows the lines of a sports bra. Maybe even just a sports bra on really hot days.

Eddie is already sporting an erection just thinking about the possibilities, which makes getting up and walking over to greet you at the foot of your front steps a bad idea. He’s wearing his work coveralls with a white tank top and shorts underneath. It gets hot in the garage, even when it’s not full mid-summer heat. He knows for a fact that his unfortunate boner will be on full display against the poly/cotton blend fabric.

You were hoping to run into Eddie this morning. Such a nice young man, and so helpful to you since the first day you arrived in Hawkins. Your arm was still in the sling at the time, and he made a fuss about making sure you didn’t lift anything heavier than your purse. He spent the better part of the day carrying boxes into your new home with his sweet smile spread across his full lips. A handsome guy, it was no surprise when a pretty girl pulled up that evening and headed to his trailer. You don’t know what happened to her, but after a couple of weeks in the park, she stopped coming by. A shame, Eddie deserves a good woman. You tell him all the time, if you were 20 years younger, you’d snatch him up.

You’ve got a few things you’d like him to do around your trailer when he has the time. Rick, your current boyfriend, isn’t the type to do manual labor. He’s also a good man, a respectable lawyer at that. He’s kind. It’s ok that he can’t put in a garbage disposal. It’s ok that he doesn’t know how to fix your leaky sink. He’s offered to pay a plumber, but Eddie seems to genuinely care about you. You like that, it feels right to be in a community like this after living in hell for so long. It makes you feel safe knowing that the Munsons are right next door, keeping an eye on things.

“Good morning, Eddie!” You have a niggling feeling that Eddie had been looking in the direction of your trailer just before you looked up to see if he was in his usual spot. He always has the brightest smile for you, even in the early hours of the day. Today is no exception. What a nice surprise to find out the sweet young man next door is also an early bird, up with the sun every day. It’s not what you would have expected from a leather wearing, motorcycle wearing, tattooed metalhead. You were happy to put aside your preconceived notions for him.

“Howdy, neighbor!” As usual, he’s got a Camel lit and perched between his ringed fingers. Funny that he wears them to the garage every day knowing that he’ll have to take them off before he starts work, but he has them prettily adorned on his fingers every time you see him.

“I’m so so glad I caught you,” Eddie preened a little at your smile and kind words. He loves it when you stop for a chat. It’s the reason he gets up at these ungodly hours, he knows it’s a chance to see you. To talk to you. To catch a whiff of your scent. “I’m wondering if I could have you do some handyman work around my place again. I’m happy to pay for it –“

“We’ve talked about this before,” Eddie’s hand is up in the air as soon as you utter the word “pay”, stopping your train of thought before it can really start to pick up steam.

“Well,” you let out a deep sigh to show your faux annoyance, “there’s a pie and roast beef dinner with your name on it, at least. You’ve got my key. I’ll leave a note with what needs to be done along with some cash for any parts you might need. Thank you, I should probably know how to do most of this stuff myself, but I’m useless.”

“Pretty ladies don’t need to know how to snake a drain, we’ve been over this. If Rick doesn’t have the time, your good friend Eddie does. What are neighbors for?” His smile, as always, reassures you. He really doesn’t mind helping the middle-aged lady next door with silly little tasks. And he always leaves your place immaculate, cleaner than when he came to do the work.

“God, what would I do without you? You’re such a sweet boy, Eddie.” Eddie’s erection presses hard against his thigh at your praise, and aches painfully when you give his forearm a little squeeze. “If I were about 20 years younger…” the sentiment hangs in the air as you turn and begin your trail jog, leaving Eddie sitting alone with only his uncomfortable boner to keep him company.

You say it every time he’s sweet to you. If I were about 20 years younger, and Eddie wants nothing more than to tell you that he doesn’t want that. He wants you now. But that’s not going to happen with your clean cut, age-appropriate boyfriend in the picture. A boyfriend that takes you to nice dinners once a week. A boyfriend that drives an expensive car. A boyfriend that will probably pull you out of your post-divorce poverty and put you up in his cute suburban home with a white picket fence.

Eddie watched you return from your jog from the front window of his trailer. It was already getting too warm, and you had taken off your sweatshirt, exposing a wide armed talk top with a sports bra underneath. Sweat was trickling down your neck. He couldn’t see it from this distance, but he knew there would be beads of it kissing your soft skin. He thought about what it would be like for his tongue to catch that saltiness. Let his tongue slide across your collarbone. He could almost taste you, from the imagining alone. Smell you.

Eddie wonders if you do it on purpose. He wonders if you bend down with your ample behind pointed in the direction of his front window hoping he’ll see it. He likes to imagine that you do. He likes to imagine that you know what you do to him, that the game is something you’re playing together. He thinks about putting his face in the cradle of your neck while he pulls down those gray sweatpants. He thinks about dropping down to spread your ass for him. He thinks about letting his tongue taste you while you’re still glistening with sweat. It would be so good. Yes. He thinks about this while he watches you. He thinks about this while he tugs at his aching cock. He fists at himself furiously while you arch your back and let the sun shine down on your face. He’s been hard since you came out of your trailer this morning, and he’s been patiently waiting for your return to relieve himself. He has a pair of your panties under his nose, a pair you were sure your dryer ate at some point. Your scent is faint, but still present. It’s not until after you’ve climbed the steps to your trailer that he wraps those cotton panties around his length and releases himself with a groan.

Eddie tucks himself away and immediately checks his coveralls for any possible stray cum stains. Regret and disgust begin to creep into his mind before he can fully push them back, but he knows it doesn’t matter. He’ll still be a few minutes late for work because he needs to know which outfit you’ve decided to wear today. Will it be the dockers with the wide black belt paired with one of your short-sleeved sweaters? Or maybe the dress you bought last week that you’re worried about being a little too casual for the office?

Eddie doesn’t know this stuff about you because you and he have girl chats over cups of coffee in the afternoon. He knows this stuff about you because he’s observant. He listens. Your trailers are close together, after all, and when the windows are open, he can sometimes pick up bits of conversations. Some of them are between you and Ricky, some of them are one sided phone conversations with your friends. It’s not creepy. He can’t help it. He’s making sure. He’s keeping an eye out. You deserve to be safe and happy, and he’s going to do his goddamned best to make sure that happens. He would never pry.

The first time he saw you, your pain cried out to him. Your broken arm was still healing, and there were still faint yellowing bruises scattered across your pretty face. Eddie knew exactly what happened before he ever had the evidence. It took a few weeks, but he put the pieces together, and found out about him, the ex. He found out where he worked. An insurance agent with his own office. Well – he had an office in downtown Dayton, Ohio. Stand-up guy, except for the part where he beats his wife.

Eddie had only meant to scare him a little. He threw the pipe bomb into the dumpster and drove away. He didn’t check to make sure there was nothing flammable inside, because there are rules about that kind of thing. It’s not really his fault what happened, plus no one was in the building anyway. He expected to cause a little confusing mess, but the entire place ended as kindling. Eddie still thinks the guy got off easy.

Of course, he recognizes now that it was too far. How would he be able to make sure you’re doing ok if he’s stuck behind bars? What he wanted to do was strangle the ex with his bare hands and watch the light of life blow out of his eyes. But it’s better to stay where he is, to keep an eye out. Plus, Rick is a really good guy. So far.

Eddie,

Thank you, a million times over. You’re such a sweetheart for doing this for me. I made a pie last night, have a slice (or two) if you want and there’s beer in the fridge. I’ll be back around 4, and I’m making your favorite for your dinner payment.

xoxoxo,

your favorite neighbor

The note hangs on the metal door of your trailer, you’d left early. You’re working a double at the diner, and it’s Eddie’s day off. Convenient for him. He can work uninterrupted. He can have the place to himself. His cock is hard just thinking about being in your space with your things. He hopes there’s some laundry left in the hamper just inside your bedroom door. He hopes you went jogging this morning, that maybe your sweatband would be sitting on your vanity.

Your living room is tidy, it’s always tidy. A People magazine, a TV Guide, an ashtray, and a lilac scented candle sit on the coffee table at the center of the room when he enters. You don’t smoke, but Ricky does, and she never minds if you do when you’re in her place. You even asked Eddie the other night if he’d want to share a joint with her sometime when you caught a whiff of the weed smoke coming from his porch. He brought some weed today just in case you were serious.

Eddie makes his way to the kitchen where his first, and easiest, task of the day is located. It’s all plumbing problems, and he told you it would take all day. But, no, It’ll actually be a couple of hours. Tops. Plenty of time for other things. The reality is Eddie could come into your place any time, but he’d never do it uninvited. That would be intrusive. He respects your privacy and would never want to cross a line.

Eddie tosses his jacket on your empty recliner and gets to work sorting through his tools. His first stop is the kitchen where he promised he’d put in a new garbage disposal. The kitchen is tidy, just like every other part of your trailer. It’s your place, all yours, and you treasure it. Eddie notices a coffee mug with a red lipstick kiss on the rim and an empty bowl with a spoon sitting next to the sink. Breakfast dishes, no doubt.

There’s a bit of Raisin Bran residue in the spoon sitting in the white porcelain bowl. Without a thought in his head, he takes the spoon and shoves it into his mouth. Eddie runs his tongue against the cool metal, lapping up the last of the milk and cereal. His eyes are closed in concentration, reaching for any lingering taste of you left within the dirty utensil. It’s a fight against his brain when lays the spoon back to rest in its former position and turns his attention to the coffee mug. A kiss left just for him, he lets his tongue run across the ghost of your lips, tasting your lipstick. He’s already hard just being here with the hints of you that were left behind this morning.

No more, he promises himself, not until you’re done. The next few hours are spent with wrenches, screwdrivers, and caulk. Garbage disposal – done and functioning. You’ll be able to grind chicken bones with that baby. Eddie puts in a new faucet in the bathroom and notices that the showerhead is still dripping. He noticed it the last time he was in your place. He came prepared. He bought a massaging, detachable head and puts it in for you as a surprise. You deserve it. The last thing on the official list is replacing the parts inside of your toilet tank. It just needs a new flapper valve, but Eddie’s doing the whole work. Easy fix. He could show you, but then you wouldn’t need him next time. He could show Rick, but Rick’s not interested in manual labor. Rick can afford to pay a plumber to come and do the work that would take a total of 20 minutes to complete with a basic knowledge of how a toilet tank functions. That’s below Rick.

Taking care of you would never be below Eddie. He would do anything to make sure you have everything you need to be happy. He bought that shower head for you because Robin had mentioned how much she loved hers. When Steve told him why she loved hers, Eddie knew he had to get you one. He ran his fingers against the nozzle head after the installation was finished. He stroked it, imagining you standing under it, the water running down your skin.

Eddie’s next movements are without thought behind them. The need guides him. He undresses completely, leaving a pile of clothes sitting on the toilet seat. He steps into the shower, your shower, and turns the water to warm. His hair is pulled back into a bun at the nape of his neck, and he decides to let it loose. He has time. You won’t be back for hours, his hair will be dry by then. Every bottle in this shower smells of you. So, he lathers. He lets the suds of your honey body wash clean off the sweat and dirt of the day. The pink bottles of Salon Selectives are what he uses to massage his scalp. He works the shampoo into his skin, he wants the scent to last for at least a couple of days. He wants to think of you when catches the scent from his own head.

Eddie luxuriates under the warm trickle of water. He lets himself think of you. He reaches into his mind to remember the way your touch feels against his skin when you squeeze his arm. He lets the lingering scent of your lost panties re-enter his nasal cavity. He thinks about the way the corners of your eyes crinkle when you give him one of your big smiles. He thinks about all of this, letting his cock grow. He tugs at himself, just a little bit, to really let himself start to feel something.

He has a ferocious erection when he steps out of the shower and reaches for your silky bathrobe. It hangs on a plastic hook on the inside of your bathroom door. It’s white, and he lets himself think about how you look wearing it as he slips it over his damp skin. It’s so soft, as soft as you are. He’s being directed by his cock now, his brain is more than empty. It does not exist. His chores are done, and he hours before you’ll be home.

Your room. The untidiest room in the house, but still neat. He sets his pile of clothes on your dresser. That’s where he spots your tube of lipstick and your perfume bottle. Kismet. He takes the tube of Avon Apricot Freeze and delicately applies it to his lips. It’s the shade you’re wearing today, he recognizes it from your coffee mug. Eddie is careful when he handles the triangle shaped bottle of Claibourne perfume. He brings it to his nose and inhales deeply. It’s you, yes, but it’s lacking something. He spritzes it against his neck where he knows he’ll be able to smell it while he enjoys himself.

His next stop is the hamper that sits beside your dresser. He knows what he’ll find there, he watched you on your run this morning. The underwear sits atop a week’s worth of dirty laundry. A quick sniff tells him that, yes, you wore them while the sweat clung to your body. His erection twitches against the silky robe while he takes a deep breath. His eyes roll back in his head, and he knows it’s time to let himself feel the full height of his pleasure.

What the perfume is lacking can be found on your pillowcase. Your fuller scent lingers there. Your worn underwear sits against his tongue and lips while he lays his chest down on your soft mattress, a pillow folded under his hips to create a fold that will hold his cock. Your scent, your taste, the softness of your robe – he is lost in you. With his eyes closed, he can almost imagine you’re here with him. He can almost imagine the way your heat would feel wrapped around his cock.

It's so good. So perfect in your place. He’s teased himself for hours thinking about this moment, and his body moves with furious intent in your bed. He’s listening to you say his name inside his mind, over and over while his cock rubs against the pillow under him. Eddie, Eddie, Eddie. Yes, it’s what you would say if he had you here. If he plunged himself deeper and deeper inside of you. If he wrapped his mouth around your nipple instead of around this piece of fabric. Eddie, Eddie, please. I want you so much. You’re such a good boy.

Eddie’s orgasm hits him like a truck. His hips leap with no rhythm. They are searching while his cum is expelled from him with more force than he’s ever experienced before. More pleasure than he ever felt with Sandra, the girl that left him when she said he was spending too much time worrying about the old lady next door. His bucking hips slow after what feels like an eternity of ecstasy. A never ending stream of seed, while the sweat on his back is making the silk fabric of the robe stick to his skin. He allows himself a moment. A beat to lay in his post orgasm haze. Bliss unrivaled by any other feeling he’s ever had in his entire existence. Laying there with the ghost scent of you in your bed. In your home.

When you pull into the trailer park, it’s half past 4. You’re ready for a shower. It’s getting sticky out, and your hot flashes have started increasing. 45 years old, and your body has decided to become a mystery to you. You vaguely remember that Eddie might still be at your place, and resign yourself to the idea that the shower might have to wait until after you feed him. It’s worth it, though. He deserves at least a home cooked meal and the six pack you have in the trunk of your car.

You open the door to your place to find it in exactly the same condition you left it in. It needs dusting, but it’ll have to wait. As you walk through the kitchen, you notice the breakfast dishes sitting in the drying rack and smile. He really is an angel. There’s a note on the counter.

Howdy neighbor,

I have to run out to do a few errands. I’ll be back around 6. I hope you enjoy the surprise I left for you in the bathroom.

Eddie

Everything is clean. It’s like no one was ever here. You look around and spot it, a new shower head. He didn’t just fix the constant dripping, he replaced the whole thing. Angel. It feels incredible when you step into it. The massage feature is a gift you hadn’t expected. The warm water washes away the day from your body, and you silently praise Eddie’s handiwork while you let the honey scented body wash foam between your fingers.

Your bathrobe isn’t in its place, which is odd, but you must have left it in your room. You grab a towel from the shelf above the toilet and wrap it around your body. Sweatpants and a sweater are a comfort to your tired muscles. You finally register the sound that’s been in the background since you got home. Your dryer is running. He even did a load of laundry for you. You’re going to have to make him his own pie this weekend.

It was so warm and soft, a quick and tender embrace. It was friendly, innocent. Eddie relished it. He let himself focus on the feeling of your arms around his waist, the way your hair brushed against his face, the clean scent of soap from your post work shower. He reached and searched in those couple of seconds, determined to take as much from the moment as possible. To let it fuel his need.

He took that moment, that embrace, with him as he left your trailer along with the Dutch apple pie you made for him. It was still warm from the oven as you placed it in his hands. Those weren’t the only things Eddie took with him. The metal was burning a hole in his pocket while you hugged him goodnight. He fought against his body while his arousal kicked up at your touch, and he promised himself - soon.

It’s beautiful. Eddie almost feels bad about cutting into it. The apple syrup bubbled up around the brown sugar crumble crust during baking and there are pieces of crystallized sugar sprinkled about the top. He’s thinking about you cutting the apples, he’s thinking about your fingers working the pie crust. Sprinkling sugar and cinnamon.

Eddie’s hard. It’s not only the memory of your warmth against him, or the cinnamon and sugar scent invading his nostrils, but also the soft silk panties he’s wearing. Like the other things he’s taken, he’ll return them back of course, but how could he resist when they were out in the open like that? Freshly worn and resting atop today’s work clothes inside your bathroom. He had only meant to wash his hands before dinner, but instead he took off his boxers and replaced them with your pretty underwear. Underwear that had so recently held your heat against them. He needed it.

Eddie knows what he plans to do despite the fact that he is not consciously acknowledging it. It’s as if he loses control of his bodily movements at times like these. The empty trailer, Wayne’s gone for the week on a fishing trip, is an open invitation for the experience he has mapped out in his mind. He sets the scene, taking his time. His body is still tired from earlier, but the temptation of the still warm apple pie is impossible to resist.

Eddie pulls a knife out of the drawer, cool metal against the warm skin of his fingers, and he cuts a slice of the crumbling dessert. He leaves it in the pan and immediately walks to his bedroom. His window is still open, the curtains blow in the breeze of the summer evening. It smells like rain will come before too long. The lights are always low in his room, but he opts for turning them off completely before he undresses. Just in case.

Your bedroom window is directly across from his own, and when the evenings are cool it’s possible to hear things. Soft music sometimes wafts through Eddie’s open window. He’s hoping to hear some of the sweet noises he occasionally hears on nights like these. Not the sounds of love making when Rick visits, but the sounds of quiet pleasure when it’s just your own car parked in front of your home. Eddie likes to think that maybe sometimes you can hear him, and hopes that it helps you along when your fingers are deep inside yourself. Maybe you even think of his ringed fingers during those times.

A man can dream.

Eddie reaches into the back pocket of his jeans before he lays them on the chair in the corner of his room where the rest of his clothes are resting. His nipples are already peaked with excitement. The small pieces of gold jewelry sit in the palm of his hand while a flash of disgust threatens to ruin his plans. He finds the strength to push it back. Let it sit way back in his mind until after. After he can let those feelings of shame come out to play, but not until after he’s had his fun.

Eddie’s cock is pressed against the silk fabric of your underwear, and the cool air of the room combined with the arousal the head is already leaking, it feels like a gentle kiss. There’s a twitch, an answer to that thought, and Eddie turns his focus back to the clip on earrings he smuggled out of your trailer. They are not the kind designed to gently cling to the lobes of your ears. No. These are the kind that are designed to pinch, an aggressive assurance that they won’t be lost at some point during the day. When Eddie attaches the first one to his left nipple, it’s an immediate and intense pain that only kicks up his arousal. His cock jumps with each zing of pain and pleasure, and he has a distant concern that he’ll come just from the feeling alone. With deep breaths, he manages to calm himself before doing it all over again with the right nipple.

Eddie’s back is sweating, and his cock feels weighed down with the cum he’s holding back. It won’t take much coaxing for him to erupt. He can feel an orgasm creeping behind his eyes, in his throat, deep in his guts. From an outsider’s perspective, he would look absurd. Even more so as he rests his ass, still covered by soft panties, on the large terry cloth towel he has laid down on his sheets in preparation. It’s going to be messy, and he’s happy that he has the forethought to prepare. He’ll be very tired when it’s over.

Eddie lays his head on his pillow, pulling his curls over so that he can lay on his side. His nose can smell the shampoo he used earlier. Your shampoo. It’s so lovely, and it helps Eddie imagine that it’s your hair that his nose is pressed into. His nipples are still shooting zings of painful pleasure as Eddie uses one hand to scoop out the piece of sliced pie from the tin, and the other to release his aching cock from the prison of your silky panties. The first bite of pie is almost a religious experience for him. The apples are still slightly crispy, but the juices have mixed in with the sugar and streusel topping.

Eddie had not planned what he did next, it was a natural instinct. His need took over his movements again. Instead of wrapping his hand around his aching cock, he slid his palm under the pie tin and pressed the pastry against himself. The tip of his cock is immediately surrounded by the warm, sticky filling. It feels incredible, and he’s shocked to realize it feels surprisingly like a mouth.

All at once, he’s groaning around the pie at his mouth while his cock pushes itself through the mess of apples, sugar, and streusel. His body is crying out, the pleasure soaring through him. His taste buds are dancing, his nipples are screaming, his hips are thrusting his cock into that open mouth. Brown sugar coats his thatch of pubic hair, raining down from his gluttonous self pleasure. In no time, he spills himself into the pie dish, his cum and the pie filling creating a combination of flavors that would make Betty Crocker roll over in her grave. The piece of unfinished pie has somehow ended up mashed in Eddie's wild curls. He’s sticky from the sweat and sugary confection.

After the bliss wanes, Eddie first removes the earrings, allowing his nipples to rest. The vibrating pleasure immediately ceases, and he can breathe normally. The come down is a crash as he envisions this moment captured in a still image.

Eddie Munson, in his bed, ass being hugged by a pair of silk underwear, covered in streusel and apple pie filling. It’s with a sigh that almost sounds like a groan that Eddie scoops out a handful from the pie tin and brings it to his mouth. He licks the mess from between his fingers, the sweetest pie he’s ever tasted, and the faintest hint of himself mixed within.

#eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson #eddie munson x you #chesty fic #perv!eddie munson #eddie munson x fem!reader

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seat-safety-switch · 8 months

Text

You can put up with a recalcitrant machine for quite some time. For instance, my garage door opener hasn't gone past about 70% in the last couple decades. Adapting, learning to live with it, making compromises: it's what us human beings are good at doing. One day, though, a machine will push you just a little bit too far.

Even the simplest YouTube journey will show you hundreds of videos of people destroying unreliable appliances. Once, long ago, these were prize possessions. Trusted comrades in the fight against disorder. Slowly, as they began to age and things started feeling not-so-fresh, there was still tolerance, or at least acceptance. Getting a new one is expensive, and I can live without hot water in my dishwasher. Eventually – and no one can predict when this is – the appliance just pushed someone too far, and it was time for catharsis.

Unfortunately for all of human civilization, the indulgence of this base instinct is not done as well as it could be. Usually, these videos are low-cost, shakycam affairs, a simple drunken smash-and-giggle among bros (and she-bros, and they-bros.) What our historical record wants, nay, needs is a commitment to the total obliteration of a Maytag washer-and-dryer combo, and that's where CERN comes in.

You might be aware of CERN from all the crazy shit that the haters put in the news. They built that huge particle collider that put our world onto the wrong timeline, but they swear (of course) that it's not their fault. Regardless of whose fault it actually is (CERN's arch-nemesis, NASA?) they still do possess a particle accelerator capable of absolutely blowing the living fuck out of a partially working home appliance. And they have lots of really good slow-motion cameras to capture the moment that their victim is reduced to its constituent atoms.

Unfortunately for all of us, the damn particle accelerator broke. Yeah, I guess they only bodged it to work for the one demo, and can't figure out how to get it to be reliable. Right now, if they want to do an experiment, one of the interns has to stand inside the reaction chamber and touch two wires together, quote, "really fast" before getting the hell out of dodge. And for some reason they haven't been able to hire for that job. Maybe one day it'll be replaced by robots, which will give us a whole other host of problems to solve.

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kzlove · 1 year

Text

connie's sister's got it goin' on

jean thought his friends were bluffing when they told him connie's sister was the shit.

warnings : slight suggestive, eren and armin are pervs, jean speaks a lil french, not proofread

part two

driving in the rain sucked ass.

connie had conviced jean to go out with him to a few places that still made his head spin when he tried to think about it.

of course, connie was like this kid that was never allowed outside of his yard.

anything fun? yeah of course the homies gotta go with him.

sadly, eren was too busy catching up with college work, and armin had tutoring on saturdays.

sasha has a boyfriend, and mikasa is practically obsessed with her girlfriend.

the only person that was free was jean, who never minded going out with connie.

safe to say, it was never boring.

but of course, connie's unprepared ass never checked to see how the weather would be when planning to spend the day outside.

so they were driving back to connie's in the middle of what seemed to be the beginning of a thunderstorm.

"mother nature needa close her legs." connie grumbled, watching the road like the passenger princess he was.

jean rolled his eyes in return. before he could get his word out, lighting struck loudly.

ooo mother nature didn't like connie for that statement he made. it rained harder, if even possible.

jean was able to get them both to connie's house safely, parking outside due to connie and a few other family member's cars parked in the garage.

yeah.. connie had a big family.

in the home was connie, his parents, his younger sister, three younger brothers, and his older sister.

the older sister was rarely at the house though, having a job and her own place in another state.

but with their parents away on their anniversary, someone had to watch the kids.

and connie really isn't that reliable. the poor kids wouldn't even step foot out of the house for school or eat anything other than junk food.

so his older sister decided to come down and help out.

"i hope you don't plan on going home in this weather." connie said, turning to jean with a light frown.

once again, before jean could respond, something had interrupted him.

this time, it was connie, taking the keys of of the ignition and dashing onto the porch, hood over his head in a jiffy.

jean groaned in annoyance before following suit.

"you didn't have to do all of that." jean complained immediately when he made it to the porch.

connie mocked the boy beside him, unlocking the door and holding it open for jean in a cheesy smile.

"i'm home! what's that smell?!" connie yelled over the tv, his three younger brothers playing the game loudly.

jean heard loud footsteps, but didn't pick up his heaad while he balanced on connie to take his shoes off.

"it's actual cooked fuckin food- jesus connie i thought i told you to tell me if you were bringing guests!" jean heard an unfamiliar voice yell from the stairs.

jean looked up and goodness..

the sight before him was gorgeous.

there you stood, wearing a white t-shirt that barely even left your hips.

you were filled out in all of the best ways, a mean scowl on your face directed towards the man beside him.

all jean could think about was 'if you could see it from the front...'

what snapped him out of his thoughts was your eyes on him as you cleared your throat.

jean muttered a small sorry and turned around, giving some privacy at least.

"wouldn't have to if you'd wear some goddamn clothes." connie shot back, rolling his eyes with an exasperated groan.

"i'm sorry you still haven't fixed the fan in the kitchen so i sweat fucking bullets when i have to cook." you scoffed, walking back upstairs.

jean turned around when he heard you were halfway up the stairs.

and goodness was that ass fat-

"okay jean. you can use the bathroom near my room to shower and shit. i'm gonna use my sisters." connie said, gesturing to upstairs.

jean nodded, swallowing lightly and making his way upstairs.

he walked into the bathroom near connie's room like he was told to, and immediately called the boys group chat after he'd shut the door.

that definitely didn't include connie.

it was a conversation made when tey were planning a surprise party for connie, and never ended up deleting it.

it's only really used to play imessage games now though.

eren and armin immediately answered, confused as to why this chat was being called.

"bro y'all are fake." jean whispered harshly, glaring at the phone.

"what'd i do this time? the aloe vera was mika's idea." eren complained, rolling his eyes while propping his phone up.

jean disregarded what was said.

eren's hair was down and he was shirtless, some comic book in his hand.

armin looked like he had just gotten back from his tutoring session.

his bag was in hand and his phone wasn't showing his face like it always was.

"why didn't either of you tell me his sister was like that?!" jean exclaimed quietly, raising his eye brow.

eren bursted into laughter, making armin follow along and pause in his steps through his house.

jean cursed quietly, turning his volume down to hide their ill jokes and laughter.

"aye! tell mama if she done fuckin that lawyer she with, i got a big one waiting in my lap!" armin joked, grinning at the camera.

"let her know papi extraña ese lindo coño!" eren said, pressing his tongue between his index and middle fingers teasingly.

jean rolled his eyes, ignoring his friends whistles and moans.

a few knocks at the door got jean's attention, making him pale.

"please don't let anyone hear them." jean begged under his breath, before getting ready to hang up.

eren and armin noticed, and laughed at him and his predicament.

"remember! tell her it cures to the right! presses right on that g-spot!" "she could wear whatever she want, i can fight and my name is moanable! i'll fight that man for her too!"

jean hung up quickly, opening the door.

to his luck, you were standing at the door holding a fluffy pink towel and some clothes.

"hey. jean right? connie said to bring you some clothes. sadly, i could only find this towel." you explained, gesturing to what's in your hand.

jean swallowed before nodding, taking the pile of stuff from you.

"thanks." he said quickly, before taking the pile of stuff from you.

he decided on getting in the shower and trying to take his mind off you before he had a.. problem.

when jean came out of the shower, he made a beeline straight for connie's room.

he felt like he might die if he seen you immediately after his shower.

luckily, connie was in there with a blunt in his mouth and the video game already on.

"took you long enough." connie mumbled, still holding onto the spliff.

jean rolled his eyes and took a seat on the bed, kicking his legs up and getting comfortable.

connie took another look at jean and chuckled. "you look like you got a compression shirt on." connie teased.

jean flipped him off, swiping open his phone and opening a random game.

connie began playing music, the tunes blasting out of the sound system he and eren hooked up to his tv a year back.

before he could get any further into the song, his door was thrown open and in came his older sister.

"if you're gonna play music, play something good at least." you said, nearly shouting over the music.

jean quickly grabbed the remote and muted the speaker to clearly hear you speak.

you were wearing some pants now, though it didn't really do you any justice.

they were riding up your thighs, cupped right under your butt.

jean had to force himself to look away.

thankfully, connie had begun speaking to you to catch his attention.

"get out of my room! and put some proper fuckin' pants on. you look like a slut." connie complained immediately.

you rolled his eyes and flipped him off immediately.

"dinner will be ready in five, do not light that in here." you warned, picking up his nike slides and tossing them at him.

before he could throw them right back, you walked out and slammed the door hard.

so hard, the hoop behind it fell off.

connie groaned in annoyance, complaining about how he had just fixed the shit and now it's broken again.

the man stood up, stretched his limbs out, and looked towards jean.

"let's go smoke this before we eat." connie said, walking out to the balcony attached to his room.

jean followed him, happy for the roof his parents had built in for them.

by them he meant connie and, well, you.

they had the biggest rooms with a balcony attached to both.

connie sat on one of the chairs and jean sat across from him, leaning back as he watched his friend light the spliff.

"this is the first time you've hung out with me in a hot minute, jeanboy." connie stated, taking a pull.

jean chuckled, kicking his legs up on the extended couch. "yeah well, you know i'm always buried in work." jean replied.

connie nodded, handing the spliff over to jean after taking two more pulls.

jean ashed it a bit, but before he could pull it to his mouth, it was snatched out of his hand.

he looked up and seen you, spliff tucked between your plump lips.

"you're in my spot, jeanboy." you teased, taking a seat beside him.

connie rolled his eyes, though he half expected you to find your way out on the balcony for the spliff he rolled.

because if there was anything connie was good at, it was rolling.

never too thick, never too skinny. just right and good enough to get you high.

you took a pull, blowing the smoke out of your nose with a long sigh.

"haven't smoked in so long." you chuckled, leaning back and closing your eyes.

"what happened to that lawyer you were with? daddy let's you smoke now?" connie snorted, looking at you from the corner of your eye.

you put your middle finger up, choosing you ignore his comment and hand the spliff back over to jean.

he took a pull, face turning a bit red after a slight realization.

your gloss hand stained the brown paper a faded pink.

he tries to ignore it, blowing the smoke out of his mouth and handing it back to connie.

"you connie's new friend? never seen you before." you questioned, leaning back onto the seat.

jean shook his head, taking another pull. "m'actually one of his longest friends. just real busy." jean said in return.

you nodded, raising your eyebrows lightly and looking at connie.

"ya hear that? i actually have friends." connie teasing, shooting you a lazy grin.

"mhm. he's probably staying for the weed." you shot back, gratefully taking the blunt from him.

jean choked lightly, chuckling at the bewildered face connie had immediately made.

"i'll have you know i made him some mean friendship bracelets when we were in middle school." connie scoffed, sitting up from his seat.

you rolled your eyes and mocked connie under your breath, before handing the spliff to him.

"what's your major, jeanboy?" you asked, turning your attention back to the man next to you.

jean raised his eyes to look at you, before leaning back.

"i'm majoring in fine arts." jean replied, looking up at the dangling stars on the roof.

you must've hung them up there when you were younger.

jean heard you coo lightly, turning his attention right back over to you.

you were pretending to pose a bit, smiling. "draw me like one of your french girls." you joked.

jean has heard that line so many times from other girls that tried to hit on him, but for some reason?

when it came from your mouth, he seriously wanted to draw you.

he laughed lightly, rolling his eyes and looking back at the ceiling.

"alright. i gotta piss. don't fuck my sister, jeanboy." connie teased, handing you the roach he left behind to toss out.

no promises.

you flipped him off again, before placing the roach in the tray.

it grew silent between the two of you, not exactly knowing what to say to each other.

"you don't speak spanish, right?" you questioned, looking at jean.

jean shook his head. "french, actually." he informed, not taking his eyes off the ceiling.

you sat up with a start, a smile adorning your face.

"seriously?" you exclaimed, face lighting up like a kid on christmas.

he could feel you scanning his face, and confirming his statement on your own.

his jawline, his nose, his eyes. if he wasn't completely french, some part of him definitely was.

"then you'll seriously have to draw me." you chuckled, relaxing back into your seat.

"are you fluent?" you questioned once more, leaning your head onto the back of the seat.

jean nodded, sitting up to face you. he had a question in mind.

"say some thing." you demanded lightly, nudging him with your arm.

jean inhaled, thinking about what he wanted to say.

then, it was almost as if a lightbulb appeared atop his head.

"je voudrais dormir avec toi." jean said with a smirk, looking you in your eyes.

his accent was heavy, which just made you even more interested in what he just said.

"what does that mean?" you asked, shifting closer to him with a small smile on your face.

jean put his finger to his lips, deeming his words a secret.

he just knew connie would kill him if he found out what he said to his sister.

"since you've asked so much of me, how about i ask something in return?" jean suggested.

you nodded, agreeing to answer any question he had.

"what did happen with you and that lawyer guy?" he questioned, looking at you.

you sighed, leaning back into the seat.

it grew quiet once more. you were hesitating to answer his question.

maybe he should've kept his curiosity to himself.

before he could take it back though, you spoke. "ah. i dumped him. much too controlling. don't tell con?" you smiled.

he knew what you were talking about.

connie goes hard for his family. it was obvious when he told his little sister's bully to 'get yo bumass brother' and beat the shit out of him.

imagine what he and his friends would to do the guy if he found out what he did to his sister.

"but that's good. means you can really draw me like rose when connie's asleep." you whispered in his ear, running his hand over your waist.

jean swallowed thickly, feeling you lean into him. "you know where my room is." you whispered, pressing a kiss to his jawline.

he never responded, only watching as you walked into your room.

jean was so bragging about this to eren and armin.

but only after he comes out of your room later tonight. he'll need the proof.

je voudrais dormir avec toi -> i would like to sleep with you

#jean kirschstein #jean kirschtien #jean kirestein #jean kirstein #jean kirstein fanfiction #jean kirstein x reader #jean x reader #jean x y/n #connie aot #connie springer #jean aot #aot fanfiction #aot fluff #shingeki no kyojin #attack on titan

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weixuldo · 6 months

Text

Unconditionally Epilogue (pt 2)

Anakin X Reader

a/n: This is the complete end to unconditionally, i’ve been putting off finishing part two but i really just got into it these past few days (nostalgia is a weird thing haha) but i hope you enjoy and i want to thank you all again- i wouldn’t have ever continued to write if you guys hadn’t supported me in the first place- so thank you so much :)

10 years later...

It’s a busy week at the Skywalker household: the twins are turning 18 and you and Anakin are celebrating your 10th anniversary

Warnings: cursing, kids, nudity, no sex but implied, mention of injury and car accidents.

___________________

“Maker!! This is for me?” Leia exclaimed happily when the two of you handed her the smooth car fob.

“It's all yours princess” Anakin smiled as he went in to hug her.

“We wanted to send you off to college with a more reliable car; we also got you a bunch of accessories and stickers for the inside, they’re in the living room. I think you’ll really like them” you added.

She hugged you next, “Thank you so much!”.

“Thank you daddy” she said, walking towards the sleek auto infront of her.

“Yea. thanks ‘daddy’,” Han teased before going off to join his ecstatic girlfriend.

Anakin’s smile turned to an annoyed scowl; that smug son of a bitch was gonna get it some day, but as of now Anakin refrained from violence.

“I don't know about that Solo kid, he might end up six feet under with me holding the shovel someday” Anakin half joked, half actually meant.

“Whatever” you rolled your eyes playfully, “as if you weren't a cocky son of a bitch when we first met”

He gave you a smug look with his brow raised.

“You know it's true, “Mr. Skywalker’” you smirked at the formal title you hadn't used in years.

He huffed out a laugh and pulled you into his side, returning the smile.

By the car, Leia raved to her boyfriend about the interior and he happily listened with a huge grin (he knew he’d be driving them on dates in it in the near future).

Luke popped out of the garage with a smile and his safety goggles crookedly laid in his fluffy hair.

“Finally!” he exclaimed, “mom and dad have had me keeping your present in the garage for two weeks now! About time you got it”.

Leia turned to her brother, “you knew?!”.

“Of course I did, I helped pick it out- I got you the newest model with the best safety features. Cant have my sister going to college in a hunk-a-junk” he joked.

A wide smile plastered itself on Leia's face as she rushed to embrace her brother.

“I’m so glad you like it honey” you said, hugging her once more.

“And now that your brother finally stepped out of his cave, we can give you your gift,” Anakin said, turning to his son.

All of you walked back into the house and Anakin pulled out a plain white envelope.

“So, I know your sister’s gift is actually useful right now, but I’m sure you'll be very pleased with yours”, Anakin said as he handed the slip to his son.

Luke was confused but happily opened the envelope. You watched his blue eyes scan over the words and once it all clicked, he leapt up from the bar stool he was on.

“No way! No fucking way!” he exclaimed, making Han and his sister laugh.

Anakin shook his head with a smile.

“What is it?” Leia asked, but before you could answer her, Luke practically tackled you in a giant hug.

You smiled and embraced him warmly before he left to do the same to Anakin (a little gentler).

“Thank you thank you!!” he said, clenching the paper.

“Luke, what is it?” Leia asked again.

“They got me that old camaro that's been sitting in watto’s scrap yard. I’ve been wanting to fix that old thing up for years!” he grinned like a kid who just got told they were going to disney world.

“There's more at the bottom,” you said with a smile.

Luke shouted again, “NO WAY!”.

“What now?” Leia said, playfully rolling her eyes at her easily excitable brother.

“Mom and dad got me a pass for next year’s car show- I’ll fix up the camaro and enter it!”.

“That’s amazing Luke! You’ve wanted to be in one for forever!”

He smiled and thanked the two of you once more.

After the excitement of the gifts both of the twins went their separate ways to see their new presents; Leia went to test her car and Han helped Luke bring the other car over to the house.

_________________________________________

“Be good for your sister and brother, alright baby?” you said as you hugged Rey close.

You and Anakin’s anniversary was tomorrow so you were leaving for the islands today. Anakin rolled the rest of the luggage into the back of his car before coming back to say goodbyes.

“I will mommy” Rey smiled proudly.

“That’s my girl” Anakin said, walking in from the garage.

“Daddy!” Rey exclaimed, reaching her arms up for Anakin.

He bent down to hug her tight and kissed her head, “Hey Pumpkin, we’ll be back in a week, alright?”.

Rey nodded her head before asking her brother to pick her up. He obliged as you, Anakin and Leia gave your parting hugs.

Next, Luke handed Rey over to Leia so he could hug you two goodbye.

“Have fun kids, we love you and will see you next tuesday” you smiled and waved as you headed for the car.

“make good choices- if I come home to a-“

“don’t worry daddy, i’ll keep these two idiots in line” Leia laughed as she pointed behind her at Han and Luke.

“ok- call if you need anything- love you!”

“of course! Miss you already” the twins smiled before going back into the house.

Once you and Anakin were buckled in, you squeezed his bicep with a wide grin.

“Someone’s excited” he laughed before kissing your forehead.

“You have no idea”

______________________

You arrived at your villa and flopped onto the large bed as Anakin put some of your luggage by the dresser on the other side of the room.

It was one that overlooked a private cove and came with pretty much every special amenity you could ask for (full working juice bar, hot tub, complimentary spa, embroidered towels, personalized rooms, you name it!).

“My love, come here” you called, patting the space beside you.

The smile lines in the corners of his beautiful eyes crinkled as the corners of his mouth turned upward, “alright angel”.

He joined you and kissed you on the temple before asking what you wanted to show him.

You dug around in your bag and pulled out a photo album you had made for your anniversary.

“Happy anniversary, Ani,” you smiled.

He looked at the square book and his eyes softened, “Is this for me?”.

You giggled, “who else would it be for silly?”.

Your heart skipped when his mechanical hands brushed over yours as he took the book from you; even after ten years he still made you feel like a giddy teen.

“Holy shit” he exclaimed as he opened the book, “Where’d you dig this one up from?”.

The first photo was a candid photo from your wedding; you were sitting in Anakin’s lap with your arms around his neck as he looked at you adoringly.

“Rex actually took that one, he showed it to me when I went over there to pick Rey up from her playdate”.

“Maker, we look young- Well, you still look like this… I just look old” he joked.

You kissed his temple, “no you don’t! You’re just well loved” you smiled.

“That’s what you’d say to someone who looks old!” he exaggerated.

You set the book up chronologically so that things from your college days when you first started working for him were at the beginning.

On the next page was a copy of the first check you ever got from him (obviously it was illegal to copy checks- but you weren’t actually going to use it).

His signature was much smoother back when he actually could sign with his hands.

He eyed the page filled with small mementos from your early days together with a smile, “I can’t believe you kept some of this stuff” he said as he ran his mechanical fingers over the valet ticket stub from your first date.

“What can I say, I’m sentimental” you smiled, kissing his cheek.

As the pages continued he watched his younger self become more and more happy with each turn. You really did light up his life.

There were photos of you and the twins playing, candid photos of him, ones that you took with him after long nights of love making… Everything was right here.

“Hah! Look at that” he exclaimed as he came across some hand turkeys and swans you had taught the kids to make the first thanksgiving you were with them.

“I used to find those damn things everywhere!”.

He squinted once he reached the next page, there was a gray text message bubble cut out at the top of the page.

I should be home a bit earlier today, maybe we can watch that movie you’ve been talking about.

“What’s that?” he asked.

“The last text you sent me before you got into your accident” you said, squeezing his upper arm softly.

The next page had a picture of his completely totaled car as well as the first few photos you had of him when he was in a coma. It wasn’t pretty, but it was a part of him- a part of your journey together.

“Fuck, I forgot just how bad the car looked…” he said as he scanned the photo.

His black Audi’s front was completely crushed and it barely looked like a car with the amount of dents and scrapes it’s body had collected.

You still weren’t completely sure what happened that day for it to have been so fatal. And Anakin barely remembered anything from the accident up to a few weeks after.

“Maker- and me!” he said, diverting his analytic gaze to the glossy photos of his broken body lying in the ICU.

You nodded as he continued turning- the next few pages were his recovery period in the hospital; his first picture awake, his first with Ben and Satine, first with Ahsoka, his first with you, and his first with the twins.

Looking back at the pictures made you really see how far he’d come- there was a time when the doctors didn’t think he would make it.

Soon the pictures’ settings began to shift out of the hospital and into the house; his first time back home and other pictures from that christmas (there weren't many photos from the period you and him went through a rough patch, only one or two that Ben had lying around).

The next picture of everyone was at your college graduation; all smiles.

You remembered your graduation like it was yesterday; it was the tail end of your rough patch with Anakin and he was the last person you expected to see in the sea of people. Your massive smile in the photo showcased just how happy you were to see him again.

“You looked so good in that dress, Angel '' he cooed, nuzzling into your neck to steal a quick bite.

“haha - stop!” you giggled, lightly pushing him away.

“You still have it?” he asked jokingly with a smirk.

You rolled your eyes, “...yes”.

His smirk grew into a lopsided grin, “I think you should wear it for me when we get back”.

“HAH! Ani, I don’t even know if it still fits me?!”

He set the book in his lap and squeezed his mechanical hands around your waist making you squeal.

“Ani! That tickles!”

“Yea, i’d say you’d still fit- well maybe not this” he smiled grabbing the fat of your ass.

“Ani!” you scolded.

All he could do was laugh, “What princess? I never said I didn’t like it- You know I love your ass”.

You swatted his hands away with a laugh- “Stop it! Finish looking at the book” you giggled.

He turned his attention back to the album. The next few pages were covered in your wedding photos; a close up on his face when he saw you walk down the aisle, your face when he stood after saying his vows and a nice still photo of your first dance.

“This was the best night of my life,” Anakin said with a reminiscent smile.

“Me too, Ani”.

The next photos were of his return to work, your pregnancy announcement, Rey’s birth, the twins’ first school dance, and other family milestones.

There was a section near the end full of pictures of the kids; “first day of school” pics, vacation pics, and other moments where they were just being themselves.

Finally the last page was the most recent picture of the two of you; it was at a rooftop bar for a gala his company hosted, he was dressed in a nice suit and you wore an off-the-shoulder gown- the photo was a candid Ben had taken of the two of you kissing after Anakin made his speech.

He closed the book lightly and placed it on the end table beside the bed before turning to you with glassy eyes.

“Y/n Skywalker, I love you more than anything on this earth- you are absolutely perfect” he said pulling you into his lap (which you gladly obliged).

“Thank you” he said into your hair as he hugged you close.

You tossed your arms around his neck and held on tightly, “I love you too, Anakin ''.

__________________________________

Anakin’s gift to you was much more extravagant than yours to him, but the whole time he kept apologizing for his not being able to compare to yours (and you knew he meant it).

He took you to one of the nicest restaurants on the island and then took you to the aquarium for part of your present. You were always a big fan of conservation and the oceans, so he donated a large sum to have a portion of the local reef named after you.

“Ani, this is amazing! Thank you so much!” you grinned ear to ear as you ran your fingers over the golden plaque with your name on it.

He shyly cast his gaze away from yours, “It really doesn’t compare to yours- you’ve just always been the better gift giver”.

You shook your head and grabbed his hands, “no, no Ani! I absolutely love this- and they’ll make sure to watch over the reef right?”.

He nodded with a smile, “Yes, my love. This section is under protection and will now be being sustained and cleaned by certified locals so that it will continue to thrive”.

You hugged him, “Thank you, I love it”.

“Of course. Angel”

The two of you walked hand in hand through the dark aquarium (Anakin had it completely reserved for tonight for just the two of you).

Walking through the tunnel of brightly colored fish never failed to mesmerize you; their fluid motions, the shapes and sizes, you loved it.

Anakin watched your expressions change adoringly; after all these years, after becoming a mother, after becoming an influential and respected figure you could always find wonder in the smallest things.

He loved that about you.

You did what he never could, you showed him how to be happy and how to push through the toughest times. That's why he knew you were perfect for him.

After a few stolen kisses under the watery biomes, Anakin had a driver take you back to the villa.

Anakin began a warm bath for you in the fancy whirlpool tub; he opened the sunhatch, tuned on soft lights, added flower petals and some sweet fragrance.

Once he entered the bedroom again, you had gotten undressed and were only wearing one of the new silk robes he got you and a smile.

“Hey Ani” you said with a small wave.

Like a moth to a flame, he walked towards you.

“Hello, my love” he said with his low voice as he placed his mechanical hands on your hips, drawing you closer.

You stood on your tippy toes and kissed him gently, “I think you should join me in the bath”.

When you leaned back he cocked his head to the side with a smirk, “Oh, should I now?”

He played with a strand of your hair that you must have missed when you twisted it up. You nodded and began to take his suit coat off.

He chuckled at your determination and allowed you to help him undress; his body hadn’t seemed to change too drastically but there were some definite differences.

He was more muscular than he was the first years after the accident but still wasn’t at the shape he was when you met him.

He was still slim but he collected some extra fat around his love handles; his crows feet and smile lines were more prominent, but in a way they made him more endearing.

His scars had mostly all faded but every once in a while would flare up. As for his limbs, they all healed pretty well and his prosthetics were regularly updated.

He was still just Anakin though… your Ani.

“I think you’re ready” you said after placing a tender kiss on his bicep.

His robotic digits danced around the hem of your robe until he pulled the loosely tied bow around your waist; the robe cascaded softly around your feet, leaving you bare.

Anakin’s eyes admired your body and he sucked in a breath.

“And now you are too”.

He was not the only one who’s body changed; after having Rey, you gained some light weight and stretch marks, your breasts had grown larger and you seemed to have a bit more fat on your ass (not that Anakin minded at all).

You too had collected some smile lines but you had no problem with them. If you ever felt bad about your body, Anakin swatted those thoughts away really quick.

He always made you feel like the only girl in the world.

With a loving smile you led him into the large bathroom and helped him sit on the side of the tub before disassembling him. He always preferred legs first because he liked to hold onto you as long as he could.

At this point in life there was no part of him you hadn’t seen and no part of you that he hadn’t seen- so he was much less shy about having you help him.

Once everything was off you helped him into the tub; he sighed at the warm water caressing his body, you couldn’t wait to join him.

You stretched once more and entered the tub gracefully. Before long you were lying against Anakin’s chest with a content smile- this was the best anniversary yet.

Out of habit you fidgeted with the gold chain around your neck- you and Anakin had amassed several important dates since you first got each other the pendants.

Anakin’s had your, the kids, and his first wife’s birthdays on them as well as the date of his accident and your wedding. And yours had Anakin’s, and the kids birthdays as well as your graduation date/when he proposed and your wedding day.

After all these years, after all you had been through together- you couldn’t ask for a better lover.

Only the stars knew that the mousy college student you were and the cold mannered businessman Anakin was, would eventually make it work.

You couldn’t be more thankful- and as you sat happily in Anakin’s embrace, you told him what you always did,

“I love you so much Anakin…unconditionally”

***

a/n: so now it’s completely finished 🥲 i’ll miss this story but im also glad to have it finished :) i hope the epilogue chapters were enjoyable for u guys!! i tried to tie in the original trilogy and sequels a bit :) now we’ll be back to our regularly scheduled programming haha

Taglist: @katsukiswrld , @wtf-andys , @angeelcoree , @jetiikote , @khaleesihavilliard , @sxoulchvn, @sakura-amethyst, @dottodottoo , @vader-is-hot , @circuloctm , @jellydodger, @shadowheads-shitshow

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open-hearth-rpg · 3 days

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“Why Do Your Actual Play Videos Look Like Ass?”

ROUGH BUT FAIR

I got asked this, albeit indirectly, back in January. At the New Year’s Open Hearth Community meeting someone relayed they’d heard this comment about our Actual Play videos. This referred to not just my channel, but our community collection of actual plays built up over eight+ years.

It’s a lot of sessions. A lot of games. My stuff alone is over 1000 sessions over dozens of systems.

And it’s a fair question. They might stumbled on to one of our video roundups or seen a session shared. I can understand their reaction, especially if they’ve watched heavily produced and edited videos like those from Critical Role or Dimension20. Or even if they’ve followed one of the many talented teams who stream on Twitch or elsewhere with seasons, transitions, and nice visual templates. They’re all great watches– especially streams featuring indie games and diverse casts.

So what’s up with us?

Answering that question takes a little bit of set up and explanation.

The short answer: You know that reliable YouTube repair video recorded on a phone by someone in their garage? That’s us.

The long answer…

WHAT THE WHAT IS OPEN HEARTH?

We’re an online tabletop rpg community. We’ve been around in some form since 2016. Game facilitators post series and sessions on our calendar and people can sign up there. Every game’s run under our code of conduct and has to use a layered set of safety tools. Our GMs teach any rules and while we lean into indie and storygames, we also have folks who love OSR and more trad-leaning games (like my runs of 2d20, GUMSHOE, Imperium Maledictum, 13th Age, and the like).

We have a patreon which gives backers a 48 hour window to sign up for sessions before they’re open generally. But we also have folks running games specifically for new players which set that aside. We’re always looking for ways to get new folks into sessions– like the open gaming events we do a couple of times each year. After folks have played with us a couple of times, they’re welcome to post their own sessions and series. We also do irregular “Game Facilitator Camps” to help people learn and polish their online GMing skills.

Since the beginning some of our GMs have videos of our sessions and collecting those on our YouTube channel. Game facilitators mention in their event description if they plan to record. Not all sessions are recorded and posted. It’s not a requirement. In most cases, players can say they’d rather not be recorded– and in all cases a GM needs to confirm before posting any session publicly. For example a couple of times I’ve had folks ask for me to trim out personal info or emotionally fraught moments from a session.

All of these recordings are rough. They’re the raw play of the session: unedited and wysiwyg. I’m recording from Zoom, some folks use Streamyard, and a small group of the more technically savvy use OBS+. On occasion I remember to pause the recording over breaks or during character creation when everyone’s tooling away on their sheets. But generally it’s like sitting in the room while someone’s running a home game. They’re messy, mostly on topic, trying to get to grips with the rules, figuring things out together.

And I love it for that. They’re not polished. A comment made in connection with that “why do your APs look terrible?” question suggested we were some kind of ‘elite gaming association.’ I fear that impression might come from my posting a lot of game thinking, history, and analysis in our social media feeds.

The truth is that I post those things in a desperate bid to have content. In our community we mostly talk about what games we’re playing and what games we want to play.

Bottom line: we’re a bunch of folks getting together to play our elf-games, make silly voices, and try to tell fun stories together. We’re trying to do that in a way that’s inclusive, takes safety seriously, and evolves over time.

So why post actual play videos in such a state? I have some answers, in order from most important or probably least important…

FIVE REASONS

First, these videos shows how a particular game actually works at the table. Our community plays a lot of different games– I’d argue one of the largest collections of different systems. It serves as a great resource if you’re curious about a game, setting, or system. Most of us who record include our session zero as well as play sessions. So you get to see what’s involved with that, how to manage set up, and the kinds of collaboration which happens. You also see, warts and all, the rough patches and stumbling blocks.

For example, I love Hearts of Wulin, but building Entanglements takes a lot of work during character creation. Don’t get me wrong: it's also the most important. Entanglements up the conflicts and plots you’re going to explore. But it requires you to both do some heavy creative work and listen to the other players at the same time. Sometimes I manage that phase really well– sometimes I forget that it has a higher cognitive load. Then I have to lean in and help folks navigate creating those.

In a similar way, our AP illustrate the flow of play. What does resolution involve? How long does combat take? Where do folks get bogged down? That’s useful and can tell you if this is a game you’d be comfortable playing or running. Beyond that you get to see how much people seem to be enjoying and engaging with it. We present the naked truth of the game. All the rough edges remain and I think that’s great. It’s not for everyone— especially if you like a more polished presentation.

Second, you get to see safety tools in action. If you want to know how GMs carefully present a layered set of safety tools, watch a couple of session zeros. Different game facilitators will approach this in different ways, but we stress that GMs explain and actually implement a couple of tools. In my case I use Lines & Veils as a baseline, the X-Card as a reactive tool for resetting & calibration, and Open Door so folks know they aren’t trapped in a game. You can see how these tools don’t present a burden, don’t get in the way, and do enhance play. It reduces some of the worry people may have about joining a group of strangers online. It isn’t perfect, but these tools offer a baseline. I’m a white dude with all the privilege that brings, but I wouldn’t join in a random online game unless I knew tools like those were in place.

Third, like other online streaming games: curated, edited, or otherwise, you get to see good GMs and players in action. It’s a great way to learn and pick things up. Not necessarily the full-on art of theater and improvisational acting, but what good play looks like. How you move the spotlight around. How you work to bring others into your scenes. How you collaborate to build a setting and vibe. How you handle end of session debriefs and feedback. That’s useful and, I think, confidence building.

Fourth, and more selfishly, these videos are a decent advertisement for our community. It’s a decent and cheap way for us to keep our name out there. Beyond the videos, as I mentioned above, people can listen to these sessions as podcasts now. It’s also a way for us to boost the work of designers. It’s not a review, comment, or five stars but it does show how much we’ve enjoyed a particular game. I always dig it when I see designers resharing sessions, I hope it helps them increase their audience.

Fifth, I like having those videos out there because they celebrate our GMs. They’re the engine of our community: folks who enjoy running games and put in the effort to entertain and engage a group of folks. We have amazing game facilitators and what strikes me is how different their approaches can be. I learn something new whenever I play with another GM here.

But on a related note, I will admit that I like having cover for my vanity. By placing my sessions alongside others, I manage to conceal how much my posting these sessions is an act of ego. I’m more than a little vain about my GMing.

STARS AND WISHES

Overall we hope to be a useful and accessible resource for folks playing ttrpgs online. We hope folks will find their place in this hobby. If someone comes and plays with us, that’s great, but we’re more interested in just getting people to play anywhere.

If you want to check out our collection of Actual Play Sessions, like and subscribe to our YouTube channel.

If you’re interested in just listening to sessions, you can subscribe to our podcast.

If you want to see the Playabl calendar app we use for organizing

If you want to find out more about our community, see here.

We have Discord we’re working to do more with.

#ttrpg #rpg #rpg actual play #open hearth gaming

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gildedphoenix · 8 months

Text

SuperPhantom - White Crow

Posting this now because I'm not sure I'll ever finish it.

Feel free to contribute.

White Crow SuperPhantom

(965 words)

--+--

Dean answered his ringing flip phone. And NO Sam, he doesn't need a smart phone. The battery on this thing lasts 5 days and it survives being in Dean's pocket when he's thrown against a wall by the bad guy of the week.

"Hi Bobby. Whatcha got for us?"

"I hope you've got gas in the take because this one is going to be a bit of a chase." Bobby opened. "I've got reports coming in from all over about a white crow being linked to dozens of deaths. None of the hunters who've looked into it so far have been able to track the creature or find any connections between the victims. The issue is that some of the crimes aren't fresh. The last victim, a Tim Stillion, had been dead for weeks. Can't figure out the cause because the animals had been at his body. And unless this bird can teleport, he was on the other side the country when Stillion was kill't."

Sam, who was already clickity clacking on his laptop, spoke up. "It sounds like the crow isn't a portent of death then, but just a reporter. But how is it finding the bodies?"

"Yeah," Bobby drawled "I figured you'd come to that conclusion. That's why I called you boys. Every other hunter is out here trying to end this bird when it's solved more cold cases then all of them combined. Bunch of idgits."

Dean grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair and started towards the garage. "So where are we headed Bobby? Any word on the last sighting?"

"Last couple time it was seen, it was around central Illinois."

"Let's roll"

-=-=-=-=-

Sam Manson revved her vespa and continued chasing the white crow down ST-54. They'd been at this for weeks now. And despite it all, Sam was just happy that she'd found Danny at all.

/three weeks ago/

"There's no way!" leopard print blouse said. "You look like one of my son's friends."

Danny had a tendency to drop whatever he was holding if he got summoned but for once, he kept hold of his cell phone. So when he ended up disappearing in the middle of a Doom speed run, Tucker was able to track him down. And after a few minutes (and way too few reasonable security measures) Sam and Tucker were able to watch a live stream from a web connected Nanny cam.

The room was all white, leather couches pushed back against the walls. Marble and brass coffee table set with white taper candles. Starbucks cups sitting on the ledge of the kitchen counter. And in the middle of the room, Phantom. Desperately trying to convince 6 PTA, HOA, Basic Witches that he was indeed the Ghost King that they were trying to summon.

A woman in a white gauze blouse and white wash jeans stepped forward. It must be her house, because she matched the decor. "How did you highjack the summoning?!" It was the same tone every teen has heard from their parents. The tone that said they'd already decided what had happened and were just waiting for you to admit fault.

"Hey, you summoned me. What did you even want, anyway? Pumpkin spice to be available year round? For the grocery store to accept your expired coupons? How about-"

"Now you listen to me young man," A third woman, dressed in sunny yellow and a high pony tail that did nothing to help her look younger. "You need to learn manners and your parents clearly didn't care to teach you"

("Ouch" danny mumbled, "accurate, but ouch" )

Yellow started chanting and the others quickly caught on and joined in. Danny, realizing that he was running out of time to gas light, gatekeep, or girlboss his way out of a solution, tried the old reliable Plan Z. Run away.

So he turned ghostly tail to the nearest window and - BONK! - was stopped by the shielding on the summoning circle. Which was a first. People usually forgot about that. Danny was now both impressed and worried as be felt both pressure and dread building around him as the chanting volume and speed.

Danny clutched his head as the pressure grew to a screeching point until everything released with a pop. The pressure was gone. The chanting was gone. Danny felt lighter, which was saying something given how gravity was typically just a suggestion while he was in ghost mode. Opening his eyes -and when had he closed them? - he noticed one more difference. Everyone had gotten bigger. And the furniture had gotten bigger. And the room had gotten…. uh oh. He had gotten smaller.

Danny was trying to orient himself and identify where an deep thudding was coming from when he was hit from the side. Foot steps. That's what the thudding was. They were just drastically louder when he was only tall enough to stare people in the shins. And the sidelong assault? A broom. Which connected a second time before he thought to go intangible. (Why did he always forget intangibility?)

The woman in white had gotten a broom and was swatting him towards the open patio door, her strappy white sandals stopping behind him and he frantically tried to coordinate his limbs in that same direction. His limbs did not want to coordinate but he eventually got himself out the door and the broom stopped swatting at him.

Once he cleared the threshold, the door rolled closed with a slam and the lock snicked shut.

"And don't come back unless you've learned respect!" was shouted at him from a nearby window before it, too was slammed shut.

======================================

Looking back into the house, he was met by his own reflection in the sliding glass door.

"SQUAAAAAAK!"

In which Danny and Sam are traveling the US 90's road trip style to absorb the ecto of recent (or semi-recent) murders so Danny can get enough power to break the spell and transform back.

The general hunter community is chasing a white crow and a witch to stop them from committing all these murders.

And Sam and Dean and Bobby are trying to just figure out what's going on.

#superphantom #danny phantom #Crow!Danny #White Crow!Danny #ghost king danny #ectoberhaunt23 #eh23 #Day 3 #EH magic #White Crow #No beta we die like Dean #No beta we die like danny #my writing

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mariaofdoranelle · 9 months

Text

Daydreaming About You

Rowaelin Month masterlist

@rowaelinscourt

Some of you may know this as the Teacher AU, the first fic I ever wrote! This story has a soft spot in my heart, but not its writing 🤣🤣 so I got tired of complaining and rewrote it. I still feel like something’s off HAHAHAHAH but the rewrite got worth sharing.

Warnings: mature talk, but SFW

Words: 1,6k

Rowan’s ass looked absolutely delicious today.

This classroom had a privileged view of one of the fields he used to teach his P.E. classes, and as the class’ monarch for the next forty minutes or so, Aelin decided to give her students an activity in pairs and subtly enjoy the sight.

His eyes were hidden by the cap, but she knew he was watching the students play like a hawk. The best part was when he ran along with them. His legs, as big as tree trunks, deserved all the appreciation Aelin gave them, and she couldn’t even begin to describe the sinful way his uniform’s trunks hugged his ass. His sweat was beginning to make Rowan’s shirt cling to his torso, defining his big, rock-hard muscles—

A throat-clearing made her jump on her seat, not expecting any student to seek her so soon.

“Sorry to interrupt, Miss G.” Evangeline’s smirk was way too wide for Aelin’s liking.

Feigning neutrality, she took the paper from the girl’s hand. “You finished that soon?”

“Yeah, yeah.” The girl waved her off. “Is it true that Mr. Whitethorn and Mr. Salvaterre are exes?”

“What? That’s ridicu—“ Aelin stopped mid-sentence, squinting her eyes at her student. “You know I shouldn’t talk about his personal life like this, Evangeline.”

She focused on another student who just got there, standing beside his classmate. Luca was looking out the window with wide eyes, his mouth ajar before he said, “When I grow up, I want to be just like Mr. Whitethorn.”

Aelin smiled, always pleased to see how much her students admired him, when she asked, “Reliable and efficient?”

”No. Jacked.”

Her mouth opened, then she snapped it shut, too afraid of voicing the things inside her head.

Aelin didn’t like to show to the students that her and Rowan were friends, let alone that she had a massive crush on him. Still, they caught up on it. Those little terrors always did.

It was no secret that Aelin and Rowan were best friends. Or that there were speculations about them. Some students even called them Rowaelin, for Mala’s sake. Rowan never expressed his opinion on the matter, and Aelin was secretly pleased people could see herself with him that easily, even though that kind of attention wasn’t appreciated.

The limits of what’s accepted inside a workplace gets far more flexible when it’s filled with teenagers, hence why some intriguing things tend to happen from time to time. For example, when they were the talk of the week because some students spread a picture of Rowan making poorly-interpreted heart eyes at her.

Truth was, Aelin’s love life would be a lot easier if Rowan was half as interested in her as people in this school suggested.

After the last class, she found Rowan and Fenrys, a math teacher, talking near the garage.

“Hey!” Fenrys greeted with his trademark grin on. “The Vaults tonight? I need a wingman.”

“You never really need a wingman.” Aelin wrinkled her nose. “And I have a bunch of papers to grade tonight.”

“But we had so much fun last time.” Fenrys leaned against the wall, arms crossed and a teasing gleam in his eye. “What about the guy from last week?”

“What guy from last week?” Rowan cut in, frowning with a strained expression.

"No one," she dismissed him before asking Fenrys about some school gossip. Guy From Last Week didn't get further than texting, and she wasn't in the mood to put up with Rowan's protectiveness over her love life.

Dating was easy until sophomore year of college. More precisely, until The Great Gatsbeer Party, when Aelin offered herself in a platter for him and was brutally turned down. But conversation kept going, and he soon became her best friend and favorite person.

She had been in love with him for years, so what? Aelin adapted, like she always did.

Rowan and Aelin were side by side, walking towards his car in the boisterous garage, loud with the chatter of students and parents who parked to get the little ones.

"I didn't know there was a guy from last week."

Aelin gave him a pointed look. "There was a guy from last week. We texted a little, he told me Taylor Swift is overrated, I ghosted."

"Okay.'" He darted a quick glance her way. "Sorry. I didn't mean to pry."

She snorted, finding some sort of amusement in Rowan's unease. "Yes, you did."

"Wanna grade papers together, then?" He asked, changing the subject.

"Sure. And Mario Kart when we're done."

Aelin wasn't the biggest Mario Kart fan, but it became their thing over time. She was competitive enough to get a thrill when she's playing, and Rowan liked it a lot.

Rowan absolutely hated Mario Kart.

He wasn't as into video games as Aelin, but he loved to watch it when she shouted in front of the screen or threatened to end his bloodline when she's losing.

She's such a sore loser, his Fireheart.

A loud moan coming from the kitchen interrupted his thoughts.

“I love you."

Rowan closed his eyes, trying to calm down his boiling blood. He could deal with the love declaration, but not the moaning.

"Aelin, stop flirting with the cake," he shouted, making sure she'd hear him from the other room.

They'd decided she'd grab something to eat while he got the video game ready, and now Rowan was just waiting for her.

He wandered around her living room, analyzing her decoration for the millionth time, but only stopped when he got to his favorite piece.

A framed pamphlet of the party they met, his housewarming gift to her a few years back. Reminiscing about that life-altering day always brought a smile to his face.

“Aelin Galathynius. Hi.” She was swaying, but found her balance again by supporting herself against the wall. Aelin’s expression was earnest when she said, “I find we’re equally hot, and now I’m yearning to sing the passionate chant of the sacred nuptial rite with you.” Rowan was stunned silent, but she still extended a hand to him before announcing, “And I’d be honored to caress your one-eyed trouser snake.”

Rowan shaked his head, chuckling at Aelin's antics in college.

In his darkest moments, Rowan cursed himself for not making any kind of romantic advance, since he did nothing but talk to her and make sure she didn't do something she'd regret the next day. But at the same time, at least he didn't become one of the many men she got bored of after a few weeks and discarded.

She was so picky with the people she got romantically involved with, letting them go for the smallest reasons such as playing Mario Kart with Waluigi, Rowan probably ruined his chances with her at least twice a day.

He sighed, leaving her bookcase to sit back on the couch. There would be no getting over her with his daily dose of Aelin's tight skirts and sweet smiles, and Rowan was too weak to keep enough distance to not be in love with her.

If Aelin wasn't interested in him sober, he had no choice but to pine after her for the rest of his life.

His attention drifted to her coffee table, noticing her kindle didn't have its case on. Again. Typical Aelin. He grabbed the case to put it back on the device—

Rowan froze when he read the book cover.

Friends with Kinky Benefits.

With an increased pulse, he looked around to make sure Aelin wasn't close and turned the kindle on, curious.

It seemed to be just a story about a girl longing to find the dom of her dreams, who ends up having sex with her guy best friend—and lots of toys—over and over again, for almost 200 pages.

Holy rutting Mala, is this what she gets off on?

Rowan skimmed through the book, electrified with a newfound line of thought.

Is this something she daydreams about? Aelin could ask him if that's the case, no need to be shy. Rowan's feelings for her were deep and romantic, yes, but he was still a man. Even when taking a purely physical step with Aelin would inevitably break his heart

"Buzzard..."

He jerked towards her, barely breathing with the awareness that he was caugh red-handed snooping in her kindle. But Aelin looked stiff, her eyes darting between him and the kindle. "What're you doing?"

Rowan relaxed a little realizing a moment later that in Aelin's head, she's in a worse position than he is.

He smirked. "I always knew your books are steamy, but I never expected them to be so kinky too."

Those words were enough to make Aelin regain her movements, and she flung herself towards him. "Give me that!"

Rowan wasn't quite sure what made her so flustered, but he flailed his arm around, preventing him from getting the kindle back.

"But I was just beginning to understand how a cock cage works!" he mock-complained.

“Fuck you!”

With that, Aelin jumped at him on the couch while Rowan tried to hide the kindle behind him. To get the thing from behind his back, she pulled his hair and that's when time slowed down.

Aelin was straddling his thighs on the couch. One hand connected with his, both holding the kindle, and the other roughly grabbing a fistful of his hair.

Rowan's heartbeat became erratic, and Aelin didn't look much better. Her lips were parted, her skin flushed. She blinked, her eyes searching for him as he desperately looked for any cue in her. A hint, a green light, an invitation.

He leaned in, giving her time to recoil. She didn't.

A tiny bead of sweat broke from her temple, running down her jaw and throat in a path Rowan longed to trace with his tongue.

He stroked her cheek with his thumb, another hint of his next step before he—

The crickets of Aelin's ringtone shattered their moment, and seeing who the caller was made Rowan's muscles tense.

He was going to kill Fenrys.

A/N: @leiawritesstories and I are probably the only people who care about this fic so far, so I sneaked an inside joke ours in there. So this A/N is a little nod to Leia. iykyk. Ily Leia.

You can get notified when I update by either turning notifications on for @backtobl4ck-fics or entering my (sometimes glitchy) tag list!!

TAG LIST

I couldn’t tag the people in bold, sorry!

@aelinchocolatelover

@autumnbabylon

@bookcide

@booksandteaonarainydayislife

@cookiemonsterwholovesbooks

@courtofjurdan

@dreamer-133

@elentiyawhitethorn

@elizarikaallen

@emily-gsh

@empress-ofbloodshed

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@wishfulimaginings

#rowaelin #rowan whitethorn #aelin ashryver galathynius #throne of glass #rowaelin fanfiction #rowan x aelin #aelin x rowan #rowaelin fanfic #throne of glass fanfic #rowaelin month

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guilty-pleasures21 · 4 months

Text

Maybe this will just be my trash one.

1. Um ... yeah ...

Part 1 - the beginning

Part 2 - the car

Part 3 - the detectives

Part 4 - the contract

Part 5 - the clothes

Warnings: none.

----------------------------------------------------------

He took in a deep breath, then pulled the trigger. He set his gun down once the smoke had dissipated and found that he'd hit every target he'd been aiming for. Miles allowed himself a little smile, but the satisfaction still wasn't enough to ease the disappointment at the lack of progress they'd made on their case. He sighed and removed his ear mufflers before unloading his gun.

“Good to see you could still gold your own on the field,” a familiar voice teased him from behind. Miles startled at the sudden interruption, almost dropping his gun. Then he turned around to find his partner - Gwen Stacy - flashing him a smirk. Damn, how was she so pretty? Even after she'd had to shave half of her hair off thanks to a little accident on the last mission they'd been on.

“Oh! Hey, Gwen!” Miles exclaimed a little too loudly. He gave an awkward chuckle, then began heading towards the exit, keeping pace with Gwen as she followed beside him. It had been a year - a whole year - that they'd been working together and he still hadn't found the courage to ask her out yet! Ugh! He was such a loser - which was probably why she'd never go out with him anyway. “What's up?”

Gwen didn't respond immediately, allowing for a dramatic pause in which she could shoot him an excited grin, the look on her face causing Miles's stomach to flip over. Then she stopped him. “We've got a new lead.”

Miles froze, unsure if he'd heard right. A new lead? After months and months of chasing down the same old tired possibilities?! “What?”

Gwen's lips stretched wider at the incredulous look on his face - a new lead! They hadn't had a new lead in months! And it wasn't just some anonymous caller giving a tip they'd never be able to follow, it was a genuine, authentic, reliable lead! “Suit up, rookie: we're going to Italy.”

X got out of the car, pausing for a moment to assess her new living situation. The house was almost as big as Francesco's, but nothing like his cheery, generationally-preserved yellow brick exterior. Instead, Miguel had opted for something more open - the front of the house was all thick, grey concrete, but the sides and back were covered in floor-to-ceiling windows, allowing for an unobstructed view of the colourful gardens and swimming pool. X decided that she liked Miguel's tastes a lot more than Francesco's. She turned to him as he came around to her side and just managed to make out a few words of the conversation he was having on his phone in Spanish. Something about not worrying and how is work and yes, everything is fine, I promise I'm okay. Miguel placed a hand on her lower back and guided her towards his house, waving around and gesturing for her to explore once they'd stepped in. Then he disappeared into a hallway in one corner of the house, leaving her on her own.

Partners, business partners: in one day, she'd gone from helping a stranger find evidence of her husband's criminal activities, to having sex with him, and then agreeing to enter a partnership with him. Maybe she was the insane one. X crept around the house, admiring the open-plan concept that allowed for a wide and airy space. The house was only one floor, but in addition to the swimming pool, there was also a gym. And a garage with three different cars, all sleek and shiny and very, very expensive. X headed back into the house, tiptoeing over to the same hallway Miguel had disappeared into, and found herself face to face with three different doors. One of them was closed, so she assumed it was Miguel's study. The one beside that, however, right at the end of the hallway, allowed for enough of a glimpse to tell that it was his bedroom. X peeked around the doorway and was surprised to find that the room was even bigger than the one she'd shared with Francesco back at … back his place. And it was all chrome and dark tones, exactly what she'd have expected of a rich and handsome bachelor's bedroom. She turned to the door opposite the study and pushed it wider so she could take a look inside.

This one had to be her room - it was the only one left, after all, a neatly made bed and empty desk the only things furnishing the room besides the polished wood closet. She set her bag down on the bed, then went over to the closet to see if she could find a locked drawer to store her passport in. Or maybe she should just give it to Miguel - he probably had a high-tech safe somewhere he could store it for her. But what if he wasn't around? Or what if she decided she wanted to run away? Maybe it was best to just keep it with her. She opened the cupboard doors and was confused to find a few pieces of clothing in there already. She pulled open a drawer and was met with underwear too, all of them still having the tags on and all of them in exactly her size. She picked one up, wondering how he'd known what size she was, then she remembered the lingerie he'd kept with him after taking it off of her. Her body heated up at the memory and she grabbed a t-shirt and some shorts before scurrying off to the bathroom to get changed.

It had been three days - three days - and despite his network of high-powered contacts, Francesco still hadn't been able to track down the scoundrel who'd disappeared with his wife. Where were his bank accounts? What was El Araña going to do with them? And what other information had his scheming wife been hiding from him? How humiliating it had been, having to watch her take pleasure in another man, having been made to stand there and be shown all the ways he wasn't able to look after his own wife. It had been a huge blow to his pride, an emasculating experience - which was probably why O'Hara had done it. And it had only been made worse by the revelation of how much his wife really knew about his illegal activities. How innocent she'd seemed when they'd first met; her almond-shaped eyes, her fluttering eyelashes, her hesitant smile. How badly she'd played him, wrapping him around her finger so that he'd done whatever she'd wanted. How could he have been such a fool?!

“Can't you f*cking track her phone?!” Francesco suggested to Miles - as if they wasn't one of the first things they'd done. “Or her passport? Or her bank account?!”

Miles glanced over his scarce notes once again. Mr Lombardi had been extremely uncooperative during their questioning, only granting them the barest pieces of information that always left Miles wondering what he was trying to hide. He hated lawyers.

“We can't track her phone, so we assume O'Hara got rid of it,” Miles recited, trying not to sound too exasperated with the slightly older man. “There have been no records of her passport being used at any airports in the country. We are, however, following up on private air strips. As for her bank account, all the money in it has already been transferred to her sister's account. We're keeping an eye on her family in case she makes any attempt to contact them, but aside from that, nothing.”

They'd gone to Francesco's house almost immediately after landing, the two of them gaping in astonishment at the sheer size of the mansion. It was an ostentatious display of wealth, but it was still an imposing sight, the lone building standing out in the sea of nothingness surrounding it.

‘You think El Araña has one too? In Italy?’ Miles had asked Gwen as they'd walked up to the large double doors. They knew the addresses of some of his homes, but the man seemed to own an estate in every damn country! It was one of the things that made him so difficult to track. And anyway, it wasn't like he kept any evidence of his criminal activities at any of his homes - they'd already tried a few stakeouts before being told off for wasting resources when nothing had come of it.

‘Probably,’ Gwen had replied after knocking on the door. ‘But remember: we can't engage if he's got the Italian mafia on his side - they don't fall under our jurisdiction.’ She'd already reminded him of the fact a hundred times on the flight over, a little too familiar with the black and white principles that had a tendency to land her partner in trouble most times. Of course she admired his dedication to pursuing justice for all, but … he wouldn't be able to help anyone at all if he just kept getting himself taken off cases for ‘reckless behaviour’. And that was how they'd ended up in Francesco's living room, pulling answer out of him more painstakingly than a dentist extracting a rotten tooth. Ugh. Lawyers.

“Mr Lombardi,” Gwen began, stepping in front of Miles and intervening in the conversation - she didn't want him to lose his temper and cause Francesco to shut down entirely. Because then how would they catch their criminal? “In cases like these, we'd normally expect to hear about a ransom from the kidnapper, but … Mr O'Hara doesn't have a history of kidnapping. And, frankly speaking, we all know he doesn't need the money. Is there any other reason you can think of that he would want your wife?”

She also felt like Francesco had something he was trying to hide - something he was keeping from them for fear that he could be held accountable for it. He was a lawyer, after all; he knew what he could be tried for even better than they did.

“She doesn't know anything!” Francesco insisted, his ears turning red as he exploded into another outburst. “He probably just took her so he could f*ck her!” He still couldn't get the image out of his head: his pretty little wife, all spread out for another man. And the sounds she'd made! The desperate moans and whimpers that had spilled from her quivering lips as she'd let herself be violated by that … that villain! She'd never begged for him like that before.

Gwen and Miles exchange startled glances, surprised by the vulgar way in which the man had spoken of his wife. Then Miles stepped forward again, wanting to question Francesco some more. But Gwen stopped him immediately, silently arguing that they weren't going to get any more out of him that what he'd already give to them.

“Thank you for your cooperation, Mr Lombardi,” Gwen told him politely. “We'll keep you updated and let you know if we make any progress.”

She paused to look him straight in the eyes, insisting on meeting his gaze until he started to shit uncomfortably in position. Then she added, “we trust you'll do the same.”

Francesco pulled his gaze away from hers and waved his hands in the air, pushing them back out the door.

“Yes! Of course!” he agreed. “Anything to get my … my wife back.” And his bank statements too, of course. But they didn't need to know about that. Francesco shut the door behind them, leaving them alone and with another hour's journey back into town.

“Suspicious?” Miles asked, heading back towards the car. Gwen shrugged.

“Not our problem,” she warned him firmly. Francesco Lombardi wasn't just another cunning lawyer - he'd also defended many of the prominent Italian organised crime families against charges of tax evasion. She had no doubt that he also had a hand in their numerous money laundering activities, but they weren't here to try to take down the Italian mafia in one week: they were here for Miguel O'Hara. And this time, she'd make sure he couldn't escape. “We just have to focus on catching our spider.”

Tags: @heubstr

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dystopicjumpsuit · 4 months

Text

Stars Beyond Number - Chapter 25

Leaning Together

Rating: M - Minors DNI

Pairings: Echo x Riyo Chuchi; Gregor x OFC Cerra Kilian

Wordcount: 3.5k

Warnings and tags: some angst; SMUT; fingering; orgasm control; fluff.

Suggested Listening:

Summary: Rex and Cerra have a long-overdue conversation; some things come to an end, while others are only beginning.

A/N: This is the final chapter of Stars Beyond Number; however, this is not the end of their story! I have a sequel planned, but since I've now caught up to canon, I have to wait to start writing it until after The Bad Batch season 3 ends. In the interim, I will be publishing more fics in this shared continuity, including a one-shot prequel featuring Fives x Reader x Cerra, a multi-chapter Crosshair x OFC set between "The Solitary Clone" and "Truth and Consequences," and a multi-chapter post-Umbara Dogma x OFC fic.

This story shares continuity with Martyrs and Kings, "Double, Double Boil and Trouble" (part 2 here) and "Do It Again," but all the fics can be read as stand-alones.

Start here | Previous chapter | Masterlist | Sign up for my tag list | Read on AO3

We are the hollow men…

Leaning together

—T. S. Eliot, “The Hollow Men”

Cerra had no idea how long she slept. It could have been a few hours or a few days, for all she knew. When she awoke, she was famished and parched. No telltale snores or rustles came from the other bunks, and as she sat up, she could just make out the empty beds in the darkness: she was alone in the barracks. She yawned and stretched, then went looking for her companions. Outside the barracks, the garage was dim and silent. She made her way quietly to the refresher, then wandered into the kitchenette.

Rex sat on a crate at the far end of the kitchen, studying a datapad, one foot propped up next to him as the other swung idly by the side of the crate. For a moment, in the faint light, he looked so much like Fives that Cerra nearly stumbled over her own feet. He glanced up and smiled, and the spell was broken.

“She lives.”

“For the moment,” she said with a tiny grin. “Anything good in the conservator?”

“Dex’s,” he replied. “Had to survive without Gregor somehow.”

Sounds like a nightmare, she reflected as she rummaged through the conservator until she found a few takeout boxes. Opening the first container, she wrinkled her nose.

“Acid-beet salad? I’m gone for a couple weeks, and you all fall to the Dark Side.”

“I’m just surprised there’s something in the galaxy you won’t eat,” Rex replied.

She grunted with disgust and tossed the container back into the conservator. Luckily, the rest of the takeout containers contained actual food, instead of crimes against sentients, and she settled onto the raggedy old sofa and dug into a cold bowl of spicy Gargon gumbo. The garage appeared to be empty aside from the two of them, which was just as well, since she had a feeling he wouldn’t want anyone to overhear what she was about to tell him.

“Where is everyone?” she asked around a bite.

“Scouting mission,” he replied. “Trying to chase down a lead on Omega.”

“Gregor told me what happened,” she said soberly. “Do we have a plan?”

“Workin’ on it.”

“What can I do to help?”

He smiled. “Start by getting healed up. We’ll know more when the boys get back.”

She hated not knowing what to do. She itched to act. But Rex was right; there was no point wasting energy and potentially drawing attention they didn’t need unless they had reliable intel. So she took another bite and pondered the best way to phrase her next sentence. After Hart’s departure, Rex had debriefed her about her experience with the ISB, but with the rest of the team also present, she hadn’t wanted to reveal such sensitive and dangerous information.

She cleared her throat. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

“What is it?”

Inhaling deeply, she began. “When Yularen was questioning me, he asked me about Ahsoka Tano.”

Rex froze, eyes wide. He didn’t respond, so Cerra forged ahead.

“They think she’s still alive. He said she had been on Raada when I was there. They thought I was working with her.”

Instead of the relief or excitement she expected to see on his face, a look of horror descended on his expression.

“She—she could still be alive,” she said. “I know you were close.”

“Cerra…”

“I’m sorry I didn’t say anything sooner, I just wanted to wait until I could talk to you alone.”

“Cerra—”

“We could find her. She could join us—we could protect her—”

“Cerra!” Rex cut her off emphatically. “Stop.”

She sat back, bewildered. “I thought you’d be happy to find out the kid was still alive.”

“I knew.”

She blinked. “What?”

“I knew Ahsoka survived,” Rex said in a deliberate tone that revealed he was weighing his choice of words with great care, “because I was with her.”

She stared at him uncomprehendingly, her brain utterly failing to process this new information.

“She’s the one who got my chip out,” he continued. “We escaped together. We were the only survivors of the Tribunal.”

Her mind whirled, and quite suddenly, she felt sick. A memory flashed in her mind:

“Raada?”

“It’s an agricultural moon,” Fireball said.

“I’m familiar,” Rex replied.

“You knew she was on Raada,” she whispered.

His jaw firmed. “I knew.”

“And you sent me in anyway?” she asked incredulously. “Without full intel? Knowing that I could be walking into—”

“I was trying to protect you,” he interrupted.

“Me? Or the Jedi?” she asked sharply.

“Both of you. I had no reason to expect you to run into her. It’s a whole kriffing moon!”

“She is the reason the Empire came after me in the first place!” Cerra said furiously. “I’m nobody! Do you really think they would have given a shit about a missing supply officer and a clone trooper if there hadn’t been a Jedi involved?”

“She was never supposed to be involved!” Rex exclaimed. “It was just bad luck.”

“Why the kark didn’t you tell me she’d survived?” she demanded.

“The same reason you waited until now to tell me Yularen mentioned her,” he snapped. “It’s dangerous to know too much. I was trying to keep you safe—all of you.”

“It’s dangerous to know too little, gods damn it!” She sprang up from her seat and began to pace. “What if something happens to you? How are we supposed to defend ourselves from a threat that we don’t even know exists?”

“I did what I had to do to protect the soldiers under my command,” he said, gritting his teeth.

“We’re not in the GAR any more, Rex. There is no command! There’s just US!”

“Maybe so,” he replied, “but if you think we’re not at war, you’re lying to yourself.”

His voice was even, but she’d known him long enough to tell from his short, sharp breaths that he was keeping his temper in check through sheer force of will. She forced her clenched fists to relax and took a long, deep breath before she replied.

“I. Know.” She ground out the words. “You think I don’t know? I just spent two weeks in their hands. So don’t kriffing talk to me like I don’t understand the stakes, Captain.”

“What do you want me to do?” he asked. “How would you suggest I proceed, Lieutenant?”

“You could start by trusting your team,” she replied.

He reared back as though she’d slapped him. “You think I don’t trust you?”

“What else haven’t you told me?” she demanded.

He hesitated.

“What else?” she pressed. “I know there’s more. You might as well tell me now; seems unlikely anything could be as sensitive as the location of a known Jedi fugitive.”

He glowered at her for a moment, but at last, his shoulders slumped in defeat. “There is something else. Intel Echo got from the Bad Batch. It seems the Empire has cloned the creature that attacked Coruscant early in the war. We don’t know why. At least, not yet.”

Cerra felt a brief stab of betrayal that Echo had kept the intel from her as well, but she shrugged it off. She hadn’t been exactly open with him, either.

“Is that all?” she asked.

“That’s the only thing that was my decision to keep from you,” he hedged.

“So there is more,” she said.

“Nothing that affects this group,” he replied. “You know as well as I do, Cerra; some things will always have to be kept secret. Some information is just too sensitive to share.”

She sighed. “I know. But when it compromises the safety of everyone on this team? I can’t stay if you’re going to keep secrets that could get us captured or killed.”

“You’re right,” he admitted. “I can’t promise that I’ll be able to share every piece of intel I get, but… I’ll do my best to make sure something like Raada doesn’t happen again.”

She let out a long, slow exhale before she replied. “Thank you.”

It wasn’t perfect, but Cerra knew it was the best promise he could make. The worst part was, she understood exactly why he’d made the decisions he did. She didn’t envy him. Being a leader was never easy at the best of times, and in the growing darkness and danger of the galaxy, it seemed to become a nightmarish balancing act of having to choose between bad and worse options.

Thank kriff it isn’t me.

“Hungry?” she asked.

Rex smiled slightly, accepting her peace offering. “Maybe. What’s left?”

“Acid-beet salad.”

Something smelled good. Scratch that; something smelled amazing. A burst of laughter echoed through the garage, loud enough that Cerra heard it from beneath the navigation control panel in the cockpit of the freighter. She set aside her hydrospanner and wandered out of the ship, drawn inexorably by the savory aroma and the sounds of merriment.

In the kitchenette, she spotted Gregor. He was working efficiently: chopping, stirring, cleaning—multitasking with ease, even as he bantered and giggled with Fireball and the other clones who hovered around his workspace like vultures. A large pot on the stove appeared to be the source of the intoxicating scent; she could hear the telltale sizzling, and every so often, Gregor would add some mysterious and unidentifiable ingredient to the mix.

He had his sleeves rolled up over his forearms, and Cerra took a moment to ogle him—er—appreciate the view before the others spotted her. Holy kriff, how had she not noticed the way he handled a knife before? Her mouth went dry as she watched his deft movements. He glanced up, and his mischievous smile told her he’d caught her in the act. His gaze flickered briefly down her body, and quite suddenly, the garage felt very warm.

Fireball called out a greeting and snapped her attention away from Gregor, and she plastered an innocent smile on her face as she approached the kitchenette.

“What’s cooking?” she asked, taking a position next to Fireball. “Smells great.”

“Joopa roast,” Gregor replied. “Been in the freezer since our last market trip.”

Ah, yes. The market trip when he—

“It has to cook for hours,” Fireball said mournfully.

“It’ll be worth it,” Gregor replied. “Trust me.”

“It’s not nice to torture people,” Fireball complained. His eyes widened suddenly and darted toward Cerra as he realized what he’d said. “Uh—I mean…”

She snorted and nudged him with her shoulder. “Please. You’re not wrong, anyway. An hour of smelling Gregor’s cooking, and I would have folded like a cheap sabacc deck just to get a taste. Nobody tell the Empire. Might give them ideas.”

Gregor set the roast in the oven and began to tidy up the kitchenette. “How’s it goin’ in the freighter?”

“Coming along,” she replied. Suddenly seized with inspiration, she added, “Could use some help clearing the fresher tank if anyone is free.”

Identical expressions of revulsion descended on the faces of every clone assembled, and they all suddenly remembered urgent business elsewhere. As they drifted away from the kitchen, Cerra leaned closer to Gregor as he wiped down the countertops.

“I guess that just leaves you,” she murmured quietly. “Want to give me a hand in the freighter?”

He froze for an instant as his eyes met hers, and then he began scrubbing the countertop with renewed vigor.

“Sure,” he replied. “Give me a minute to wash up, and I’ll meet you inside.”

“It’s a date,” she said, causing him to glance around the garage to see if any of the others had overheard her. “Be sure to seal the entry hatch when you come in. Wouldn’t want the fresher tank smell to get out into the garage.”

Fifteen minutes later, she heard the sound of the freighter’s hatch sealing, and she turned around just in time for Gregor to pull her into a hungry kiss as he pressed her back against the durasteel bulkhead behind the cockpit. His mouth consumed her, warm and soft, as his tongue grazed between her lips and his hands roamed over her body, cupping her breast through her coveralls, pulling her tightly against him. He broke away from the kiss, only to drop his lips to her throat, setting her entire body alight with arousal.

“Please tell me that was a euphemism,” he whispered hotly in her ear as he tugged down the zipper of her coveralls.

“It was a euphemism. I’d never subject you to—oh, kriff!” She gasped as his fingers slid down her body and unerringly found their way between her thighs.

“Shh,” he whispered, kissing her softly. “You did say you wanted a hand.”

She clung to his shoulders, whimpering quietly as he touched her with a gentle deftness that nearly made her knees buckle. With his free hand, he held her head, stroking his thumb across her jaw and his fingers down her neck. He kissed her everywhere: her lips, her face, her shoulders, her chest, lavishing her with pleasure as her body flooded with heat.

She slid her hand down his torso, reveling in the feeling of his warm, solid chest and abdomen as she reached for his cock. She could feel him straining against his trousers, warm and hard and perfect. He let out a tiny, hushed grunt as she took him in her hand, massaging him through the fabric. As she fumbled with his belt buckle, though, he shifted away from her, releasing her jaw and gripping her wrist in a gentle but inescapable hold. He pinned her wrist to the durasteel wall next to her head.

“Next time,” he murmured between kisses.

A fresh wave of arousal swamped her. Gregor’s breath caught as he felt it, and his fingers slipped into her effortlessly.

“Do you like it when I take control?” he asked quietly, gazing into her eyes.

She nodded, unable to form coherent speech, but letting out a hoarse moan of affirmation.

“Shh, love.” He pressed his lips to hers to muffle her sounds of pleasure. “I love to hear you, but the others are still outside.”

“I can’t help it,” she gasped. “I’m close—”

“I know,” he whispered. “Can you hold it back for me?”

She jerked her eyes to his, startled. “But—”

“Will you?” he asked, intensifying his caress to the point that she felt like she was losing her mind.

“Please, please—”

“You can trust me with your pleasure,” he murmured. “I promise. Will you wait until I tell you?”

She panted, her eyes wild and desperate. “I—yes—”

“Good girl.” He pressed his lips to her temple, then abruptly shifted to her mouth, stealing her breath and sending her head spinning.

She focused all her effort on holding back the tide of pleasure, but Gregor didn’t make it easy. He found and exploited her every weakness. His fingers, his lips, his teeth, his tongue: he used them all to work her into a frenzy of arousal until her body shook, her lungs heaved, and she could no longer contain her tiny moans of ecstasy, no matter how hard she tried.

He moved his fingers inside her, pressing deep and finding a place that wrenched a cry from her throat. Abruptly, he released her wrist and clamped his hand over her mouth, resting his forehead against hers as he gazed into her eyes. She pleaded with him silently, her body at the very limits of her control.

“Let go,” he whispered. “Let it happen.”

Her last coherent thought was an overwhelming sense of relief, and then her consciousness splintered into a million pieces as her body jerked and spasmed in his hand. He worked her through it, teasing every last drop of pleasure out of her body. He pulled his hand from her mouth to wrap around the back of her head as he claimed her lips in a kiss that stole her breath and drove everything from her mind except his taste, his scent, his touch.

His hand gentled and slowed as the tension in her body began to ebb, and then he carefully withdrew his fingers from her body and wrapped his arms around her, holding her close as she melted against him. She rested her head against his shoulder, breathing hard. He smoothed his palm down her spine between her shoulders, again and again, the movement draining all the energy out of her muscles and making her body go limp in his embrace. He pressed his lips softly to the side of her neck, inhaling deeply.

As he exhaled, he whispered, “I never knew I could love anyone the way I love you.”

Her fists tightened reflexively, clutching his shirt in her hands as she buried her face against his neck to hide the tears that suddenly stung her eyes.

“You don’t have to say it back,” he said. “I know last time was a mistake—”

“I love you,” she interrupted. She kissed his neck and jaw frantically. “It was an accident, not a mistake. I love you.”

She kissed him again and again, desperately, her lips finding a way to communicate everything she wanted to say when words failed.

“Loving you could never be a mistake,” she whispered.

That sofa is laughably beyond capacity, Riyo reflected as she observed the scene before her. Cerra snuggled on Gregor’s lap as Fireball tucked her sleeve up around her elbow and began to doodle on her forearm. Riyo had no idea what was going on with that particular trio, but they seemed cozy. Next to Fireball, Nemec and one of Howzer’s men squeezed onto the sofa as the rest of the team sat on crates around the holotable. She made a mental note to earmark funds for more furniture for the garage. The team only continued to grow, and things were starting to feel crowded in the repair shop.

“Tell me again, what’s the point of this?” Howzer asked. “It seems a little… Odd.”

“Just trust us,” Fireball said. “It shouldn’t work, but it does.”

The opening jingle of the Great Galactic Bake-Off began to play, and Riyo tried to ignore the pang of sadness that Echo wasn’t there to watch the finale with them. In fact, she hadn’t heard from him in weeks—not since the day he’d commed to tell her that he would be staying with the Batch indefinitely. Riyo understood. Of course she did. There was an element of risk every time they exchanged comms, and his mission was dangerous. But understanding didn’t make it sting any less.

The truth was, her situation was a lonely one. She had more political allies than actual friends, and very few people whom she could trust. Echo had been all three, and now he was gone, and she didn’t know if or when she would see him again, or if things could ever be the same between them again. He hadn’t ended their relationship—at least not officially—but they seemed to be in a strange and apparently indefinite holding pattern. As a result, she’d been surprised when Cerra had commed her to invite her to the garage to join the watch party.

“Echo mentioned you’re a fan,” Cerra had said, as though that explained everything.

In fact, it explained very little, but Riyo wasn’t about to question the invitation. It was the first time anyone aside from Echo had asked her to visit the garage for something other than plotting the Empire’s demise. She’d accepted immediately, and here she was with three of her bodyguards, eating some sort of pastry that Gregor had baked. He’d called it a Corellian ryshcate, and it was delicious. Riyo had to hold herself back from taking a second, though she couldn’t resist casting a longing glance at the platter.

“I still can’t believe Garr Tevv made it to the finale,” Gregor said in a disgusted tone.

“What’s wrong with Garr Tevv?” Riyo asked. “I was hoping he’d win.”

Gregor, Fireball, and Cerra gasped in dramatic horror, and Riyo felt a moment of brief panic that she’d made a faux pas. Then Cerra and Fireball burst into laughter while Gregor shot them both exasperated glares. Cerra wrapped her arms around Gregor’s neck and kissed his cheek. His face softened immediately into a smile.

“Team Runa,” he declared. “She deserves it after everything that happened this season.”

“Agreed,” Cerra said as she snagged another ryshcate—her third—and snuggled back against him. “Any other result would be a gross miscarriage of justice.”

She looked at Riyo with a hint of speculation in her eyes. “Just how much influence does a senator have? You know, if, hypothetically, the unthinkable happens and Garr Tevv wins. Could you have him arrested, or something?”

Riyo choked back a shocked laugh, but then she saw the teasing light in Cerra’s eyes and relaxed. “Oh, yes. I’d just have my guards detain him. That definitely wouldn’t cause an interplanetary scandal or end up getting me removed from office and tried for gross misconduct or abuse of power.”

“It’s settled then,” Cerra grinned as she dug into the bucket of ice next to the sofa and retrieved two bottles of ale.

She offered one to Riyo, who accepted, feeling a strange sense of warmth unfold in her chest as she settled in to watch the show.

“Who is Garr Tevv, and why don’t we want him to win?” Howzer demanded.

“Long story,” Fireball and Gregor said in unison.

“Jinx, you owe me a Coke,” Fireball said immediately as Cerra laughed. “Now everybody shut up. It’s starting.”

The End.

#echo tbb #captain gregor #captain rex #riyo chuchi #oc: cerra kilian #echo x riyo chuchi #gregor x oc #clone trooper nemec #clone trooper fireball #star wars #the bad batch #star wars fanfic #tbb fanfic #stars beyond number #dystopicjumpsuit writes

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spinchip · 8 months

Text

NEVER THE DARK

Chapter 11

Read on Ao3

Prologue - Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 - Chapter 10

Warnings: discussions of addiction, body horror

Chapter art by @artqueen02 (Thank you!!)

THERE ARE WAYS OUT.// THERE IS A LIGHT SOMEWHERE.// IT MAY NOT BE MUCH LIGHT// BUT IT BEATS THE DARKNESS.

Lloyd keeps quiet as they walk, lost in thought. He analyzed the dinner conversation in his head to see if he could gather any new information, but Birdy and Samira both were skilled at saying nothing of note if they spoke carefully enough.

“Are you alright?” Birdy asks quietly.

“As much as I can be in this situation.” Lloyd grimaces, “There’s things I want to ask you.”

“Later.” Birdy promises, “When we’re outside the nest.”

They round the corner into a downward slope that takes them all the way back down to ground level. Birdy confidently passes several branching pathways until they come to the last one, walking the corridor in silence. At the end is a large vaulted room that opens up to a massive cave mouth in the side of the mountain. Ila is there with her back turned, but the moment Lloyd and Birdy step closer her tentacles wiggle and tap at her until she spins to face them.

“Oh, hey guys.” Her tentacles deliver two old fashioned saddles, presenting them to the two men with a flourish. Only now does Lloyd take a moment to look around at the wooden stalls around the room. In Ninjago these saddles would settle onto the backs of big wooly wallopers, but there’s a distinct lack of massive horns poking out of each stall. Instead…

Lloyd gasps, “Are we going to ride horses!?” He demands excitedly, pointing at the unassuming brown beast resting in its stall, “Do I get to pick mine!?”

Ila looks surprised, brown eyebrows raising, “I figured you wouldn’t want to. You like them…?”

“They’re adorable!” Lloyd gushes, walking over to a hoofed monster and raising a slow hand to pat its thick tree-trunk of a neck.

“Well, uhm, sure, you’re welcome to pick then. Anyone other than Topstitch, she’s Samiras mare.” She glances at Birdy and offers a knowing smile, “I have a feeling Suncup is off the market as well.”

Birdy approaches a white horse that makes an adorable whinny as he steps closer. The horse's mane and tail are a pale gray and its coat is lightly mottled with more of that color. It’s eyes are a deep, intelligent black, “Suncup is the horse I typically use.” Birdy explains, smoothing a palm down the colt's long nose.

“He’s beautiful,” Lloyd remarks, “But I think I like…” He squints at the nameplate by the stall door, “Honeysuckle.” She’s a beautiful solid brown mare with a light colored mane, and she noses her head under Lloyd's hand when he reaches out to see if she’ll accept a pet, lavishing under the attention.

“Honeysuckle is one of the sweetest and most reliable we have. Good choice!” Ila hands the two of them a bundle of straps that she shows Lloyd how to place along with the saddle so that both horses are prepared for the trek. After the horses headgear is all in place, Ila passes them both a small rucksack of food and water for the trip.

“Thank you, Ila.” Birdy takes his bag and Lloyd parrots him.

“It’s already big news in town that you’re headed to the graveyard.” She informs them, “Three funeral flowers… Birdy, that’s a tall order.”

“I will see you soon.” He promises and she nods, uncertain.

Birdy motions to Lloyd and demonstrates how to get on the horse. After only falling two times, Lloyd successfully mounts the ever patient Honeysuckle and they head out the garage entrance and onto a hard packed pathway into what must be a courtyard or garden area that separates the palace from the rest of town. They wind their way around the maze-like walls and open pasture space slow but steady as Lloyd gets his bearings on horseback riding. It’s not so different from a Walloper, really. They wave to several guards who raise up the gate leading out of the palace farmland before finally stepping foot back into town. Just like Ila said, the people on the street are watching them and whispering to themselves. Lloyd catches funeral flower more than once in the hushed gossip.

They get through the heart of the town with no incidents, but when they pass through the market on the outskirts someone steps in their way, their horses coming to a stop and awaiting direction from their riders. Lloyd can’t tell what species she was originally, if she was from Ninjago or not. She’s got long tubes protruding out of her skull, like horns made of flesh, and her body is covered with patches of fur, feathers, and bald skin. Her face is distinctly inhuman. She has no mouth.

She holds up her hands and does a series of quick signs. I heard you are going to the graveyard. Is this true?

“Yes, it is true.” Birdy confirms.

“Was that sign language? You can understand her?” Lloyd asks curiously. Birdy shoots him a glance, intending to answer but the woman waves to keep his attention on their conversation.

She hesitates a moment. You will do me a favor. I will owe you greatly.

“What favor?”

“What’s she saying?”

She reaches into her satchel before pulling out a small bag and stepping close to discreetly hand him the precious cargo. Birdy takes it and glances inside at its contents.

Deliver these to Deacon. She signs firmly.

Birdy takes a moment to consider her request, weighing how much time they could afford to lose. He closes the bag up securely, tying the rope to make absolutely sure none of its contents spilled, “We will do this for you, Elona.” He promises.

I owe you.

“You owe me nothing.” Birdy says firmly, to which the woman just repeats her previous signs again, but firmer this time.

After Birdy tucks the bag into his shirt, the two continue on. It isn’t until they’re well past the city and into the living fields that Birdy speaks again, “Yes, that was sign language. Specifically Cloud Kingdom sign. Elona has asked us to deliver a gift to her partner Deacon. He lives next to the graveyard.”

“What was the gift?” Lloyd asks curiously.

Birdy pulls the bag back out of his shirt, opening it and letting Lloyd peek inside. It’s two bright pink spheres, smooth and clear like little marbles, and one black oblong shape. He points to the pink ones first, “These are Pink Pills. They are painkillers- highly potent and highly addictive. The mutations this realm causes are debilitating and painful, but these pills make living bearable. That is how Samira stays in power. She controls the production and distribution of these pills, and anyone who is subservient to her is supplied.”

“She gets people hooked on painkillers to get them to do what she wants?” Lloyd frowns at the information, clenching his hands around Honeysuckles reigns.

“Yes. I would even assume…” He trails off before reaching over and taking Lloyd's travel pack given to him by Ila, rummaging through it until his hand lands on another small satchel. He pulls it out and opens it, revealing a perfect pink marble. “Just as I suspected. She provided you with a pill in the hopes you would take it without realizing what it is.”

“She put it in with the food.” Lloyd realized, “It was a setup from the start.”

“Yes.” Birdy confirmed, “She hoped to get you hooked. I am sure she will try to offer them to the others too.”

Lloyd looked back at the city in the distance, “They know better than to take candy from a stranger. I think.”

Birdy points next at the oblong black pill, “This is the Cure.”

“What?”

“It is exactly what we are traveling to find. A single funeral flower can be reduced into enough concentrate to make fifty of these. When the pills are taken, they reverse the effects of mutation slightly.”

Lloyd gapes at the unassuming thing, “And Elona is just giving it away? Why?”

“Deacon is further along in his sickness.” Birdy explains, brushing off a few of the rubbery octopus plant tendrils trying to wrap around his feathered cape. The horses don’t blink at the plants, used to the ticklish vines attempting to stop them in their tracks.

Lloyd mulls over this, “Why doesn’t Elona take them to Deacon herself?”

Birdy is quiet for a moment, “Deacon is losing himself to the change.” He says carefully, “It is dangerous to be near him. That, and Elona is weakened by her own mutation. There is no guarantee she will make it.”

Lloyd lets them lapse into a short silence.

“She asked you to deliver the pill to him. She had faith you wouldn’t take it.” He lets the words sit in his mouth for a moment, “She trusts you.”

Birdy inclines his head, but doesn’t say a word.

They pass through the field and head into the forest. Lloyd had been too busy watching their captors last time they’d walked here, but now he can take in the terrain. There are tree-like plants that shoot up from the ground thick and fat, with smooth shiny surfaces and circular leaves on top. Mixed in are short blue trees with hanging purple branches like a weeping willow. Moss grows in sporadic patches along everything, the plant shuddering and popping unnaturally. A thin bush is in the midst of agonizingly slowly pulling its roots up from the ground to migrate to a better patch of soil. The forest is filled with sound, and Lloyd finds himself searching for the sources as they trek further and further.

A low whistle comes from a large curled single-petal flower that expels its pollen with a burst of air through its petal. He finds the source of tiny clicking noises when he realizes there’s camouflaged multi-legged creatures skittering on the surface of the smooth trees. Underlying all those and more is a faint, constant buzzing.

Birdy seems lost in thought, walking ahead of Lloyd slightly. It wouldn’t hurt to take a closer look, just to see if he can find the source, right? Using his ninja skills, he silently slides off Honeysuckles and pulls her to the side of the path, stepping into the thicket of trees and tuning his ears to that buzz. He leaves her there to wait for him as he walks slowly through the undergrowth, passing trees and strange bushes and rocks that swell like they’re breathing until his ears prick. There, to the left- one of the weeping willow trees. It’s only a few feet taller than Lloyd, and as he approaches he realizes there’s tiny little moving lights on the branches. A closer look, and he can see minuscule beetles puttering about on the plants surface.

The smell hits him then, a sweet tang that sits thick on the back of his throat. It smells like fresh cotton candy, a Caramel dipped apple, one of those massive suckers from mad monster amusement park- the kind Lloyd had played endless carnival games for until he won one. It’s from the tree, there’s no doubt about it. The fizzing noise gets louder as he parts the tree limbs, stepping under the canopy into the darkness. Faint blue light peeks from between the plates of the tree bark that all lead to a large dark hole in the center of the trunk. It’s big enough for Lloyd to walk in without crouching, and he approaches the blackness curiously. The fizzing is so loud, but it's not frightening.

He’s right on the edge, about to peek inside that cavity, when the roots below him part suddenly and he slips, skidding down the roots into the black hole in the trunk- at the bottom, a pit of glowing blue liquid pops and bubbles, the half-digested remains of a horse slumped to one side. He jerks to a halt with a gasp and when he looks up Birdy is standing over him. One half of his spear is shoved through the roots into solid ground to keep them anchored as he hauls Lloyd up. The roots are slick and Lloyd can’t get his feet under him, reaching up to grip Birdy's arm so he doesn't fall.

Birdy grunts, looking around. “Hold on.” He says and Lloyd tightens his grip before Birdy lets go of the staff.

“What- you hold on!” Lloyd says in panic as they both slip deeper into the pit.

Birdy grabs a low hanging branch and yanks it with them into the pit, and almost immediately the tree begins to pull them out of the pit by its branch. Its roots firm up to the point where Lloyd can scramble to his feet and scamper out from under the tree with Birdy right behind him.

Lloyd only stops running when they get back to the pre-worn path, sagging against one of the safe-to-touch smooth trees. “Did I almost just get eaten by a tree?” He wheezes.

Birdy doesn’t seem winded at all, “A fizz tree.” He confirms, “Not actually a tree, but they are most similar to a pitcher plant or Venus fly trap in the way they catch prey.”

He squints over at Birdy, “How did we even escape?”

“A fully grown fizz tree like that will not grow new branches. What it has now is all it will get.” He explains as Lloyd catches his breath, “The acid in the pit of the tree will destroy that branch, and it simply was not worth it to the animal.”

“Animal? I thought it was a plant.”

“Technically-”

“I don’t want to know,” Lloyd covers his face with his hands, “I miss Ninjago.”

“I do as well.” Birdy says emphatically, approaching Suncup to hoist himself back up. “We need to make more headway before nightfall.”

Apologetically, Birdy begins to move on. After Lloyd collects Honeysuckle from down the path, he follows, keeping closer this time after that fiasco

He thanks Birdy for saving him to which the older man waves off the gratitude, but Lloyd keeps thinking about it. He jumped in without a second thought. To save someone he hardly knows. Birdy's earlier words have also intrigued him, starting him on a new line of questioning.

“So you’re from Ninjago. When did you come here?” He knows a good bit of Ninjago history, wondering if he can puzzle out which of the evils of the past that mysteriously vanished that Birdy might be. Part of him knows that it’s a dead end- Birdy just… he doesn’t seem like a bad guy.

He doesn’t expect a straight answer and Birdy delivers on that expectation, “Time is hard to track here. I’m not sure how long exactly.”

The fact that he answered at all is an encouraging sign, “What’s your actual name?” He decides to jump in, fully commit to the questioning.

Birdy turns and looks at him blankly, not answering.

“Oh come on! You know my name.” Lloyd argues.

With a shake of his head Birdy doesn’t sigh even if Lloyd thinks he wants to, “Very well.” He acquiesced before flashing four quick hand movements at Lloyd, “Did you get that?”

Lloyd blinks, “Get what?”

“My name. I just told you.”

“What..? You- oh- sign language!” Gasping, Lloyd glares at him, “that’s cheating! I don’t know Cloud Kingdom sign!”

“You did not clarify how I must tell you.” There’s definitely a smile in his voice.

Lloyd narrows his eyes, “Touché. Fine. Show me again, then.” He looks intently at Birdy's hand, fully intending on memorizing the sign to ask someone later.

Birdy shakes his head, “I already told you. I am not telling you again.”

Looking at him disbelievingly, Lloyd groans, “You’d make a great Lawyer with how much you like loopholes.” He grouses, petulantly riding beside him.

The weight Lloyd carries with him feels lighter. The realization hits him slowly, then all at once. He wasn’t… acting like a leader. The past three years, Lloyd had placed so much responsibility on himself to be a good leader, to make the right calls, to keep his team safe that he had put up a wall between him and the others. He’d been sitting on the other side of that wall trying to hold up the world, holding himself to an impossibly strict, serious standard. He studied day and night, pushed himself to examine and learn from his mistakes almost obsessively, and kept himself from relying on the others.

Here in this realm, he didn’t know anything. He had to rely on Birdy, had to defer to his knowledge in a way he hadn’t been able to- hadn’t felt comfortable enough to- do in a long time. In three years. He shared the burden with Birdy. The realization bothers him deeply.

Birdy seems to pick up on the mood shift. After a moment of hesitation he breaks the silence, “I cannot tell you my name but I will offer you… three questions.” He nods to himself, “Three questions I will answer truthfully- within reason.” He tacks on at the end.

Lloyd looks at him, surprised, “Really?” At Birdy's confirming nod, he taps a finger to his chin while he thinks. They move on in a companionable silence as Lloyd thinks over his question options, “You seem awfully comfortable in Oasis. You even have your own usual horse… Why?”

Birdy looks at him with surprise, maybe hoping Lloyd would ask something broader- something he could dance his way around to keep his past concealed. He hesitates for a long moment but… it doesn’t set off any warning bells in Lloyd's head. Despite how this should all be one big red flag, he finds himself… not quite trusting, but not suspicious of Birdy.

“I used to work with her.” He says carefully, “Before I realized what she was doing. When I first arrived in this realm I was not… in a good place. I needed a purpose, and Samira could offer that. Once I understood who she really was, I took off. As for my relationship with Samira… we have… an understanding.” He seems to be unsatisfied with that, worrying Suncup reigns as he tries to reword it, “I know a deadly secret of hers, and she knows a deadly secret of mine. We are at a stalemate and as such are on even ground. There are not many people that are on that level with Samira, and I think she enjoys the company… as do I.”

“So you’re friends?”

“Is that your second question?”

“No,” Lloyd answers immediately, “It’s an extension of my first question.”

“…Friends is the best way to describe it, I suppose.” He acquiesces.

“So after you worked with Samira you just left to go lone wolf?” Birdy cringes ever so slightly, and when the pause goes on a bit too long Lloyd adds, “That’s my second question.”

Birdy sighs gently, “I was alone for a bit but… I met another loner, and we ended up traveling together for several months. He…” He trails off, and Lloyd wisely keeps his mouth shut so Birdy can sort through the obvious complicated feelings around that time of his life.

“He called himself Farley. We… went our separate ways.” He says haltingly.

Lloyd winces, “Messy breakup?”

Birdy chuckles lowly, and there is no humor in it at all, “Something like that.”

They break out of the forest to a long open glass plain, the same brittle grass Lloyd remembered them trekking through before. The sun shined dully behind the overhead clouds, but it's brighter than it was when he’d first walked this area. It’s… beautiful, actually. Colors mottling the pale earth, turning it into a rainbow that stretches out in front of them endlessly.

“It is, sometimes.” Birdy agrees to Lloyd’s sentiment that he hadn’t even realized he’d said aloud.

They take a moment to admire the way the grass blades wave in the evershift, colors glittering and floating over-top of each other.

“What question do you have for me now?”

“I’d like to save this one, if you don’t mind.” He shoots him a sly grin that Birdy tilts his head at in amusement.

“I will allow it.” He says graciously before getting more serious, “We need to move quicker. We'll set up a gallop across the plains. Slow down at my signal.”

With a quick squeeze of his heels, Suncup takes off in a run and Lloyd quickly spurs Honeysuckle to follow.

Uh. How did he tell her to slow down again?

The wind whips around his face and blows his hair back as he grips the reins, hunched down over his horse as she races across flat ground. She has a smooth gallop but he still bobs up and down with the arc of her spine and he feels a familiar, euphoric glee bubble up his throat until he shouts out in joy, hollering and laughing as he basks in the feeling. It’s like riding dragon back- something he hadn’t done in years. He smiles at Birdy, who had gone from hunched over and serious to sitting back more like Lloyd, enjoying the ride just as much as Lloyd. Lloyd thinks he can hear him laugh too- lighter, more high pitched than his speaking voice-

Familiar?

He doesn’t dwell on anything but the feeling of the wind in his face, the power of the animal under him, and the scenery whipping past him. He feels younger than he has in a long while.

They don’t stay in a gallop for long, but the horses are still moving too quickly for casual conversation as the transition from glass grass to hard packed sand- not like the desert from before. This is a barren, empty place- and in the distance is a wall of thick mist that is pointedly different from the heavy smog that clings to the realm. There are large, naturally formed holes in the earth, caves and tunnels that the Horses have no problem avoiding.

Finally, Birdy motions for Lloyd to slow down. Honeysuckle follows Suncups lead, which is good because Lloyd still didn’t remember the right command to get her to stop. They’re not too far from the wall of smog as they stop in front of the dark mouth of a tunnel, the ground sloping steeply to allow them under the surface.

“This is Deacons cave.” Birdy informs him and he dismounts from Suncup. “Wait here.”

“What? No way.” Lloyd says immediately, hopping down from his saddle next, “You said Deacon was dangerous.”

“I have tough skin, Lloyd. I can handle him, you could get hurt.”

“I’m not letting you go down there alone.” Lloyd says firmly, surprised by the wave of protectiveness washing over him.

Birdy holds his gaze for a long moment before backing down, “Okay, but stay at the entrance. Do not follow me past the first column.”

Lloyd will take what he can get, “Fine.”

With a soothing pat to each of their horses, Lloyd and Birdy step down the slope into the hole in the ground. There’s a moment when they’re plunged into pitch dark before Lloyd eyes adjust to the glowing… webbing? Along the wall.

He touches it before he thinks, snatching his hand back in case that sets off Deacon.

Birdy notices, “You are free to touch the webbing, just be careful.” He says, motioning to the spot when Lloyd had touched. The webbing in that area went dull and stayed dull long after they passed it. Finally they reach the mouth of a deeper chamber in the cave, that same webbing covering one half of the room. The other half is strangely carved and connected, barely visible in the low light.

Birdy stops Lloyd from walking inside, “Please, stay here.”

There’s a low groan, animalistic with a distinctly human wail beneath it.

It’s only now that Lloyd fully realizes what he’s looking at. The part of the cave that was shrouded in darkness… is Deacon. He’s spread out across the wall and floor like a living mass of slime and skin, his body lacking bones or any real definition other than the sheen of oil and sweat from mutated pores. From formless lumps of skin poke fingers, toes, an ear- teeth and tongue too. He’s massive, body stretching in thick sheets and thin strings from floor to ceiling, the whole mass pulsing with a heartbeat or shuddering with heavy breaths.

“Good morning, Deacon.” Birdy says delicately.

The whole mass quivers unhappily, rolling over itself and more into the light at the voice. A single eye flops out with the shuffle to stare at Birdy. It’s impossible to tell his expression.

“How are you? Elona says hello.” He reaches slowly to the pouch at his side and undoes the ties, shaking out the pills, “She misses you.”

“Lon…” Deacon makes the approximation of her name, a low and deep vocalization from somewhere in what must be his chest.

A pillar of flesh whips out and slams into Birdy's hand and he hisses, balling up his fist so he doesn't scatter the medication across the stone. The flesh wraps around his wrist and squeezes so hard Lloyd can practically hear his bones creak.

Birdy holds up a hand so Lloyd wont rush in. He still has the situation under control.

He runs a soothing hand over Deacons… hand? “I know you are in pain, my friend. I am here to help. Elona sent me to help you.”

“Help… Elona… Lona…” His voice has a distinctly devastated tone to it. Heartbroken. “Hurt…”

“Elona is okay. She forgives you.” Birdy pats the lump of flesh that slowly uncurls, “You are not feeling well. She sent me to help you feel better.”

“Elona…” Deacon wails, releasing Birdy and letting the lump that used to be his arm flop flat to the floor.

Birdy squats and gently drops the pills onto his skin. He brings his fingers to the part of his mask where a mouth would be in a cone shape, “Eat.” He says as he motions it again, “It will make you feel better.”

Deacon slowly drags the lump back to his body.

There’s a long pause before- are Lloyds eyes tricking him? Was this the power of that pill? His skin seems to pull in on itself, growing tauter as a form takes shape in the lumps. His body is still mostly loose but there’s definitely the suggestion of a head and shoulders, even arms and fingers. His eyes, mouth, nod even nose form properly on his face.

“Birdy.” Deacon says hoarsely, “Are you alright?”

“You did not hurt me.” Birdy says gently.

“…Thank you… I must repay you…” He closes his eyes

“This was a favor for Elona, you do not need to worry about anything.”

Already, Deacon was swaying, body shimmering and loose, “I will not stay lucid long… please go… Tell my better half that I adore her… I am in no pain and I am to sleep…”

“I will, Deacon. Sleep well.”

His body drops back into the mass of lumps like water dropping back into a lake, but there is still a human silhouette in the mass. Birdy backs out of the room, keeping Lloyd behind him until he deems them far enough to turn their back on him.

“Are you okay?” Lloyd asks, reaching out to touch Birdy's injured wrist.

“I am.” Birdy assures him, guiding his hand away from the injury as they trek through the tunnel.

“You were so… nice.” Lloyd winces at his words, “Not that you shouldn’t be but just… when he lashed out…”

“He was not himself. I understand how that feels.” Birdy swallows, “The mutation process… it is cruel, Lloyd. It is unjust. These people, no matter their crimes, don’t deserve this type of torture. They need compassion and kindness. I wish I could help them more than I do.”

Lloyd looks away, “You remind me of my friend…”

He goes to say more as they surface from the pit but loses his voice at the massive beast hovering over their horses. It’s got six spindly weevil legs poking out of its perfectly round thorax. Attached above its body is a mass of skin stretched taut with the same gas of the graveyard, small streams of mist drifting from vents in the top of its sac. In between each set of the legs are several praying mantis-like limbs, and currently each limb was extended down below itself to touch their horses experimentally. The beast isn’t being rough with them, just examining them closely with its feelers.

Honeysuckle seems completely unperturbed by the animal, but Suncup is shifting nervously each time the feeler brushes his flank.

“That,” Birdy begins calmly, before Lloyd can panic about their horses, “Is what we can an Undertaker.”

“Undertaker? Like someone who deals with the dead?”

“Yes. And as soon as it realizes the horses are not dead, it will move on peacefully.”

Almost as if on cue, Suncup kicks out behind himself and clips one of the beast's arms. It jerks its arms back in surprise, folding them up alongside its thorax politely once it understands the animal beneath it is still alive and carefully steps over it. It doesn't approach the two, instead moving in a random direction with small steps as it searches for other, actually dead things. It reminds Lloyd of, if his limited memory of biology classes in Darkleys was correct, a massive bacteriophage. With a shorter neck.

As it leaves, Birdy moves forward to pat Suncup and calm him.

“They are scavengers, they primarily eat bone.” Birdy goes on, “They are completely blind and deaf, and they use touch to find their meals.”

Lloyd watches the beast approach and enter the mist of the graveyard, casually disappearing into its depths. He feels a pang of sadness, “So it doesn’t know it's going to die in there?”

Birdy shakes his head, “The undertakers live in the graveyard. They are only able to breathe the mist- the one we just saw was holding its breath in order to scavenge. They take bones and such back to the graveyard and wait for the mist to soften them enough so they can eat them. They can go an exceptional amount of time without breathing.”

Lloyd follows Birdy's example and mounts Honeysuckle as he hops back onto Suncup. They urge their horses to follow the undertaker over to the place where the graveyard's wall of mist rises into the sky, and they dismount right upon the border. The horses won't approach the mist closer, aware of its caustic properties.

“…now what?” Lloyd asks as Birdy slings his satchel off his shoulder and begins to rummage around in it.

“Now you wait here, and I will go into the mist to retrieve the flowers.” He says, taking out a tightly wound length of rope.

“You seriously think I’m going to let you go in there alone?” Birdy doesn't waver at this like he had at Deacons cave, steadfast in his resolve that Lloyd stay out of the mist.

“You must. You cannot handle the mist for long, while I can.” Birdy says firmly, brokering no room for argument, “I will tie one side of the rope to my belt and you will hold the other. If I do not come out by tomorrow morning, drag me out by the rope. Do you understand?”

Lloyd feels a swell of helplessness at those words but nods begrudgingly, “…Fine.” He says, clearly unhappy.

Birdy wastes no more time talking, looping the rope tightly around his blue belt and, with a nod to Lloyd, disappearing into the mist. Lloyd paces a track in the sand to pass the time. He counts grains of sand and tries to find shapes in the clouds for a while. He brushed honeysuckles mane for a while, until she got annoyed and bit at him so he would leave her alone.

He even sticks his hand into the mist to feel it, marveling at the tingly feeling spreading over his skin.

Night passes agonizingly slowly, but it does finally end. The sun rises in the sky easily, casting an increasingly familiar dim glow through the clouds.

Birdy doesn’t come back.

#ninjago #zane julien #lloyd garmadon #ninjago never the dark #spinchip fic #ninjago au #body horror #mentions of addiction

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